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boxoftheskyking · 4 years ago

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Pick Up Every Piece - Part One

Ok things to know: -this does not take place in China. It does not take place in the US. It is the year 2000 in a fictional country that I control (this project is a challenge called Let’s Do Exposition). Just go with it. -It’s all talking. That’s what I do, you know this. -Warnings for stuff, I dunno I haven’t written it all yet. When it’s shiny it’ll go on AO3 but for now here’s what I got so far. -There is a lot of alcohol in this fic -Like all fic writers I live on positive reinforcement and this shit is a lot of work. -The title may change, yes it is from NMH

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There are bodies in the creek bed. Enough bodies to stop the flow of the water. Thirty at least, a dam of them. An old woman and a child. Clothes and hair sodden, darkened and wet. Clouds of darkness hovering in the air around them, seeping into dead flesh. An old woman and a child and others. Others in that middle age, the age that passes comment. Is it wrong that these two bodies stand out to him? After all, if he were among the bodies, if he was lying in this creek bed, thirty, skinny, and unremarkable, he would hardly notice himself. He’d blend into the pile, only serving to make the word a plural. Body becomes Bodies. Alters the language. Murder becomes Massacre. There are thirty bodies and hundreds, thousands of flies. Crawling on the back of the little boy’s hand. A smell like—not burning, not quite. Death. Not rot, fresh death. The sand under his feet is nearly dry. The creek bed is dry.

Wei Ying blinks. The creek burbles on alongside him, one duck lazily riding the current under a fallen branch and along to somewhere more interesting. It’s October, and beautiful, and there’s the smallest twilight bite in the air pricking at his nostrils on every inhale. He blows out a long breath and finds himself scratching at his arms, the backs of his hands, where the old scars are. They’re ugly, blotchy and dark like land masses on a faded old map, and they still itch sometimes. He rubs at them hard with the heel of his palm—it’s a weird half-feeling, the layers of dead tissue. It’s not dead, Wen Qing would correct him. It’s not necrotic, it’s just scarring.

He steps around the gnarled roots that reach up from the banks, trying to get to the road but not ever making it. There’s a few muddy stuffed bears tucked among them, plastic wrap snagged on the bark from cheap drugstore bunches of flowers that have rotted away. A couple of carefully hand-painted wooden signs nailed to the trunks, trying to convince the place that people still remember.

He shakes himself and turns away from the woods, hopping the fence onto the road that leads to the bar. He’s late, but Li Chen is always late in the mornings so he deserves to work an extra fifteen minutes. It’s not like there’s a manager to yell at him.

The bar is across the street from an old gas station, one that got firebombed during the war and then left. That’s the thing about Yiling. Everywhere else, even up in Gusu, the cities have gotten rid of as much evidence as possible. Well, they’ve gotten rid of most and turned the rest into memorials to the victorious dead, nice and shiny and flying the Sunshot flag. Nobody really cares about appearances around Yiling—maybe the city council does, but they don’t have anywhere near the budget to run cleanup. Too much actual infrastructure got hit during the worst of the fighting, and they’ll be years behind the rest of the country for the next decade or so. Memorials here are all handmade, and none of them last long.

There’s a flag, though, spray painted on what’s left of the concrete wall of the gas station. A golden hand covering most of a red sun, partly covered by black—one finger for each of the four leading clans and a thumb for everyone else. Typical. He’s not sure who’d have painted a Sunshot here. No one local, he’d put money on it. He supposes they know about spray paint in Lanling—governments must adapt.

It’s probably intentional, anyway, the lack of cleanup. The lack of progress. Nightless City can be repurposed by the Jin government, but the site of the Massacre should stay ugly and busted for a few more years. So no one forgets what it looks like to lose.

Wei Ying likes it in Yiling. “It’s my kind of town,” he always tells Jiang Cheng, who usually throws something at his head. “You want to be a bartender in a town like this. In a town like this, people need a bartender. It’s nice to be needed, you know.”

It’s a shitty bar by any other place’s standards, but for Yiling it’s cozy. The owner, who everyone just calls Granny, still orders sawdust for the floors like it’s 1860 or something, to soak up spills and puke and, occasionally, blood.

Jiang Cheng always says it’s only a matter of time before they have murder in the bar. “Manslaughter, at least,” he’ll say. “It’s just got that look.” Wei Ying says everyone in Yiling’s too tired. Mostly he and Wen Ning just roll drunks out onto the sidewalk and into a cab if someone can afford it.

Jiang Cheng himself comes in around eight. It’s as much of a rush as they ever get, so he has to wait for a few old men to get their cheap lager and gin before sliding up to the bar on his usual stool. Wen Ning gives him a cheerful salute as he comes in, and Jiang Cheng nods awkwardly back at him.

“You’re back early,” Wei Ying says, drawing him a pint of something bitter. Jiang Cheng still lives in Yunmeng, in the old family home, but he has a sublet in Yiling now that he’s working for the intelligence department. Jin Zixuan calls it “cutting his teeth” monitoring old Wen strongholds. Jiang Cheng calls it “shoveling shit.”

It turns out cleaning up a civil war is a pain in the ass, even five years later.

“We should do lunch with Wen Qing on Saturday. She’ll want to see you.”

Jiang Cheng pulls out his annoying little planner, full of his cramped handwriting and meetings with this informant and that police sergeant. “Have to be brunch, I’ve got a twelve-thirty on Saturday.”

Wei Ying snorts at him. “Brunch, in Yiling. Good luck.”

“Hangover breakfast, then.”

“That we can do.”

Jiang Cheng takes a long pull of his beer and Wei Ying can see the relief run down him from the crown of his head down over his shoulders like something hot and slippery. Oil maybe, or homemade noodles. He groans and drops his head down behind his glass.

“Hey, Wei Ying!” An arthritic hand waves at him from the other end of the bar.

“Gotcha, Riseung,” he calls and starts fishing for the kahlua and cream. It’s always at the back of the cooler; no one else ever orders it. “You’re gonna work yourself into an early grave,” he tosses back at Jiang Cheng.

“Not if you keep giving me beer.”

“Hey, Wei Ying, I saw that story last week. Hell of a thing.” Li Riseung has a little cream mustache, but Wei Ying’s not going to mention it.

“The gas thing?” Wei Ying grins at him. “Yeah, I’m telling you, it’s all connected. You watch the prices when Lanling tries to pass another referendum. It’s all supposed to soften you up. You got something for me today?”

“Still writing your conspiracy theories?” Jiang Cheng calls to him. “Some guys just don’t know when to quit.”

(Someone else comes up, he pulls a pint of stout.)

Riseung bristles. “Wei Ying is the only real journalist left in this country. You’ll see.”

Wei Ying props his chin on his folded hands and waits. Riseung takes another long sip. “Yu Xiuying’s got her popcorn maker up and running. She’s starting to sell what she can, make enough to get the theater back in order.”

“Really? That would be something. I’m sick of taking the train every time I want to see a movie.”

“You should report on that, get her some customers.”

Wei Ying drums his fingers on his chin. “Maybe we can work out an ad situation. I need more ads, you know. Papers ain’t cheap.”

Riseung finishes his drink, sets the glass down on the bar. He half-reaches for his pocket. “So, do I owe you, or . . .”

Wei Ying stifles a sigh. Technically it’s nothing he can use. He’s not about to publish an expose on popcorn. Still, he waves a hand. “Your money’s no good here. Go on, keep up the good work.”

The man grins up at him, flashing a row of silver fillings, and heads over to bother someone else.

(Another customer—rum and Coke.)

“You’re just letting people drink for free, huh?” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying wanders back over to him, taking a sip of his own drink (coffee, plus whiskey, just enough to get through the shift).

“Reporting is all about cultivating sources, Jiang Cheng, even you should know that. Li Riseung is a source.”

“A source,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “He’s a drunk.”

“So’s everyone. This whole country’s full of drunks. Drunks make the world go around.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “This city is fucking depressing.”

“Oh, and all of Lanling’s sober, is it? Yunmeng? Everybody’s living like Lans? You’d be much more pleasant with a few more of these in you.” Wei Ying grabs his pint glass and dumps the end of it out, refilling in the same smooth movement. It’s just out of spite. He shouldn’t be wasting a good few ounces of genuinely nice beer. But he can’t help it; Jiang Cheng brings it out in him. He spins and shimmies a bit to the bad pop song coming from the busted speaker above him and grabs a bin of limes to chop.

“When are you going to come home?”

Wei Ying doesn’t slip and cut himself, but it’s close.

“I live in Yiling, Jiang Cheng.”

“Yeah, for now.”

Wei Ying sighs. “I like it here, okay? You think they’d let me back in Yunmeng, after everything?”

“I’ve got influence now. They wouldn’t say anything.”

(Two lagers, shot of tequila.)

He hasn’t lived in Yunmeng in years. Almost a decade now. He was in Yunmeng at the start of everything, when Wen Ruohan was forced out of office and half the military went with him. He visits now, but there’s still that sense of before when he’s there, like the majority of his life hasn’t happened yet. But Jiang Cheng is never going to get that, he’s a linear person.

“Not saying anything isn’t the same as allowing. I’m not going to make you fight all day just so I can work at some bougie wine bar somewhere.”

“You wouldn’t have to work at a bar. You could—”

“What? Write? You think anyone anywhere is going to hire me at a paper again? Despite all the rumors, you’re not that dumb.”

“Fuck off. You could work with me.”

“Intelligence. Really? How do you think that would work out? ‘Yes, Jin Zixuan, whatever you say, Jin Zixuan—’”

“Fuck off.”

Wei Ying shakes his head and scrapes a pile of lime wedges back in the bin. “I like where I am. I’ve got the paper—”

“It’s not a paper.”

Wei Ying doesn’t slam the knife down, but it’s a close thing. “Jiang Cheng—”

“You’re such a fucking martyr. What, you lose your dream job so you go to the ass crack of the world and set yourself up as king of nowhere?”

“I’m not king of anything, I’m just writing.”

(Three glasses of white wine.)

“Yiling Laozu.” Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue. “I know you can’t use your real name, but that’s embarrassing. Laozu. You and your sources.”

Wei Ying takes a breath and unclenches his jaw. “If Wen Qing were here you wouldn’t be calling us embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassing. She’s not embarrassing.”

“It’s our paper.”

“Wen Qing has dignity. You have none.”

Wei Ying gathers up his knife and cutting board to run them back to the dish pit. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, you love me. I know you do.”

It’s always a good way to end a conversation, their own private code. If you keep pushing here you’re going to break something. A warning. You love me. I know you do. Jiang Cheng doesn't ever deny it, but he never agrees either. He doesn't need to. Wei Ying has proof. The scars on the back of his hands, curling around his wrists and up his arms—burn scars, chemical burns—are proof. Jiang Cheng doesn't like to look at his hands. That's proof too.

