#i was thinking about how ive been going by rook for a long time now

[honeysuckle-fae]

Thinkin about names and how to me they're kinda like clothes, some I would not be caught dead in, some are like, fine, but they don't really fit, some are like those old sort of worn out shirts with sewn up holes in the sleeves that fit comfortably around you for years and years, and sometimes your whole style changes and it's time for something new. And it's not necessarily like that old comfortable shirt is gone, it's still there and cozy if you want it, but right now you have this new thing that fits better. And sometimes you change your style a lot, and that's okay. Sometimes you get comfortable in one style and stay that way for a long time, and that's okay too.

[heartpascal]

or is it loneliness?

▹— (eventual) spiderverse found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you need closure, and information. two visits kind of give you that.

▹— a/n: guys idk what im DOING. i have things planned for atsv but not how we’re gonna get there … rn im just yolo-ing. im not a big fan of this one but im gonna start writing the next one asap, which will hide fully be more found family-ish lmao arachnid is gonna start warming up to them all some day i swear

▹— warnings: angst, injuries, not good thoughts, dead parents, sensory issues, explosions, violence, fighting, blood?, damaged hearing for a good minute, peter b parker eating burgers deserves its own warning, food, mention of throwing up / nausea, insecurities about being good enough, refusing help, idk what else, if ive missed anything let me know!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree (everything taglist) @justmare @uniquemonstrosity @lacunaanonymoused @erensbbg @dulceteris @noxxing @escherichiacolli @ray-rook @i-3at-kidz @miwagila @stoneforests (is it freedom’verse) — also i only tagged those who explicitly asked to be tagged!

MASTERLIST , part one

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You spend a long time sat on the edge of the open window, staring out at the traffic below after getting back from Spider Society HQ. There’s a tangible relief that comes with returning to your dimension, like a weight being removed, a tension that is finally released from where it had been pulled taut. Your shoulders feel just as heavy as they did when you left, but you try not to think about it. You try to be happy that you’re back.

While you wouldn’t say it aloud, and you hate to even have the thought, you don’t think anybody had noticed you were gone. But then again, who would? You have no reason to be so upset about such a thing.

Time slips by as you diligently sew up the tears in your suit, frowning as you hold it up once you’re finished. It looks nothing like it used to, but then again, neither do you. Things have changed, it only makes sense that your suit would, too. You wonder if travelling through alternate dimensions can alter your perception of things. You’d swear that your suit had been a different shade before you left, lighter, maybe, but you have nothing to compare it to.

At least now, this time, when you put on your suit there is evidence of damage that Gwen Stacy had caused. The stitching along your the material where she had tore into you is a tangible thing, physical, and you run your fingers across it as if it might disappear. It’s almost a relief, to be able to feel where she had caused you pain, as opposed to the invisible ache she had left within you after fighting her the first time around.

Alongside the scar raised on your body, the fight with Gwen had left you with a sort of paranoia. An uncertainty in the back of your mind that has you glancing over your shoulder, has you messing up simple manoeuvres as you panic, thinking you hear her voice.

It must have been your third day back from the HQ that you come to the conclusion that you have to visit Gwen Stacy in her prison.

The decision doesn’t come easily. It comes slowly, torturously so, a realisation that deafens you as you glare through squinted lenses at the city around you. You won’t be able to go on like this, getting yourself hurt in stupid ways all because you’re not certain that she’s back in her prison. You’re meant to be a hero, which means that messing up, despite whatever paranoia that lingers in the back of your head, is unacceptable. It has consequences.

Seeing her in the flesh will likely be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Except, maybe, not killing her when you caught her in that other dimension. You keep your mind on the fact that she won’t be able to touch you, that she’ll be walled away, to reassure yourself that there is no risk of either of you hurting the other — at least, physically.

But seeing her isn’t the only difficult part.

No, the hardest part is stepping back into an identity that you had lost your grasp on, long ago. You wear your old clothes, clothes that you hadn’t put on in months, and try to remember how it felt to be you, rather than Arachnid.

“Hi, Mrs. Stacy.” You say, when the door to an all too familiar apartment opens just a slither, and you catch sight of her wrinkled eyes. There’s a noticeable change to them when she realises who you are, and she’s slamming the door shut, undoing the chain, and reopening it before you can say another word.

She whispers your name like she can’t believe it’s you — and you can’t blame her.

You had disappeared, months ago, after the death of your father. Going missing was far easier than being placed in a foster system that would only hold you back. It had been so much easier, not having to face anyone, not having to speak at his funeral.

“Hi.” You repeat, when her stare lingers in the silence for far too long. The sound of your voice once again breaks her out of her trance, and she’s rushing forward to pull you into her arms as if you were her child. You suppose, in some ways, it was quite a lot like that. At the very least, your presence will remind her of the daughter she had lost.

“Where have you been? Oh, honey, I was so worried.” Mrs. Stacy says, her voice trembling by your ear as she squeezes you tight, unfazed by your lack of reciprocation. “Come inside, please.”

You follow her through the doorway, closing the door behind you as you had done so many times before. Not looking around at the apartment is near impossible, but you’re not sure how much familiarity you can take. Even just seeing Mrs. Stacey’s aged face makes your chest ache, your legs feeling shaky.

“Sit down, honey, let me get you a warm drink.” She says, a tremor to her voice as she bustles towards the kitchen which is adjoined to the living room. The news plays on the television, and you’re glad to hear a weather report, rather than some city-wide attack. Mrs. Stacy is quiet as she goes through the process of making your favourite drink, but with your enhanced hearing you listen to the telltale clink of a spoon against ceramic. You listen closely to her hitched breathing as her footsteps pad back into the room. “Here.” She hands you the warm mug, and you don’t comment on the way her hand shakes.

“Thank you.” You say, though it feels stilted, wrong, too formal. It’s hard to be normal in this setting, to be whoever you used to be, especially as she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Mrs. Stacy stares at you for a long while before she speaks again, as if she’s still not sure that you’re real. “Where have you been? After—After your dad… we didn’t know what happened to you. Are you safe? Do you need help?” She asks, frantic once she’s gotten started on her questions.

“Mrs. Stacy, I’m fine, really.” You lie, smiling tightly over the rim of the mug as you hold it towards your face. Before, you would’ve burnt your tongue drinking it too fast, but you’re hesitant to drink it at all. The last thing you want is to become too familiar to your old life. “I’ve been staying with some friends, downtown. It’s been good.”

She raises a brow at you, and stares for a moment longer. “Honey… you don’t look well.” She tells you, and raises the back of her hand to press it against your forehead. Her frown only deepens when you flinch away from the touch. You try not to curse yourself too much, but can’t help reprimanding the way you hadn’t anticipated such an action.

The skin on your forehead is clammy, but that’s just the anxiety, the nerves at being back here. Arachnid can’t get sick.

“Listen, I… I was hoping I could ask a favour from you.” You say, hesitantly, gripping the warm mug tight between your hands, but loosen your fingertips against the ceramic when you hear a minute crack.

Mrs. Stacy furrows her brows, looking more concerned by the second, but nods. “Of course, anything.” She tells you, and places one of her hands against yours on the mug.

“I was hoping I could visit Gwen.” You voice, after one last moment of hesitation. The way her face immediately crumples at the request doesn’t give you much hope, especially as her hand withdraws from your own. “I—I know you don’t get to see her very often, and maybe it’s selfish, but… I don’t know. I wanted some kind of closure, I guess.” You ramble on in response to her silence, glaring down at the liquid still swirling in your mug.

“Honey,” Mrs. Stacy interrupts, her voice soft in contrast to the way yours was growing in volume. You quiet immediately, your gaze drawn up to where her tearful eyes stare at you, her expression almost mourning. “I would never deny you that, but you should know… I haven’t visited Gwenny since she was put in there.” She admits, her stare dropping to her lap, almost ashamed.

“Oh,” You voice, softly, in response. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed— I—I mean, I can’t even imagine—”

“No, don’t be silly, how would you have known?” She replies, raising her eyebrows at you strictly. “Now, I can get you that visit. I’ll call my attorney first thing tomorrow, but… really, honey, do you need me to call someone for you? Who are these friends?”

Her voice is familiar, and it’s kind, which makes it all the more painful. It’s strange, seeing the resemblance between her and the Green Goblin, and it makes a part of you ache. Your life wasn’t the only one torn apart by Gwen. In fact, her mother probably faced the worst of it. With her husband being long gone, her oldest son away at college, youngest withdrawn after her daughter became a homicidal maniac, who did she really have left? Who was looking after Helen Stacy?

You smile at her, as best as you can without tearing up, and reach out to grasp her hand, which she readily accepts. “I’m okay, Mrs. Stacy, I… It’s just a few friends of my dad, from his home town. Their kids, too. It’s better than being put in the system.” You tell her, and can only hope that she believes you. You have no way to back up these lies, knowing those friends of your father don’t exist.

“You could’ve stayed here, you know?” She says, teary and squeezing your hand so tightly you can hear your bones creaking. You smile sadly at her.

“You’re a much stronger person than me, Mrs. Stacy. I couldn’t even face my dad’s funeral, let alone be around the memories of somebody I lost. This place, it—it reminds me of her.” You explain, voice shaking as you hold back your own tears, swallowing them down and trying to breathe through the ache in your throat.

The way her heart breaks is almost loud enough for you to hear it, but she nods her head understandingly, regardless. “Of course,” She says, nodding still, “But know you always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay.” You respond, heart clenching so tightly you’re not sure it can pump your blood any longer.

“Now, what’s your number? Your old phone was disconnected.” She says, shaking her tears away to pull out a pad and pen from the coffee table. She sets the notepad against her knee, looking expectantly toward you.

“Oh, right,” You stutter, teeth chattering as you comb your mind for the number of your burner phone. “There was a mixup, because it was in my dad’s name.” You explain needlessly, still searching your mind for the answer. Finally, you remember it. You listen to her ballpoint pen scrape along the paper as she writes the numbers as you say them, and then she clicks the pen off after writing your name beside it, underlining it twice.

“How about I give you a call with the details of your visit, okay, honey?” She asks, nodding with a pleased hum at your affirmative. “Good. Stay for dinner, okay? I’ve missed you.”

Who are you to deny her that?

Though, even as you try to pretend that you help to set up the table for her benefit, and as you hug Gwen’s little brother tightly when he comes home for his, you know, deep down, that it’s for you. That this is a moment of selfishness that you’ll let yourself have, because god, you deserve it, don’t you?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s thirteen days post Spider Society discovery, and you’re starting to regret the way you discarded that watch so carelessly. Not because you want to be a part of some cult of superheroes, but because you wish you had asked some more questions.

Surely Miguel O’Hara must’ve known a way to stop these villains from appearing in other universes? And if he did, had he already implemented whatever it was to stop Gwen escaping again? How exactly did she escape the first time? Was it a coincidence? Is there somebody out there, working behind the scenes, helping her get out?

You, unfortunately, have no way to answer any of the burning questions nagging at the back of your head. While a part of you hopes that you never see any of the Spider Society weirdos again, you also desperately want answers. Especially if it meant you could call off your visit to Gwen Stacy.

But the day arrives as any other does, and you spend every moment before the drive over to the prison desperately hoping that one of the Spider-people will show their face. None of them do, and you’re left to get into Mrs. Stacy’s car and simply brace for the journey ahead.

You’re pretty sure that swinging would be quicker, or easier, but you had no way to explain that way of transport to an interrogating Mrs. Stacy, and so you had to relent to her insistence on driving you. Now, you sit here, shifting in the seat of the car, uncomfortable without your suit underneath the clothes you used to wear on a daily basis. Even the knowledge that it’s stuffed into the bottom of your tattered backpack in the boot of Mrs. Stacy’s car doesn’t bring you any comfort.

Instead, the rough material of an old jacket has your skin crawling like you were being bitten by a thousand mosquitos, and the trousers on your legs itch like you’re allergic to them.

You suppose, really, that the spider bite that gave you so many powers had to have more drawbacks than just destroying your life. It only makes sense that your heightened senses would extend to the receptors on your skin. It makes every movement in these clothes torturous, and you wonder if it had always been this way, or if you were just so unused to wearing your old style of clothes. Either way, you hope that you won’t have to wear them for much longer.

If it all goes to plan, you should be in and out of the prison, just ensuring that Gwen Stacy is actually in the cell as she’s supposed to be. Then you just have to endure the fifty minute drive back to the city with Mrs. Stacy, and you’re free. You won’t have to wear these clothes again, won’t have to use your name, no — you can just sink back into the half life that is being Arachnid. It’s better that way.

“Okay, honey, here we are.” Mrs. Stacy says at last, having shifted her car into park. She pointedly avoids looking at the looming high-security prison ahead, instead focusing on you as you wipe your sweaty palms against your trousers. “Now you take as much time as you need in there, alright? I’ll be just out here, if you need me.”

You smile tightly at her, nodding with what you hope is more of a grateful expression rather than a grimace. “Thank you, Mrs. Stacy, really. I appreciate it, more than you know.”

That much was true — after all, it wasn’t like you could tell her that she was allowing the vivid paranoia you had been experiencing to be put to rest after her daughter escaped to another universe. Mrs. Stacy, from what you could gather, didn’t even know that Gwen had been missing for any amount of time. She had no idea what Gwen had done, how many more people she had hurt, but you assured yourself that it was better that way. Mrs. Stacy already had to deal with plenty, and that knowledge surely wouldn’t help.

She was already dealing with her own grief and feelings on the situation, as well as trying to support her two sons in the matter. Given what Gwen’s little brother had asked of you when he found out about you visiting her, you knew that he hadn’t been to visit Gwen, either. It seemed that he wasn’t coping with it all very well.

“Of course, you’re family. You should know that by now.” She says, smiling with teary eyes, reaching across the console to grasp your hand tightly in her own.

Her words take a stab at your chest, especially considering what had happened to everybody else who had seen you as family. Dead parents, villainous best friend — it really didn’t bode well for your loved ones. You just reassured yourself with the fact that you’d be able to disappear as soon as the two of you returned to the city. You couldn’t put her in any danger, that way, or her remaining kids.

“I’ll—I’ll see you after, okay?” You respond, squeezing her hand in return before quickly letting go and throwing open the car door, getting out and catching a slither of Mrs. Stacy’s surprised reply before you shut the car door.

There are guards waiting for you at the gates, checking you are who you say you are, scanning you for weapons before you even get in the building. They’re satisfied after their searches, content that you weren’t stupid enough to bring a weapon into a highly secure prison. You keep your focus on your breathing as they walk you in, handing you clothes to change into as well as a box to put all of your belongings in.

The scrub-like clothes they give you are even worse than your own, sending shivers up and down your spine at the feeling of each fibre scraping against your skin. You just try to breathe through it. Luckily, the rest of the security checks blur by, which means less time spent on agonising over this visit. You barely hear a word of the statement they read to you before you go in, and your hand cramps as you write your signature against a dotted line of a waiver. All of the other legal things were sorted out by Mrs. Stacy’s lawyer, which you are more than thankful for.

Instead of having to deal with that, you just have to wait.

You think that the waiting might be the worst part of it all. With the scrubs making your hairs raise and promoting uncomfortable shivers up and down your body, as well as the cold metal seat that they sat you on, you’re far too aware of everything around you. You can hear the hundreds of heartbeats in the buildings, the beeping of security doors, the footsteps heading your way. You can smell the coffee that the head guard in the adjoining room to the one you’re in is drinking, as well as the day-old sandwich in his desk. Worst of all is the way your own heartbeat is thrumming in your throat, padding harshly against your chest, so loud in your own ears that it slowly starts to drown out everything around you.

Gwen’s footsteps are heavy, accompanied by the clinking of the chains she’s shackled in. You can practically hear the maniacal laughter that had come from her whilst in that alternate dimension, even though she’s completely silent as she enters the room.

She smiles at you when you look up, and for a moment you’re fooled — it’s soft, gentle, kind. But then you see the glimmer in her eyes that was distinctly not Gwen, and you feel the scar along your side throbbing with phantom pain.

You smile tensely at the guards, who regard you with looks of gentle concern and caution, before they attach her chains to a link on the floor beside a chair three metres away from where you sit. They nod at you, which you return, and you watch as they go and take their positions beside the door before you move your eyes back to the elephant in the room — which is Gwen Stacy.

“So, you missed me?” She asks, baring her teeth in a grin that has too much teeth to be anything friendly. Gwen regards you closely as you stare at her, watch for any signs of flickering, any signs that this isn’t real. Her brows raise slowly, the longer you’re silent, but you’re in no hurry to talk. “No? Is that not it?”

“Sure, I miss you.” You respond after another stretch of silence, tilting your head to study her more closely. You don’t acknowledge the way that your voice shakes as you speak, the way it comes out in something closer to a croak before you swallow harshly against your dry throat. “Thought I’d come to check in.” You add, brows furrowing to make sure she gets your true meaning.

“Ah,” She voices, then laughs, shoulders shaking, chains clanking loudly against her metal chair. “I get it, now.”

Gwen doesn’t add anything else after that, even though you suspected that she may take this opportunity to loudly claim that you were Arachnid, outing your identity once and for all. Apparently, if she does want to out your identity, she doesn’t want to do it like this, as she stays silent until you speak.

You sit forward on your chair, ignoring the way the guards at the edges of the room shift uneasily at your movement. “Your mom arranged this for me, you know?” You say, eyebrow raised. She probably knows what you’re doing, or what you’re trying to do, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she just shifts to lean backwards in her own chair, sighing as if relaxing.

“Hmm, so she can visit.” Gwen says, nodding her head as if it’s all making sense now.

“She can, she just doesn’t want to. Neither does Georgie.” You respond, and find satisfaction in the way her eyes flash at the mention of her little brother, the nickname that the two of you both used to call him. She recovers quickly, but you can tell that she knows it wasn’t quick enough. The Green Goblin cracked, right in front of your very eyes. It’s proof that, if anything, her little brother has some meaning. “He wanted me to tell you something.”

Her head tilts across from you, though she doesn’t move from her laid back position.

You clear your throat, and look at the words you’d written on your skin. She tilts her head forwards the slightest amount, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at the guards who look just as uncomfortable as you feel. “He said that he misses his Gwenny, but he doesn’t want you coming home.” You stare at her as you repeat his message, the one he had told you nervously, as if he was truly afraid that Gwen would escape and come back. Her eyes twitch as she focuses on keeping her expression cool, but you know that the words have hit something in her, even if it’s part of the Green Goblin. “Looks like you even ruined your own family.”

You’re up on your feet as she lurches forwards, flung backward from where she tried to go against her chains to rush toward you. The guards are in front of you in mere moments, but you weren’t in any danger. Not as long as she stayed in here.

It’s almost satisfying, to see her chained up. It’s so different to seeing the Green Goblin on the outside, where she could be your Gwen Stacy. Whereas in here, bound by chains of heavy metal, clothed in uncomfortable looking prisoner scrubs, she was nothing but the Green Goblin. It was reassuring, almost, to be able to pick apart something physical between the two.

She bares her teeth at you, animalistic in a way that Gwen never was, and glares at you as you follow one of the guards out of the room, the others closing in on her, ready to take her back to whatever cell she came from.

The clothes you wear become less overbearing as you keep your focus on the guards taking Gwen away the whole way back through security, only switching back to your surroundings when they hand you the tray of your own belongings to change back into. You’re relieved for many reasons, and you try to focus on that feeling as you approach Mrs. Stacy’s car rather than the way your jacket itches.

Mrs. Stacy looks as if she wants to speak as you get in the car, as if she wants to ask about your visit, but she seemingly can’t bring herself to do it. You keep your mouth shut.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Not a month later, your daily activities are back to normal, uninhibited by the daunting idea of Gwen being free. Still, though, you think about her more often, as much as you did in the time after she was put away the first time.

Mrs. Stacy had tried to call you more than once since, and at the two week mark you’d had to invest in a new burner phone. You just couldn’t risk anybody getting a hold of it and seeing her contact, or the ringer going off and exposing your position in a fight. No, it was better for her not to have your number. Besides, you had hers memorised if you needed to call her.

It was better if you tried to reduce any connections to Gwen Stacy. You’d be much better off, the less you thought about her.

Despite knowing that, you couldn’t help it. And despite seeing that crack in the Green Goblin exterior at her little brother’s words, you didn’t have much hope for her. You don’t think they’d let her out of prison even if you could find a cure, somehow. The fact of it was that Gwen Stacy’s life was over. She had no hope of a future in this world, the Goblin had destroyed that. All you could do was remember her and hope beyond anything that in one of those alternate dimensions, you and Gwen were happy together.

The thought of it played on your mind every day, a lingering pain that stung at your eyes. You thought about it so much that you had even imagined the world where Gwen had never become the Goblin, where you and your Gwen were happy. It was a suffocating image, one without any hope of being true, but you couldn’t help thinking about it.

Even as you fought villain after villain, petty criminal after petty criminal, you thought about it. Even now, as you were swinging around a bridge, dodging all the debris this villain was throwing your way, it played on your mind.

It was a distraction, and it was one you needed to get rid of.

That much became certain as the villain you were facing, Tombstone, managed to get a hit on you, sending you flying across the bridge. You landed on a car with a groan, the windshield cracking below you, and you rolled your eyes as the person in the car held a hand on their horn until you managed to climb off, a distinct Arachnid-shaped dent left in the bonnet.

Well, that would be aching tomorrow, that much was for sure.

He grinned where he was stood across the bridge from you, showing off his filed teeth, as if trying to intimidate you with the pointy edges of them.

“You’ve been a formidable foe, Arachnid,” Tombstone says, his voice barely a whisper above the wind, but you can hear him perfectly. You suspect he knows as much, and that only makes you nervous. “But I think it’s time for our battle to come to an end.”

“I actually agree.” You respond, stretching your aching back and feeling a bone shift when it definitely shouldn’t. You can’t help but wince, gritting your teeth and glaring over at Tombstone across the bridge.

You’re getting tired of these villains, of their constant spiel about how the world should be, about how everything should be how they wanted it to be. What was so wrong with the human population that everybody couldn’t just get along? Surely, if everybody got along, listened to each other, the world’s problems would be solved. But then again, this is New York, and it’s a city in which greed is bred.