When he comes back out, Jiang Cheng isn’t alone. The general noise of the bar has fallen to a murmur, and the rowdy game of dominoes is paused in the corner.

Xue Yang is sprawled over two stools, dressed in shiny black leather and grinning a few inches away from Jiang Cheng’s face.

“How’s it going, Captain Jiang?”

Jiang Cheng leans away. “I don’t see you. You are not here.”

“Course not. Good boy.”

Jiang Cheng’s hand tightens around his glass, and Wei Ying picks up the pace slightly.

“Leave him alone, Xue Yang,” he says, carefully mild.

The grin turns on him, and Xue Yang waves, his weird little black prosthesis sticking out like a lighting-struck tree. “You telling me what to do, Wei Ying?”

“I would never. Here, have a drink. If you want.” He pours him a double from his own secret bottle, the one Granny gave him on a good night in the summer. It’s painfully ironic—Xue Yang would be the only person in Yiling who could afford it if he ever actually paid for it.

Wei Ying nods to him and slides the glass across the bar, along with the usual brown envelope. Jiang Cheng sighs and spins around on his stool, looking away.

“Feels light,” Xue Yang says, like always.

“It’s not,” Wei Ying says, also like always.

Xue Yang grins around the little white stick hanging out of his mouth, and Wei Ying grins back. “Eight percent extra on anything you’re short next time.”

“It’s not short. And it’s five percent, don’t try to fuck with me.” Wei Ying smiles wider and does not blink.

“Maybe it’s changed.”

“Granny would tell me, and she wouldn’t hear it from you.”

“Maybe it’s changing today.” Xue Yang leans across the bar, not quite getting in his face, but close enough. Wei Ying meets Wen Ning’s eye over his shoulder. Wen Ning takes a few steps away from the door, but Wei Ying shakes his head just a fraction and he goes still.

“You don’t have the authority.” Wei Ying lets his grin go a little unnatural at the corners, a little bit of a snarl. “And it’s not short, so it doesn’t matter.”

Xue Yang laughs and tucks the envelope into his jacket, then takes a long swig. Wei Ying breathes, finally, quiet and careful.

“Xue Yang,” he says as he starts to wipe down the bar again. “You know you wound me.”

Xue Yang wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Oh do I?”

“You know it hurts me, deep down in the soul parts of my body, to see you drink top shelf scotch with a fucking sucker in your mouth.”

Xue Yang sticks out his tongue so Wei Ying can see the little yellow nub of it. “It’s pineapple.”

“Great. Thank you. I’m going to go drink bleach now.”

Jiang Cheng half turns to glare at him. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Xue Yang chugs the rest of the scotch and tosses the empty glass at Wei Ying. He hates that it makes him flinch before he catches it. “Tell Granny I say hi.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, where’s the little one? Haven’t seen her in a minute.”

Wei Ying stiffens. “You’ll stay away from her if you cherish the rest of those fingers.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Xue Yang gives him a mocking salute and saunters back out towards the door. He’s nearly out when he knocks into an empty chair, sending it to the floor with a crack like a gunshot. No one hits the deck completely, but the held-breath silence turns into a gasp as all eyes snap to the sound, shoulders up and hands braced on tabletops, thighs tensed and ready to run.

Even Xue Yang is frozen at the door for a second. He laughs, though his jaw is tight. “Just a chair, ladies and gentlemen. Clean this shit up, Wen Ning.” And he’s gone.

Wei Ying deflates, adding some of the good scotch to his own cup. Jiang Cheng makes a face.

“How’s that coffee?”

“Shut up.”

“You should let me talk to Zixuan.”

“You talk to him every day.”

“You know what I mean. How long have you been paying—”

Wei Ying sighs and flicks his rag at his brother. “Thing one: I don’t pay, Granny pays. Thing two: Xue Yang is just a low level street thug with connections, he’s as in charge of the operation as I am in charge of Yiling. Thing three: it all kicks up to the Jins at the end of the day, so what are they gonna do about it?”

“Zixuan isn’t—”

“Yeah, I know your best pal is the paragon of morality.”

(Scotch and soda, root beer, gin and tonic, and three pints.)

“He’s our brother-in-law.”

“And your brother-in-arms, I know, I’d never dare disparage the mighty—”

“He’s a nicer brother than you are.”

Wei Ying mimes a faint. “I’m going to call Shijie, tell her you’re being mean to me.”

Jiang Cheng goes quiet, looks down at his beer. Wei Ying reaches out for it, an offering.

“Another?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I shouldn’t.” A chunk of his hair comes loose from its tie, feathers across his forehead.

“When are you gonna cut that hair, huh?” Wei Ying flicks it back over his ear. Jiang Cheng swipes at his hand lazily.

“I like it like this.”

“You and Zixuan are twins now, huh? You cultivators. Does Lan Zhan still keep his long, do you think?”

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him in a long time. Stop it, leave it, I have it how I want it.”

Wei Ying laughs at him. “Looks good. Dignified. Hey, did you ever ask for Zidian back?”

Jiang Cheng’s face does something complicated, a little bitter. “Not gonna happen. No spiritual weapons are gonna be authorized any time soon.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours.”

“It’s not mine. It’s the government’s.”

“But it responds to you. What good does it do locked away in—”

“Leave it, Wei Ying. I know you’ve got opinions about cultivation, but I’m fucking tired and it’s not going to change anything.”

“Well, when you’re in charge. Then you’ll show ‘em.”

That does make Jiang Cheng laugh, which is satisfying.

(Two gin and tonics.)

“Hey, you’re not allowed—” Wen Ning calls from the door, followed by the tap-tap of a metal cane. Wei Ying sighs and reaches for the grenadine.

“Wei Ying, you son of a bitch.” The voice is high, reedy, and cackling. “How the hell are ya?”

“A-Qing,” Wei Ying calls mildly. “You can’t be here.”

“Where is here?” she yells, as always. “How am I supposed to know that? Can’t you tell I’m blind?”

“Get out of my bar.”

“Discrimination!” She makes her way across the room, purposely bumping into every occupied table on her way over, just to slosh beer onto the floor.

“You’re fourteen.” He has her cherry soda on the bar by the time she hops up on the stool next to Jiang Cheng, ignoring him entirely.

“And how do you know that, creepy old man?”

“You made me get you a cake for your birthday, you goblin.”

“Who’s this guy?” She takes a long slurping suck from her straw.

“My didi.”

“You—!” Jiang Cheng hates it, which is the only reason Wei Ying says it.

“Ooh, the famous Jiang Cheng. I bet he looks real grumpy.”

“Yep.”

Jiang Cheng flips him off. He grins and goes back to wiping down the drain.

“He just flipped you off, didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.” She finishes her drink and slams the glass down. “Double vodka please.”

“Nope.”

“I drink vodka all the time.”

“Don’t care. I’m not getting fired over your sorry ass. Go drink at home.”

“I’m not allowed vodka at the home.”

“And you’re not allowed here either.” He drops the rag back into the sanitizer and leans his elbows on the bar. “Now, are you here with something interesting or just to pester me?”

Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to interject, but Wei Ying waves him off.

“I can multitask,” A-Qing says before pushing her glass back across the bar. “More sugar first.”

“Diabetes on the rocks, yes madam.”

She takes a long slurping pull, and he folds his arms, waiting.

“Got a new TV at the home. Real big one.”

“A-Qing, I’m waiting.”

Jiang Cheng squints at her. “How do you know how big the TV is?”

“I just know, okay. Anyway. One of the older kids got it. Bought it himself.”

“Yeah, right,” Wei Ying says. He needs to challenge her if she’s going to give him the whole story. If he seems too interested she’ll draw it out just to fuck with him.

“He did. Wen Changming.”

“A Wen?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Lots of Wens in the children’s home. I wonder why.”

Jiang Cheng makes a sour face at him.

“He’s got cash to burn, suddenly. Pockets full.”

“Gee, I wonder how you found that out.”

A-Qing grins at him. “He’s not gonna miss it. He’s in the club now.”

“The club?”

“You know, the club. What do you call it? Do crimes, get money.”

“Mob? Syndicate? Criminal organization?” Jiang Cheng offers.

“So they’re recruiting at the home, that’s what you’re telling me? Is it Xue Yang?”

A-Qing blows bubbles in her soda. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Must be desperate.”

“You do the same thing.”

“I do not.”

She holds out a hand. He sighs and passes over a couple of bills.

“You staying there tonight?” he asks, all casual.

“Maybe. The girls are annoying. Should be nice outside.”

“Starting to get cold.”

“Not really. Only if you’re a pussy.”

“You call me if you need to crash. Here.” He drops a couple of coins in front of her. “I’ll be home after midnight.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she says, pocketing the change. She gives a little salute and hops off her stool. “So long, Wen Ning!” she shouts, walking right at him and making him hop out of the way.

She’s not really blind, of course. Wei Ying’s never brought it up—he knows, but he’s not sure she knows that he knows. One of the nights she crashed at his apartment, months ago, he caught her reading through one of his binders of old clippings—‘91, back before the start of the war, when he was still in Gusu. It kind of kills him, because he wants to ask her what she thought of them. What she remembers from back then, if there’s anything. But they don’t talk about anything serious, not if they can help it.

“Please tell me you don’t have a teenage girl staying at your place,” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying gives him a great sigh and grabs his rag again.

“Only when she's got no other place to go. Oh, I have a futon now! You’d see it if you ever came over.”

“Wow, great, you're thirty years old and you have a secondhand futon. Mother would be so proud.”

“I didn't say it was secondhand.”

“Wei Ying, trust me, you do not need to.”

(Four pints.)

Wei Ying makes a face at him. “So mean.”

“It’s weird that she stays with you.”

Wei Wuxian sighs again. “Jiang Cheng.”

“It is. It’s weird.”

“If it’s a bad night at the home then she sleeps outside. I don’t like her sleeping outside, so she stays with me. When she’s not being ornery.”

“She’s a teenage girl.”

“She’s a baby.”

“Not your baby. Why would she sleep outside anyway? Yiling sucks.”

“The home sucks. Look, it’s an orphan thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Jiang Cheng pouts. “Hey, I’m an orphan.”

“No you’re not, you’re a grown up.”

(Whiskey, neat.)

“You’re a grownup. My parents are dead; I’m an orphan.”

“Then everyone’s a fucking orphan in this country. The word’s lost all meaning. From now on, if your parents were alive when you were ten, you’re not an orphan. Find a new word, leave ours alone.”

“You’re such a jackass.”

“Jackass! Yes, that’s a good word.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and gets off his stool. He tosses cash down on the bar, though Wei Ying tries to wave him off.

“Oh, you’re going to want to get a flag up in here,” he says, off-hand as he turns to go.

Wei Ying freezes. “Excuse me?”

“Coming down from on high, it’s going to be a new ordinance. To keep the liquor license.”