A light press against your webshooter has you slinging high up on the bridge, staring down at Tombstone as he watches you intently. You’re planning your next move, considering all the variables, when a burst of orange manifests into the air behind him. He looks confused as you falter in your web slinging, dropping slightly before you catch yourself, and he turns around just in time to receive a curled fist to the face, courtesy of a familiar man in a red and blue suit.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You murmur, lowering yourself to the bridge to approach this Spiderman, glaring at where Tombstone stands, straining against a red barrier that had materialised from the device Spiderman had placed at his feet.

“I hate that guy!” The familiar voice of Peter B. Parker says, shaking his fist as he hops slightly from one foot to the other, his lenses squinted before he finally turns to acknowledge you. “That guy sucks.”

Your brows are furrowed, eyes squinted behind your lenses as you stare at Peter, confused. This Tombstone guy isn’t an anomaly, is he? While you hadn’t faced him before, you knew that there had been a battle between him and another vigilante down in Hell’s Kitchen. And he knew your name, hadn’t been calling you Spiderman like the last anomaly. So why was he here?

Peter sighed, as if he was disappointed to be met with your confusion. “You got a place, kid? Or a burger joint, maybe?”

With that same amount of confusion, you nodded, brows furrowed as cops came to collect Tombstone, who was still in a fit of rage. You can just barely hear him swearing to get you back, both of you, through the barrier. Peter gestured a hand forwards for you to lead the way, and with slight hesitation, you swung off with him following.

Now, the two of you are sat in a Shake Shack, despite you wanting to head back to the offices you were set up in. Peter had ordered two burgers, one for you and one for him, though you had decidedly rejected the one he pushed towards you. He had only shrugged, and accepted it onto his own plate.

“My wife’s pregnant, can’t even stand the smell of these.” Peter groans, stuffing what must’ve been at least a quarter of the burger in his mouth. You just nod at his statement, though you had to admit you were slightly surprised that this guy was going to be a dad. But then again, you’re pretty sure you can remember your dad scoffing down his favourite food in a similar way. “Now listen,” He continues, speaking with his mouthful and paying you no mind as you cringe at the sound. “Miguel wants to strike a sort of… deal with you.”

“Okay?” You respond, brows furrowed. You look around the place, uncomfortable with all the people staring at Arachnid in a booth beside an old man stuffing his face. The lenses of your mask squint with you as you look at Peter, waiting for him to add anything on to explain his statement. “Then why’d he send you?” You ask, at last, when Peter makes no move to speak of his own free will, too engrossed in his second burger.

Peter held up a finger, gulping down a sip of his strawberry milkshake. “Said something about this being good practice for me,” Peter eventually answers, flashing you a smile. “You know, being a new dad and all.”

He seems to realise quickly that that was the wrong thing to say as your eyes narrow further, visible only through the shift of your lenses. The last thing you need is some random guy trying to father you. Even just the idea of it irritates you, makes the very blood rushing in your veins feel hot with anger. You had a dad, and look what good that did you. He’s gone.

Not to mention the implication of you being a child! You’re far from being a kid. You’ve been looking after yourself for some time now just fine. Whatever deal Miguel wants to strike with you is because they need you. Not the other way around. You knew that you shouldn’t have let that Spider-doctor fix you up.

“I’m not some kid. I don’t need you lot, you need me. Don’t get it all twisted, Peter.” You respond as he continues to look like a deer in headlights, clearly kicking himself for revealing what Miguel had said. You keep your voice low, fighting to stay unheard with the quietened air in the diner. “Now hurry up and tell me about whatever bullshit deal you want to strike with me, so I can say no and we can go our separate ways.”

“Kid,” Peter sighs, before immediately wincing as he realised he just directly disregarded your statement about not being a kid. “Sorry, Arachnid,” He corrects, settling his hands on the table in front of him, finally taking a break from his almost-finished food. “Nobody’s saying you can’t do this.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying.” You mutter, averting your eyes from Peter and instead narrowing your lenses at the people still staring in your direction.

“All we’re saying is that you shouldn’t have to do this alone,” He continues, ignoring your interruption with nothing but a quirked brow. “It’s a tough job. Everybody needs someone to look out for them, you know? It’s in our nature to feel responsible for everything around us, as Spider-people. But you can’t carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, it’s too much!”

You stare blankly at him, remaining unimpressed with his whole speech.

Peter sighs once more, looking at you with hesitant hope that you’ll come around. Unfortunately, you’re not about to let these people think that you’re incapable. If anything, Peter’s little speech was just adding fuel to your fire. You liked proving people wrong — it’s what you thrived on. You needed to prove them wrong. Because if you didn’t, what did that make you? You couldn’t let people be right about their assumptions of you. If you couldn’t prove everybody wrong, then that meant some of the things people said about you were right. And with the amount of people who accused you of being responsible for more deaths than you saved, who portrayed you as a menace rather than a vigilante, who said you weren’t worthy of your powers, who said whatever divine intervention had given them to you was wrong, you couldn’t let them be right. You wouldn’t.

“I already told you people. I’m not interested.” You spit out at him, feeling your frustration brimming over the edge. Why would nobody just trust you? Was that so much to ask? You understand that you had made mistakes, that you had cost people their lives, but you were trying. Why couldn’t that just be enough?

Peter says nothing as you slide out of the booth, stomping your way out of the Shake Shack as if you were some kind of grumpy teenager. He could only hope that his unborn child was a less grumpy teen, but then again, he was pretty sure you had every right to be miserable. Correcting himself, he could only hope that his unborn child never experienced your reasons for being so miserable.

You make your way towards your office building, swinging through the streets whilst doing your best to keep your heightened hearing down. You really didn’t want to have to deal with anything else, tonight. All you wanted was to get back, to put on the only clothes other than your suit that didn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. Even if it was just for an hour, you’d take it.

While you had gotten used to how quiet it was in the building a long time ago, you couldn’t help but think that tonight, it felt almost… eerie. There was something tingling, buzzing at the very base of your skull, but even as you strained your hearing, your sight, everything, you couldn’t detect anything out of place. Everything seemed normal, so you couldn’t understand why you were so on edge! It couldn’t just be Peter’s presence, surely, because he posed no threat to you. So what was going on?

Picking up your backpack filled with belongings, you stared around at the empty office, the breeze that flowed through the open window sending a shiver down your spine, even though you weren’t feeling cold. Something wasn’t right. You just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hello? Anybody there?” You call out, straining your hearing once more, trying to listen out for even the slightest sound. A movement, a breath, anything, even as you couldn’t help but think that this was the most cliché horror movie like moment that you had experienced to date. Still, you heard nothing, but that nagging feeling didn’t dissipate, and you quickly lost all desire to change out of your suit.

The unease you felt only grew stronger as you stood there, unsure what to make of the feeling. It was quickly growing towards being overwhelming, but you didn’t know what to do.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to make a decision.

Unfortunately, the decision was made by one of the very people you were trying to prove yourself to.

Peter B. Parker — or at least, you were pretty sure it was him — swung through the very same window you had, only to grasp a hold on your arm and pull you out of the window as he jumped straight back out of it.

Now, you had been Arachnid for a long time now. You had gotten used to the swinging, to the way your stomach dipped and your throat tightened, but you had never experienced it where you weren’t the one in control. Finally, you understand why people you brought to safety had, on occasion, thrown up immediately after you set them down on their feet again. The feeling of falling, of having no choice but to trust somebody else to catch you, it was terrifying.

But what was infinitely more terrifying was the way that the very floor of the building you had just been stood on exploded.

The blaze was blinding, even with your lenses protecting your eyes, but the noise that came moments later was much, much worse. And sure, you had been around explosions before, but never one that big, never so close. And never so unprepared for one.

Your ears were ringing, and you vaguely realised that you had become dead weight in your shock, with Peter struggling to keep his grasp on your arm firm. After a moment, you had the sense to grab his forearm in return, trying to assist him in holding you up. He didn’t seem as effected by the explosion in comparison to you, and you wondered if he’d had the time to put earbuds in his ears as you had sometimes done before a fight. Either way, you were insanely envious as the pain in your ears increased, leaving you struggling to focus on holding on to Peter.

When he set you down, which couldn’t have been more than a minute after he had grabbed you, considering you could still see the office building smouldering, you had to hold a hand over your mouth even over your mask, trying to rid yourself of nausea. Smoke was leaking into the darkening sky, and you saw the flash of sirens below, but heard nothing other than the distinctive ringing that felt like it was melting your brain.

Peter’s hand was squeezing your shoulder, and after a moment in which you didn’t acknowledge him, he was gripping your other shoulder with his spare hand, shaking you the slightest bit. You looked up at him with a groan, squinting past the floating lights in your vision to see that his mouth was moving, no sound coming out. You shook your head, trying to get rid of that incessant ringing, but it didn’t work. You dropped your chin to your chest again, hands bracing against your ears as if they could ease your pain, and you didn’t make a move as Peter removed one hand from your shoulder.

Mere moments later, the same tingling you had felt before the building you were in exploded returned, stronger, more intensely. Your head snapped up, frantically looking around, paying Peter no mind as he spoke into the orange-glowing watch on his wrist. You breathed through your nose, trying not to cough at the smoke permeating the air, and you just managed to push Peter over the edge of the roof of the building, with you diving after him, as another explosive went off.

That explosion was smaller than the last one, and the only reason you had managed to avoid it was because you knew it was coming. You knew what the alarm bells in your head were trying to tell you now, and you spotted the projectile just seconds before it reached your feet.

Part of you was glad that your senses were dulled from the first explosion — your hearing, especially, as it meant you were less effected by the close-range on this one. You saw Peter’s eyes widen as he looked up above you at where the explosion had just occurred. You just about managed to web him before shooting a web towards the next building, feeling something in your shoulder pull sharply with his extra weight and the suddenness of the move.

You squinted down at him as he gripped the web attached to his chest with one hand, his lips moving more frantically as he spoke to a hologram projected by the watch on his other hand.

“Shit, what is going on?” You asked, though mostly to yourself, but the only way you could tell you had even voiced the words was by the way they rumbled out of your throat. That explosion had messed up your hearing, for the moment, anyway, and you quickly realised that with your slow healing and the ringing in your ears, this fight was going to be majorly difficult.

You only had a moment to think that, before something snapped the web that was holding you to the building, sending both you and Peter falling through the air. Embarrassingly, you’re pretty sure that you let out a yell of some sort.

All the air was knocked out of you the next second as something hurtled into you, sending you careening towards the windows of the closest building. Peter, for a moment, had a shocked expression on his face, before he seemingly realised what was going on, smiling and letting out a string of words that you didn’t hear. You groaned as your sore back collided with the window, smashing upon your impact, and you were sent sprawling over a desk, a monitor breaking underneath your sudden weight.

Yet again, there was a hand against your shoulder, and you paid it no mind as your head dropped back, thudding against the desk. You couldn’t help but groan, the duress that your back had been under today was certainly taking its toll, leaving your whole spine throbbing with pain. On top of that, you were struggling to catch your breath, and with the sudden adrenaline provided by the spider-sense fading, the intensity of the pain in your ears was increasing.

Finally, you managed to peel your eyes open to see a concerned Peter B. Parker looking at you, with Miguel O’Hara stood beside the shattered window, staring out menacingly, as if daring whoever it was to attack again. Peter said something else, squeezing your shoulder, and all you could do in response was hold up one thumb.

Miguel seemingly barked out an order over his shoulder, and a moment later, you were squinting against the bright orange light of a portal.

Peter was hauling you to your feet, leaning to hold one of your arms over his shoulder, practically carrying your weight towards the portal looming ahead. “No, no, wait,” You said, and you felt the way your words slurred as you became slightly delirious with a mixture of pain, adrenaline, and desperation. “Stop, I gotta—”

He only shook his head, before tipping the two of you forward until you both fell into the portal.

The dizzying feeling of inter-dimensional travel definitely didn’t help the pounding in your temples, nor the nausea you had previously been feeling, and you had no choice but to try and focus on Peter’s grip on you as you squeezed your eyes shut. When the world finally stopped spinning, or feeling like it was falling away around you, you opened your eyes just enough to take note of where you were — which was back in the Infirmary of the Spider Society HQ.

You shook Peter off, standing on your own weight and waving him away when he tried to assist you as you swayed once more. You glared, eyes narrowed, and turned to head straight back through the portal you had come from, only to see it close before your very eyes.

The same Spider-Doctor from the last time you were here snapped a band around your wrist, and you squinted down at the red and blue band. It made you feel lighter, even slightly, which felt good on your aching bones and muscles. You opened your mouth to speak as the Spider-Doctor led you to sit down on an empty bed with white sheets, but you vaguely saw the way his mask shifted as he presumably spoke. You couldn’t tell what he was saying with his mask on, but a minute later, you felt a sharp prick against the inside of your elbow.

You just about had the lucidity to murmur “You fucker—” before you succumbed to the weight of your eyelids.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When you woke up, it was to a throbbing pain in your forehead, that only got worse when you tried to open your eyes. At the very least, you were glad to have your hearing returned to you, albeit slightly muffled, which you were only aware of because the sound of voices across the room was the reason for you waking.

“I’m just saying, maybe knocking the kid out wasn’t the greatest idea!” Peter B. Parker’s annoyingly loud voice says, slightly high pitched in the end. Who he was saying it to, however, you couldn’t say, not without opening your eyes. And that didn’t feel like a good idea, the lights even with your eyes closed feeling like too much.

Instead, you just groan, bringing your hand up to rest over both of your eyes. “It wasn’t a great idea.” You say through gritted teeth, more than annoyed over the situation you found yourself in. Honestly, what did these people have against leaving you be? Why did they think they had any right to tell you what to do, or how to handle things, or to overrule you when it came to your own treatment?

“Hey, kid!” Peter responds, drawing the letters out in that typical oh shit voice. From the snippet of the conversation you had caught, at least he was seemingly trying to advocate for your consciousness. However, that didn’t change the fact that he was there when that Spider-Doctor knocked you out. No, you were still pissed. And when you got your hands on that doctor? He was in for it.

Any other thoughts or feelings on the matter were overturned when you realised that your hand was resting over your eyes, not the lenses of your mask.

Who do these people think they are?

You open your mouth to jump into a rant on that exact subject, on the audacity that they all have, but find yourself silenced by somebody grabbing onto your free wrist, and seemingly dropping your mask into your hand. You feel it until you’ve got it the right way around, and then pull it over your face.

The lights are much more bearable with your lenses back over your eyes, but it’s still painful, and still worsens that pounding in your head. But it does mean that you can see who’s around you; Peter, Miguel and the Spider-Doctor. You have half the mind to leap at that doctor, but Miguel is raising placating hands in your direction before you can make the move to do so.

“Let’s all calm down.” Miguel says, placing his hands on his hips when your eyes only narrow at him.

“What is wrong with you? Who gave you people the right to—to take off my mask? To knock me out? Hell, to come to my universe and get in my business!” You practically yell out, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way your back hurts with the movement and glaring when the three of them step forward to help you.

“If Peter hadn’t gotten there when he did, you would’ve died.” Miguel responds plainly, seemingly aggravated by your irritation. One of his arms is raised in a gesture towards the man, who smiles almost guiltily, as if helping you was a crime. Which, in your mindset, it might as well have been. “There was an anomaly, a villain from another dimension targeting you.”

“I can handle myself.” You spit out, though the way the room spins when you stand is almost a direct contrast to your words. Your blood is rushing through your veins, and you realise that there’s a machine beeping next to you, increasing in frequency. As you look, you realise it’s measuring your heart rate, and you yank wires off of you that you hadn’t even noticed before, as if they were exposing you somehow. “And that doesn’t give you the right to take off my mask. Who does that?”

Spider-Doctor raises his hands, as if surrendering, though seems unintimidated by the way your glare switches to him. “It was necessary. Your hearing was severely damaged by the explosion, you needed treatment. You have dampening-buds in your ears now, while your healing catches up.” While that sounds reasonable, it only makes you angrier. Why did these people even care if some anomaly killed you? If your hearing was damaged? Why did they insist on bothering you?

Miguel sighs, pinching his nose, before he lifts his head up to speak to you again. You just about stop yourself from making a snotty comment about his attitude. You didn't even want to be here, and here he was, acting like dealing with you was such an inconvenience to him. It was frustrating. “Your universe seems to be at some sort of epicentre of anomalies, and we don’t know why. Yet.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe. You can’t deal with all of those anomalies alone, nobody can. Sometimes, you need a team.” Peter says softly, like he could convince you of the matter. “Believe me, you don’t want to learn that the hard way.” He adds on, smiling almost hesitantly, as if there’s a memory he’s thinking of connected to his own words.

You’re sighing through your nose, your teeth gritting together as you regard them. “Okay, fine, you want to come take out your anomalies, or whatever? You do that. But anything more than that isn’t welcome.” You say, at last, your eyes narrowed towards them as you wait for their responses.

You still don’t really understand it, any of it, but it’s becoming clear that you have no choice but to deal with these people. Apparently, they were not budging on all of this stuff, which — fine, so long as they stay out of your way. The last thing you need is a bunch of Spider-people stepping on your toes, or making you seem incapable in front of the citizens of your own dimension when in the end, they’ll all up and leave.

After all, you can remember your mother telling you how important it is to do things yourself. The moment you start accepting help, you relax, and when they decide they don’t want to help you anymore? You’re screwed, your sense of independence reduced to ashes. And as Arachnid, there’s far too much at stake to risk that happening.

“Here,” Miguel says, only nodding his agreement — or at least, that’s what you assume the nod was for. He throws a watch towards you, and you catch it with some confusion. “In case you see any anomalies before we do.” He explains as he watches you fiddle witht he watch in both hands, glaring down at it as if it was offensive. He’s relatively satisfied when you relax at that explanation. While Miguel doesn’t voice what else it’s for, knowing you’d only get irritated and refuse the watch, he’s silently hoping that you’ll understand. It’s so you can come to them, if you need them. They can only hope that they’ll be able to tell you that, one day, before it’s too late, without the offer scaring you off.

“So, I’m good to go?” You ask, looking between the three Spider-Men still staring at you and the watch you hesitantly clasp around your wrist. They nod, or, Peter and Miguel do, while the Spider-Doctor throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

“That dimension is yours,” Peter says, leaning over to see the screen of your watch. “The button at the bottom will input this dimension as the destination. Just press that,” He points to another button, “To open the portal to whichever dimension has been typed in.”

You nod, still pissed that he’d let the Spider-Doctor knock you out, but at least you didn’t give him a snarky comment. Instead, you just pressed the button to go back to your own dimension, and stepped through the portal the moment it was big enough for you to go through.

You didn’t expect for him to follow you through.

“Hey, listen,” Peter says, almost reluctantly, as if he doesn’t want to upset you. When you turn to him, he raises his hands, as if to further prove that sentiment. “I am sorry that he knocked you out, I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Okay, fine, apology accepted.” You say, flatly, turning to survey where exactly you are. It doesn’t take you long to notice the remains of the building you had been camping out in, the building charred and the air still thick with all the smoke that had been produced.

“I wasn’t done,” Peter sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose momentarily. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry about your building. And I wanted to ask, well, mention about how when Doctor-Peter took off your mask, he noticed you don’t have anything protecting your ears, like other Spiders with your level of enhanced hearing do.”

You turn to stare blankly at him, while mulling through where exactly you’re going to stay in your head. If you’re being honest, you’re not paying his words much mind. So what, you don’t have anything protecting your hearing? Sure, sometimes you had stuffed earbuds into your ears when you knew you were going into a rough fight, but you didn’t know when some psycho exploded your building right in front of you. Plus, it’s not like you have unlimited resources to figure out some way of protected your ears under your mask while also letting you effectively use your hearing.

“Okay? And?” You ask, voice edging on the side of boredom. In all honesty, you just want to be left alone. You want to put on your comfy clothes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep so you can dream of a world where everything is okay. The likelihood of that happening is small, but not impossible, right?

“Well,” Peter hesitates then, which piques your interest the slightest bit. “Here, I had these made back when my hearing was crazy sensitive, but it’s not anymore, so I got no use for them!” He says, holding out two blue and red earbuds in a clear case. “You gotta wait until your ears are healed up to use ‘em, but I figured they’d do you more good than me.”

For a moment, you’re ready to deny him. To glare and insist that you don’t need his help. But then, he had said that they were originally for him, and he didn’t need them any longer, so really, would it be so bad to take them? To accept this one thing? To allow yourself to be saved of this tiniest bit of pain?

“You’re sure?” You ask, likely the least aggressive you’d spoken to him, though that’s not to say that it was asked softly. You were still firm on not accepting their help, on doing your own thing, but you could accept this much, surely? It couldn’t hurt.

Peter smiles, a short laugh leaving him, and he waves the box towards you. “I’m sure!”

“…Thanks.” You say, shortly, as you accept the earbuds offered to you. He also hands you the backpack that you had lost track of after the attack, and you accept that far more quickly. You’re glad that it feels the exact same weight as it did the last time you held it, before you shove the earbuds into the opening and zip it back up.

There’s a portal still open on the rooftop the two of you stand on, and Peter backs up to go towards it almost reluctantly. “Also, if you need somewhere to stay—”

“Don’t push it,” You respond, quickly, cutting him off before he could finish what he was saying. He doesn’t take offence to your abruptness, and smiles with a nod, before he disappears into the portal. You stare out at the city around you, looking in the direction of another building you had been very reluctant to return to. “What is my life?” You ask yourself, rhetorically, because you don’t know how you’d even answer that.

You glance behind you to ensure the portal is closed, before jumping off the rooftop, freefalling, relishing in the way the cold wind soothes the pain in your back. Before long, though, you have to shoot a web to catch yourself. You head towards the only place you know will be suitable for you, but can’t shake the way the thought of it chills you.

All you can do is hope that this multiverse stuff will be over with, and soon.

[tiyoin]

Now I'm thinking about twisted anxiety reader being able to sing really well. I feel like there could be some very interesting/funny moments (4 us not reader).