“The fuck does a flag have to do with our liquor license?”

Jiang Cheng holds up his hands. “I’m just the messenger.”

“I’m not letting the Sunshot flag through these doors.”

Jiang Cheng turns back to him, serious. “Look, I know you have your own . . . feelings—”

“Feelings?” he almost spits, spreading his hands out on the bar.

Jiang Cheng winces and does not look at them. “You have your reasons, I’m not arguing that. But Yiling’s a part of the Republic and people need to get used to it. You don’t have to like it, but your district rep is going to announce the policy in the next week, and I don’t want to see you— Don’t go out of your way to make life difficult, all right? It’s hard enough already.”

Wei Ying says nothing, just leans back and watches the rag twist and untwist between his hands.

“See you Saturday,” Jiang Cheng offers, hesitates, then leaves.

Wei Ying will close up. They close early, still, kick everyone out before midnight. Old habits. He’ll go home and work on his column, the one corner of the paper Wen Qing leaves for whatever he wants. (Literally, the column is called “Whatever.”) Maybe A-Qing will find a pay phone and call him, if she hasn’t spent or hidden the change, or maybe she’ll just show up and lean on the buzzer until he lets her in. He’ll sleep better, if she’s there. He was never meant to live alone.

And he’ll wake up tomorrow, and try to do it all again.

Part Two

#the untamed #cql #assorted writings #pick up every piece

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earmuffstar · 4 years ago

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glazed eyes, empty hearts

ao3 link!! Summary: Remus lay on the carpet in the Commons, drinking something inedible and trying to figure out if he could saw off his hand. OR: Remus has ways of keeping himself from full lucidity. Janus has some things to say about it. Genre: canonverse angst Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders (platonic dukeceit/demus/intruceit) Words: 1589 Additional Tags/Warnings: Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Mentions of Dismemberment, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Swearing

Remus lay on the carpet in the Commons, drinking something inedible and trying to figure out if he could saw off his hand.

He’d have to clamp his right arm down—since his left arm was stronger—and on a table, probably, for the best angle. He’d use an electric saw, to keep himself from stopping halfway through from the pain. Maybe he’d even get away with it, too: right here on the living room table in the middle of Family Game Night, or whatever the Lights were doing, he wasn't paying attention. The others normally didn’t question what Remus did, whether a product of not wanting to look too closely or because they just didn’t care, he didn’t know. It came in handy at times like this—ha, handy, he should tell that to Pappy Patouille.

“Handy!” Remus screeched. The conversation stuttered like tripping over a stone, tumbling to the pavement, skittering off a cliff and ending up squished in half by a train on criss-crossed railway tracks before resuming its pace as normal.

Remus went back to pondering his drink, now half-empty. He kind of hoped it was alcohol, although even the more potent stuff didn’t do much for him anymore. Maybe bleach, then. He took a gulp. Snapped his fingers and malathion filled the rest of the concoction to the top. Downed the glass. It didn’t taste half bad—he almost wished it tasted worse—but it made his head spin and his thoughts appropriately fuzzy, which was all he needed.

Remus stood up, bracing himself against the armrest as the room wavered, legs quivering inappropriately under his weight. The room continued their conversation—he couldn’t make out the words, not like he wanted to, he was sure it was about Disney or some other unimportant shit—as he sunk out.

The corner of Thomas’ mind which embodied Dark Creativity, forbidden thoughts, the macabre, badness, demented reason, remained perpetually in disrepair. Remus tripped over shards of glass—broken Bud Light’s?—needles, plastic orange bottles, and crashed to his knees somewhere wet, cheek brushing against bones and plywood as his eyelids drooped shut.

~~~

Remus shifted as he came to: alive, in his room, with a mind far too alert and lucid. Had he messed up with whatever he’d drunk last night—accidentally used orange juice or some shit instead of malathion? Remus growled in frustration. The easiest methods of forced mental incoherence—starvation, lack of sleep, the like—always took the longest time to take effect. If he’d paid attention last night, he would have been able to perpetuate the misery longer without this unfortunate break. He’d have to resort to more drastic measures for instant relief.

At least the blackout was nice. He normally didn’t get such an easy reprieve. When nightmares didn’t torment his sleep, the knowledge of coherence and well-restedness it offered did.

Dark Imagination always exhaled cold, stinking of rot and filth, miasma and decay. His thoughts always amplified in his domain, spinning and twisting in a way that felt good—or rather, felt terrible, which was good. Remus sank his foot into the muck, his realm unnaturally still. His creations normally drew into hiding when he came here like this—they didn’t like to see him do this. Welp. Too bad for them.

Here was a total blank slate. He could do anything. Remus’ claws itched.

It sucked how much it hurt, was the thing. The pain was delicious, and he soaked it up, reveled in it like cloth soaking blood, he needed it—but it still hurt, at the very beginning, the moment when knife hit flesh. The physical pain always hurt like hell, but the greater the pain at the beginning the longer it would keep hurting, and if at least some part of him was hurting he didn’t have to hurt a different part again to balance out the hurt in his brain.

Remus heard the footsteps only after rivulets of blood ran down his fingers.

“Remus?” The voice came soft, low, with a hint of a hiss curling the edge of their words. Remus’ blood ran cold, drip, drip, dripping onto the ground, and he grinned a false smile as he turned around—pointless, Janus always saw through him, Janus was the one person who wouldn’t brush off his antics as his simply unfortunate nature.

“Hey, welcome, Janny-Jan! Just messing around, you know me.” Remus was still far too coherent for this, brain just as awake as it had been when he’d woken up feeling nothing unnatural in his system despite the pain. Remus summoned a bottle of arsenic, aiming to chug it, when his fingers grasped empty air. Janus held the bottle away from him with one of his extra hands.

“Give it back, Jan.”

“Remus, this isn’t healthy.”

Remus cackled. The notion of “healthy” deserved that much. “Does it look like I care? Give it back.”

Janus sighed, looking resigned, and Remus knew what was going to happen before it did. That didn’t mean he didn’t struggle as six arms wrapped around him, yanking him from his domain into Janus’ room. Janus deposited him on a bed, holding him down by his arms and ignoring Remus’ pleas with practiced care.

Gloved hands met his own, stopping him every time he tried to scratch his arms, eyes, limbs. Already Remus could feel the effects of Janus’ room sink into his body, denials becoming truths as they healed his wounds, and Remus detested the comfort even as he gave in to it. Janus sat down next to him as the fight bled out of him, its absence hurting somehow more than blood and guts spilling from his wounds.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Janus said quietly, no more to Remus than to the air, but he shrugged anyway. He’d tried for far too long to rationalize his actions, formulate some sort of reasoning, some story, some grand reason why. Eventually he stopped trying, because no amount of reasoning ever stopped him. He would either do something or he wouldn’t, and that was how it worked—whatever thought that had led him to that action could have been fleeting, could have been in response to the opposite inclination, could have been anything. He’d long since given up on trying to understand his mind.

Janus should stop worrying. It wasn’t like anything would kill him, anyway.

“Well!” Remus struggled to sit up. “This has been fun, but—”

“Remus, you can’t—”

“I’m perfectly fine now, so—”

“You’re not —”

“I can’t say it’s been lovely but I should be going, got places to be—”

Janus looked about to explode, or cry, and personally Remus thought the former would be much cooler, wondered how flesh would become explosive, charred, twisted, dead. “We have to talk about this, Remus! I can’t— I can’t let you continue like this.”

Something furious and burning licked through his spine. Remus went still—still like the night, still like corpses buried six feet under the winter chill, still like death. Janus’ expression quickly smoothed over, but Remus was pleased to read fear in the pinch of his brow. “What I do,” Remus hissed, “is not up to you. I am not your charity project, and I understand perfectly well what I’m doing. You don’t get to take this away from me.”

“Remus, you—” Janus’ breath hitched. Remus didn’t— couldn’t turn to look at his face. “You can’t possibly think this is a long-term solution to your problems! ‘Oh yes, continually hurting myself will make my life better, it won’t have any lasting effects on anyone at all—’”

“I don’t want to think !” Remus screamed. He would have glared at the yellow-clad side had exhaustion not burrowed into his bones. Or maybe that was just the blood loss, or the aftereffects of the alcohol. “I don’t want to feel better, I don’t want to feel normal, or healthy, I just want to— to be numb, to be—”

He’d grown too used to incoherence to be able to deal with reality without it. The fact that the poisons gave him an excuse for being a fuck up, and that he’d have no shield, no scapegoat, no backup if he was still a fuck-up while being fully coherent. He didn’t particularly want to stop, not anymore, not for all the effort it’d take with too little payoff—but Remus knew better than to talk about his self-destructive tendencies to Self-Preservation.

Remus turned his back on Janus, though he felt his gaze tracing his spine. He wondered how long Janus was going to sit here with him—Janus knew better than to leave Remus unattended in his room.

Janus stood up abruptly, drawing Remus’ eye. He grabbed Remus by the arm again, and, to Remus' surprise, he felt the vertigo-like falling sensation of sinking back into his own room. Janus released his grip, opened his mouth, closed it again without speaking, and suddenly Remus found arms around folded him in an embrace. “We will be talking about this again,” Janus murmured, before both him and his touch disappeared as quick as it had come. Silence resounded in his wake, and Remus realized he’d been given what he’d asked for—his freedom.

Remus summoned another bottle of arsenic and drained it, relishing the way it instantly weakened his limbs, confused his thoughts. He sunk back onto his bed of corpses and plywood, gaze falling limp over his realm, wind rustling over eyes that saw no sights and ears that heard no sound.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #remus sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #ts remus #ts janus #dukeceit #demus #platonic dukeceit #platonic demus #tw self harm #tw unhealthy coping mechanisms #tw implied drug use #tw implied alcohol use #tw swearing #tw mentions of dismemberment #this was a vent fic but i actually liked it?? so its being posted #i figured remus would be proud of it and that's all i need

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mythrilhusk · 3 years ago

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Why Can’t You Trust Your Own Eyes: Part 1/?

You can not sleep now, there are monsters nearby, the server whispers.

Hannah jolts awake, the hilt of her sword leaping to her palm. The pale roses embedded in her skin sing with the promises of new life and colorful meadows. She grits her teeth and groans, flopping back into her bed. Listening to the babbling water, she stares up at the blackstone ceiling of her underground base.

Water splashes by the entrance, accompanied by a heavy grunt. Leaping to her feet, Hannah draws her sword and scowls at the two intruders. "What the hell're you doing here?"

The larger, scarier of the two steps in front of the other, holding up his paws appeasingly. "Chill, we didn't know this place was occupied. Just let us heal up, and we'll get outta your hair."

Hannah takes a cautious step towards him. He's some kind of pig hybrid: pink fur and ivory tusks and sturdy build; oddly familiar for some reason. But he's covered in blood, black and red and green mingling down his skin and matting in his mane. Several barbs from an Elder Guardian stick out from his arms and ribs. An arrow pokes from his shoulder. How is he still standing?

"It's not all mine," He chuffs at her confused and concerned look.

"Y-yeah, I can see that." Hannah lowers her sword. The other man peeks timidly out from behind his protector. His face is covered with a cracked mask. He's soaked, filthy, and leaking green blood from several wounds. It would be a mercy to kill them both, her roses hiss. Hannah's accustomed to dispensing mercy.

"Uhh, listen, we're not gonna steal any of your pots, but do you have any food? I can repay you later." The pig hybrid rests a gentle, cautious paw on the masked man's shoulder. "He's pretty badly hurt, and, ha, so am I, not gonna lie."

The memory clicks in her head. Technoblade. That's why he's familiar; he helped Quackity drive out the Eggpire from their own Banquet. Hannah's sword itches in her hand. She sheathes it. "Get deeper in," She orders, making up her mind.

They're on the run from someone, or something, and they're weak. Hannah could kill him, or she could turn him in to his hunters, and that would be one more enemy of the Eggpire down.

Technoblade nods and guides his companion down through her base. Hannah follows them, ready to draw her sword at any moment. But Technoblade limps, and the other leans on him, gasping in pain with every step. They've fought so hard just to get here. Something that is not the Egg unfurls in her heart, sharp like the thorns of a quince.

Hannah throws down two beds for them, deep in the torchlit blackstone halls. Technoblade sets his dying companion down on one, sets his respawn on the other, and leans against the wall. "Gonna kill me now?"

"I don't know what you mean," Hannah lies quickly.

Technoblade sighs, staring away at a flickering torch. "I'm not goin' after the Eggpire right now. We just need to heal."

"But you will," She notes coldly. "After you heal yourselves, then what?"

"We've kinda got more pressing matters on our hands, not gonna lie." Technoblade shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant, but Hannah can see the tension in his shoulders.

This isn't right, her roses hiss, and she should listen to them. She should contact Bad, contact someone. She could kill both of them herself right now; they're weak, they're at her mercy.

The blossoming pity in her heart strikes conflict.

"Welcome to my secret base, I guess," Hannah sighs, suppressing the sliver of pity as she offers a stack of bread. "Don't steal, don't grief, and don't mess with my stuff."

She'll keep an eye on them for now. Perhaps if she's kind to them, Technoblade will think twice before trying to interfere with the Eggpire again.

Technoblade takes the bread and offers some to his companion first. "Hey, it's not potatoes."

"Not hungry," He grumbles. Technoblade shrugs and leaves half the bread by their bed while he noms a few loaves.

Hannah leans against the opposite wall. "Who are you?"

Technoblade gives her a wary glance. "This is, uhh, my cousin, uh, Axel."

"I hate that name," Axel growls. "Techno, give me a cooler name."

"He hates his name," Technoblade says helpfully.

"Oh." Hannah doesn't quite know what to make of the obvious lie, but she lets it go.

Technoblade bobs his head to her. "Yeah, uh, thanks for your hospitality, by the way. Most people on this server prolly woulda killed us by now, not gonna lie."

"Just me," Axel mutters, "You're safe."

"Not if I'm in the line of fire protectin' you," Techno retorts casually back. Axel visibly relaxes, but still turns his head away with a quiet scoff.

Techno's wounds have started to close as the food takes effect. It's not as fast as a healing or regen pot, but Hannah's not wasting her precious resources on two refugees, much less an enemy of the Egg. Axel still hasn't eaten, but he's started contemplating a loaf of bread, at least. He turns away to lift his mask and nibble it. It takes one tiny bite before he loses his restraint and devours the bread hungrily. As his hunger's filled up, his wounds start to close up as well.

They're both still filthy, however, and getting the blood and mud all over the sheets and walls. With a huff, Hannah pushes herself away from the wall. "There's a hot spring farther down. Clean yourselves up once you're healed."

"K."

Hannah turns back and examines them. They're both unarmored, unarmed, and completely harmless. "You can sleep here for the night, too, I guess."

Just one night. That's all. Then they'll be on their way.

++++

AN: My AO3 is Rogue_Swordsmith. This is a lil idea I had, of Hannah taking in Techno and Dream after they escaped prison. Techno can’t contact the Syndicate atm, cause Sam is watching all communication channels, so they’re alone and on the run. ;p I might continue it, I might not, but if you feel inspired, you’re welcome to take this idea and run with it.

Part 2

#c!dream healing arc #hurt/comfort #technoblade #hannahxxrose #blood cw #dream smp #post-prison arc #HuskWrites #not an apologist #but not an anti either #I just enjoy the characters #Flowering Trust AU

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maria-scribbles · 4 years ago

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glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part five

summary: in the aftermath of hurricane agatha, the pogues are thrown into a mess none of them are ready to deal with. things that don’t exactly top sailor’s ‘fun things to do this summer’ list: surfing in the middle of a hurricane, getting punched in the face by a stupid kook, and stumbling upon a mystery that turns her and her friends into the damn scooby gang. when she said she wanted an exciting summer, she should’ve been more specific. 🙃

word count: 8.1k+ (it just keeps getting longer and longer 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings n stuff: mentions of abuse/neglect/gambling addiction, child abandonment, anxiety, self-worth issues, jj being both soft af and hot for his best friend, weed usage, underage drinking, unresolved sexual tension, sailor being thirsty, swearing, guns, fighting, blood, that one trope where two characters only call each other by their nicknames/last names until they don’t because of ~reasons~ that makes me lose my shit every time (like a lot of the obx fandom, i also headcanon that jj stands for jesse james), references to the three stooges (jj=moe, pope=larry, and john b=curly and that’s a fact lmao), to all the boys i've loved before, avengers infinity war, and david attenborough, and a line heavily inspired/influenced by taylor swift's "dress" (a song that happens to be on the playlist for this series)

a/n: we’re finally entering canon territory, y’all (with a few tweaks, of course!) but i’m determined not to make this a rehash/retelling word for word of the show ‘cause that’s just no fun, so expect smaller pieces (vignettes, i guess?) of storytelling as i expand on canon with sailor and the rest of the pogues. think of it like a mixtape of sorts, but with words instead of music if that makes sense lol. this part originally covered episodes one and two but i wrote so much that i had to split it, so we're just covering most of episode one for now (i still can't even believe how much shit actually goes down in the pilot lol). i was veryyyy excited to write the kegger at the boneyard 'cause some ~juicy~ stuff happens there lol. fun fact: the title of this part is a term used by surfers to refer to getting up at the ass crack of dawn to hit the waves. as always, this is unbetaed so any mistakes are mine. enjoy!

gif credit to @jj-maybnks

~Masterlist~

part five: dawn patrol

The next morning, Hurricane Agatha hits the island with all the force of a knockout punch; the sound of rain pounding against the roof echoes impossibly loud throughout the Chateau but Sailor’s bewildered shriek is even louder.

“You’re gonna what the what?!”

John B shrugs as the stunned redhead, lounging on the couch, looks away from watching the storm and fixes him with a wide-eyed stare.

“I’m gonna surf the surge.”

“Hell yeah, bro!” JJ yells from his spot as her footrest, punching his fist in the air and she sends him an exasperated look, both at his enthusiastic encouragement of John B’s downright moronic idea and the fact that she already misses the feeling of his thumb drawing circles on her bare ankle.