Reader probably only sings in a reclusive area like a forest around the dorm

I wanna say that the forest already has haunting rumors about it ,and when someone (jade or rook) hears reader singing they think that the "ghost" is up and active again. So students start doing a "test of courage" type thing.

I put Jade or Rook being the one to hear reader cuz they're really the only ones that would really be in that area without a reason.

I also know they're intelligent enough to know it's not a ghost ,but start the rumor anyways cuz they want to know who's singing. And it becomes this big thing the school trying to figure out.

Cut to reader losing her mind cuz she like "wow, I didn't know people thought it was that bad. How am I supposed to live, laugh, love ever again??"

When in reality they were just memorized by reader's singing. And they really want to find out who it is.

Bonus points if they film it and sent it to the group chat you posted about earlier. And reader just has to be like 🧍‍♀️ "whattt???? No way!! 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ a random voice in the woods 😱😱"

I'm sorry for sending 2 long asks back 2 back ,but twisted anxiety just gets my head going.

Also if you don't like being sent stuff like this just tell me and I won't send any more. I don't want to over step at all. These are just like head cannons I give to reader ,cuz I just love making things worse for her. Can't let her know what peace is

YOU

hOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET IN MY HEAD 🫵

i’m going to give you the fattest smooch alive you don’t understand. AND I LOVE IT WHEN I GET LONG ASKS!!! so please! ask away i don’t mind, i actually get really flattered that people want to share with me their long, detailed thoughts !! i was actually nervous people wouldn’t like my long responses 😖

no cause that’s ALWAYS one troupe i ALWAYS go back to.

i was thinking about making them a singer, REALLY I WAS- but i had second thoughts cause i thought people wouldn’t like it / maybe people would think its too… y-nie or im trying to make twisted anxiety reader too much, ya know

BUT OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU MEAH MWAH (also dw i got your other ask and fully plan on answering it, this one was just at the top of my inbox 🫶🫶)

but oh my god,,,, HEAR ME OUT;

twisted anxiety reader getting pent up because they. have. no. outlet.

none.

maybe they played a sport in their old world, but no longer can’t because seriously?? going up against beastmen, mermen, fae and just,,, men?! absolutely not.

they can’t do anything fun in ramshackle because of the ghosts can and will find a way to stick their noses into your business. also hello??? no privacy at ramshackle👎👎

honestly, twisted anxiety reader doesn’t have any friends so they can’t blow off steam that way either. and going to the gym is out of the question because 1. anxiety 2.gym bros- and working out at home is… different.

so there has to be a way to let off steam… good thing twisted anxiety reader dilly dallied in everything!!

they want to sing but aren’t confident enough to join the pop music club, and the walls to ramshackle are paper thin.

there’s absolutely no where you can go.

and yet… every time you glance at the forest. you can’t help but wonder…🤔

AND IVE ALWAYS IMAGINED READER SINGING

“everything stays” from adventure time

“love all mine” by mitski

“rises the moon” by liana flores

“sky fall” by adele

“memory” from cats

“listen” by beyoncé

“hopelessly devoted” by olivia newton-john

oh my god i have to make a separate post for this before i completely rot and accidentally write a whole chapter because i’ve been WAITING to write about this and i’d feel bad about making this SUPER LONG

but i can’t imagine rook going for a sunset “hike” (…sure, let’s go with that) and hearing you. belting your little heart to “hopelessly devoted” HAGFJAIWOFOSOWOFOAPEIFOZOQFOXOD

ROOK IS AWE STRUCK

such passion! such devotion! how marvelously beautiful! rook is stunned.

of course after you finish singing he can hear you moan and groan about trivial things but- rook hunt was not a hunt if he didn’t appreciate the gift the forest provided.

and yet, the carful hunter made a careless mistake. cursing silently, he glared at the twig his boots stepped on before he snapped his head up to the clearing up ahead.

ah, you fled.

to say rook was… upset was an understatement. yes he was able to marvel in your voice, but he lost the privilege to listen to more, to observe from afar.

the strange songs you sang and possibly wrote (what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him) are gone with the wind and the high step of your foot as you vanished into thin air.

rook could easily hunt you down, but he stopped himself after a slight muscle twitch. non non! he was the enjoyer of beauty! not the hunter! yes he hunted beauty but it would go against his very being to trap it instead of let it fly free and continue its song.

so let this be your little secret, okay.

jade would def walk into you singing ‘everything stays’

OR OR ROOK N JADE BOTH TAG TEAMING READER IN THE CHAT SAYING HOW THEY WISH TO MEET THIS BEAUTIFUL VOICED GOREST ‘NYMPH’ SO THEY CAN HEAR MORE OF THEIR SONGS

readers just like;

😟

“time to find a new location☝️”

*there’s no where those two won’t be able to find you fyi*

TWISTED ANXIETY READER WILL NEVER KNOW PEACE‼️‼️ NOT AS LONG AS IM HERE‼️‼️

please send more headcanons i love reading them 🙇🏻🙇🏻

babes this is me n u rn:

[queerlordsimon]

Ok, I'm a writer who wishes to write. But has no idea what to write. (I have one thing in progress but I'm out of internal fs to give to write it right now)

So, prompts. Characters. Whatnot.

Characters I'll write for.

Twisted wonderland

Pretty much everyone, not the teachers or jamil/grimm.(if you ask for Jamil I will unapologetically do it poorly, sorry) won't do ortho as well, purely because of age. I can not garentee the quality of work if you ask for sebek as I don't know him well, and ace and rook, purely because I don't think I can write them well. But I'd give it a go

My hero

I'm open to writing most characters here as well, except mineta, muscular, endeavor, and tiny children. I cannot garrentee the quality of most of the league, except toga. Dabi, and shiggy. And anyone From class 1-b, but I'll give it a go and try my best. (Also I have only seen to like, halfway through season 3, so I won't be great at those characters, but I'll try

Obey me!

Anyone but Luke, but I'm not well aquinted with thirteen, Raphael, and mephestophelis.

Im not sure or positive on any others that I write a ton for, but feel free to ask if I know it, If I do I'm more then likely willing to try.

I'll do most au ideas. Nsfw or sfw. I'll leave some prompts below for asking as well

kissing in the rain and getting soaked before running inside laughing

playing with their hair while their head in your lap

jolting awake after a nightmare and being comforted

theres only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling

you confessed your feelings and were about to kiss but we get interrupted

"you are breathtaking"

"i cant help it, you're fun to mess with

"we both dont want to do this, i know. but you have to understand that we need this."

"why didnt you say h-how bat it was?"

"im not a lot of peoples favourite person."

"no ones ever done that to me before"

"could you play with my hair?"

13. "i cant remember the last time i did this with somesomeon

14. "that feels nice." 

15. "i havent been hugged in years"

16. you put your arm around me and i literally felt my knees buckle

17. "i just want to be held for a little while"

18." ive never been in a relationship before, so i dont really know how to do the whole… kissing thing."

19. "take another step, and i cant be help responsible for my actions."

20, " theres only one rule. you cant use your hands."

21. "look deep into my eyes, sweetheart."

22. "i want you to leave marks"

23. "i want to watch you fall apart."

24." i dreamed of you all night"

25. "the things that i want to do to you, baby"

26. i have you shoved against the wall but now i cant stop looking at your mouth.

27. i just told you i like you but now im shy and say, 'never mind, forget it; and why are you looking at me like that?

28. congratulations! one of your dreams has finially come true, let me give you a big hug and wow youre warm

29. "im going to marry you one day"

30. "i was wondering how long you two were going to make out like that before you realize you werent alone."

31. "were you just touching yourself?"

32. "can you please come and get me?"

33. "hey, just look at me, breathe"

34. " you need to eat something."

35. "what happened to you??"

36. "apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together"

37. "cant you see it? the spirit of the dragon is within them"

38."how long have you been covering this?"

39."im way to sober for this."

40. "damn it, why arent you obeying the laws of physics?"

41. "i dont know whats wrong, okay? im just….really tired."

42. "my mind is in a dark place, you dont want to be there."

43."i wasnt born to be soft and quiet. i was born to make the world shatter and shake at my fingertips."

44. "theres a reason im afraid of my own shadow."

45. "their back. i saw them last night, but they wouldnt talk to me and it looked like they had a black eye."

46. "shit, your freezing, lets get you warmed up, alright?"

47. "you cant keep it all inside you know. bottling it up wont do any good"

48. "only a fool would fall in love with someone as deadly as me"

49."sometimes memories are the worst form of tourture."

50. "they were made of ice and glass, but they would risk being broken"

you dont have to request a prompt, just ideas. 

just ask character, au/prompt, gender of reader. any other specifics youd like/need (such as a specific idea, sfw or nsfw. ext)

any underaged character will be aged up

[moonxsuncelestials]

Twisted Wondeland Au Drabble

Making sure no one else is around, Ivory looked over then at Eclipse who gave a nod. Stephen and Li were studying in the library for a test, Poe deciding that he would help given his vast knowledge of their subjects, which gave the twins some time to just be together. Don't get them wrong, both love their brothers dearly but the twins wanted to spend time together.

They hadn't been able to since they came to Night Raven College.

"Let's go on and set up, Ives. Leona shouldn't be in this part of the area and I highly doubt that Rook is going to neglect time with Vil."

Nodding, Ivory set to tuning their violin whilst Eclipse tuned his mandolin. Once set, the duo smiled at each other glad that they took their mother's advice in learning music from their aunt and cousin. Another language, a way for Ivory to get their emotions across ever since their vocal cords were paralyzed from their signature spell back in their teens. "Ready?" He asked.

Nodding, Ivory soon brought up their violin and started to play. Eclipse joined in not too long and before long, Ivory was dancing to their melody. They were so caught up in their song that both siblings didn't realize that they had an audience, in the form of none other than Lilia, Ortho, Epel, Riddle, Deuce, and Ace. Even Leona came to see who was making the racket.

Lilia couldn't help but think to himself of how graceful Ivory was, dancing to the melody of sorrow, conveying their emotions-almost fae-like. It was an amazing event to witness when he realized that these two weren't human at all. Neither fae-these two held draconic features now that he thought about it.

But there was also something dangerous, something far deadlier than what he's witnessed in his lifespan. Just what are these two?

Ortho however was excited watching the two dance to the music they were creating. In fact, he was recording to show Idia later-just to show him what he's missing out on! The twins are just amazing, he even commented on quietly next to Riddle who was observing how quick the two seemed to catch onto the other's emotions. It shouldn't really surprise him, Jade and Floyd were similar and yet, not. No, Ivory and Eclipse were on a whole other level of how intinmate this seemed to be; at least in his eyes. With how Ivory twirled, Eclipse doing tighter turns and the nimbleness of his fingers-just how long did these two practice to become this good?

Leona however had grown tired of the two making so much noise but seeing how Eclipse had caught sight of the group, even he could tell that the other was not going to let him ruin it. And rather than put up a fight, he conceded. Eclipse had proven himself time and time again in the fights over in the dorm that he is not someone the rest of Savanaclaw should underestimate. And Leona held a suspicion that Eclipse was holding back in those fights, something Ruggie had confirmed while trying to figure out just what Eclipse is.

[floral-poisons]

i love your hcs sm!! ive been thinking abt grim a lot so i was wondering if i could have hcs of grim finding out his "henchman" is dating/has a crush on the boys!! or any grim hcs really. im very new to the game but i think hes a cutie and does actually care about the player :) ty in advance and no rush!

hey anon!! i’m so happy you like my head canons especially since my brain focuses more on them than on my schoolwork. i also agree that grim really does care for mc. he’s so adorable and he’s really grown on me since i started playing. i think what really convinced me is a fanart of grim crying and telling yuu to not go which BROKE MY ENTIRE HEART 😫😭 i’m not leaving any time grim i promise.

i’ve excluded the nrc staff since we’re particularly talking about grim and his “henchman” is a student. so student characters only.

DIASOMNIA

malleus draconia

isn’t that the horned guy you ran into one night? why would he take interest in you? it’s not a bad thing! it just seems strange. he’s so intimidating too...

lilia vanrouge

he seems young...and also short. what? i can’t make that comment? he’s not around to hear me anyways...

silver

i like him! he sleeps a lot so he’s a lot less intense than the other guys from diasomnia.

sebek zigvolt

i’m surprised. he seems so...intense. too intense for you. he gets easily excited. well as long as he doesn’t command me, the great grim!, around, then it’s fine.

HEARTSLABYUL

riddle rosehearts

riddle! i mean i guess he’s fine. i’m still mad he put a collar on me during the opening ceremony though.

trey clover

oooo free tarts! free free free free free!! can you ask him to make a chestnut tart for me? it’s still a shame that i couldn’t eat it last time.

cater diamond

ah! not the dude who forced us to paint the roses! you better hope he doesn’t rope me into his dorm business because of you.

ace trappola

as annoying as he is, he’s a good one. i think there’s a good chance for you guys to go the distance. what? i’m supportive.

deuce spade

well he wasn’t exactly my first choice in who i would think goes well with you. i mostly thought ace. but deuce is good too...yeah...

POMEFIORE

vil schoenheit

the head prefect of pomefiore? no no, i’m not mad. i think that’s just a weird choice. he’s also famous so you might have to consider that.

rook hunt

he follows us around! how! he’s frightening sometimes with how often i see him behind our shoulders.

epel felmier

does this mean i can ride his motorcycle? no? awww, why not? you can put in a good rec for me.

SAVANACLAW

leona kingscholar

didn’t he try to cheat in the spelldrive tournament? we lost our opportunity because of him! the whole world on me, shouting, “grim! grim! grim!” ruined!

ruggie bucchi

ruggie? well at least now you can convince him to repay me with that deluxe grilled cheese!

jack howl

jack’s cool. that does mean we can use him for future spelldrive tournaments! well not as a teammate. for training!

OCTAVINELLE

azul ashengrotto

the octopus guy? i don’t know. what if it’s a scam? what if he’s going to ask you for something in return? well i think you’re smart enough to know.

jade leech

his presence frightens me a bit...he just sneaks around doing azul’s bidding. don’t bring any more mushrooms back to the dorm!

floyd leech

you two are dating? then that means you can tell him to stop chasing me. i did not start the fight! are you going to trust me or floyd!

SCARABIA

kalim al-asim

if you’re going on a magic carpet ride then you have to bring me! what do you mean i’m not allowed! >:(

jamil viper

he didn’t hypnotize you right? that’s unethical and also a crime. if he does something i’m ready to fight him with my flames!!

IGNIHYDE

idia shroud

the dude with the flaming hair? really? how can you even understand what he’s saying! well as long as you don’t get burned i’m fine with it.

[rrasado]

Hello Rras-san, if you have a free time, can you please do a TW headcannon request. Please do a headcannon of the dorm leaders meeting GN! MC’s mother, who is similar to Lady Dimitrescu, with the towering height and glowing eyes. I’m curious about what’s their reaction. Thank you and stay safe.

Meet the Mother

I’m also praying for them at this point dkdndj ive only ever seen Lady Dimitrescue in like clips and tiktoks but I know fully well she’d slice me in half.

When they meet your mom

As someone who also has an intimidating mother, he’d likely be less as shaken as the other dorm leaders dkdn. He really has to look up just to meet her gaze and when he does well..he wasn’t sure what the safest option should be

It’s more on how he meets her in my opinion, if it was planned and on purpose then a little mental pep talk would save him BUT, once he comes face to face with her. Boy would he feel tiny. Like an ant or a door mouse I suppose

“I-it’s a pleasure to meet you madam”

Would momentarily forget how to speak given the sudden chill Riddle would feel once his simple gaze locks with glowing orbs but hey he’ll get used to it djdjd

Knowing how much moms can be scary, he’d makes sure to watch what he says with Mc’s mother regardless. Even if she does offer a cup of tea to the redhead.

Leona can easily go both ways but both routes end up with him just- immediately straightening up his posture because hand to god his already tall stature isn’t enough to measure up with MC’s mother.

Oddly enough, the initial fear and intimidation becomes subtly respect and admiration. Unlike in his home where beast women were revered for their strength. Your mom was normal in biology yet..has twice the effect

“Your mom...?. Nice to meet you I guess..”

Don’t take his reluctancy to answer as hesitance, as a beast one should survey their situation, he’s just testing the water and how much exactly he can dip. More so when his senses all seek to hyphen when your mother looks at him with that killing gaze of hers.

Suffice it to say Leona is the second to take it calmly, you’ll know who’s the first later on dkdn. Tho it would explain to him why you yourself have little to no fear in this school.

Azul, is on the caught off guard side, more specifically- he thought and normal height was exclusive to fae and merfolk so hoW TF- please excuse his sudden faltering he needs time to process.

His first instinct is well, treat her like how he treats the tweels...if the tweels were women and stand at an astonishing 9ft height-

“My my it’s quite the prestige to meet you Madam~”

Behind that cover up of an introduction is an irked octo who feels like a guppy and would rather sink in his octopot. He’ll do what he does best and make do with the situation, perhaps he can use this opportunity to his advantage who knows..

What he does know is that, fear and bigger people aren’t only from the depths. Literally.

Kalim Kalim tut tut tut our dear sunshine please calm down- he likely has a habit of, always meeting someone in eye contact, but the one time he regrets this is when he meets gazes with your mom.

When he looked it felt like he was pulled out or something? He’d never admit it but it was like when he was staring at Jamil during his overblot. Except in this case it’s well...normal. And not of danger?

“Nice to meet you! Would you like anything?”

He’ll use his hospitality to make up for whatever initial slip up he’s made so far. There’s something about your mother that makes him wanna..be decent to at the very least. He has good Intuition when the situation calls for it and this was one of those times.

By the end of the day he’ll compliment your mother for the powerful aura she gives off. To which it’s met with an all knowing smile.

Vil, we all know he’s an actor, someone who’s been in the entertainment industry for so long. Which by extension means he’s seen his fair share of extreme things.

But a behemoth woman wasn’t one of them, especially one without effects nor magic nor special blood whatsoever- no no darling he isn’t scared maybe shaken but he uses his skills to put on the charm and try deflecting your mother’s naturally intimidating aura with a charismatic smile.

“It’s quite the honor to meet your presence Miss.”

A dash of charm here and there and you got the two getting along nicely, Vil even using his vast knowledge of beauty cosmetics and ways to intricately form viable compliments to your mother to which she finds amusing.

But when your mother leaves you’ll Shiite literally see him stopping to catch a breathe, it seems keeping up charisma also takes toll on the star. He’ll admit..now he knows here your beauty comes from. But that’s what he hears from rook anyways..

Idia for some reason I’d feel like. He is fuming on the spot not out of fear but more on admiration cause, as common as tall people are in his family assuming his height is from genes. It’s rare to find tall people in the norm.

She really does remind him of a lot of characters from franchises he follows. But his anxiety knows better than to start rambling about the comparison to your ever glowering mother

“H-hi- great seven I c-can’t-“

You’ll have to ease him of his nerves, he really doesn’t know how to handle the feeling because he really is torn between that anxiety and admiration. Better idea to also bring Ortho along if he does meet your mother.

He is tall as well but he still needs to look up and try not to collapse from the glowing gaze and ever amused smirk on your mom’s face. It feels like he’s being looked down on which he literally is but he also doesn’t wanna just run away out of fear of disrespecting her.

Ahhh yes, the unbothered one, well to be specific the “curious” one. MC are you sure you are not part fae or your family having history of one? How peculiar...

In short malleus is the best person to introduce your mother with given how normal he treats her to which your mother finds nice for a change of pace, yes she may still have to look down a bit to meet his gaze but honestly I think malleus has the capacity to make himself taller if it’ll make your mother more comfortable.

“I presume this is much better for us Miss”

A true gentleman through and through. The only reason he isn’t as fazed as the others is because of how much he’s already seen through his lifetime. But still that is not to say your mother is a norm oh no no no far from it in his book.

After all that gaze of hers wasn’t something normal even for him. Perhaps the nice chat you’ll all share will clear things up? Maybe so.

[hangovercurse]

Nothing

Part i of the Without You series: When Colson and Megan break up, the boys count on Y/N to piece Colson back together, which only leads to disaster.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Colson being kind of a dick, cursing, a little bit of aggression/ violence. This one’s definitely angsty.

A/N: This was supposed to be just a one part fic. Then that turned into 2 parts. And then 3. And then all of a sudden I had written 5 parts and over 10,000 words. Enjoy 😊 (also this is v unedited so if you see a mistake... mind ya business)

Word Count: 2084

| ii | iii | iv | v | vi |

masterlist

When you got the text from Rook, you knew it was probably gonna be bad. 

Megan just left him, for good. Not gonna be pretty the next few days so maybe don’t come by anytime soon. 

Your heart broke for your best friend. Colson had been really in love with Megan. And as much as you hated seeing them together for your own personal reasons, you could tell he was really happy. 

Ok. Let me know if you guys need me. If it gets bad I can take Casie for a few days. Take care of him for me pls. 

You and Colson had been friends for years now. You knew almost everything about each other, you told him everything. He let you crash at his place after your ex kicked you out, and you had spent many hours curled up with him, watching stupid movies to distract him from his most recent breakup or mental breakdown. 

But this was different. Colson told you he wanted to marry her at some point, and you knew he wasn’t lying. And you couldn’t blame him. As much as you hated no longer being the only women (other than Casie) in his life, you couldn’t dislike Megan. She was just one of those people who everyone loved. 

The thought of texting Colson crossed your mind, but you weren’t sure if it would hurt or help. From the sound of it, he was a wreck.

So, naturally, you texted Pete. 

Have you talked to Cols yet?

With Colson came Pete, or came you, you weren’t really sure. Somewhere along the way you and Pete had become close friends. He was like the older brother you’d never asked for, and he would probably say something similar about you. 

You couldn’t really explain it, Pete could read you like a book. And because of that, he knew everything. He was the only one to catch on to the way you sometimes looked at Colson for too long, or got irritated when he’d bring a new girl around. 

I’m heading over there right now. You should talk to him.

You rolled your eyes.

Not sure that’s the best idea. You guys are better at handling... all that. Once he gets a little less angry then I’ll take him. 

Pete texted you back a few minutes later.

Thanks for the support, kid. I’ll keep you updated. Just pulled in.

Good luck, Petey.

You tossed your phone on your bed, a sigh leaving your lips. You decided worrying was a problem for another day.

No more than 12 hours later you were getting a phone call from Rook. 

“Dude it’s like 4 in the morning, why are you calling me.” 

“Y/N, we’ve tried everything. He’s locked up in his room and every time one of us tries to talk to him he blows up. Literally he almost punched Slim a few hours ago.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, groaning at the predicament. “So now you want me to come over?” You asked, “What do you think I’m gonna be able to do?”

“Well he’s not gonna try and hit you for one. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s significantly nicer to you than to anyone else.”

“What do I even say to him? “Sorry that the love of your life broke up with you but at least we can smoke pot and watch Spongebob?” I mean come on, man. I’m not good at this.”

“Please.” He pleaded, “We’re all out of options and I can’t stand to see him get any worse than he is.”

You moved off your bed and towards your dresser. “Fine, I’ll be there in 15.” 

You threw on the first pair of sweatpants you could find and slipped on shoes, grabbing your key and heading out the door.

True to your word, you pulled up to the house 15 minutes later, parking on the side of the street and heading straight into the house. When the guys saw you, they visibly brightened up. 

“You guys are such fucking wimps.” You rolled your eyes as you made your way towards the stairs. 

Baze chuckled, “We love you Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes and continued on your way, stopping by Casie’s room to see if she was asleep. To your surprise, she wasn’t. 

“Hey sweet girl,” you whispered as you entered her room, “why are you still up?”

She smiled a little when she saw you. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m really worried about Dad.” 

You leaned on her doorframe, sending her a sad smile. “I am too. But he’ll be okay. Your dad’s pretty tough.”

“I know,” she sighed, “but he really liked Megan.”

“Did you?” You ask, trying to gauge her emotions. 

“I mean, I guess so. She was nice to me. Most of his girlfriends aren’t that nice to me.” 

“That’s a pretty shitty way to measure if you like someone or not.” She giggles at that. “Don’t tell your dad I said that word in front of you.”

“Ok. She was nice. And she made him happy so, yeah, I guess I liked her. Not as much as I like you but...” Casie’s voice got higher as she dragged out the last word and you just rolled your eyes with a chuckle. 

Casie had this fantasy of you and Colson getting married one day, but you always told her it would never happen. 

“Ok kiddo, whatever you say.” You teased her, “try and get some sleep, okay?” 

She nodded with a smile. “Are you gonna go talk to Dad?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, okay? If you need to come over and talk or stay the night or anything just call me, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” She said quietly. 

“Love you too, Case.”

You shut the door to her room, moving down the hallway to Colson’s door. You took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare for what was about to happen, and knocked. 

“I told you guys to go the fuck away.” A muffled yet angry voice said from the opposite side of the door.

“It’s me, Cols. Y/N.” You said, hoping he could hear you. 

When you got no response you asked, “Can I come in?” 

A few more seconds of silence followed, and then the lock clicked and the door opened. You stood face-to-face with your best friend. His hair was a mess, falling in his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than ever, and the frown he wore made him look even more pathetic. You felt your heart breaking. 

As you met his eyes, you gave him a sad smile. “Hey Cols.” 

Instead of responding, he wrapped his arms around you, leaning down and resting his head on your shoulder. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. 

He started walking backwards, pulling you with him as he continued to hug you. One of his hands pushed the door shut and he sat on his bed, finally letting go of you. 

You looked down at him, grabbing his hand and holding it in your own. It was something you had done before, you two were very touchy people and so half of your friendship was just you two cuddling or play fighting or holding hands.

“So we can do one of three things,” you started, “We can talk about it, we can cuddle and watch something stupid and pretend nothing’s wrong, or we can get high and do something stupid.”

For the first time in what you would imagine to be all night, Colson smiled. it was a very small smile, but you took it. 

He looked up at you through his eyelashes. “And by stupid you mean...”

You rolled your eyes, “I mean we can go set off bottle rockets in the backyard or try to jump off your roof and into the pool.” 

“Oh damn. I was hoping you were gonna say you would suck my dick.” 

Your eyes widened at his bluntness and the implication. You shoved his shoulder, “Colson! That’s gross!” You giggled, but his expression was unwaveringly serious. 

“I’m being serious.” He deadpanned and you furrowed your eyebrows. 

“Colson what the fuck?” Your mind was spinning trying to figure out if he was joking. 

You got your answer when he stood up, grabbing your waist and leaning over you. “I thought you’d want to...” 

You took in a breath at the sudden proximity, trying to back away from him but his grip remaining firmly on your waist. “Colson, stop. Please. This isn’t funny.” 

You could smell the alcohol on his breath and you had to keep reminding yourself of that fact. He’s drunk, and sad, and doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

“I thought you’d want to, cause it’ll make me happy. And you’ll do anything to make me happy.” One of his hands reached up and grabbed your jaw, making sure you couldn’t look away.

“Colson you’re being a fucking weirdo, let me go.” You raised your voice. Your heart was racing at this point and the thoughts flowing around your head were not pretty. 

You were always anxious for the day he’d figure you out. When he’d finally realize how you felt for him. But this was worse than anything you’d thought of. 

“You’ll do anything to make me happy because you love me, right?” 

You felt tears stinging in your eyes, wanting nothing more but to look away from his sinister expression. The way he was looking at you made it very clear that he was enjoying your discomfort, your embarrassment. 

“Colso-” 

He walked forwards, pushing you gently against the wall. His arms went to either side of you, his face inches from yours. You tried to look away, but his hand on your jaw forced you to face him.

Any other time you would have loved for Colson to pin you against his wall, but this was wrong. 

“Just say it. Say you’re in love with me, and I’ll drop it.” 

“Colson, what the fuck are you on right now?” You tried to steer the topic away from you, but he wouldn’t have it. 

“Say it.” 

You reached up to try and push his chest away from you, but he was much taller and stronger than you, so you did nothing. 

“Just tell me!” He yelled at your silence. A tear slipped down your cheek as you trembled under him. His face was red and his eyes were watering. 

 “Why are you doing this?” You whispered. This all felt like a bad dream, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. 

“Because I need to know if she was right.” His voice got a little quieter, but he still wouldn’t move away from you. “I need to know if the reason the love of my fucking life just left me is true.”

You were shaking, your breaths getting shorter. “What are you talking about.” Your words were choked. The grip on your jaw started to get a little too tight.

“I defended you!” He yelled, tears falling from his face. “She told me that you were in love with me and I defended you.”

“Colson you’re hurting me.” You whined, trying to wriggle your way out of his grasp. He ignored your statement and continued talking, but his grip loosened slightly.

“And then she told me that she thinks I’m in love with you.” His voice was getting darker. “And that’s why she left. So I want to make it very clear to you.” He paused, leaning closer to your ear. “I will never love you. Ever. Not now, not in a million lifetimes. You mean nothing to me.”

Your vision was blurry from your tears, so you blindly reached out to push him away from you. His body seemed to have given up, as he moved backwards out of your way, stumbling slightly. Through your tears you could make out a smug smile on the man before you ran out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

You ran down the stairs, the guys waiting for you to give them good news, but their hope turned to concern once they saw you. You walked straight past them towards the door, not trusting yourself to say anything without breaking completely.

As you reached for the door handle you heard a faint yell from upstairs, followed by loud banging, and then silence. You sniffled, turning the handle and leaving the house, much to the protest of your friends.

[aureolusfirewrites]

Guess what bitch is back with another chapter of her halloween in February story

Veined in Black

Chapter 2

/Oct. 30/

Rook went down the halls of Plumber headquarters to Ben's room. Ben hadn't shown up for patrol today and Rook was starting to feel nervous. Now Ben normally was late, but even so there was usually a text saying why. He didn't get one of those today though, and Ben also didn't respond when Rook had tried repeatedly to call him. 

Rook stopped in front of the door and let it scan his badge. He was one of the few people that had an override to Ben's door. It slid open and Rook went inside. Nothing out of place... 

"Ben? Are you here?" 

"Mnnm" a sleepy groan came from the back of the room. 

Rook let out a sigh of relief. Ben was laying in his bed with his blankets so twisted around he looked like he might be tangled in them. "Ben you need to get up we have patrol today." 

"Huh? What? Oh- yeah okay gettin up" Ben's voice groaned. Rook watched his partner roll off his cot wrapping himself up again while doing so. Rook sat down and waited while Ben groggily got ready for the day. 

Rook knew Ben had a rough day yesterday between the murder clown costume and the ectonurite but his partner looked so out of it right now.

After a few minutes Ben trudged out of the bathroom rubbing his eyes with his hair still uncombed but with new clothes on. "Alright I'm all set" Ben said stopping to yawn. 

"Are you sure you are good for today you seem tired" Rook's uneasy feeling didn't leave. "Pssh, Rook I'm always tired, just a little more so today I'm fine really let's go!" Rook nodded and sighed. Ben would plow himself into the ground before admitting to being to tired for work.

They stepped out in the hallway and started walking towards the hangar where Rook had the proto-truk parked. The plumbers base had the lights dimmed to give it more of a "spooky halloween setting" but Rook was pretty much convinced that it was an excuse not to have such a high electricity bill. 

Rook buckled up in the driver's seat and glanced over to Ben. The small hero was staring into space it was- in all honesty- disturbing. His eyes were locked in front of him staring out the windshield like he was sleeping with his eyes open as if he wasn't really in his head but rather far away. 

He turned the truck on revving it to life and Ben snapped back to reality shaking his head and rubbing his hands through his hair. "Are you sure you are good?" He was getting concerned now. "Yeah I'm f- fine" Ben stuttered slightly. 

Rook drove out of the hangar onto the streets of Bellwood. It was beautiful out the sun was shining brightly and- and Ben recoiled at it. He let out a small groaned hiss and curled up slightly when it lit up the cabin of the vehicle. But just as soon as it happened he was able to shake it off. 

Ben watched out the window for a long time. They passed a few halloween stores. Despite Ben's generous efforts he wouldn't let his partner lead him in one. Rook was used to it by now, having Ben offer to take him somewhere that he knew would cause him mental harm simply for the fact that Rook hadn't been there. 

"Hey Rook, what are you gonna be?" Ben spoke up after passing yet another costume shop. "Pardon?" "Y'know for the plumber's halloween eclipse party" Ben said. 

"Hm I did not know that I was in need of a costume" Rook knew that humans traditionally dressed up as various things for the holiday but the plumbers party wasn't a costume party as far as he knew.

"It's not about if you need one Rook" Ben said with a smile "it's about fun and dressing up just for the hell of it." Rook couldn't help but smile back. "And what may I ask kind of costume would I even wear to said party?" Ben looked in deep thought for a moment before he spoke. "Hm well I don't know but I bet even seeing you out of your armor counts as a costume for you" His partner made a snorting noise and broke into laughter. Rook grinned and shook his head. 

Ben's laughter broke off into moaning. Rook slowed down as Ben put his hand to his forehead. Ben started falling forward slightly his head hitting the dashboard. "Ben!" He pulled over and looked to his partner.

"Ben what is wrong what is happening?" Ben shook his head. "Ugh I- I dunno Rook my head feels like it's gonna explode but also feels like I'm not really in it."  Rook's frown deepened "maybe we should take you to the med bay at plumber HQ" Rook suggested not liking how Ben was reacting. "No, I'm fine Rook really be- besides it doesn't hurt as much now. I think I'm just tired" Ben said slowly taking his hand away from his forehead and easing back into his chair. 

The hero wasn't exaggerating on one thing though. Ben looked beyond tired. Ben normally had bags under his eyes but now, now they looked horrible and they were darker than he thought any human's should be, and Ben's skin had gone from his normal tan to an unhealthy pale. It was so drastic it almost looked fake. 

Ben must've picked up on Rook's frustration with his blatant disregard for his own health because once again Ben was smirking. "Nice to see you actually care bout me though partner." A healthy pink blush spread across his sickly pale skin along with his smile. 

Rook felt his own flustered blush underneath his fur. "Of course I care about your well-being although you do not make my job at doing so any easier." The red on Ben's face grew up his ears. 

'You are sure that you do not need to go to med bay?" Ben opened his mouth then clamped it shut before saying, "Yeah I'm sure Rook, don't worry I'm just tired. How bout this I'll sleep and you find a costume or something." Rook realized Ben was going to try and push him away unless he had an excuse. "And what do you have prepared for a costume?" Ben's smile grew especially wide. "Don't worry about a thing Rook I've got it all covered." 

Rook rubbed his hand over his face "That is what I am afraid of."

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

Ben had no idea why he felt so crummy. He thought maybe it might be because he hit his head the other day but that couldn't be right, he had taken harder hits than that and always got back fine. Plus the feeling in his head was odd. 

It felt like his adhd was trying to take over his entire head. Sure he spaced out sometimes but this was like he was watching things happen from in his own mind and all the extra space inside was filled with static. He didn't feel entirely in control of himself like maybe he was just sharing his body with something but whatever dots he tried to connect got all blurred and fuzzy before he could come to a conclusion. 

"Ben I am serious. Are you sure you do not want me to stay with you?" No. "Yeah I'm sure it's alright dude just chill out Ive been home alone before besides my dorm is in the plumber base" Rook gave him a skeptical look "Alright I see your point. Sure plumber base isn't the most... Secure place but I've been staying there for months now I'm sure it'll be fine. Besides nothing's gonna get the drop on Ben 10!" 

Ben got to his room and Rook took one last glance at him before letting the door shut. 'He's so cute when he's worried' a sleepy thought broke through his daze. 

Ben yawned and stretched before popping a few tylenol tablets in his mouth. He shook the bottle and it made a hollow noise. 'Hm running low on tylenol...' he'd have plenty of time for that later right now he wanted one thing. Sleep. 

He flopped onto his bed still wearing his clothes he really didn't care at this point. Normally it took a while for him to fall asleep but tonight it came easy. He thanked the sky above for that. 

Soon he would learn to eat those words.

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

'Thump'

The teenager's body hit the ground solidly and he walked over to a mirror. Looking in it what stared back at him was a pale face with a wicked smirk and dark pits of eyes. 

He threw his head back and in a raspy voice he cackled out a maniacal laugh. 

"Nothing can keep Ben 10 down indeed."

[jacksonroseroth]

Broken Glass Chapter 4

A/N: So I’ll be honest...I thought my cringe ass song was in this chapter and I refused to post it until my Beta could get her hands on it...Also Covid sucks dick and I’ve been struggling and had no desire or inspiration. SO SORRY IT HAS TAKEN THIS LONG BUT I PROMISE IT’S WORTH IT! <3

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/domestic, mentions of blood, mentions of surgery

Words: 4,333

Moodboard made by me, none of the pictures are mine

~

Previous Chapter

~

“Eric.” Harlow sassed, bringing his attention to her.

“Glad to see you haven’t changed, Harley,” Eric said with a smirk. Harlow made a face at him as he looked back to Rose.

“What are you doing here, Eric?” Rose managed to get out. She took a step away from him. Already, she felt his hands on her again; Hitting, punching, slapping. Her stomach twisted into knots, remembering the pain, and her arms and legs went numb. Cradling her injured hand against her chest. Her other hand felt across the table for her glass, in case she needed to defend herself, instead, she found Colson’s hand and gripped it.

Eric glanced at Harlow and snickered. Looking at Rose once more, he said, “You should tell your girl to stay off the internet if you don’t want to be found.”

Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes as she winced. Just his eerie calm voice was as bad as being slapped around as his voice was permanently accompanied by the painful and all too real flashbacks. When he saw her flinch, Colson stood, quickly, putting an arm around her.

“You should fuck off if you don’t want to lose your fucking teeth.” Colson threatened. Eric chuckled. Rook stood at the same time Colson did and switched places with Harlow. Both him and Mod could sense this could end up in a fight and Rook knew, if Colson didn’t throw the first punch, he’d sure as shit throw the second. Rook stood at the end of the table and watched while Mod kept close to Harlow, ready to pull her away.

“What, you’re with this kid now? This skinny little punk?” Eric laughed. “You downgraded real bad, babe.”

“Oh, yeah?!-” Colson pushed forward but Rose pushed back as she said, “Anyone is an upgrade from you, Eric. And it’s really none of your business if I’m with him or anyone else.”

“Oh, honey, you are so delusional.” Eric scoffed.

“Hey. Aaron?” Colson started. Eric’s cold gaze shot up to Colson and narrowed.

“It’s Eric.” He corrected.

“Whatever. She isn’t interested so back off, yeah?” Colson said. Eric merely smirked and chuckled.

“He’s right, Eric. Leave me alone. Go back to Nevada and stay there.” Rose said. Harlow relaxed and reached out to touch Rook’s arm, silently telling him to sit and it was okay. He slid into Harlow’s former seat as Rose turned away from Eric, done with the conversation. Only Eric wasn’t quite there yet.

“Jesus, Rose. Are you off your fucking meds again?” Eric shot. Harlow lunged, trying to reach across the table to throttle him, but Mod was quicker and grabbed her waist to keep her seated. Rook was still alert as well and grabbed Harlow’s arms to push her back as well. Rose froze and Colson looked between them, waiting to see what she would do. Slowly, Rose turned to him, it now her turn for the ice cold glare. Eric smirked and added, “I think you remember what happened last time…”

Harlow pushed the men off her as her focus and concern were now on Rose, who stood cold and silent, staring down her ex. When Eric chuckled again, Rose snapped. Her right hand shot out and connected, hard, with Eric’s cheek and jaw, sending him to the ground. The surrounding patrons gasped and turned to watch the exchange as Rose pushed him onto his back with her foot, then pressed it against his neck.

“Go back. To Nevada. Fucking. Stay there. And leave. Me. Alone.” Rose hissed at him. All four of them were shocked, Harlow especially, and they were stunned into silence. Colson was the first to break when he saw the droplets of blood dripping off her injured hand.

“Shit. Rose, we have to go.” Colson said, gently cupping and lifting her hand up, pulling her away from Eric. At Colson’s touch, Rose hissed and turned, startled by the sudden pain and the blood seeping through the bandage.

“You bust the stitches. Babe, you need to go to the hospital, now.” Harlow said, stepping over Eric as he lay on the ground, holding his face. Rose was in too much shock to do anything other than nod and allow both Harlow and Colson to lead her outside, Mod and Rook following.

~

Harlow sped toward the hospital with Mod not far behind. Rose gave Harlow the keys and let Colson help her into the back seat, climbing in after her. When they all spilled into the ER, Harlow had worked herself into a frenzy and wasn’t allowed to be back with Rose to wait for the doctor. Mod and Rook attempted to calm her down, and sober her up, while Colson stayed with Rose in the room.

While she got hooked up to monitors and IVs, a nurse came in with an oxygen mask and a tank while her hand was unbandaged, cleaned up, and Harlow’s stitchery removed.

“Here, hun. Take a few deep breaths.” The nurse said, fitting the mask over her face. Rose laid back and did as she was told. After three deep breaths, the nurse removed the mask and left as the doctor started inspecting her hand.

“So, Miss...Jesper. How did this happen?” The doctor asked, pulling bits of glass out that Rose missed the first time. Rose smirked.

“Tonight or how I fucked it up in the first place?” Rose asked. The doctor gave her a look and a small smirk before he said, “Both.”

“I put my hand through a window yesterday,” Rose explained. “And tonight I punched out my ex.”

“Ah. I see.” The doctor said, trying not to chuckle. “Has this happened before?”

“My ex? Yeah.” She said with a half shrug. “My hand through a window? No. Before it was my knee.”

“Have you considered anger management?” The doctor asked with a smirk. Rose chuckled and glanced at him. Shifting in the bed, she said, “Thought about it.”

“I would suggest thinking about it a little more. The stitches were done well, but this type of wound can get infected fairly easily.” the doctor said. Rose nodded and said, “I’ve had good luck so far. Though I haven’t had to stitch myself up in a few years.”

The doctor continued on but Rose tuned him out, having heard it all before. She glanced at Colson and gave him a soft smile. He returned it and scooted his chair a little closer. Leaning on the railing of the bed, he asked softly, “You okay? Need to hold my hand?”

Rose smirked and Colson chuckled. “If it will make you feel better.” She sassed him, holding out her hand to him. Colson snickered and put his hand through the rail and took her hand, sitting back and pulling out his phone while he waited. Rose chuckled softly and turned to watch the doctor finish cleaning out the wounds.

“Alright, this might hurt a little. If it’s too much, let me know and I’ll have the nurse come back with the laughing gas, okay?” The doctor said. Rose nodded and watched as he threaded the needle but turned away when he started stitching. Her grip on Colson’s hand tightened a little, but it was enough to make him turn away from his phone, leaning toward her.

“You good?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Rose asked. “It’s just a hell of a lot better when I can chug a bottle.”

Colson chuckled and said, “Isn’t everything?”

With a chuckle, Rose nodded and closed her eyes, wincing every now and then from the pain. A small smirk formed on Colson’s face as he shoved his phone into his pocket and rested his chin on the rail, giving her arm a soft squeeze with his other hand. Rose blinked open her eyes and smiled at him as the gas finally sent her to Loopyville. Seeing him resting his chin on the railing, it made it easier for Rose to pull her hand from his then reach up and boop his nose lightly, making her give a giddy giggle. Colson snickered and shook his head as Rose took his hand again.

“You are something else, girl.” Colson chuckled. Rose shrugged and said, “I’m like a box of chocolates, baby. Never know what you’re gonna get.”

“Okay, Forest.” Colson teased, sending them both into a giggle fit.

“Listen. I can be cute and fun when I’m not high...Being high just makes me more cuddly and affectionate and goofy and shit.” Rose said. “It is not my fault if you choose to be present during a taste test, okay?”

Colson snorted and stifled a loud laugh, pressing his face into his arm. Rose smirked and shifted, glancing back over at her hand. The doctor had finished stitching her up and wrapped her hand. As he cleaned up the bloody bandages, the doctor said, “Alright, this needs to be changed twice a day, in the morning when you wake up and at night before bed. Twice daily for about a week, then once a day for another two. After the first two weeks, I’ll want to see you again to make sure it’s healing properly. In the meantime, keep an eye on it, try not to get the bandages too wet, though you can take them off to shower. If anything changes or gets worse give us a call and we’ll bring you back.”