“Are you two insane?”

“Possibly.” John B states, grinning when JJ follows that up with, “Absolutely.” The blond boy pushes Sailor’s legs off his lap as he stands which earns him another displeased scowl from the redhead. “Come on, Sail. Live a little.”

“Oh, I’ll live alright, but you idiots won’t,” She takes his offered hand, letting him pull her to her feet and then down the hall after John B as she continues, “because this is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

“See, this is why we keep you around,” He replies, laughing when she dodges his attempt to ruffle her hair and dashes forward to beat him to the spare room. “We do something stupid, you and Kie read us the riot act. It’s tradition.”

Sailor grabs her long-sleeved rash vest -if she’s going to sit on the beach to keep an eye on these fools in the middle of a damn hurricane, at least she’ll wear something that offers a little bit of warmth- and heads to the bathroom to change. “Yeah, and then I’m there to patch you up when you inevitably hurt yourselves.”

“Can’t help that you have that healing touch.” His cheeky response floats through the closed door and she catches herself smiling -wide and just a little bit sappy- in the mirror.

After a quick detour to pick up Pope, who’s already drenched from sneaking out his window, the pogues (sans Kiara who never answered John B’s text in the group chat and, knowing her parents, was probably on hurricane lockdown) head to the beach, where the rugged gray surf hammers against the shore with unrelenting brutality. Sailor trails behind the others as they grab their boards and make a break for the water, blatantly ignoring the barriers that read ‘beach closed’ in large, impossible to miss letters. A few hundred feet down the coast, she can barely make out The Sandbar all boarded up for the storm and she thinks of her mother, wondering if she's riding it out inside or at home; either way Carmen's all alone and Sailor's stomach twists with guilt, both for letting her phone battery die so she didn't have to answer her calls and for leaving in the first place, even though it was the right thing to do for her damn sanity.

“These signs are here for a reason, guys!” She calls over the howling wind, squinting through the rain at the rough waves with her hands tapping uneasily against her thighs. Watching John B run into the ocean with reckless abandon (Pope following with a little more caution, thankfully) immediately puts her anxiety on edge so she sits down heavily on the wet sand, wrapping her arms around the knees pulled to her chest and looks up at the blond boy who stayed behind. “Aren’t you gonna join the other stooges?”

JJ shrugs at her question, glancing out toward their friends before dropping his board to the ground and taking a seat behind the trembling girl, his chest to her back. “This one can’t just leave you hanging out here all alone, lookin’ all sad and shit. It’s kind of pathetic.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel special, J.” She smirks and scoots back in the sand, lips curling into a full-fledged smile when he lifts his arms to drape them over her shoulders. As he tucks her securely against his front, the warmth of his body helps ward off the biting chill of the rain, and so does the fact that he knows her so well, that he knows this is exactly what she needs to help calm the panicking butterflies in her stomach.

He leans close, lips brushing against the shell of her ear when he whispers his next words like a secret, low and just for her even when there’s no one around to hear them. “Trust me, Sail, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

She suddenly finds those butterflies in her stomach fluttering for a whole different reason.

The Chateau sits in complete darkness, the power having been knocked out since they returned from dropping Pope off at his house that afternoon. Sailor thinks it’s about ten at night as she lies on her back on the mattress of the sleeper sofa, listening to the wind rip through the trees outside with Binx curled up at her feet. The spare room was way too hot without a working fan, even after she braided her hair off to the side and changed into a crop top and shorts, so she and JJ had returned to the living room where it was cooler, if only by a little bit.

John B has already retreated to his room for the night; he’d been acting quieter than usual since their little adventure at the beach but between a lantern-lit dinner of semi-stale cereal and passing a joint around, she never got the chance to ask if he was okay before he made his escape. JJ lies beside her with his limbs all askew and from the slow rise and fall of his bare chest she’s 99% sure he’s out like a light until, out of the blue, he mutters into the stagnant air, “Can’t keep your eyes off me, huh?”

She blinks heavily -that weed must’ve hit her harder than she thought because she hadn’t even realized she’d been staring- when he lazily turns his head to stare back, a halcyon grin on his face and in the dark, his pupils are blown so wide she can barely see the blue of his irises. Her hand itches with a longing to sweep that one stubborn strand of hair away from his forehead but instead she blindly slides it to the left until she finds his and holds on tight; his fingers automatically lace with hers even as the space between his eyebrows furrows and the smile falls from his lips.

“Sail?”

“I don’t think my dad’s ever coming back.” The redhead’s mouth blurts before her brain can catch up, heavy words lingering like a storm cloud ready to downpour. The thought had been weighing on her heart for a while now, from when she’d first suspected it two months ago, and it feels bittersweet to finally admit it out loud, even when she hadn’t planned doing it.

Her bedmate is silent for a long time as he looks at her through the shadows and she focuses on the touch of his palm against hers instead of the awful mounting pressure behind her eyes -hadn’t she promised herself she was done crying over her dad?- until he asks quietly, “Why? I mean, good riddance 'cause he's kind of the worst, but why?"

“A feeling,” She murmurs around the sudden lump in her throat, biting the inside of her lip hard enough that she tastes the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. “He...he usually comes back after a month or two but this time it’s been almost five.” A bitter laugh escapes from her chest and she shakes her head. “I guess he finally decided he’s done dealing with my worthless ass.”

JJ’s eyes flash like lightning as he rolls over to face her, the hand not entwined with hers reaching up to cup her cheek. “Sail, shut up. Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true,” She says sharply, words acerbic and biting and full of a self-hatred that’s been poisoning her heart ever since she was old enough -eight and far, far too young- to discern the way her dad’s love for her was fickle at best, non-existent at worst. “I could’ve been a better daughter- a perfect daughter- and he might still be here and my mom wouldn't hate me. I should’ve tried harder-”

“Jesus Christ, Sailor!” He interrupts, calloused yet gentle thumb wiping away the tears she just now registers sliding down her cheeks and the shock of hearing her full name come from his mouth makes the rest of her vitriolic thoughts fly out the window. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

The image of him blurs through the darkness in shades of black and she closes her eyes, jaw clenched in an attempt to quell the tremble of her lip as he goes on in his low, soft voice, “You should’ve tried harder to do what, huh? What could you have possibly done better?”

She’s quiet for a long time, so long that her tears run dry and all that remains is smeared salt on her skin because she doesn’t have an answer. What could she have done? That terrible thought in her mind rears it’s ugly head again, the one that tells her she’s not good enough, that everything’s her fault because she doesn’t do enough, but when she asks it what more she can do, there’s no reply. There never is.

“Hey, look at me.” She hears the rustling of sheets and feels his fingers slip from hers before they come to rest on her cheek, both hands now cradling her face; she opens her eyes to find him hovering over her and the sheer lack of distance between them makes her heart skip a beat. “You...”

“What about me?” Her voice cracks as she speaks and in a mirror of her from earlier, JJ shakes his head, causing that stubborn strand of hair to once again fall into his eyes.

“I wish you’d see yourself the way I do.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “And how do you see me?”

“Fucking amazing.” He says simply and in the dark, she can barely see the flush slowly starting to creep up his neck. “Smart, brave, and loyal as hell. A beautiful badass who doesn’t take shit from anybody. A girl who listens when someone needs to be heard.”

The redhead stares up at him with wide green eyes as he goes on and on, listing all these wonderful little things that her traitorous mind has a hard time processing, let alone believing; he really thinks about her like this? “You care so damn much,” “You’re kind but not afraid speak out,” “You’re the one I trust the most.”

Her hand slowly releases its tight grip on the sheets and slides up his bare arm, feeling the heat of his skin under her palm as she touches his face, not trusting herself to speak because she’s so afraid of saying something dumb or stupid and ruining everything ('like I always do,' her mind echoes).

“You’re my best friend, Sailor, and yeah, you’re not perfect. You drink and you smoke weed and you don’t get straight As in school but fuck, you’re real and so not worthless.” He says each word with such conviction that its impossible not to believe him, as much as her brain screams at her not to. “And I want you to know that what your parents think of you doesn't matter at all, got it?"

Without warning, she flings her arms around his neck and JJ loses his balance, falling onto her with a soft oof of surprise but Sailor doesn’t even feel the extra weight as she rests her face against his shoulder and finally finds her voice. “Thank you.”

He takes her with him when he rolls onto his side, arms wrapped tight around her waist and nose buried in her messy braid. “Just...trying to do the right thing, I guess. For once.”

She pulls back at his words, then leans forward and slowly presses her lips to his flushed cheek, just missing the corner of his mouth. She lets them linger for a beat longer than necessary before leaning back -not too far, just enough- and looking him in the eye. “Thank you, Jesse.”

He usually hates being called by his first name (she found that out pretty quickly into their friendship, “never call me Jesse” being one of the first things he ever said to her) but he just looks at her with a soft, endearing smile on his face as he leans back onto the bed, once again bringing her with him. “Promise me something, Sail?”

She glances up at him from his shoulder and meets his eyes. “Yeah?”

His fingers tuck an escaped red curl behind her ear. “Just...be you. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.”

She wishes it were that easy, that she could just step inside her mind and flip a switch and she could stop all those thoughts that’ve plagued her for years but it’s not. It’s gonna take time -time and a lot of patience and maybe even a miracle- but damn it, she’s gonna give it her all, not just for herself but for him and the rest of the pogues, too, the best friends she's ever had, so she nods and settles back down at his side. “I’ll try my best, J.”

“I know you will.”

"Sail, you're the best swimmer out of all of us. Think you can dive down there and check it out?"

The redhead peers over the edge of the HMS Pogue and into the water, where the murky shape of the sunken Grady-White sits thirty feet down on the bottom of the marsh, then nods at the rest of the pogues, an excited grin on her face.

"No problem," She answers John B, hopping up onto the very tip of the boat's bow with practiced ease before diving headfirst into the water to JJ's yell of "diver down!" It's dirtier than usual because of the hurricane but she doesn't let that stop her as she swims down and down until she reaches the top of the boat and pulls herself the rest of the way onto the deck, carefully scanning the area for...fuck. Honestly, she's got absolutely no clue what she's looking for but she assumes she'll know when she sees it.

'It' turns out to be a motel key, resting all alone on the floor by the steering wheel and she quickly reaches out to snatch it, sliding the silver key ring around her finger securely. When she pushes off toward the surface, she leaves the ghostly Grady-White behind with more questions than answers.

The rest of her friends are lined up in a row along the boat's railing, all staring at her with near identical expressions of anticipation as she breaks through the water and holds the key aloft with a triumphant smile.

"The Summer Winds Motel called, they want their key back!"

A little later that evening, Sailor would really regret finding that damn key but right now, she's having a great time dancing at the Boneyard with Kiara at the traditional post-hurricane kegger, second refill of beer in hand, spiked with Fireball from the flask tucked in her back pocket. To her, dancing's a lot like surfing -steady feet, swiveling hips, snapping shoulders- and she thinks that might be the reason she's so bad at it, anticipating the fluidity of water instead of the solidness of dry land. Or it could be that she just doesn't have rhythm when she's a little buzzed. That works, too.

"Ow, Sail!" Kiara winces as the redhead steps on her foot again, rolling her eyes fondly when she throws her head back with a loud, tipsy giggle.

"My bad, Kie!" She twirls in the sand, hair dancing around her shoulders like fire, and finds herself spinning right into a herd of dancing tourons, all too drunk to care that she's spilling her beer all over their feet. Large, olive-skinned hands grab her waist to spin her again and she laughs, smiling over her shoulder at a cute dark-haired touron as he slides one palm over to settle against the bare skin of her lower back. She pushes one hand on his shoulder with just enough resistance that he doesn't get too close into her personal space as he leans in to speak in a low Southern drawl, brown eyes turned a pretty bronze in the glow of the nearby bonfire.

"This probably isn't the best thing to say to a beautiful girl but you kind of dance like a giraffe."

Sailor bursts out laughing at that. "Hey, I think giraffes are very elegant creatures so I'll take that as a compliment!"

The boy grins and she smiles, too, letting him take her free hand and pull her into the throng of dancing bodies. He's almost as bad a dancer as she is but he's fun to talk to and together they gleefully show off their worst moves until their feet hurt -she's lost count of how many times she stepped on his toes- and her solo cup is empty. "Come on," She says and this time, she's the one to grab his hand and lead him over to the closest keg, where John B's dishing out beer with an expert flourish.

"'Sup, Sail," He lifts his chin in greeting as he fills her cup, smirking when she immediately pulls out her flask and adds a long pour of Fireball on top. "Who's your friend?"

"JB, this is Adam, he's visiting from Tennessee. Adam, meet John B, one of my best friends and a total moron," She makes quick introductions, smiling into her drink as he scowls and playfully sprays some beer at her feet before filling another cup and holding it out to the other boy with a jab at her expense.

"Be careful around her, man. She's a handful."

The touron accepts the drink with a shrug and a quick wink in her direction. "Good thing I happen to like 'em a little crazy."

Ugh. More than a little miffed at that, she rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of beer to hide her annoyance when Adam laughs and slings his arm around her shoulders. Calling her a giraffe was actually kind of cute in a very weird, endearing way but he instantly lost whatever points he had with her the second that 'c' word came out of his pretty mouth. She glances around the Boneyard while the boys start talking about surfing (she scoffs to herself, what does a farm kid from Tennessee know about that?), scanning the crowd for the rest of her friends and a chance to ditch him. Kiara's sitting on a big piece of driftwood, chatting up a stunning, deeply tan girl with glossy black hair -she waves when their eyes meet and shoots Sailor a cheeky grin before returning to her conversation- while the ever awkward Pope seems to be stuck in the middle of one of his rambles about autopsies as he stands around the fire, the willowy blonde beside him looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. She'd deliberately lost track of JJ a while ago, after she watched him getting a little too close to a tiny brunette, his hand low on her back as she passed him a drink and ran her fingers up his bare arm, coaxing that killer smile of his onto his face (that girl may have gotten his smile but Sailor got his eyes and they watched her until she pointedly turned away).