“Sounds good. Am I good to go?” Rose asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and pulling her hand from Colson’s.

“I'm also going to write you a prescription for some antibiotics. Just in case, so we can stop any infection before it starts.” The doctor said, quickly scribbling on a pad before entering the request in the computer. Rose took the piece of paper he handed her and stood, immediately stumbling and almost met the floor. Colson was quick and grabbed her by her waist, helping her stand and keeping her close. As the dizziness registered and showed no signs of leaving, Rose clung to him with a soft groan, pressing half her face into his chest.

“I was going to say take it easy because the gas can disorient you for a while, but I think you’ve figured it out.” The doctor said with a chuckle. He looked at Colson and asked, “You can get her home safely?”

Colson nodded and said, “Yes, sir. Don’t worry, she’s not driving tonight.”

The doctor chuckled and smiled. “Good. You two have a good rest of the night.”

Colson walked Rose out to the waiting room to meet up with Harlow, Mod, and Rook. They had gotten Harlow calmed down and she now sipped on a cup of hospital coffee, sitting between the men with her head on Rook’s shoulder. She perked up when she saw Colson walk out and waved them over. Colson steered Rose over to them and Harlow stood.

“What’d the doctor say?” Harlow asked, gingerly taking Rose’s hand to inspect it.

“Said your stitching was good,” Rose mumbled, with a light series of giggles. Harlow raised an eyebrow, noticing the slurred tone, and looked to Colson.

“Laughing gas.” Colson clarified, seeing the question on Harlow’s face. She then nodded and asked, this time directed to Colson, “So, what did he say?”

“Change the bandages twice a day for a week, once a day for two weeks after, if it doesn’t heal all the way,” Colson said. He took the paper from Rose and handed it to Harlow. “He prescribed her antibiotics in case of infection.”

“Alright. Jesus, girl, you’re a mess.” Harlow teased, taking Rose from Colson’s side. The gas had hit Rose hard and now she could hardly keep her eyes open. With Rose’s head resting on her shoulder, Harlow put an arm around her as they headed to the pharmacy for her pills. Afterward, as they walked through the parking lot, Harlow dug the keys out of her pocket and unlocked the truck.

“Come on, babe. Up you go.” Harlow said softly to Rose, as she and Colson helped her into the passenger seat. Once she was in, Colson buckled her while Harlow thanked him, then turned to Mod and Rook. She smiled at them before she hugged Mod. “Thanks for inviting us out. We had fun.”

“No problem,” Mod said, giving her a secret smile, one Harlow returned. “We did too. I’m glad I got to see you perform...Kind of.”

Harlow chuckled and said, “Whenever I get to be in front of a crowd and sing, I always perform.”

Mod chuckled and they planned out future sessions before Harlow moved on to Rook to say goodbye, privately, and Mod left to get his car. During her goodbyes, Colson stayed by the door with Rose.

“How are you feeling?” Colson asked with a soft chuckle. Rose looked up at him and a goofy smile crossed her face, making Colson snicker.

“I’m fucking tired,” Rose muttered. Colson smirked and pushed her hair out of her face, gently curling it around her ear.

“You’ll be home before you know it.” Colson assured. “Text me in the morning so I know you didn’t die, okay? Will you remember?”

Rose rolled her eyes and smirked, pushing his face away. Colson snickered, moving her hand and leaning a little closer again as she gave a soft chuckle and said, “Yes, I’ll remember. I’m not gonna die, you psycho.”

Colson licked his lips lightly and smirked, giving a shrug. “Okay, maybe I want to talk to you tomorrow...So, text me, yeah?” He said a little softer. Rose smiled at him, reaching up to give his collar a soft tug.

“I’ll text you,” Rose said back, her eyes flickering to his lips for a moment. Behind him, Harlow cleared her throat, suddenly and loud, making Colson take a step back and turn to her. Though Harlow wasn’t eavesdropping as both her and Rook rounded the car; Harlow wiping the corners of her mouth and Rook stood behind her, smirking as he adjusted himself. Colson smirked and said a soft, ‘Good night’ to Rose before closing the door.

“Thank you, Colson, for your help tonight. I’m, uh, sorry all this shit happened.” Harlow said as she hugged him goodbye.

“Nah, it’s all good. Shit happens. I’m just glad she’s okay and that bitch didn’t try anything.” Colson said. Harlow shook her head.

“No, he wouldn’t have. He talks big but he wouldn’t do anything in public.” Harlow said. Not wanting Colson to pry any further, she added, “I need to get her in bed. Um, I’ll see you next week at the studio.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you. Drive safe!” Colson called as he and Rook stepped back from the car, heading to Mod’s as he pulled up. Both men climbed into the car and Mod waited until Harlow had backed out and pulled away before taking off as well.

“So...How’d you make out...Rook?” Mod asked with a smirk, looking at the drummer in the rearview mirror. Colson chuckled and glanced back at his friend. Rook smirked and shrugged.

“What? Harlow’s hot. Can you blame me? You brought her out for me, didn’t you?” Rook asked, with a smirk. Both Mod and Colson ragged on him while Mod pulled out onto the street and headed to Colson’s.

~

Once Harlow was on the road, she glanced at a drugged-up Rose and said, “Hey. Still with me?”

“I’m here. I’m fine. I just want to sleep.” Rose grumbled. Harlow chuckled and said, “Just making sure.”

The rest of the car ride was quiet. In Rose’s inebriated state, getting her inside and in bed by herself was a struggle for Harlow. But she managed and once Rose was tucked in bed, Harlow was also quick to crash, falling into a deep, alcohol-induced sleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

~

Thankfully, Rose slept through the rest of the night, only waking when the sun on her face was too hot for her. Groaning, Rose pulled herself out of bed and over to the patio doors, angrily pulling the curtains shut. Through the grogginess and half-open eyes, Rose shuffled back to her bed, flopping down on it with a sigh. She laid there for a moment then blinked her eyes open before rolling over to swipe her phone from the nightstand.

She was grateful to see Harlow had plugged it in before crashing and pleasantly surprised to see a text from Colson. It brought a half-smile to life on her face before she did her usual morning social media check-in before she opened her messages, responding to a few before she opened Colson’s.

Survive the night? ;) It read. Rose chuckled and checked the time stamp, seeing it read 9:40, before checking her own clock. It was only 11:30, so it wasn’t too late for her to feel bad about missing it.

What happened to ‘text me in the morning’? Couldn’t wait, could you? :P Rose replied. She set her phone aside then forced herself out of bed again, going to her bathroom to wash off her makeup from last night. When she came back to her phone, it lit up with Colson’s response. She smiled, lightly, as she opened it.

Too obvious? Ha. I wanted to check on you. How’s the hand?

Numb and throbbing. Rose chewed her lip before sending an additional text. So, everything after the punch is kind of fuzzy...I didn’t do anything when I was high off the laughing gas, did I?

You don’t remember? That’s fucking gold! Color bloomed on Rose’s cheeks.

Oh, fuck. What did I do? What did I say?! Rose groaned and dropped her phone on the bed, covering her face as she turned and fell back onto the mattress. She laid there until her phone vibrated next to her.

It’s nothing bad, babe. Just fucking funny.

Are you gonna tell me or let me lay here in shame?

There was a weird Forrest Gump reference and you...You fucking booped my nose.

“Oh, God!” Rose cried, covering her face again. She let out a groan before she responded.

Wow. Cool. Um, excuse me while I go light myself on fucking fire?! She sighed softly before she sent, I’m so sorry. I’m weird when I’m high, but laughing gas or anesthesia is out of my hands.

Nah, nah. You’re good. It definitely lightened the mood...And now I need to see you high XD

Yeah, that’s more of a fifth hangout kind of thing. You need to handle me sober first.

Baby. I handled you during a panic attack and laughing gas. I think I’m good.

Jesus Christ. I forgot about the panic attack. Colson, I am so sorry you had to see all that shit. Rose groaned and shoved her face in her pillow. Laying there for a few moments, Rose turned back over when her phone buzzed again.

Rose, chill. I’ve seen worse. You were tame compared to the wild shit I’ve seen. A small smile spread across her lips as she read Colson’s second text. You don’t have anything to apologize for. You didn’t know it would happen. Don’t trip, boo.

Rose let out a slow, calm sigh as she tried to convince her anxiety that everything was okay. Before she could respond, Colson sent his last text.

Hey, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tonight! Rose was honestly relieved to stop texting him, at least for the moment, before she said something stupid. It was also perfect timing as Harlow knocked once on the door before opening it. Walking in with two bags in her hands, and a drink in one, Harlow plopped down on Rose’s bed as her best friend watched her.

“Can I help you?” Rose asked with a light chuckle.

“What? I heard you rumbling around in here. I knew you were up.” Harlow said with a smirk. She handed Rose a bag once she locked her phone, set it aside, and shifted into a more comfortable spot.

“What is it?” Rose asked, taking the bag.

“Breakfast. Shut up and eat. You need it.” Harlow said, taking a bagel with cream cheese out from her own bag, tearing the paper off, and ripping into it. Rose chuckled and dug into the food, her stomach suddenly coming to life and growling.

“So, fill me in?” Rose asked in between mouthfuls. Harlow raised an eyebrow. “I remember almost fucking nothing after punching Eric.”

Harlow shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I drove like a bat outta hell to the hospital. That’s about all I know.”

“You weren’t with me when I got my hand stitched up?” Rose asked. When Harlow shook her head, Rose said, “I honestly don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing…”

“Why? Did you do something with Colson? Did you say something particularly...Saucey?” Harlow asked with a half-smirk, lifting her drink to sip it. Rose let out a soft laugh before she said, “Well, according to Colson, I said my box of chocolates line and booped him on the nose-Harlow!”

Harlow snorted then spit out her sip, spraying Rose with iced coffee. She then proceeded to roll on the bed, choking and laughing. Rose grabbed the napkins from her bag and wiped the coffee off as she rolled her eyes.

“Ha ha. Yuk it up, bitch. I’m fucking mortified.” Rose said. With a final and loud cough, as she wiped her eyes, Harlow sat up, still snickering.

“Oh, God...Rosie...Tell me you didn’t? Oh, that’s so fucking funny! Damn, I wish I was in there for that.” Harlow laughed.

“Yeah. Me too. Then I probably wouldn’t have done it.” Rose said, balling up the napkins and tossing them in her trash. She sat back as she finished off the rest of her bagel. Harlow’s tittering soon quieted and tried again to take a drink.

“You talked to him already today?” Harlow asked. Rose nodded and said, “The one fucking thing I remember...Did he ride home with us?”

Harlow shook her head, licking cream cheese off her thumb, and said, “No. But he was talking to you at the car before we left. And he rode with us to the hospital.”

Rose nodded and said, “That must have been it. I remember he said he wanted me to text him this morning. I text him and said I didn’t really remember much...And that’s what he told me.”

“I think you may have outdone yourself, Rose. And you did some weird shit in Nevada.” Harlow said, ripping into her second bagel.

“Under the influence of weed, alcohol, and/or your psycho ass. Not laughing gas.” Rose said, shooting her a look. Harlow smirked and shrugged.

“I mean, he text you back. Was he weirded out by it?” Harlow asked.

“No,” Rose said with a soft sigh, sitting back against her headboard. “He said he’s seen worse, but that doesn’t stop me from being embarrassed.”

“So be embarrassed, babe. If you don’t have to see him until next week, I’m sure it’ll fade over the week.” Harlow said. With a smile forming on her face, she added, “Besides, you need to focus. In about 2 hours, Jackson Rose Studios will be open and you will officially and finally have your own studio.”

Rose smiled and gave a soft sigh. “Yeah. But I’m not calling it Jackson Rose Studios. I’ve got to have something catchier.”

“Well, like what? Jackson Rose is you.” Harlow said.

“I know. And that was fine when I was freelancing. But this is a real, honest to God studio. It has to attract people.” Rose said.

“What did you want to go for?” Harlow asked as she cleaned up their breakfast trash. Rose shrugged.

“I don’t know? First thing I thought of was Bloom Studios. I want to keep the floral thing.” She said.

“I like that! What not go with that?” Harlow offered.

“It was the first thing I thought of. I want to weigh all options before I choose.” Rose said, grabbing a notebook from her nightstand and writing down a few possible names, then crossing them out.

“You said you wanted the sign up by next Friday,” Harlow said. Rose’s head shot up and she glared at her briefly.

“I’m aware, thank you. That’s why I’m freaking out now. I need the name for you to come up with a design before we bring it to a sign shop. All within a week?” Rose sighed, pushing the notebook away.

“Dude, relax. I can come up with a few designs in an hour and a half. You think about the name and get dressed. We need to go shopping after we get the keys and I need new pencils and paints. I wanna hit the Michaels in Beachwood before we get the keys. So, let’s move it!” Harlow cried, slipping off Rose’s bed and skipping out the door. Rose shook her head and sighed before scooting off the bed and peeling off last night’s clothes as she went to her closet. It was going to be a long day, full of walking and, no doubt, moving crap into the studio. She tugged on a flowy top and wiggled into a pair of leggings. After stuffing her curls into a bun, she slipped on her sandals and grabbed her phone and keys, snagging her sunglasses as she left.

“Whose car are we taking?” Rose called from the kitchen, slipping both her phone and wallet into the side pockets of her leggings and filled one of her cups with water.

“We’re going to storage. So, unless you want me to keep driving your car…” Harlow called back as she came down the hall.

“I can still drive,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes. Harlow shrugged and went to the closet to grab her shoes.

“Alright, then let’s go,” Harlow said with a big smile.

~

Hope you guys liked it. If you want to be added to my taglist for this and/or future MGK/Colson stories, let me know! If you have any comments, feel free!

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[regrettablewritings]

I, u, y for bodhi rook please!

As the words process in my mind, a tear rolls upon my cheek . . .

Could it be? I dare wonder. An lo: It is.

He has returned, after so far away in time . . .

I = Impression (What was their first impression?):

Well, he certainly wasn’t what you had expected, that was for sure. Defecting from the Empire was no easy feat, even for somebody as unassuming as a delivery pilot. To the enemy, every literal body counted — even if only to assure complete dominance over the individual. So when you had learned that one of their own had not only detected, but potentially played key in helping to locate Galen Erso?

You couldn’t help it: Your imagination went wild. You imagined someone big and strong, teeth gritting from years of pent up anger towards the unjust causes of the tyranny spreading across the galaxy.

What you got was a scrawny, sheepish, possibly traumatized (thanks, Saw, you absolute nerf-herder) slip of a man who seemed to be afraid of taking up any space he happened to exist in. It was...disappointing to say the least. But you had to commend him regardless for defecting and even surviving Saw, and there was no gain in looking down on him.  

And then came the Scarif mission.

Nobody had expected him to go -- well, nobody was excpected to go, given that the Alliance Council turned down Erso’s idea, but least of all you expected him to be willing to go and do it. You expected the blind guy to go sailing off to a certified death mission before you did this guy! And honestly, that had you worried for him. Unfulfilled expectations or not, he wasn’t someone who had incurred your ire or even your indifference; you may not have gotten the chance to actually know him beyond a few words exchanged during the very brief time he’d been on base (“Welcome to the right side.” “Uh, y-yes . . . Thank you . . .”), but he certainly didn’t strike you as someone who needed to go on this type of outing. Enough people died unnecessarily in this damned war . . .

To learn, eventually, that he wasn’t one of them was therefore all the more shocking to you.

While the mission to steal the Death Star blueprints had been successful, it clearly didn’t come easy. Everyone who had survived had been wounded to some degree, with Captain Andor appearing to receive the worst of it as he was carted off to the infirmary. Bodhi, to your relief, wasn’t especially harmed. Roughed up, certainly, and clearly shaken from the experience, but that didn’t change what you now knew for certain: Bodhi Rook, this timid bean pole of a defector, was one of the bravest men you had the pleasure of knowing existed.

Even though he apparently was intimidated by you when you two first met. Granted, everyone intimidated him: He had just went AWOL with the government he’d been employed by, he was “taken in” by people whom he’d been taught by propaganda to fear and be distrustful in, he was still trying to regain his frazzled sanity after being interrogated by that . . . that thing, and he’d just witnessed his home get bombed. Needless to say, the anxious-by-nature man was simply not in an especially welcoming mood.

Still, he tried to be civilized (maybe because he feared getting beat up if he didn’t). He wasn’t sure what to say in response to your, er, “greeting” when you hustled up war-battered clothes besides an awkward thank you. He really wasn’t sure what to make of you that would separate you from his overall feelings towards nearly everyone in this whole operation: You were strong, you had been through enough and were surely hardened by it, and you could probably snap his spine over your knew if you particularly cared to.

Of course, he’d spent next to no time with you when he thought these things of everyone involved in the Rebellion. He had no time to: He had to fly around the Maker’s galaxy and back! It actually wasn’t until after the Scarif mission that he was given ample time to readily wipe his impressions and assumptions clean. He felt he needed to, given what dedication he’d seen on those beaches.

Besides, you approaching him afterward certainly helped. You picked up that he wasn’t fond of crowds during evening mess when he quietly slinked away from the group gathering to hear retellings of the infiltration on Scarif. You figured perhaps a one-on-one situation might’ve sufficed. Better yet, inquiring about his current state might’ve been preferable to reliving the experience.

He appreciated the gesture on your part. Maybe . . . you weren’t nearly as ice-cold as he’d thought you were. At the very least, definitely not as bad as Cassian.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?):

Bodhi is a naturally anxious person, and the hardships and experiences he’s encountered haven’t exactly made that any better. Sure, he’s a lot braver now and more willing to act, but he’s still nowhere near as gung-ho or fiery as his companions.

He’s had some methods in the past that clearly didn’t work out in his favor (fun fact: he’s got a record for gambling), but one of the best tried and trues is simply going somewhere quiet. His thoughts are in a constant buzz, he benefits from a lack of outside stimuli when he feels overwhelmed. The problem is . . . quiet is so very hard to find when you’re in the middle of a war. As an Imperial cargo pilot, you could just plain forget about the idea of having time to yourself: You belong to the Empire, your time is the Empire’s time and you are in no position to use it up.

Being a part of the Rebellion is better by legions, but the base on Yavin IV leaves much to be desired in terms of privacy and quiet. Luckily, the planet is lush and forested: If Bodhi is on base and feels the need to sit in the quiet and gather his thoughts and calm down, he need only walk in any given direction, find a tree to sit under, and just stay there for a while. The places he chooses are far enough to where he can relax and not have his thoughts and heartbeat disturbed by the banging of machinery or the hollers of drill sergeants, but never so far as to be unable to get help should he need it.

It wasn’t long before he began to incorporate you into these relaxation methods, however. As it turns out, as much as he may enjoy being able to sit by himself in the brush, he very much likes being able to sit with you anywhere. You’re almost like a walking calming center for him, especially when you touch him: Hold his hand, rub his back, let him lay his head on your lap so you can play with his hair . . . It’s like a missing link he never knew he’d been missing to begin with! They’re seemingly small things, but they make a big difference. You can always feel him losing his tension beneath your touch, often announced by quiet sighs or tiny shudders. It’s truly the cutest thing and you’re so glad to be the cause of it and help him calm down. Just not nearly as glad as he is to have you there to calm him.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?):

The thought of marriage has switched on and off throughout Bodhi’s life; really, it depends on the exact moment. As a child, he certainly thought about it more, if only because children are want to do such things. But as an adult, it begins to falter. By the time the events of the story show up, he can go long stretches without even once thinking about his stance on whether or not he should get married. Because really, it’s more based on the exact moment: If he’s in a surprisingly good way or even in a moment where he must think about how short life can be, the certainly he gives it some thought.

But in his usual misery and anxiety while serving the Empire, such silly concerns are the furthest thing from his mind; they’re so far on the back burner that they may as well have fallen behind the stove, forgotten, dusty, and moldy!

Even when he meets you, the thought surprisingly doesn’t come up for a while. It’s not that you don’t make him happy or inspire any intention of long-term romance -- far from it, actually! You make him feel the happiest and most comfortable than he’s felt in literal years! In fact, that’s honestly probably why the subject of marriage doesn’t pop up to him so immediately: His life as of late has become a bit of a balancing act, what with him now being a part of a rebellion he hadn’t planned on joining and, consequentially, trying not to get him or his new comrades killed. Normally, this sort of thing would’ve sent him into a panic-induced coma. But with you present in his life, giving him a sense of calm and someone to fight hard enough to come back to, you actually make him start to enjoy the present. (Well, the calmer ones, at least.)

He’s not as caught up about the past or afraid of the future as he used to be; he’s actually enjoying the moment with you as is. Sure, every now and again, if he does (or doesn’t) mean to think about it, his mind does slip and he finds himself thinking, “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind being with them after all this . . .” He even dares to dream about the two of you sharing a life together on a nice, simple planet with lots of trees and greenery. Maybe somewhere quiet. A farm might be nice: He can so some gardening there and you two can build a house together, all big and roomy like you’d always wanted instead of cramped and stuffy like the living quarters you always complained about . . .

But then his attention would be dragged elsewhere (to a meeting, to training, to you calling him to join you for dinner). He doesn’t mind. He’s not brushing aside the possibilities of proposing to you and marrying you, but the dreams can wait: All in all, you’re here right now and he’s perfectly content being there with you. For now.

Thank you for asking and for being patient!

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, iv

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt iv: game of survival

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 4.7k

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5), the Seeds being themselves. This is an enemies to lovers (enemies to enemies and lovers?), strong canon deviance from here on out. Mentions of blood/carnage, the frantic energy of people who both hate and are attracted to each other. It goes on!

Notes: Hi guys! I'm so, so sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter up. You know how quarantine-times just be like that where you manically write something for like 8 days straight and then never touch it again for weeks? Yeah, it really DO be like that sometimes.Anyway, this chapter is a bit of a filler, for which I apologize; I wanted some softer John/Elliot moments, at least something that wasn't quite so much "fuck off" and "please go fuck yourself" constantly, but also, that is also kind of Elliot's personality, so. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I promise I will try to be much better at making myself sit down and actually write now that I'm not swallowed up by a black hole of writer's block! Thank you to everyone for your patience and understanding and for all of the lovely comments and kudos; it really means the most to me! I just love getting the chance to interact with y'all.

The adrenaline crash was already happening.

Elliot was familiar with the sensation; as she rifled through the glove box of the Eden’s Gate van, John waited impatiently just on the other side of her while the sound of car doors and voices echoed in the distance. He clearly wanted to tell her to hurry up, and maybe he would, if she took long enough—but she wasn’t keen on these fucking crazies getting their hands on her.

She almost laughed at the thought. Passed from one psycho’s hands to another; wouldn’t that be something? Joey would be absolutely furious.

If she’s not dead, that unrelenting voice in her head echoed, stilling her hands for a moment.

“Deputy?” John asked, when she stopped moving, maybe because he was worried she could hear or see something he couldn’t. That would be nice—John Seed, sweating, for once in his fucking life.

If they didn’t already gut her and plant a whole fucking garden in her.

“Rook.” His voice wasn’t a question now, but a command, and she could hear it in his voice; look at me, tell me what you’re thinking, and her teeth clicked together. She closed the glove box shut, no reward to be found—just loose papers and some napkins—and closed the door beside her. The rattle of the chain link binding their cuffed wrists together reminded her, once again, of the absurdity of their situation.

“Don’t call me that,” she said tiredly, the rush of driving almost head-first into another car at a hundred miles-per-hour fleeing her body, leaving her feeling gutted and emptied out. She coughed into her elbow and the gesture pulled something in the cavity of her chest; now more than ever, she wished that she’d taken the risk of potentially dying and just popped those Tylenol-looking pills when she’d had the chance

John stared at her for a moment. He didn’t respond to her demand, but replied, “You’re still wearing my glasses.”

Elliot shrugged. She pushed the glasses down her nose a little to peer at him over the blue, reflective lenses. “They look better on me anyway.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. He looked like he wanted to say something to her—and she certainly expected him to snap at her to hand them over—but he turned away and started walking. He said, briskly, “Let’s not get hunted down like wild animals, shall we?”

“Yes,” Elliot agreed, falling into step with him, sobering her voice quite purposefully, “wouldn’t it be awful if one of those crazy cultists say, drugged and kidnapped us? Absolutely beastly.”

John shot her a look. He looked awfully like he wanted to say something again; that frustrated tense of his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed, these were all familiar gestures to her. She could tell that she was pushing a button he didn’t want her to have access to. That knowledge gave her a giddy kind of thrill and kick-started her system all over again. Good, Elliot thought, minding her business as picked along a barely-used trail and left the van behind them, going further and further into the wilderness. The river was close; if she had to guess, they were somewhere halfway between where John had taken resident and the border into Faith’s territory. I hope that pisses him off.

“We should head back to the ranch first,” Elliot continued, falling into step with John—and not without some puffing. “And would you slow down? Remember how you got me sick? And then handcuffed us together in a temper tantrum? And then—”

“I was there,” John snipped at her. Despite his brittle tone, he did make an effort of less power walking, maybe because he didn’t want to have to drag her unconscious body along once she passed out from billowing her way across the Montana wilderness.

“Just wanted to make sure. Humility is a virtue, as they say.”

“I have to get Faith back,” he said, ignoring her little jab. “I can’t let those fucking nutjobs keep her.”

Elliot clambered over a log, keeping half of her attention on the sound of voices, still distant enough that she wasn’t worried about it. “In case you’ve forgotten this other small detail,” she continued, “they probably also have Joey, which they wouldn’t, if you had just kept your grimy hands off of her. So, you know—let’s keep in mind we have generally the same goal, here.”

“Thank you,” John muttered tersely, “for keeping us goal-oriented.”

“You’re very welcome, John.” Elliot tugged the sweatpants back up her hips; now, in the dying light of golden hour, she was regretting not changing into her jeans earlier that morning. Of course there was no way she could have known, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

She felt breathless from talking and walking, but the desire to really dig in was too great, overwhelming her need to take a full breath as she added, “It’s my pleasure, truly. Any time you need me, all you have to do is—”

As they wandered down closer to the river, John puffed out, “Do you ever stop talking?”

“I remember a time when all you wanted was for me to talk to you.”

Just as she finished her sentence, about to tack another jab on just for the hell of it—and another thing—she heard shouts, closer now, in a foreign language that she didn’t recognize. She stilled immediately, instinctively reaching and grabbing John’s arm to keep him from continuing on.

He opened his mouth to ask her what she was stopping for, but before he could she waved her hand frantically at him and voicelessly mouthed the words, shut the fuck up. Just one moment was all it would take; one second for them to be heard and they’d be gutted and flayed open, just like Waylon. Elliot did not have any desire to become a floral arrangement any time soon.

The voices echoed again, closer this time. John pushed her hand out of his face and instead pulled her further along the trail, moving with greater purpose this time; the second she started struggling to keep up, he wrapped a firm arm around her midsection and hoisted her, planting her right in front of him before he ducked them into some brush.

(She reckoned the heat in her cheeks was adrenaline, certainly, and not the way it had felt to have John’s chest pressed against her back, his arm warm and strong against her: because it certainly wasn’t that, but perhaps more like a pneumonia fever or just her body crumpling under the stress.)

Dark, heavy boots stormed through the underbrush, talking to each other now in a more conversational tone; though Elliot could hear them chattering and occasionally laughing at what the other said (in Swedish, or perhaps Dutch?) she could see their feet moving with distinct, sharp precision, stopping in time with each other and starting again whenever one of them said something.

Oh, fuck, she thought with a sick, desperate, sinking feeling. They’re so fucking organized. God, fuck.

It was one thing to kill peggies, to storm her way into a compound and smash her head into the face of one or peel into the parking lot in her Jeep, Boomer having gutted two or three of them on their way in; Eden’s Gate members carried only chaotic, frenetic energy, barely held together by their worship of their leader and his siblings. Whatever structure they upheld was purely because they were told to, and it wasn’t a system they could execute on their own, without direction.

She had never fought something, or someone, organized. She had never bashed her face into someone who had thirty other comrades marching down to kill her, spear her on a stick and stuff her mouth with baby’s breath.

I’m only a girl. It was a startling, violent moment of realization, that she had been bumbling her way through this, working purely on emotion and instinct. She was not a practiced, methodical killer, but one born out of necessity. I’m only a girl, I can’t kill people who have their shit together.

Elliot was vaguely aware of her breathing becoming labored, grinding in her lungs, and only became consciously aware of it when John’s hand pressed to her mouth, his arm still wrapped around her stomach. His hands smelled—tasted—like leather and dirt, and it was almost comforting enough to ground her, because for once John didn’t smell like that stupid fucking cologne that she hated, but she could still feel the dirt against her mouth like she was getting buried face down—

The steps slowed, stopping just in front of the brush. Elliot could see a silhouette cut across the forest floor, dappled by the branches of the thicket John had plunged them into, the branches pulling and tugging at her hair and shirt and skin. But she only barely saw it, because John’s back faced the trail they’d just been on, his arms around her. A shield.

“I think they’re gone,” John muttered after what felt like an entire fucking eternity and the voices had faded off, hunched in the brush and coiled around her like a snake, dropping his hand from her mouth. She tried to quiet the panicked roaring in her ears to listen (John didn’t know what to listen for; he didn’t know what it was like to have to hold your breath and hope your hunters passed you by) but she couldn’t; all she could think was oh fuck, oh God, I can’t do this. They’re going to kill me without a blink. They’re going to kill Joey. They’re going to—

“Rook,” John said, his voice firmer now. He must have been convinced their pursuers had moved on. “Rook, my hand.”

Her nails were digging into his wrist, revisiting shallow wounds she had made the night that John had held her under. But he didn’t wince or yank his hand away; he watched her intently, waiting for the iron-clad grip of her fingers to loosen. Elliot closed her eyes for a second, just a second, to ground herself.

I feel: John’s heartbeat, the dirt, the wind. I heard: John’s voice, leaves rustling, the river down below. I smell: dirt, leather, pine sap, humid river air.

She kept waiting for John to push her again. She kept waiting for him to say something stupid—Earth to Elliot?—or demand she get moving, or something equally insufferable, but he stayed like that; chest against her back, eclipsing out the little bit of sun breaking through the brush, waiting.

“I’m fine,” Elliot murmured. She felt like she was on auto-pilot.Too much, her body was screaming at her, the sickness’ sticky hands crawling through her, leaving fingerprints all over her lungs.You’re doing too much. The adrenaline was crashing hard through her body now, and all she wanted to do was puke and then lay down for a nice, long nap. She loosened her grip on his wrist for a moment before letting her hand fall completely from his.

John didn’t say whether or not he believed her, but he stood up slower than he had moved before, peering cautiously around before picking his way out of the brush. He remained (blissfully) silent as Elliot stepped around him; what he lacked in personal relatability, she thought with a sort of familiar dryness, he made up for when he kept his mouth shut.

“Elliot,” he said, ruining her peace, bulldozing over it wildly like he did just about everything else in her life. There was a question somewhere in the way that he said her name, and she felt the pull of the cuffs linking them together when he stopped.

She turned to look at him. He didn’t, for once, look as though he wanted to say something; instead, he was waiting expectantly. For an explanation, she supposed. Or maybe a thank you. That sounded much more like him.

Elliot said, again, “I’m fine,” her hands on her hips, resisting the urge to double over like her body was begging her too. She had never known when to stop, not really, not without someone else telling her. Her mama liked to call it her Too Much gene.

John arched a dark brow at her. His mouth curved in something like a smile, but it was too bitter, too wry, too knowing to be a real smile. She knew his real smile, even if he didn’t think so. She’d seen it. Boyish and—dare she say—endearing. This was not it.

She gathered up all of her willpower and bit out, “John Seed, if we don’t get moving, we’re going to having marigolds and daisies and what the fuck else blooming right out of our gutted rib cages.”

Whatever had been sitting on John’s face was wiped clean by her words. A good old dose of reality. She tugged on the chain impatiently, and he fell into step again with her, trudging through the underbrush.

“And don’t look at me like that,” she snapped out over her shoulder. “I told you, I’m fine.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot was not fine.

John would admit —to himself, silently, and never under any other circumstances—that he did not know Elliot Honeysett very well. He did, however, know her enough. The way she’d gripped his wrist, looking for an anchor; the strange, haunted, disconnected way her eyes had flickered from point to point in the nowhere-in-particular when he spoke to her, never quite looking at him. He’d seen those things in her before. He’d seen that look on her face earlier that morning. He’d seen that strange disconnect, a switch of a flip somewhere in her mind, when she’d certainly considered choking one of the guards to death.

All the same, he reasoned as they trudged up a hill, trying to ignore the distant sounds of gunfire that bode poorly and having been walking for what he could only guess was hours now, it was odd. Having her cling onto him. Clutch his wrist for support. It was—

(nice)

—strange, to think about Elliot needing him, in the same way the realization had unseated him when he had understood she’d been relying on him to keep her safe at the ranch.

“Did you take that Tylenol?” he asked absently, an afterthought, still mulling over their odd closeness in the woods, trying to pin down why it writhed and squirmed in the cavity of his chest. The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains, and a slow, uneasy chill had crawled through the air. “Back at the ranch.”

“Do I look like an idiot?” Elliot huffed out, pausing halfway up the hill, to try and catch her breath.

“That was rhetorical, before you consider replying with astonishing honesty,” the blonde snipped out after a moment of breathing.

Her voice sounded raspier now, like she’d picked up chain-smoking. She cocked her head, looking at him for a moment, her hands on her hips; she had Jacob’s old sweats wadded up to her waist—so small, John thought absently, she’s been losing weight like crazy—and an old gray undershirt of his tied in a knot at her stomach. Her ponytail was practically disengaged completely, big chunks of her blonde hair falling into her face and sticking to her cheeks and jaw. She looked feverish, or maybe out of shape, though John suspected it was much more likely to be the former than the latter.

John replied, “I would hate to disappoint your opinion of me.”

“Cute.” Elliot pushed her way up the last half of the hill, cresting the top and finally—finally, because he could tell she’d been waiting to do this—bent over at her hips, hands on the tops of her thighs. They were probably a good hundred yards from the ranch now, in the thickest part of the woods and in the farthest reach from the driveway, which Elliot had insisted on. “Good fucking God, I never want to move for the rest of my life.”

“You’d probably feel better if you took that Tylenol I left you.”

“Hey. Hey, John?” She snapped her fingers at him, not looking at him but waving wildly. “Hey. Oh, yeah? Shut the fuck up.”

“Somehow,” John mused, peering through the trees to see if he could get a glimpse of the ranch, “you are even unpleasant when subdued by sickness, deputy.”

He’d become so accustomed to her casual venom that it was almost a comfort, now. He would know something was wrong with her when she wasn’t trying to bite his head off, but at least for now, bound together by metal, he knew she wasn’t going to try and kill him. It would be too much of a hassle to try and drag his corpse along through the woods.

I have to get Faith, John thought, eyes straining to see through the trees but his body reluctant to get any closer to the treeline. I have to get her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s all fucked, the whole lot of it. They’ve got her on some shit again. Fuck.

Joseph would be so angry; more than that, Faith was certainly going to be scared out of her mind, once the drugs wore off.

“They’re here.” Elliot’s voice shook him out of his thoughts; she had caught her breath, for now, and wandered closer to the treeline. Her brows furrowed together, and for a second John almost laughed at how ridiculous it was to have her face so serious when she refused to give him back his glasses.

Any humor that he might have felt was ripped away when he followed her gaze to see what he saw: the nondescript gray vans, parked in a semi-circle, leaving an exit down the drive. He watched a few of the men in their dark clothes guiding members of Eden’s Gate into the back of the van. Ase, and Faith, and Ase's red-haired executioner man were nowhere to be seen.

“They aren’t fighting,” John muttered as he watched the members of Eden's Gate hand their weapons over. He felt something sick deep in the pit of his stomach.

“Well, John,” Elliot began, and he thought, don’t fucking say it, but she plunged on regardless, “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got yourself a brood of followers, not leaders.”

“They’re devout,” John insisted bitingly. It welled up inside of him—perhaps embarrassment, or humiliation—and he swallowed thickly. “They’re just surviving, that’s all. It would be stupid for them to all get killed.”

The blonde shot him a look through the side of her expression, wary. She didn’t need to say anything for him to figure out what it meant. Sure, John. They certainly let me and the others mow them down no problem, but right now, they’re just surviving.

“We can’t get into the ranch now,” Elliot ventured after a moment, stepping back from the treeline. “The best thing to do is wait and see if they leave. They don’t strike me as a home-base type of crazy, but you never know; maybe those weird cell-like rooms you put in the basement will tickle their fancy.”

“What?” John demanded. He trailed after her, indignant. “We’re just going to let them take Faith and leave?”

Elliot sighed. She looked to be working something between her teeth, words she wanted to say to him but that she was taking care to mull over first, and he didn’t know if that relieved him or filled him with more dread.

“Yes,” she said after a moment, and he thought, definitely more dread, I like it better when she talks impulsively. 

“Tell me this is a stupid joke,” John insisted. Elliot’s lashes fluttered. A strange flicker of emotion streaked across her face, as brilliant and short-lived as a shooting start, and his stomach knotted when he thought it might have been pity.

“We have to. They obviously aren’t planning on killing her, John; if they were, they wouldn’t have flaunted her in front of your face,” Elliot replied, starting to walk again, carefully picking her way down a small ravine and then following its slope downwards, towards the river again.

John’s feet moved forward, even when he didn’t want to, even when he wanted to turn back around and storm the ranch and demand Faith be returned back to him. Finally, eventually, he willed himself to stop, as though he only just remembered that he was the bigger of the two of them and carried the most weight in their little red-rover chain.

“We can’t leave her with them,” he insisted. “That’s bullshit, deputy. Just because she’s not one of yours—”

Elliot turned to look at him. Her eyes were narrowed, and she pulled on the chain, hard, the way that John had done to her, yanking him forward abruptly.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, John Seed, but I’ve got more experience doing rescue missions for people kidnapped by cults than you do.” Her voice was hard, venomous. “They could have Joseph in there at gun-point and I’d still rescue him.”

John felt the anger blooming in his chest. “I never took you for a liar.”

“I was never going to kill a little fucking girl,” Elliot replied viciously. “And that’s what she is, even if Joseph pumped her full of poison. I was never going to kill any of you Seeds.”

“No?” John demanded. “Then what?”

A moment of silence stretched between them. It welled with something, somethingsoemthingsomething that John wanted to grapple with his hands and squeeze, but that he couldn't.

She said, after a few heartbeats, “Put you in jail to rot, you fuckhead.” Elliot turned on her heel and started marching again. “Death would be too kind an ending for you.” 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

By the time they found a spot to stop, it was nearly completely dark. They had walked in almost complete silence after her little proclamation, enough to make him wonder if that odd moment of closeness had been a figment of his imagination after all.

Elliot picked a spot out for them close to the river, but still kept shadowed by the shrubs, and John didn’t have much will to argue with her anymore; her words kept sliding around in his head like marbles. Death would be too kind an ending for you.

He knew what she was really saying, with that. If I have to suffer with living, her voice said, beyond the words, then so do you.

The blonde was shivering as she loaded John’s arms up with wood (much to his chagrin; he’d already put this Versace shirt through enough, and now she was doing this), and by the time they got a fire going he thought she might pass out from the entirety of the day.

“Cold, deputy?” John asked mildly, watching her untie the knot of the shirt and slink her arms into the over-sized fabric, huddled by the small fire they’d (she’d) made. She glared at him.

“Well—”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he interjected, as though he could hear it already. “I know you’ve got pneumonia, and it's all my fault, as I willed it upon you.”

“Goody,” Elliot replied. There was no bite in her voice anymore; exhaustion was pulling at the edges of her expression, tugging her voice down, and John felt almost a bit of relief at the knowledge that maybe they were done trading blows. For now.

Lit by firelight, she looked softer. There was still an open wound where she’d really dug her words in, and maybe it was still bleeding a little, but John could feel the evening chill sinking into his bones now too, even with the sleeves of his button-up rolled down. So yes; Elliot did look softer, and smaller, and warmer, and John would be stupid to willingly get pneumonia so that they were both huffing and puffing through the woods.

He acquiesced, after a moment of silence and as though relenting to his own mental argument, “It would be warmer if we shared body heat.”

The look she shot him might as well have been daggers. “What,” she quipped, “being handcuffed to me isn’t enough for you?” I suppose we aren't done trading blows after all.

“Look, I’m not dressed for a Montana night out in the woods,” he insisted, “and certainly neither are you. You’re already sick.” 

Elliot scoffed and rolled her eyes.

He ventured, again, “You already said we can’t leave the fire burning all night. The smoke would give us away.”

“And I’m also saying that there’s no way in fucking hell I’m letting you spoon me,” Elliot replied, closing her eyes. “If you get hypothermia, then maybe it’s the karmic universe telling you to go fuck yourself.”

“Oh, very nice, deputy.”

He sighed, stretched out on his side and drinking up as much of the fire’s warmth as he could before Elliot would, inevitably, stamp it out and try to get some sleep. The ground was soft and mossy, and while John couldn’t stand the idea of sleeping in the same clothes he’d been running around in, the day had begun to take its toll on him.

“If you change your mind,” John continued, “I can assure you I’m an excellent big spoon.”

Elliot scoffed, again, and he thought, oh, well. Maybe the karmic universe will serve me something after all, but we’ll have to wait and see, and let his eyes drift shut.

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he first felt a change. It could have been thirty minutes, or a few hours; Elliot’s sleep schedule was so unknown to him—and certainly changed by her illness—that he couldn’t have wagered if he wanted to. But he was still mostly asleep when he felt the warmth of her body tucked against his, shivering, like a leaf in the wind. There was still a soft detergent scent to her clothes, even after everything, and her head fit just under his chin.

John shifted. He didn’t need to open his eyes to tell it was Elliot, and not a bear or mountain lion trying to find the best way to carve out his intestines; Elliot’s hair brushed along his jaw, and she pulled his arm over her like a blanket.

“Is this my karmic retribution?” he rumbled, half asleep still. Elliot’s teeth chattered.

“Just consider this making yourself useful,” she replied. Her voice was muffled from her face being tucked against his shirt. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”

“Yes, boss.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He had expected to get woken up gently, by the rising sun, or perhaps the feeling of Elliot disengaging from their only-for-warmth spooning session. 

Instead, John was woken abruptly by the feeling of a cold, wet nose pressing into his face, hot, stinking breath whuffling across his face.

“What—the fuck—”

John swatted the air blindly, the smell of dog breath wafting over his face as he struggled into a sitting position. It took a moment for him to right himself, to get a good grasp on his surroundings; their handcuffs were still linked. Elliot was awake, and sitting up already, and beaming as a Blue Heeler stared at John. 

As soon as his eyes landed on the dog, it barked at him. Loudly. All of the hair on the hound’s spine rose, all the way down to the base of its tail, and a low, nasty growl rose in its throat.

“Boomer,” Elliot said, and immediately the dog sat. Boomer’s eyes darted between Elliot and John, wary and uncertain. The blonde, however, looked happier than John thought he’d ever seen her, reaching out and ruffling the dog’s hair until it lay flat again, smiling. “Look, John, Boomer found us.”

“Oh,” John replied, “your killer beast. Excellent.”

Elliot laughed. It was as though Boomer was waiting for the sound; he barked, happily this time (could dogs bark in different tones, John wondered), tail wagging furiously as he crowded Elliot for her attention.

“Don’t worry,” the blonde said, giving John a sly look, “he only bites on command.”

[anathtsurugi]

Day 15 - One More Day ;)

So, my dear @jellysharkbat, I’d at first thought to present you with a scene from the new chapter of TCTW, but the scene I had in mind was a little too dialogue heavy, even if it was in the same vein. So you’ll get more of that when the chapter comes out. But hopefully this is enough in line with what you were feeling.