Honestly, she's a bit -okay, a lot- peeved. Here she is, thinking that they're the closest they've ever been before (they've always been close, ever since that day in sixth grade, but this is a whole different kind of close), and just when she feels like she may finally be ready to admit some things, some feelings, he's off doing who knows what with another girl; to be fair, she's off with another guy that she'd, until a minute ago, fully planned on kissing, but that's only because of him! Him and some weird need she has to keep him looking at her, to make him jealous -she shakes her head and takes another swig of her whiskey-spiked beer. Nope, nope, not gonna think about that.

Poor Pope looks like he's really struggling so Sailor pushes all thoughts of her blond best friend from her mind and goes to rescue him, ducking out from under Adam's sweaty arm and walking away without a backwards glance, ignoring the confusion in his voice as he calls her name. She pushes through the crowd to her friend and steps right in front of the girl he's trying to talk to, grabbing his hand with her free one.

"Come dance with me?"

The smile of pure relief that breaks out over his face makes her own widen as he lets her pull him back through the mass of bodies to a less-crowded part of the make-shift dance floor, the tension bleeding out of his hunched shoulders with every step.

"You're an angel, Sailor."

She laughs and wraps her arm around his shoulders, leading him in a carefree twirl across the cool sand. "Tell me something I don't know."

Like a leaf caught up in a whirlwind, he's helpless to resist her infectious joy as they dance, grinning like fools and poking fun at each other; for a while, the redhead tries to forget about stupid, clueless boys and focuses on Pope who, while still a clueless boy, doesn't expect anything from her but pure, unconditional friendship that she's all too willing to give (although she did have a teensy little crush on him when they first became friends, she got over it pretty fast the second he started talking about the bodily functions of dead bodies in explicit detail). She shares her drink with him, giggling at the way his face morphs from curiosity to disgust to delight at the taste of her cinnamon beer concoction and lets him down the rest while she drinks straight from the flask that she pulls from her back pocket.

"You've got a shadow." Pope says, slightly nodding his chin over her shoulder and she takes his hand again, slowly spinning herself under his arm to take a quick glance, rolling her eyes when she spots Adam staring at her from the edge of the crowd. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately. Thought he was cute, then he called me crazy." She tucks the whiskey away with a shrug at her friend's sympathetic wince, then steps closer to him and raises a conspiratorial eyebrow. "Wanna help me tell him to take a long walk off a short cliff?"

"Uh-"

"I think I can help with that," A familiar voice cuts off Pope's reply as JJ suddenly appears at her side, slipping his hand into her back pocket to spin her right into the circle of his arms before he plucks the flask from the other and takes a big sip in one smooth kinda sexy move. "Straight Fireball? Damn, Sail."

The redhead carefully schools her features into a blank mask but her body has other ideas, one hand instantly settling on his chest like it's second nature and her face flushing from more than just the alcohol as she casually replies, "You know I like things a little spicy." Completely aware of the way he's watching her every move, she snatches the whiskey back and downs the little bit that's left, trying and failing to ignore the thrill that shoots through her at those bright blue eyes of his darkening when her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Pope rolls his eyes at them both before muttering a quick 'see ya' and hastily melting back into the crowd.

"So, who're we telling to fuck off?" His voice is just a little strained and she feels her cool facade start to crack as she scowls, subtly tilts her head toward where Adam's still staring at her with an expression that looks like he ate a sour lemon. JJ spins her around to take a very conspicuous peek and her mouth curls into a grin, mask breaking completely when he shoots the touron a glare that screams 'try me, I dare you'; the heat from his hand still in her pocket burns as he leans in until his forehead rests on hers. "Let's give him a show."

Sailor hums and pretends to mull it over even as she coyly snakes her arms around his neck and pulls him closer, the harder panes of his body sliding almost sinfully against her softer curves as they sway together, "I don't know, you looked pretty cozy with that other girl earlier..." Is it kind of petty to bring it up? Yes, yes it is, but she can't resist toying with him like he did to her, just as she can't help the breathless gasp that escapes her lips when his fingers press hard into the toned flesh of her ass through her shorts.

"Why, Flynn, are you jealous?"

"Please, I saw that glare you gave him. If anyone's jealous, it's you, Maybank." She fires back while carding both hands through his hair and the pure gratification she feels at his slight shiver is nothing short of euphoric. Out of the corner of her eye, she barely takes notice of the frown Adam sends their way before he turns and stalks off toward the other side of the beach; honestly, she's so caught up in JJ and everything about him -the slow swing of his hips, the hands burning hot against the strip of her back exposed by her crop top, the darkened look in those ocean eyes- that she'd completely forgotten about the touron she danced with earlier in an effort to forget the boy she's dancing with now. She should've known it wouldn't have worked: Sailor could never forget JJ, no matter how hard she tries. He's like a permanent mark on her, a tattoo inked in gold, a beautiful, wonderous scar that she never wants to fade away.

"Seems like we scared him off so I don't have to worry about that anymore." His flushed face is so close she can feel his breath on her lips as he speaks and her eyes quickly flick down to his mouth on their own accord.

"And what about me?" She asks, twirling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, heart beating fast in anticipation as he smirks wickedly at the way her own face turns cherry red.

"Sail, babe, you don't have to worry about a damn thing."

All one of them has to do is tilt their head and everything will fall into place and she can once again know what it's like to kiss him-

"Let it go, Topper!" A sudden, annoyed shout breaks the two apart before they can close that final distance (Sailor's not sure who would've made the first move and she's both relieved and disappointed they won't get to find out), turning away from each other in tandem toward the gathering mass of bodies chanting 'fight, fight!' at the shoreline.

"JB, he's not worth it!" At the sound of Kiara's voice, they take off running across the sand and shove their way to the front of the crowd just in time to see Topper Thornton in all his frat boy glory get absolutely slammed with a hard punch to the jaw, courtesy of John B. The kook barely hits the ground before he's back on his feet and lunging forward to tackle him into the water, landing a hit of his own square in the eye.

"What the hell happened?" Sailor grabs Kiara's elbow and the dark haired girl looks at her with wide eyes as the boys continue to roll around, exchanging brutal blows while a stunned Pope watches from her other side.

"I don't even know, they just started wailing on each other!"

JJ stands silent to Sailor's right, jaw clenched and hands curled into fists as he stares at the brawl and she reaches over to wrap her fingers around his wrist, thumb calmly running circles on his skin.

"Top, seriously! Stop it!" Sarah Cameron stands in the sand just before the crashing waves, yelling furiously at her boyfriend and throwing her arms in the air when he ignores her. "What is wrong with you?"

The moment Topper lands three punches in a row on John B's battered face, Sailor decides she's seen enough. She rushes forward without thinking to grab the blond boy's arm, pulling as hard as she can in an attempt to get him off her friend and barely has time to register what's happening when the fist he was aiming at John B suddenly swings at her. It connects solidly with her left cheek and makes her stumble back, her hand flying to her throbbing face before she goes down hard onto her butt in the surf.

"What the fuck, Thornton?"

"Did you just punch a girl?"

"Ohhhh shit!"

A cacophony of voices yells from the shore as the kook boy stares down at her, momentarily stunned when he realizes who exactly he hit, and it gives John B an opening to wrestle him back into the water and land a solid punch right to his nose. Everything happens so fast after that that the redhead, still reeling in a wide-eyed daze, has a little trouble keeping up. First, Kiara and Pope splash through the waves to her side, kneeling down to help her to her feet with their arms around her waist. Second, Topper gains the upper hand and straight up tries to drown John B, holding his head under the water while Sarah screams at him to stop. And third, JJ -reckless, bold, protective JJ- pulls out that damn stolen gun, effectively bringing the whole mess to a grinding halt when he stalks forward and presses the barrel to the side of Topper's head.

"Your move, broski." He threatens and the beach is so quiet everyone can hear the click of the safety being switched off. The kook slowly raises his hands in the air and John B emerges from the water, stumbling forward onto his hands and knees with a horrible wet cough.

It's all too much for Sailor's poor tipsy self to take. The world spins beneath her feet as her head starts to pound and her shaking fingers fail to find purchase on Kiara's and Pope's shoulders.

"Guys, I don't feel so good," She manages to whisper and their looks of concern (the former) and panic (the latter) are the last thing she sees before her legs give out and everything goes black.

The first thing she registers is the pain that radiates from the left side of her face, her whole head throbbing with every beat of her heart and the sound of loud whispering right by her ear isn't helping at all.

"That's the best you can do, J? Seriously?"

"The power's out! I can't exactly pull ice out of my ass, Kie."

Something semi-cold gently rests against her cheek and she audibly sighs at the little bit of relief she feels, her hand sluggishly rising to hold it a little closer as she mumbles, "I wouldn't want your ass ice anyway." At least she tries to: her mouth feels like it's full of cotton and she's pretty sure the only thing that comes out is unintelligible gibberish.

Sailor opens her eyes and finds herself lying on her back on the sleeper sofa at the Chateau, a passed out John B to her right. Pope sits on the edge of the mattress by his side, holding a beer bottle to his friend's black eye and he sends her a relieved smile when he notices she's awake.

"There she is," JJ says from her other side and she turns to face him, not at all surprised to find him already looking at her, and the unabashed concern in his eyes sends a golden warmth through her whole body. Her fingers slip down the hand that's still holding the bottle to her cheek so she can run her thumb over the delicate bones in his wrist in a silent thank you.

A different, softer hand rests on her knee and she tears her gaze away from his face to smile at Kiara as she says, "Good to see you're okay, Sail."

The redhead sinks back into the pillow in embarrassment and covers her eyes with her free hand. God, she really passed out, didn't she? She passed out after taking one lousy punch to the face by a fucking kook, no less. How completely mortifying. She swallows thickly and sounds like a chain smoker when she says, "I'm so sorry, guys. I'm a total idiot."

The other three conscious pogues start protesting all at once -apparently there's many, many, different ways to say she's not an idiot- and the resulting volume of their combined voices is enough to make her headache even worse. She sits up and scoots back until she's propped against the couch and sets the now warm beer on the side table before massaging both of her temples.

"Will you please shut up, I can feel my brain beating in my skull."

For a second, there's wonderful, blissful silence and then:

"Holy shit, thank you," A groggy voice says to her right and she turns to watch a bleary-eyed John B claw his way back to consciousness. "You guys are fucking loud."

"He lives!" JJ shouts, ignoring the four glares sent his way and reaching over to clap his hand against the brunet boy's shoulder. "Welcome back, dude."

"Ugh," He suddenly rolls onto his stomach -Pope deftly catching the bottle when it nearly falls from the bed- and his muffled voice floats out from the pillow he shoves his head under like an ostrich in the sand. "Knock me back out."

"Aww, poor baby." Sailor gives his back a sympathetic pat and chuckles softly when he blindly feels around for her arm, pushing it away with another deep groan and a 'fuck off, Sail' that lacks any type of venom.

"Okay, now that you're both kind of conscious, let's agree that neither of you will ever fucking do that again. Got it?" Kiara addresses John B and Sailor as she stands from the bed and crosses her arms, fixing the latter with a piercing look that makes her feel like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar; she opens her mouth to defend herself but before she can say anything, Kiara turns her furious gaze to JJ and points an accusing finger at his face. "And you! What the hell were you thinking pulling that damn gun out, huh?"

"Jesus Christ, Kie!" He suddenly rockets to his feet and throws his hands in the air. "Sail got socked in the face and JB was getting fucking drowned, I wasn't really thinking much at all!”

The dark haired girl can't seemed to think of a response to that and looks away, staring at the floor with her jaw clenched as Pope, ever the mediator, rises to his feet, too, and rounds the bed to step between them placatingly.

"Let's just drop it for tonight, okay? They need to rest." He says, nodding toward the two still on the bed before wrapping his hand around Kiara's elbow and turning her toward the front door. She immediately pulls her arm from his grasp but still nods in agreement, the hard look in her eyes softening when she glances at her injured friends.

"Yeah, okay." She says and glances down at her watch, wincing when she catches sight of the time. "My parents'll kill me if I'm not home soon, anyway."

"Come on, I'll take you guys home." JJ says with a conciliatory look in her direction as Pope tosses him the Volkswagen's keys from his pocket and when she nods back, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, Sailor knows that all is forgiven, at least for now.

"Are you sure you're good to drive?" She asks and immediately rolls her eyes at his sarcastic reply of "Yes, Mom," and the obnoxious wink he shoots her.

The trio leaves after a quick round of goodbyes and John B waits until he hears the sound of his van driving away before finally emerging from under the pillow and rolling onto his back.

"Sensing the immediate danger has passed, the ostrich cautiously pulls its head out from the sand..." She says in her best David Attenborough impression, laughing when he tosses the pillow at her head with an amused grin.

"Ha ha. I was trying to avoid getting a Kie lecture," He explains, running both hands down his face with a heavy sigh. "It feels like my head's gonna explode."

"You and me both, dude." She carefully probes at her swollen cheek and is more than a little surprised to feel the beginnings of a scab forming near her eye. She knew Topper landed a solid punch but she didn't realize how solid that hit was until now as she catches sight of the tiny bit of drying blood left behind on her fingertips.

"That looks like it hurts. You okay?" John B asks and she looks up from wiping her hand clean on her shorts, stiff from dried saltwater, with a wrinkle of her freckled nose.

"I'm alright. How about you? No offense but your eye looks like shit."

"I'll live." He answers with a shrug as he pulls himself upright on the mattress and leans his head against the back of the couch. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

He sluggishly turns his head to look Sailor in the eye and shrugs again. "For trying to help me out. Sorry I got you punched."

She smirks and reaches over to give his hand a brief, friendly squeeze as she replies, "It's not your fault I got myself punched. I'm sorry your ass almost drowned."

He snorts at that and she's relieved to hear it, knowing that he can still joke around and he's not, like, completely traumatized or something. Poor guy's already got enough to deal with without adding a mental breakdown to the list. She swings her legs over the edge of the mattress and slowly stands before taking a tentative step forward; when her knees hold and she doesn't fall flat on her face, she makes her way to his side and holds both hands out to him with a small, lighthearted smile.

"Yeah, you're delirious. Near death experiences do that to you." She says, helping him to his feet and, after looping his arm over her shoulders and sliding hers around his waist, the two teenagers carefully shuffle down the hall in the dim light of the emergency lantern on the kitchen table to his room, where she unceremoniously dumps him onto his bed. "Sleep it off. And for the love of God, please change. You smell terrible."

She goes to leave as he laughs again, tugging his shirt off and tossing it into the growing pile of clothes near the closet before saying, "Hey, Sailor?"

The redhead pauses with one foot in the hall and leans against the doorframe. "Yeah?"

"You know you're a badass, right?"

She laughs and sends him a wink but her heart is oh so light as she turns and heads to the spare room, calling back over her shoulder, "Nice to see someone acknowledge it. Now go to bed!"

The sound of the Chateau's front door opening and closing startles Sailor awake and she blinks heavily, wondering when exactly she'd fallen asleep. Last thing she remembers she was staring out at the fireflies through the open window as she steadily ran her hand down the length of Binx's back and their ethereal glow, combined with the breeze dancing around her shoulders, must've pulled her right under. Down the hall, she hears a loud thump, followed by JJ cursing as he runs into something and she giggles to herself, rolling onto her side to face the hall. He appears in the darkened doorway a minute later, rubbing his knee with a scowl on his face and she laughs louder at his quiet, venomous hiss of "fuck that fucking chair."

"Rude. It's not the chair's fault you always run into it." She teases and he shoots her a flat, unamused look before turning to glance down the hall toward John B's room, his fingers holding tight to the door frame.

"He's okay, you know. Told him to get some sleep." His head swings to face her when she speaks with soft words and even in the dark, she can see the way his tense shoulders slowly relax and his hand loosens, falling back to his side as he nods, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"And you?" He asks, his eyes never wavering from hers as he kicks his boots off and pulls his shirt over his head; the sight of his messy hair and the muscles in his arms make it a little hard for Sailor to breathe, the gentle wind she once thought of as cool now doing nothing to help calm her flushed skin when she scoots over in bed to give him room to lie down next to her. Binx looks as disgruntled as a cat can look as he loses his comfy spot and jumps down from the bed, only to immediately leap onto the windowsill and stretch out.

"What about me?"

JJ rolls over to face her, reaching one hand up to cup her injured face and runs his calloused thumb under the cut on her cheekbone. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, she shifts closer and lays her head on his outstretched arm, covering his hand with her own and effortlessly fitting her fingers into the spaces between his. "I'm fine. Even better, now."

He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers. "Good, 'cause I don't know what I'd do if you weren't."

When those pesky butterflies come raging back with a vengeance, she realizes she's fighting a battle she hopes to lose.

The sound of a conversation in the kitchen, low voices drifting through the closed door of the guest room wakes Sailor early the next morning. Sunlight filters in through the windows and she squeezes one eye shut against the painful brightness, the other still squished into JJ's shoulder. His arm is a welcome weight slung over her hip and his deep, even breaths are soft against her forehead as he sleeps on, dead to the voices down the hall. With the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile, she smooths his fine blond hair away from his face and runs her fingers along his jawline before carefully sliding out from under his arm and quietly heading toward the kitchen.

Pulling her hair into a messy ponytail, she rounds the corner and stops short when she catches sight of the person standing by the table, her cheerful 'good morning' getting stuck on her tongue; she was expecting Pope and Kiara, not the goddamn sheriff! Shooting John B a wide-eyed look that makes him shake his head (what the fuck did that even mean?!), the redhead forces a smile and hastily offers her a wave.

"Uh, good morning, Sheriff. Sorry to interrupt, just, uh, grabbing some water."

She just nods in acknowledgement before turning her attention back to the brunet boy and Sailor breathes an inaudible sigh of relief. Holy shit, is that woman scary. She heads to the sink and keeps one ear on the conversation as she quickly fills a glass with water and pops two aspirin, the headache from last night made even worse by the addition of a whiskey hangover.

"I didn't realize you had company, John B. Wild night?" The sheriff asks and Sailor meets her friend's eyes again, her anxiety rising when she sees his thinly veiled panic. Her back to Peterkin, she silently implores him to say something, anything -hell, she even tries to subtly mime surfing with her hands to help him out- but he stays silent, so she gathers her courage, plasters a smile on her face, and twirls to face her.

"Busy day, actually. We went surfing all day after cleaning up the yard." She says, jerking her thumb toward the heap of broken branches piled by the fire pit visible through the living room window; when the sheriff turns to look, she quickly elbows John B in the side, ignoring his huff of surprise as she nods her head in her direction.

"Yeah, surfing! All day." He blurts out, sending Sailor a lukewarm glare when she quickly mouths 'what the fuck was that?' before they both straighten up and spin back to the older woman just as she turns to face them again.

"Right." Peterkin hums and arches one eyebrow as she glances back and forth between the two teenagers. "Now tell me, how'd you both get those bruises? They look pretty painful."

"Oh, this?" Sailor asks, pointing at her cheek with a casual shrug, "I tried to hang ten and bit it pretty hard. My board caught me right in the face."

Peterkin looks at her for a beat longer than normal and the redhead does her best to keep her expression neutral as her palms start to sweat. "Surfing, really? Thought you were pretty experienced in that department."

John B adds, offering some much needed back up, "Even the pros wipe out every once in awhile, you know?" He crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. "My board got me good, too."

"Yeah, it just was not our day," She says with a nervous chuckle, refilling her water and slowly starting to back out of the kitchen, pretending she doesn't see the dismayed look her friend sends her way; her anxiety can't take another second of the sheriff's piercing gaze and she needs to get away fast, lest she start recounting every single second of their activities both legal and not so legal- from yesterday in explicit detail. "And I'm still pretty tired so I'm just gonna go back to bed for a bit. Nice talking to you, Sheriff."

After disappearing around the corner before either of them can reply, she creeps down the hallway, keeping her footfalls as light as she can, and she's so focused on trying to listen in on what Peterkin's saying that she runs smack into JJ, standing in the doorway of the spare room. His arm instantly darts out to wrap around her waist and pull her close, keeping her from falling right on her butt as he says, "There you are-"

"Shhh!" Sailor hisses quietly, covering his mouth with her hand, "The damn sheriff is here!"

He mumbles something into her palm but she she holds a finger to her lips, pushing him back into the room and softly closing the door behind them before pressing her ear against it and dropping her hand from his face. He mirrors her position with a question clear as day in his wide eyes, 'what the fuck?', arm still looped around her lower back.

"She's grilling him about yesterday," She says simply, then turns her attention back to the faint voices floating through the door. The duo listens in silence, trying and failing to discern what's being said until they hear the sound of the sheriff's boots on the front porch and her squad car tires crunching through the gravel as she drives away and they exchange a worried look. JJ had it right: what the fuck, indeed.

"Holy shit, guys," John B's voice suddenly says from the hallway. The door opens before they have time to back away and it sends them sprawling to the floor in a twisted pile of limbs; the brunet boy -who'd usually find something like that hilarious- barely reacts to their position and sends them both a tense frown, his next words dropping like a damn anchor in the marsh.

"We need to go check out that Grady-White again, and fast."

Sailor groans and lets her head fall back onto the floor with a thunk. "Here we go."

let me know what you think! fun fact: ostriches actually do put their heads in the sand, but it's not because they sense danger. female ostriches bury their eggs to keep them safe from predators and they'll occasionally stick their head into the sand to check on them and give 'em a lil turn 😊

taglist ❤: @sinkbeneathwaves @jiaraendgame @hmsjiara @maysbanks @alexa-playafricabytoto @sunflowerbecca @obxlife @obx-adventures @sexualparkour @coltonparayyko @miawantsapuppy

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afishandatree · 4 years ago

Text

Days Fade (and nights grow)

Poison is struggling with being the face of the Killjoys, Ghoul distracts him and they draw each other.

Pointless melodrama and fluff.

[ Teen rated on Ao3, fair warning there is some implied stuff but it doesn’t actually happen]

The sun is just beginning to set in the zones, letting the marginally cooler night air ruffle through Poison’s hair as he leans on the 'am.

It’s strange, watching the sunset. He feels like it shouldn’t look the same anymore, but there it is. So much has changed since his biggest concern was going on a run alone and falling in love with his friend. There’s so much more at stake. He’s not the young rebel with nothing to lose anymore. He’s Party Poison, leader of the Fabulous Killjoys, the very face of the fight against BLI. He’s the protector of their best-kept secret: the small sleeping figure under thin blankets on a diner booth. Thank Destroya for Jet, he’s not sure any of them would be able to keep her happy or healthy without him. Alive, yes. Just not in the ways that count. It’s all too much for him sometimes. He’s just waiting for that moment, where he can’t take it, where he slips up, where it all ends like everyone says it will. Bloody. Caught in a firefight, when it all goes wrong.

Poison squeezes his eyes shut as if it will block out that train of thought. It doesn’t work. It feels like his jacket is suffocating him; like he’s overheating and can't get enough oxygen even in the cool night air. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want to shoulder all of it. It’s so much for one person, too much too much toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoo-

“ Pois’? You out here?”

Oh. there’s another thing that’s changed. Party’s not alone anymore. Not that he was before, but it’s hard to bare your soul when one vital piece is missing. When you aren’t sure if you’re allowed it. Now, he has nothing to hide. He has his detonator. He has Ghoul. The way Ghoul’s had him for a long, long time.

Taking a moment to steady his breathing, Poison calls out to him,

“ Over here”

He hears the crunching of sand and asphalt and hears a small thump on the ground before feeling a familiar warmth next to him. In moments like this, Party isn’t Party Poison anymore. He’s him. He’s Ghoul’s. Then he’s guilty that he doesn’t want it to end.

“ it’s pretty, ain’t it?” asks Ghoul, and from Party’s peripheral, he sees him tilting his head towards the sunset while looking at him.

“ why, you compeatin’ or something?” cracks Party, smirking and turning to face Ghoul and, oh, the sly bastard. He’s wearing Poison’s shirt. If it still counts as a shirt if there are no sleeves. Or sides. Not one to let his composure slip, he traces his fingers along the tattoos on the other’s ribs, and a couple of bruises (that may or may not have been his doing) and smirks at him.

Ghoul cracks a smile and lets out a shaky breath. And damn, Poison needs to get out of his head, because Ghoul is a vision in the desert sunset. He itches for a time before all of this, when he could capture this moment in a photograph, or how he could paint the colours that bathe his lover’s face. He’s spoken to Ghoul about that before, and the conversation ended with Ghoul tackling him into a kiss. He had a little trouble walking the next day but, Destroya, was it ever worth it.

“ C’mon Pois’ I could practically hear you thinking from inside, what’s wrong?” asks Ghoul, sliding his palms against the warm metal of the car.

Poison sighs and lets his entire body relax into Ghoul.

“you know.”

And Ghoul does know. Somehow, he’s able to know when Party needs a distraction or a conversation, or when he needs to be reckless and stupid and blow things up. So, naturally, when Party gets like this, he knows why. He wraps his arms tightly around him and nuzzles his face into his hair.

“ Jet and Kobes finally got her to sleep. She was worried about you.” He runs his fingers through Party’s hair and laughs a little when his hand comes off slightly redder than before. “Which reminds me,” he adds, letting go of Party to pick up a small book and box from the ground, “ she wanted you to use this.

Party accepts the box from Ghoul’s calloused hands and smiles.

“Crayons?”

“Yep.”

“ Well Ghoulie, would ya be my model?” says Party, smirking, and he throws in an obvious wink just for the fun of it.

“ Only if I can do you too, Cherry Bomb,” agrees Ghoul, seemingly before realizing what he said, and they dissolve into laughter.

Party throws the red crayon and hits Ghoul right between the eyes.

“ Alright Sugar, cool it, I can’t draw ya if you’re movin’.”

“ ‘m sorry,”

They lapse into silence, as they study each others’ faces in the dimming light of the sunset, with no noise but the desert air, waxy scratching of crayons and the metallic creaking of the ‘Am. For the first time in a while, Poison doesn’t think. He just follows the colours in his hands, tracing the face of the man he loves onto the page, and loses himself in it. It’s a bit strange to be drawing someone else drawing, but Ghoul makes it work. Once Party’s finally satisfied, he smiles up at the other man, who seems to have long finished his drawing.

“ Done.” declares Poison, making grabby hands towards Ghoul, “lemme see the masterpiece”

His partner turns his paper around, snapping it back and forth. Ghoul’s drawing is, well, crude. It’s a caricature of Poison, barely recognizable but for the flaming red hair and the bright blue of his jacket. In a messy scrawl along the top of the page, “ sorry, you’re too pretty to draw. XoxoGhoulie.” a small cherry with a fuse instead of a stem is drawn beside it, and honestly looks much better than the main drawing.

Ghoul hands the drawing to Poison, smiling sheepishly, before ducking his head and chuckling softly.

“ ‘s not real good, but-”

“I love it.”

Ghoul rolls his eyes, as Party leans in and places a kiss on his cheek.

“ Alright, alright, your turn now,” he laughs, lightly pushing him away.

Ever the artist, Party’s drawing of Ghoul is much better. He tried to capture the sunset on his face, the rose gold light reflection on his hair and in his eyes. He tries to see it like Ghoul would, the way he didn’t quite capture the colour of his eyes, or how the drawing doesn’t quite match how symmetrical his face is, or how the tattoos aren’t sitting quite right, or-

“you see me like this?” asks Ghoul quietly, his eyebrows creasing slightly.

Party doesn’t have time to worry before he’s being tackled to the hood of the car and kissed senseless. Ghoul pulls back, breathless, and leans to whisper softly into his ear, warm breath sending shivers down his spine.

“ It’s beautiful.” another kiss, “ you’re beautiful.”

Party really wants to tell him that, while he’s not entirely wrong, the drawing wasn’t that good. That there are a million reasons why Ghoul is the better half of this equation, that Poison is the lucky one, that Ghoul, with his calloused caring, messy love notes and childlike drawings, means more than he can say. He does not, however, want to stop kissing Ghoul, so he doesn’t.

They stay like that for a while, mouths moving in sync until they really need to head in or at least take things to the back seat because they really shouldn’t mortify Kobra like that again, but before they do, Party takes the drawing Ghoul made of him and puts it safely in his jacket pocket, where it stays.