Snow, as far as Alexsandr Kallus was concerned, could go get kriffed.

Granted, it was in the middle of a snow storm he'd first begun to see the love of his life and he would be eternally grateful for that, but it was likely the only thing he ever would grant to snow. Anything other than that one instance was evil incarnate. And that was saying something coming from a man who'd once worked at the very heart of the Galactic Empire.

The day had begun like any other at Echo Base. The techs still couldn't seem to adapt their speeders to Hoth's extreme cold, so patrols were still being carried out on tauntauns. Really, a lot of their tech was having trouble on this world. Even his own double-layer thermal gear was barely managing to keep out the cold. The persistent subzero temperatures had been creeping in on him all week and the conditions had been making his bad leg crankier than usual which, in turn, made him even crankier than his typical  uptight self, and he knew it showed.

Say what you will about Yavin IV. At least heat is manageable.

Draven had been on his case about the new supply line he'd been endeavoring to open up from an old Imperial contact who was just about fed up with Coruscant's precious New Order. It was a delicate process, though, so he was rather starting to wish the general would just take his less than subtle grumbling elsewhere. More than petty matters with Davitz Draven, there was also the fact that Cassian hadn't yet reported in from his latest assignment and Jyn and Bodhi were visibly beginning to worry, asking him if he'd heard anything. And he could understand their worry. Of course he could, but having to let down Cassian's odd little family every time one of them asked after the young Fulcrum agent was also beginning to wear on him. Today it seemed it was Bodhi's turn to receive the bad news as they passed through one of the supply corridors that connected the hangar bays with the storage areas.

"And there's really no emergency channels you might use?" the pilot pressed him as they walked.

"Believe me, Rook, I've tried all of them. At this point, it's up to Cassian himself," he responded with an exasperated sigh. "I promise you, I worry just as much as the rest of you. Cassian is my friend, too. But he wouldn't be a Fulcrum agent if he couldn't handle situations like this one. We just- have to trust him."

And as always, whenever he had to disappoint Bodhi Rook, Kallus felt as though he'd kicked the proverbial puppy at the silently despairing look in his fellow defector's large brown eyes. One just couldn't disappoint Bodhi Rook and walk away unscathed. It wasn't physically possible. And on top of that, his leg was really starting to twinge, causing him to bite down on a wince.

The day was barely half over and already he would've been quite happy to have done with it.

What else can go wrong?

He regretted thinking it almost the minute the poisonous thought had slithered through his brain. No situation is ever so bad it can't be kriffed up even further; and that fact was proven almost immediately by an ominous-sounding crack from overhead.

"What the-" Bodhi's voice started as they both looked overhead, but Kallus spotted the problem right away. A crack had indeed appeared in the ceiling over their heads, and already it was splintering and spidering outward from its initial break.

Kallus didn't stop to ask questions. The moment chunks of ice began to tumble into the corridor, he seized Bodhi's shoulder and threw them both free of the collapse.

The ex-Imperial felt his leg shriek in agony as they hit the permafrost floor of the tunnel, chips of broken ice flying overhead as a full section of the ceiling came down. Once debris had ceased spilling into the corridor, he began to hear voices from the next level up.

"Stars, what the kriff-"

"What happened?"

"What's-"

"Is everyone all right down there?"

Forcing himself up onto his knees through the pain, Kallus looked up, calling back. "We're fine! Just the two of us down below. Anyone above injured?"

"No," came the mostly even voice of General Rieekan in response. Oh, kriff. The command center.

"Though it might not be long before you're not all right," the just as distinct voice of Draven followed only a moment after. Within seconds, the head of Rebel Intelligence's pinched face appeared over the  edge of the hole in the ceiling. "Why is it I always seem to find an ex-Imperial around whenever something goes wrong?"

Kallus full-on glowered up at the man overhead. Partly to hide his own grimace of pain, but also because he really was just that pissed at this point.

"Yes, because obviously we plan for these things to happen," he snapped.

"I would be remiss in putting it past you. Fully trained ISB operative that your are, Agent ISB-021," the man taunted in a pointed voice.

That did it.

The frustration and physical pain that had been chipping away at his composure all week broke through his strict mental control. If he'd had his bo-rifle on him, he might've actually drawn it.

"Kriffing arrogant nerfherder!" he snarled up at the general. "If you think for one second I would ever endanger anyone in this base, then you've-"

"Kallus," Rieekan's now stern voice interrupted his imminent tirade as he joined Draven at the edge of the collapsed section. "I think it might be better if you took a walk. I know you said you weren't hurt, but you and Rook should probably take extra rest shifts, just to be certain."

"General, I-"

Whatever he might've said was quickly silenced by the Alderaanian's firm gaze. He scowled before going to help Bodhi up. Though he couldn't deny being the tiniest bit pleased to catch the tail end of Rieekan's next order.

"You and I will be having words later, Davitz. You can't keep going on like this."

"Th- thank you," Bodhi stuttered out. "You definitely saved my neck back there."

"No trouble," Kallus returned, though he didn't look at the younger man, as he knew he couldn't manage a smile just then. "I'm quite certain it would be more than just Draven angry with me if I allowed harm to come to you. About half the Alliance, likely...not to mention Cassian and Skywalker," he said before starting to head in the direction of his quarters, leaning heavily against the wall as he moved.

"Do you maybe need help?" Bodhi called after him.

"No," he ground out, even though he knew he was limping. He was on trajectory now and couldn't stop. If he did, his anger would dissipate and that, in turn, would allow the pain he was currently keeping at bay to overwhelm him. He kept his eyes forward and his teeth gritted the whole way back to his and Zeb's quarters.

He barely managed to make it to the bed before collapsing, body now racked with pain and mind swirling with frustration, anger, and more than a little guilt.

Agent ISB-021...

Most of the Alliance no longer held his past against him, but Draven was one who couldn't seem to let it go. He never missed an opportunity to remind Kallus of who he had been...of what he had done...

You are not that person anymore.

Maybe not...but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.

He had no idea how long he lay there, stewing in all that ugliness, before he heard the door to their quarters slide open. He looked over to see Zeb standing in the entryway.

"Rook told me what happened," he said without preamble as he entered, the door sliding shut behind him. "You okay?"

"As can be expected," he answered, though he couldn't quite keep back the tiny whimper of pain as he dragged himself into a sitting position. "Just the leg."

"You take anything?"

Kallus shook his head, rubbing faintly at his leg. "No. I wouldn't want to waste it. This will pass."

Zeb exhaled in frustration, and though Kallus wasn't looking at him, he could easily picture the way he would roll his luminous eyes. Before long, though, he found a slender thermal container thrust before his face.

"What...what's this?" he asked as he took the container.

"Little something Hera and I put together this morning from the Ghost's stores. Some of that spiced tea you loved so much. I was makin' it for you anyway, since the cold's been seepin' in on you all week, but now seemed like a good time to bring it to you."

Wordlessly, Kallus twisted the vessel open, inhaling the divine scent of the black tea in mild disbelief. It was no small thing...to be able to make something like this with the limited supplies they had. He may have moaned a little as he took the first sip of the warm, frothy drink.

They didn't speak after that. After all, Kallus was reasonably certain Zeb would've got the whole story from Bodhi. The Lasat sat down beside him on the small bed, large, skilled fingers beginning to work at the improperly healed joint, soothing away some of the ever-present stiffness and pain and bringing the hurts from the day's misadventures down from an insistent snarl to a dull ache. More than the massage, it was really just nice to have Zeb's sure, strong hands on him.

Not wanting to drink all of the tea right away, he sealed the thermal up when it was about half-empty and set it aside. Then Zeb drew him into a kiss, a slow, luxuriating press of lips that didn't presage anything further, simply connected the pair of them in that moment.

I'm here. I'm here for you. People can be as stupid as they like, but they can't take this away from us. I'll always be right here.

The kiss turned into a cuddle without much effort on their part. Almost before Kallus was aware of it, they were curled up together on their little bed, Zeb cradling him easily against the broad plane of his chest. Alex curled up tightly against him, languishing in the feel of his lover's arms around him, warm and strong, safe and caring. So much he had never expected to have in his life – never expected to be worthy of – all vested within one amazing person.

They would have to return to their tasks eventually. There was always more work to be done. But for now, just for now, they would accept the quiet gift of simply being with one another. When it came right down to it, that gift was all they really had in the face of a vicious galaxy.

But it was also all they needed.

[embarrassingsmartphonegame]

Anything (Chapter 1) - Nik Ryder x f!MC

Summary: After surviving an attempt on her life, she discovers there are worst fates than dying. And they’re all ice cold.

Warnings for this chapter: mentions of death/near death experiences, swearing

==============================================

She felt nothing.

Nothing…

Nothing…

Wait.

Bright white light. That was the first thing Leah noticed as her eyes blearily opened and immediately squinted and her irises reacted to the light. For some reason, her first thought was that cultural trope where they tell someone dying not to go into the light, but something told her she had to follow the light. Otherwise, there would be nothing again if she didn’t. What mattered is it was something. To her surprise, she wasn’t in a green pasture or edge of a shore or whatever she imagined heaven would be; she was in a bright, white room with tiles on the ceiling and she was somehow lying down. There was a soft beeping sound that somehow felt louder than any concert she and Kristin had been to over the years, and she looked down to see an IV placed in her arm. She moved to try to sit up and winced and went back down, her chest unusually tight. The movement made a small rustling sound, and it was enough to wake up the man snoring lightly in a chair next to her bed. His bloodshot eyes snapped open and filled with relief at the site of her awake.

“Nik…” Her voice was small, raspy, delicate; it was unlike her usual assertive, stubborn cadence and his heart leaped in his chest. “W-what—“

“Shh,” Nik shushed her gently, his hand moving to rest on her hand. He winced when he felt it was still cold, and he covered both of her hands in his, trying to warm them up. “You need to rest, rook.”

“W-what happened?” she asked, her voice but a whisper. She watched him carefully from half lidded eyes, and they threatened to flutter shut again. Leah didn’t want that; she wanted all the time in the world to commit his face to memory before delving into the void again.

“We’ll talk later.” He pressed a warm kiss on her forehead, and she let a smile flit serenely across her features before drifting off. She felt him carefully place another blanket over her and take her hands in his, refusing to let go. The warmth slowly seeped back into her body. 

The next few days were a blur, and it made Leah’s head spin. It turned out Thomas (whom Nik and Katherine successfully killed with vengeance and the sense to check for any cursed amulets near his dead body) stabbed her in the chest and she was dead. Long enough for her to turn cold. But something about her Fae blood and human blood mixed together bought them enough time for her to get medical help. To Leah’s chagrin, this was yet another mystery to everyone, since the same healing powers apparently could not be said for her full Fae father. She slowly recovered in her hospital bed and was able to walk slowly within a few days. She was technically considered a medical miracle, but the doctors at the hospital knew better than to question anything in this city. 

Eventually she was discharged from the hospital and found herself back in Nik’s apartment, unusually quiet. Her former bodyguard refused to leave her side her entire stay at the hospital. The tension was thick between them, and Nik tried to make small talk, ask her if she needed anything, even crack a few jokes. Anything to get her to respond. He began to get desperate; it was only when he put his arm around her and leaned in for a kiss that she spoke.

“I…” she took a deep breath, meeting his eyes for the first time that day and knowing that she was about to break both their hearts. “I can’t.”

“Rook…” His tired eyes met hers, and he was overcome with guilt at how her usually sunny eyes and disposition were tainted, haunted by the events of the past week. Dark bags rested under her red rimmed eyes, and her skin was as pale as the moon. She was reminiscent of a cold winter night, and it sent a shiver up his spine. Her eyes grew in size at the familiar nickname, and something in her snapped.

“What, Nik!” She suddenly felt anger coursing through her veins and chest, red and hot and unfailingly unreasonable. “Are we really not gonna talk about this? You told me I was more than a job and acted jealous when I flirted with other people and kissed me and fucked me and the very next day you broke my damn heart! Figured you could get your money and a little bit on the side, huh?!”

Leah winced at the harsh tone in her own voice, but she didn’t dare back down. All of her despair was bursting forth from the dam that she carelessly built when she first laid eyes on him on the streets of New Orleans. Everything was hitting her like a pile of bricks, and in front of her was the one thing she could address. 

“And it’s not just that. You lied and kept things from me; hell, I still think you’re keeping things from me!”

“Please, please believe me. Hand to god, Leah, I never meant for it to be this way,” he pleaded, taking her hands in his. She pulled away.

“Well, it is,” she bit back tears and kept her distance. “This is all too much. I found out I’m not fully human, found and lost my dad, fucking died...I can’t face my mom after all this, and I already felt like she hated me before this entire trip and now I know why. And to top it all off, I fell in love after a week of knowing this emotionally unavailable guy who gets jealous and keeps things from me and keeps changing his mind and can’t commit--” 

“I was an idiot, rook. I was a goddamn idiot listening to a cruel man who’d already been dead for 7 years. When that thing clawed his hand through your chest, I regretted ever listening to him and pushing you away. I don’t want that anymore, I want you! I love you!” Anguish flushed through her face at the words she wanted to hear more than anything in the world, and she wanted to believe the sincerity on his face, to run to him. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t put herself through this again.

“I can’t.”

“Rook, Leah, what are you saying?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m saying. You already said it back at the parade. The job is done. I-I’m not yours. I’m not yours to protect anymore. I can’t be...I need to go home.” Every word she said felt like getting stabbed in the chest...again. It was like a mirror breaking and each shard flying into her skin, and at that moment she would prefer that over this. Nik visibly deflated, and she could feel walls on walls on walls being stacked flush against each other. She knew then and there he would respect her decision. He nodded tightly and left the living room, going in and closing the door to his bedroom. Leah willed herself to stay still on the couch as she made arrangements.

The next morning Katherine picked her up and took her to the airport. She said quick goodbyes to Cal, Vera, and Kristin, promising them that she would be fine back home. She locked eyes with Nik for the last time as Katherine’s car pulled away from the curb next to the Graveyard Shift, and she pushed down the fiery, aching pain searing through her soul, replacing it with snowflakes gliding lackadaisical in her chest. 

As the plane took off to take her back to her old life in Wyoming, she contemplated what she told Kristin at the beginning: ‘25...maybe this year things will be different.’ 

But she couldn’t take different anymore.

==============================================

Tagging (people who either asked to be tagged, friends, or who I think would like this): @furiouscloddonutpeanut @nighthunterkatherine @thekriseffect

A/N: I decided to start putting tag lists and author’s notes at the end because it just looks neater. And adding gifs makes it look cooler than it really is. Anyway, I’m pretty sure our MC will survive in canon, but I wanted to explore what that would look like for someone who’s been as traumatized as them. I purposely left some stuff about how she’d survive open ended. I estimate there will be about 4 chapters total here. As always, thanks for reading and constructive criticism is always welcome 🖤

[farcryfuckmeup]

In Memoriam PT VIII

FAR CRY WEEK DAY 4: SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT

Part I: Joseph Seed x Deputy

Part II: John Seed x Deputy

Part III: Jacob Seed x Deputy

Part IV: Faith Seed x Deputy

Part V: Sharky Boshaw x Deputy

Part VI: Nick Rye x Deputy

Part VII: Kim Rye x Deputy

Part VIII: Earl Whitehorse x Deputy

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Sheriff Whitehorse returns to the department to gather Rook’s belongings and give notice to her family.

He stood outside the doors of the sheriff's office for a moment with his aviators perched on his nose and his sheriff's hat in hand. He held it against his chest as he tried to think back on how things had been just a few months ago. If he looked hard enough, Whitehorse could see Rook and Pratt dashing in through the front doors, elbowing and shouldering each other to try and get to their desks first. Hudson was either already there or right behind them, but out of his three deputies, Hudson was the early bird.

Finally, he took a deep breath and managed to muster up the courage to go inside. The Hope County Sheriff's Department was small to begin with, but a majority of the staple people that were close to Earl were either arrested, dead, or on paid leave until further notice. The people who had stayed behind at the office had mostly been transferred out temporarily. As a result, only a few people milled about once he got inside the doors, and they only offered him nods of condolences or a pat on the shoulder.

The halls felt empty as Whitehorse made his way back to the bullpen, but he froze in place when he reached Staci's desk. Joey and Staci's things were left untouched and would be until they came to collect them because out of the three of them Joey was the most likely to rejoin the force. The happenings of Hope County had only seemed to fuel her fire for protecting innocent people.

Whitehorse fondly rapped Staci's desk with his knuckles as he wondered when he would go and see his former deputy next. Since the first two weeks Staci was back from Hope County, he'd been admitted into a psychiatric hospital until the doctors could help him deal with the damage Jacob had done.

Pratt's desk was filled with old wrappers, receipts, and post-it notes with phone numbers or the occasional reminder. He even had a big rubber band ball next to a small cup that held his pencils and pens, but Whitehorse could've sworn that it had been on Rook's desk.

Across from Staci's desk was Joey's, and next to Staci's was Rook's desk which had an empty desk across from hers. Earl glanced at Joey's desk, which was the cleanest of the three, then walked around to Rook's desk. Underneath the desk was an empty file box for him to place her belongings into.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned down to pick up the box and rested it on her desk as he looked everything over. Rook didn't have much on her desk other than a few photographs, some post-its stuck to her computer monitor, and a couple of pens strewn about the tabletop.

Very carefully, Whitehorse started to pack up her things, making sure to put the hardier and flatter things on the bottom and the more delicate objects on the top. The last thing he could handle right now was breaking anything she owned as well.

Normally it would've taken Earl about ten minutes to pack and sort her things, but instead, he kept stopping to take a deep breath and regain his composure. He couldn't help it. Everywhere he went that Rook had been, he felt as though he could still feel her wandering around. Sometimes he even saw her, but he didn't dare tell anyone.

"You know Staci stole that off my desk about two weeks before we left for Hope County?" Earl swore under his breath at the sudden break in silence and looked up to see Rook sitting on her desk. Her legs swung back and forth idly and she had a smile on her face.

He looked down at the pen in his hand that was capped with a squishy dog with eyes that popped out when it was squeezed. Earl chuckled under his breath.

"It's quite a pen, Rook. Miracle you ever got it back." He set it in the box carefully, his arm brushing against hers as he dragged the box off of her desk. Whitehorse heard Rook's shoes hit the linoleum as she slid off her desk and started to follow him.

"How's he doing by the way? Staci? What about Joey?" Rook was shorter than Whitehorse so she had to walk faster to keep up with him as she talked. She followed him out of the sheriff's department and out to the parking lot, and Earl noticed her eyes wandering around with a bit of curiosity.

"Pratt's still in the hospital being monitored. Jacob did some major damage to him, but apparently he's making slow progress which is good. Joey's leave ends in a week or two and she'll be back here with me, I think. Who knows anymore?" Earl propped the box upon his knee as he opened the trunk of his car. Rook laughed and Whitehorse had to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Jacob did some major damage to a lot of people. Sometimes I wonder if I was one of the lucky ones...not having to deal with being conditioned for the rest of my life." The car groaned as she leaned against it, her arms folded across her chest as her gaze fell to the street. Before Earl could say anything in response, she was gone in that familiar green cloud of Bliss.

Whitehorse lingered for a moment before closing the trunk of his car and climbing inside. The engine grumbled to life before he kicked the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.

He had never been to Rook's house before or met her family, but he'd seen pictures of them on her desk. The same pictures that sat in his trunk waiting to be returned home. The Rook's house was quaint and looked like every other house in the areas in and around Hope County.

After unloading her belongings from the trunk, Whitehorse stood on the sidewalk for a moment as his thoughts turned over in his head. He was snapped out of it when a gentle touch landed on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Rook standing next to him with a sad smile on her face.

"Come on, I haven't been home in a while." She ticked her head towards her family home and started to walk up the pathway, her fingers sliding against the fabric of Earl's shirt. He followed her without a second thought, just watching his former junior deputy revel in the fact that she was finally home.

Whitehorse set the box down on the porch and took off his hat to hold it in his hands. He cleared his throat and lifted his hand to knock on the door, his knuckles hitting the wood the same time that Rook's did.

It took a few moments, but when the door swung open he nearly stumbled backward. Standing in front of him was Rook, but if she were about five years younger than she had been.

"Can I help you?" The girl looked Earl up and down, eyed the box on the porch, then back up at Earl. Right next to her was Rook leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on her lips.

"My name is Sheriff-" The girl's expression contorted before she turned her head over her shoulder and hollered for her parents. "-Ma, Pa! It's about Rook!"

Whitehorse's eyes widened a bit as Rook disappeared in another cloud of Bliss and her parents rushing in took her place instead. In the doorway, the family was huddled together with tears already in their eyes. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened to your daughter when you don't hear from her for a few weeks and the first thing you hear of her is a Sheriff on your doorstep with a small box of belongings.

"You can do it." He could hear Rook's voice even though he couldn't see her, and Whitehorse took a shaky breath.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rook, if I may come in I'd like to talk to you about your daughter."

The man and woman nodded as Rook's mother began to quiver, silently making room for Earl to walk between them as he picked up Rook's box again. He carried it inside as though it was her broken body that he'd had to carry to the truck from Joseph's Compound.

The family of three was leading him through the house with distressed whispers, but he could hear footsteps behind him and felt a wave of calm wash over him.

Rook's family led him to a sitting room and gestured for him to sit in the sofa across from two loveseats. Rook's mother sat in one while her father stood behind his wife with his hands on her shoulders, and her sister sat in the chair next to Mrs. Rook. A cushion to the left of him sunk as Rook sat down, her belongings resting to his right.

Her hand was warm as it covered his own that was resting on his knee, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze with a nod towards her family.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rook, on the last assignment that your daughter had, things got out of control very fast. We were cut off from the outside world as The Project of Eden's Gate did their best to eliminate any and all police presence in the area in order to preserve their illegal activities. Your daughter died fighting the cult, and she died a hero. Without her none of my deputies or I would have made it out of Hope County, and she saved countless lives." Whitehorse glanced to his side and saw a dark stain blooming on the front of Rook's shirt, but she didn't seem as though she were in pain. Not like the way it actually happened.

Her mother immediately broke down into tears with her father, but through her own cries Rook's sister leaned over and held out her hand for Whitehorse. Her bottom lip shook and for a moment he imagined it stained red like Rook's.

"Thank you for letting us know. We had figured something terrible had happened but...well it's always better to know, isn't it?" The smile she had was full of sorrow, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Thank you for bringing me home, Earl." Rook whispered ever so softly as she disappeared into another cloud of dust, and though he didn't know it at the time, it was the last time Earl would ever see Rook in the Bliss for as long as he lived.

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[esonikofanfiction]

K: TALES OF MIDNIGHT: CHAPTER IV: ROOK

"You should rest, Mr. Fushimi," The Captain offered.

"Like hell," came the reply. 

While all the ranks of Scepter 4 had been deployed from Headquarters and Akira Industries to the unlit realm of darkness that was Tokyo, Fushimi wasn't about to let the tediousness of sleep obstruct him from snatching his last opportunity to catch the aggravating Rei Kiyoka, the nemesis he loathed, the one with whom he shared an equal blame in causing recent events. The blackout, having thus deposited the city into darkness, cast it likewise into chaos, a chaos that the Blue King was then forced to sweep back into order, lest the city overrun itself. 

While, no doubt, the police were busy quelling violence springing up amongst the general populous, Scepter 4 had its hands full of criminality pertaining to the realm of the supernatural. Therefore, if Fushimi couldn't sleep on account of utter rage and a thirst for vengeance, it was a guarantee he would find no sense of peace when all of Tokyo lay a seething mass of lawlessness and turmoil. 

Fushimi's abrupt response to the Captain's thoughtful — albeit unrealistic — suggestion, was met with no resistance. The Captain made no effort to instruct him on the proper course of action he should take (or not take), nor to inquire as to what Fushimi planned to do instead. He said nothing, which Fushimi ascertained as an unofficial signal to continue in whatever manner he saw fit. It appeared that Munakata had some faith left in his favorite of the Blues, a sentiment that, earlier, Fushimi deemed as pointless and unnecessary. Only then did he discover (however faintly) that while faith was never needed for assurances of friendliness, it did have a way of making his job easier to do.

With this in mind, Fushimi ventured out alone into the dim of early morning, that unpredictable landscape to which, from every shadow in the city, all the little terrors had sprung, wreaking havoc in abundance, free from all restraint, until societal decorum should restore itself again. 

Fushimi had spent enough time in dismal situations both personally and — if one could speak thus of the likes of Homra — professionally to know what he was up against. He knew what sort of creatures lingered in the dark. He, himself, for all intents and purposes, was one of them. In places where no sense of light could penetrate, those unpredictabilities and dangers, held no power over him; nor at the very least, on his subconscious. Therefore not an ounce of fear prevailed itself upon him but the thought of Rei Kiyoka and the urge to bring her down.

Just one clue — abysmal and, in truth, perhaps a dead end — was left to him: the ‘circle’ was indeed complete, as Munakata said. The inner radius of Tachibana, Yotsuya and Yoyogi stations left some sleuthing still to do. 

If I'm going to find anything down there, he told himself, now's the time: while the city's in shambles. Wait too long, and whatever evidence is down there'll be long gone — that's even assuming something’s there to begin with. That psycho played me twice already. It's not like I'm holding my breath. 

Once again, Fushimi understood the sheer absurdity that came from his obsession; likewise he could see the paradox, grumbling at the actuality of it: I can't just leave a clue, no matter how pointless. What’s worse is that she knows it. 

If, by some odd chance, obsession and a hunch paid off, Fushimi had hoped to pick up Kiyoka's trail. But then, when are the odds ever reassuring? He fought inwardly, rubbing tired fingers over dreary, blood-shot eyes. Either it’ll lead me straight to her, or it'll be a shit waste of time, or both. Outwardly, he sighed. “Geez.”

Not long after, he was at Yoyogi Station, the most recent place in which he'd picked up Kiyoka's signal. In the dull, deserted station, he switched on his wrist device to reveal a holographic screen: a 3D map of Shizume’s metro system. However this one carried further into the deep labyrinth of windy sewers, tunnels, all those incomplete passageways beneath the subway lines. As it was, no modern map existed of the vast, elicit network known as the Shizume Underworld, nor would one have helped. Part of the mystery surrounding the Underworld was that it was constantly evolving.

Nevertheless, Fushimi had his ways of proctoring the data that he needed, layering what intel he could find until an adequate map had pieced itself together. Riddled still with gaps and forcing him, in sections, to maneuver blindly through, he carried on, unhindered in his search.

Silently, he trekked his way down concrete stairwells, past the service doors, scaling afterward, a rusted iron ladder, to the grime-filled sewers below: the upper echelons of the Underworld. 

It smelt of dank and thick precipitation, every little sound a harrowed echo running through an endless web of corridors. 

Approaching a massive cavern indiscernibly deep, he found another metal ladder that descended into it, seemingly to nowhere. Without a care, he ventured down, his holographic map his sole illumination in the dark. 

The ladder carried down about a hundred feet or so. When at last he reached the bottom, he was met with yet another set of stairs, at the end of which, passing through an arched walkway, he came upon a larger, surprisingly less disgusting chamber than the others; nor was it so life-suckingly dark: a vague inclination, he suspected. It was indeed a contrast to the overly decrepit halls left totally abandoned near the surface: A tactical decision, he divined. If it looks like no one's home, they won't be bothered by too many visitors — only those who come here looking for them. 

Further signs of life revealed themselves the deeper in he went. Observing the walls, he found them littered with graffiti, coded guiding signals, evidence of secret trysts: messages encrypted in the slang that only those within the Underworld could read. The damp, as well, had greatly eased itself; the smell of rot and filth had faded to a mild, somewhat cool scent of stone.

Fushimi had hypothesized that many of the Underworld had stolen street-side, no doubt anxious for a chance to enter the festivities. But surely not everyone, he figured, peering all around. The place had seemed unnervingly deserted up until then, an observation that had begun to make him wary. Even those astute in keeping themselves hidden from his eyes could not have managed to conceal a sense of presence that Fushimi would have naturally discerned, and yet he felt nothing, nothing whatsoever; until at once, he did. From utter emptiness to an all-invasive force, he sensed a set of eyes, distinct, pursuant of him and him alone, approaching from behind. 

Fushimi didn’t stop. Hiding his perception in his movements, he journeyed on as though he hadn't noticed. Meanwhile, his is slim daggers hidden neatly up his sleeves crept silently into his grasp.

He wound down more deserted halls and stairwells, following his makeshift map, thoroughly engrossed within the maze. The eyes followed.

After some time, sensing the inaction on the part of his pursuer, Fushimi began to feel a bit restless. Let’s see what you're made of, shall we? He decided. 

Abandoning his slow and steady course, he jerked himself around the nearest corner, feigning escape. 

He broke into a jog, weaving round one corner, then another. Then for the first time, he could hear the steps of his pursuer speeding up to match. Not just a pair of eyes now, are we?

Coming to a forked path, Fushimi didn’t hesitate. Picking one at random, he removed his wrist device and set it on the ground, the holographic map igniting him in dim electric hues. He quickly rose and crept his way down the adjacent fork, hiding in the shadows. 

A moment later, he could hear the steps of his assailant growing, thumping ever-louder before stopping altogether.

Peering from his hiding place, he saw the darkened silhouette of a somewhat slight figure, hooded, stooping to retrieve his wrist device. Silently, he crept out from the shadows, taking stance directly in the figure’s rear.

“Looking for me?” He said. Before another movement could be made, he had the figure pinned inside a power hold, a red-soaked dagger drawn below the neck.

His captive cried out in alarm. “Wait! Hold up! I didn’t mean anything, man! I swear!“

All at once the tension ceased. Fushimi slumped with thorough agitation. “You must be joking,” he said, spinning round the figure. Swiping back the hood, he found a grungy teenage boy, staring horrorstruck at him. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry!” He stumbled out, holding up his hands in a surrender pose. "I just thought I’d make an easy score, that’s all!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. Just an ordinary nobody.

“Look, man. Clearly I was wrong but –”

 “Damn right, you were,” Fushimi interrupted, releasing the boy with a shove. The boy gave back a slight, uncertain look. “Go,” Fushimi ordered. “And don’t come back.” 

The Underling perceived. He fumbled back a step, nodding furiously. “Y-you got it, man! I...thanks!” And with another a cautious glance back to Fushimi, he took off in a run, scurrying back the way he came. 

Fushimi ran his fingers through his hair, grumbling to himself. “Kids.”

After that, he met no other obstacles, nor could he detect the eyes of further Underdwellers lurking in the shadows far beyond. He was alone, almost uncomfortably so, and then he realized why. I must be getting close, he ascertained. Wherever there are aura-wielders, normal people tend to run and hide – If you could really call these people normal, he added, thinking back to the boy he nearly sliced up with his dagger by mistake. From the look of him, the boy was all of thirteen years of age, yet even then Fushimi saw in him a slithering creature doomed to a degrading life of darkness and betrayal, of filth in every aspect, of lying, cheating, stealing, of ignorance and carelessness to every other form of life beyond that which he knew; but above all, Fushimi saw death – not immediately perhaps, but slowly over time, a festering decay that eats the soul away until there’s nothing left to call a man human anymore. This particular thought brought to Fushimi’s mind all sorts of other things, things he had forgotten, things too close to home. Sensing this, he quickly pulled away as one might redirect himself on taking a wrong turn somewhere. Thereafter, he referred back to his wrist device, following his map as thoroughly as before, lest he start to wander once again throughout a set of mental halls more intricate than those inside the Underworld.

He guessed that he’d been wandering around for about an hour when he came across a thick metal door - the first he’d actually come to that wasn’t already open or partially broken in. On the contrary, this one seemed relatively new. Adding to suspicion, it was locked. Fushimi found this amusing. You’d be better off hanging up a sign that says, ‘Here we are,’ than putting something so obvious as a locked door here. Of course I’m going to go in.

Less than a minute and Fushimi had successfully cracked the keypad and trekked his way inside. 

Standing at the threshold, he peered into a room chock-full of blinking screens reflecting neon glimmers off the lenses of his glasses. "Now we're talking," he said, slipping inside. 

Near the end of the room, he found a small cluster of monitors and slid into the chair before them, pulling out a thin magnetic disk, which he plopped atop the drive. Instantly, he set to work, scanning lines of code, gathering what intel he could find.

As he did, a screen behind him sounded out a little ding. Spinning round, he found a small IM box open on the lower left-hand side. The chime had been an alert, signaling an incoming message. 

Sliding over to it, Fushimi skimmed its contents, subsequently pausing as he read the final line. 

“Kawaguchi Industries: Payment received from Aka Shinku Technologies - item K004: localization complete // algorithm link established.”

"A transaction?" He said, squinting. “So Kawaguchi Industries sold the algorithm? But that can't be right. The algorithm was stolen from Kawaguchi. How could they have sold something they didn't even have? And who the hell is Aka Shinku Technologies? Why do they need the algorithm? Or do they actually have it?" Skeptical, he read the message over. Localization complete. Algorithm link established. "But that would mean..." 

Scowling hard, his eyes roamed out to all the other monitors, their glowing screens replete with running lines of code. Subconsciously, he followed them, searching, thinking. Something didn't add up. 

"Wait a second," he said, checking them again. "The algorithm: it was never actually uploaded to any physical drive, was it? The reason why I haven't been able to find a location for it is because technically, it isn't anywhere. Or I guess, it's currently everywhere at once. It must still be swimming around in some sort of an online matrix. That way, it wouldn't need a facility to house itself, and you could feasibly tap into it from anywhere in the world and have instant, total access to it. And yet, its supernatural influence must be what's making it so impossible to find." Then all at once, it dawned on him. "So that's how she did it. The only way to keep it safe while letting it roam out there in the open is to tie it to an aura, a very unique aura, one that no-one else has. Therefore, the only person who can access it is - “

"The one who holds the aura," came a voice behind him. 

Fushimi whirled around, only to be taken all at once by supernatural arms that thrust him by the shoulders to the ground. His limbs as well were bound by glowing chains that suddenly appeared — conjured by two Strains who stood on either side. The more he tried to squirm, the more tightly they would bind themselves around him.

Their task complete, his attackers stepped apart, leaving him to fidget in his place. Struggling uncomfortably, he peered up to encounter Rei Kiyoka propped inside the doorway, her features calm, her arms crossed lazily before her. 

For a moment there was silence. Neither one of them moved. How long has she been here? Fushimi wondered. And how much did she hear?

"You'd be right, you know," Kiyoka informed him, stepping into the room. "As it is, you cannot access the algorithm. No one can. No one except me." 

Fushimi cocked his head, sending out a look of pure annoyance. "What you're saying doesn't make sense. What about Kawaguchi Industries?”

"What about them?" 

"You know damn well what. You said you created the Kawaguchi Algorithm, and yet you also stole it from them? Why would you steal something you supposedly created?" 

Kiyoka tapped her fingers on her chin, humming at the ceiling. ”Is it technically stealing if you're just taking back what’s already yours?" Peering back at him, her emerald eyes took on a neon glow from that of the screens.

"Kawaguchi stole it from me. I simply stole it back,” she explained. "Or rather, I stole all of Kawaguchi Industries in addition to my algorithm. Girl needs payback every now and again. So I guess you can say, I am now Kawaguchi Industries.”

Fushimi scoffed at her. ”You?”

"What? You don't believe that I would use the very algorithm I created to commandeer the company that stole it from me, so becoming the head of my own organization?”

"A corrupt organization, I'm sure,” he mumbled under his breath.

"But you're not so sure, are you?” She said, her eyes fixated on him, glowing, searching, eerily calculated. “I can see it,” she went on. “Something in your eyes that tells me, even in its smallest form, that you believe me. But of course, it's only natural that one creator recognizes another, you being the one who built the Yuishiki System after all." 

Fushimi scowled, taken aback. "How did you – ?"

“Admit it. You believe that I would create something as outrageous as the Kawaguchi Algorithm because it's something you yourself would create. You have already created it, in your own way. So why is it so hard to believe that someone else could ever be like you?”  

Blinking wide, Fushimi stared at her. Like me? He thought, suddenly speculative.

“But if you insist on being stubborn, go ahead, look into it," Kiyoka offered. "Take a peek inside Kawaguchi Industries. Plug it into your prize, the Yuishiki System, and see what you find." 

Hold on, He thought. Clearly she’d have a lot to gain from holding me captive. So why is she telling me all this? “Are you saying you plan to me go?” He said aloud. “Again?” 

Kiyoka shrugged. “I thought I made it clear - “

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can’t kill me because He wouldn’t like it. But just who is this ‘He,’ you’re referring to? Anyone I know?”

Just then a little glimmer flashed across her eyes; or perhaps it was the haze from all the screens. Either way, Fushimi caught it, and Kiyoka blinked away, almost self-consciously.

“So you let me go,” Fushimi said, ”And in the meantime, you just get to disappear, am I right? While you send me off on another wild goose chase, off you go scot free." He shook his head. “I don't think so. I'm going to find out what it is you’re planning, and when I do, I will stop you. You don't get to be the one left standing at the end of this.”

“And I suppose you believe that you deserve that right instead?" Kiyoka asked, recovering her playful attitude.

"No one deserves that right," he shot back. "Besides, simply being the one left standing doesn't necessarily mean that I've beaten you. You will have tried, failed, and lost, all on your own. And what do I get? Some pathetic sense of victory that doesn't mean shit. That's not winning. The rules of this world don't allow us the luxury of winning. That's why I change the rules. If I'm not the one left standing, it's because I will have made sure that you're the one to fall, even if it means tying a noose around both our necks. I'll take you down with me if I have to.”

Kiyoka clicked her tongue. ”What a stupid way to go." 

"For you, maybe. But not for me. Because unlike you, driven down against your will, I will have chosen for myself, a decision you will have failed to take away from me. As it happens, I will be the one who inevitably strips you of that right. That’s when I’ll know that I’ve won: when I’ve taken everything from you, even your ability to choose.”

At this, Kiyoka paused, nodding slowly. ”I see.” Eyeing a chair beside her, she reached her fingers out, fiddling the upholstery. “And are you so certain that I’ve not already made my choice? That I've not already found the path I wish to take down into hell, and that this isn't just my way of carrying it out?" 

Gradually, she turned to look at him, a darkness in her eye. 

“Perhaps this noose around my neck has already been tied, but it was I who tied it there; I who am now counting on you to let go of the other end, to give the final push. And for that, I can’t have you diving in head first before it’s time.”

”What are you saying?” Fushimi asked. “That you actually want me to kill you?" 

“Kill me?” She chuckled sharply. Then her tone fell flat. “If only it were that easy. No, what I’m saying is this: that if I can't rely on you, Saruhiko Fushimi, then what really is the point of you?” All at once her playfulness subsided, as though it were a mask, finally stripped away. Not even in her eyes did he detect a sense of cunning anymore. As it was, her bluntness, almost human in simplicity and earnestness, had thrown him off completely. 

“The hell?” He said in actual bewilderment. 

Kiyoka didn’t stop. “You know, it would be one thing if you were simply unreliable. But after what you just said — all that blind talk of taking me down with you — you're not even that, are you? You're worse. Because you still can't even bring yourself to figure out why you should be relied upon, and why it is you can’t be. You’re too busy obsessing over the wrong things to even notice the bigger picture.” She shook her head slowly. “Someone with that big of a propensity for oversight is nothing more than a waste of good intellect – not even useful enough to be used.” She made a turn for the door and paused, her voice weighed down, strained. “What a disappointment.” Then with a tired flick of her hand, signaling her men, she exited the room without another word.

Feeling oddly anxious, Fushimi opened his mouth to stop her. Her words, he found, had left a sinking feeling in his chest. Not that he quite figured what to say to make her stay, only that by letting her continue, to watch her walk away, out his sight, he’d somehow lose her further to the darkness, one that no one else could see nor venture through but her. Somehow, this unnerved him, and prompted him to call her back; yet as he did, the aura-chain that bound him rung itself more thoroughly around him, burning him as would a red-hot iron pressed against his skin. He let out an instant cry, mainly from surprise, and that’s when he heard it: the item he'd been waiting on: the metal disk he placed atop the computer drive let out its own alarm. 

Sudden action flooded into his face. With a rising grunt, he forced his limbs against the chains, unleashing both his auras in a two-fold blast that overwhelmed his captors, obliterating them, the chains, as well as half the computer room; more importantly, the evidence that he had seen regarding Aka Shinzu Technologies, information he was then certain Rei Kiyoka had no knowledge of. For once, he’d gained the upper hand.

Snatching up the disk, he ducked out through the newly blasted wall, only to discover a small army of aura-wielders in the presence of Rei Kiyoka, turned to witness the commotion.

For but an instant, their eyes met. Something of alarm — no; excitement, maybe? — carried in Rei Kiyoka’s gaze, and then she gave the order and her followers unleashed themselves. 

Fushimi held a lasting glance on Kiyoka, observing her, then drew his saber outward in a flourish of his power, and vanished into the darkness.

He could still hear the shouts of Kiyoka issuing her orders to pursue, even when he was certain of escape, and it was several more moments before the final hints of aura flashes dwindled away behind him.

At last, he gained the fresh clean air and early rays of dawn atop the surface, though feeling somewhat strange, empty, as though inside the darkness of the Underworld, where Rei Kiyoka lingered, a part of him belonged: where the fierceness of the light forever failed to penetrate.

Exhaustedly, he stared up at the sky, sensed a gust of wind and closed his eyes against it, letting out a long, unhindered sigh.

Reflecting on Rei Kiyoka’s words, everything about her, everything that happened, none of it made sense. She won’t kill me; she won’t take me hostage; she knows I’m powerful enough, and that those chains would never have held me had I really wanted to escape. She could have used her own aura to stop me, but she didn’t. She let me go. But she wanted me — no, she wanted them to think she did everything she could. 

Faced then with the unavoidable truth, he caved. She’s right, I’ve been obsessing over the wrong thing. There’s something more to it. I just can’t seem to see it yet. And that’s the thing: I do actually believe her, or rather, I believe that everything she’s telling me is just one piece of the puzzle - only half the truth. Before, I mistook that for lies, but now I get it. Only half a truth doesn’t necessarily make it a lie. It just means there’s more that needs to be told. And obviously she has a reason for not telling me, which makes her dangerous. I just have to figure out the rest of the puzzle. Only then will I be able to…

Again, he sighed, uncommonly troubled. 

Opening his eyes, staring at the yellow morning glow, he hailed the Captain on the comms. 

"I was wondering when I'd hear from you, Mr. Fushimi," the Captain answered. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Yes. No. Hell, I have no idea, he thought. Why does that question seem so hard to answer right now? Therefore, instead, he simply asked, “What do you know about an Aka Shinku Technologies, Captain?”

There was a slight pause. ”Very little, I'm afraid. Merely that it is an organization in name only, but that below the surface lies a collection of supernatural beings with, shall we say, questionable motives."

"You could just say 'terror organization,’ Captain."

"Very well, then. From what I’ve gathered, their primary focus lies in exercising supernatural dominance over those they deem as lesser or sub-standard.”

“Sub-standard? You mean regular humans?”

“Precisely. They believe supernatural beings should be at the forefront of society. Therefore, they employ certain criminal tactics centered on aggression so as to bring about fear, and ultimately submission to that same dominance they believe is owed to them. But why do you ask? What is their affiliation with this case?”

"I believe Rei Kiyoka is working with them. Somehow the algorithm's involved, too, but..." 

"But what?" 

“I’m not really sure. It could be just a feeling but…whatever it is she's planning, and whatever she’s about to do…I think she wants me to stop her.”

(Chapter III: Hakkā // Chapter V: Allegiance)

(K:Tales of Midnight is an Eso Niko Fan Fiction series based on the anime/manga series K, written by GoRa and produced by GoHands. All fan fiction works written by Eso Niko are categorized as ‘unofficial fan fiction,’ and are in no way affiliated to GoRa and GoHands.)