~~~~

Thank you for reading, sorry for any mistakes with grammar and stuff. love you all. ( if anyone has a better title please tell me my brain is fried and this is all I had. )

-Fish

#my chemical romance #fanfiction #mcr fanfiction #killjoys #party poison #fun ghoul #prompts #frerard #funpoison #party poison/fun ghoul #party poison x fun ghoul #fluff #angst

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nightwingshero · 5 years ago

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Claws and Fangs

My werewolf au!!! My first shot at it, but here it goes!!

Montana wasn’t the top of my list of states to visit, let alone live. It never would have crossed my mind. I dreamed of the shiny lights of LA, Atlanta, New York, or even Paris. Never some town nobody has heard of in a state many people didn’t talk about much. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of at least seeing the National Parks was enticing, a part of nature that not many people got to see in their lifetime. But living here? Never crossed my mind.

Rowan had been right though, like she was about most things. Part of me wondered if her being just a bit older had anything to do with it, or the fact that she had seen more than I had to truly understand the reasoning behind why. I couldn’t say that Montana was terrible. Growing up in Oklahoma, farming country wasn’t exactly foreign to me. I’ve seen it, I’ve lived it. I guess it had made being what I am easier, kept the secret where it needed to be. Rowan hadn’t been so fortunate. Her brother dying only eight years prior, hunted down by our own kind.

That led us together, ironically. My father punishing me for years for what I was, or what I wasn’t, and my snapping. Rowan’s loss and her wondering without direction. She found me that night, terrified out of my mind for what I had done. She was there to clean it; she was there to make it okay. And we’ve stuck together ever since.

I sigh and shift in the passenger seat, staring off into the fields and forests that passed us by as we drove. My feet propped on the door as wind whipped through the open window. It smelled so differently here, causing my heart to race in excitement. The promising freedom of it, all this land to run on, was refreshing to think about. It smelled like sunshine and clean water. It had me practically begging for a run in ever which direction. The freedom it promised…was so tempting. A certain scent lingered in the air that I couldn’t put my finger on, a spice that tickled my nose with a hint of…sandalwood? A shiver went down my spine as I reveled in it. I wanted to follow it, roll in it, and embrace it. But we had both agreed before we got here: no changing until we got a feel for the place and settled. We couldn’t risk anything before we could have a chance to actually have a home to call ours.

The scent began to fade quickly as we crossed a bridge, the sound of the river music to my ears before something sweet floated into our car. I rubbed my nose after sneezing, trying to adjust to the sudden change. We slowed before Rowan pulled into a gas station, shutting the car off at the pump with a sigh. Being cramped up in a small space for hours on end was hard, even with me being claustrophobic. It was never good for anyone, making their joints sore and themselves stir crazy. It was even worse for us; it drove us insane. We weren’t meant to be in confined spaces, it was against our very nature. I could feel the desperate urge to whine and pace, to hide in the woods and never come out. But I knew better. And if I had to be fairly honest, the other side of me liked car rides. They just never last long.

“I’m gonna go pay for gas. Want to grab some snacks for us?” Rowan asked, her dark brown eyes meeting my blue green once, and I can see the toll this has on her, too.

��Yeah, that’s fine.” I replied, the dryness in my throat becoming more and more obvious. I opened the door, tugging at the cut off shorts that Rowan insisted would help us fit in. Which was why I had a blue flannel tied around my waist, instead of wearing the leather jacket that was now packed away. We didn’t want to appear too suspicious, and if that meant a change in wardrobe, then so be it. She rolled up the sleeves of the red flannel as we walked towards the store, and I could feel the heat of the sun on my exposed arms as the cool breeze swept in to soothe it.

The bell above the door rang as we entered, a blast of cool air washing over us. I could hear the unit running raggedly in the back, and I didn’t think it would last much longer. The old man at the counter looked up from his outdoors magazine and narrowed his eyes, but we pretended not to notice. Rowan moved to the counter, taking some cash from her back pocket. I made my way down the aisles, noting the jerky and off brand pastries that I knew had to be somewhat stale at this point. I sneered slightly at the smell of the preservatives. I could almost gag.

Finally making it to the back, I pull open a cooler door to grab a couple waters. I raised a brow at the lack of a biting chill before letting the door slam shut. I weigh my options as I eye the snacks one more time, feeling the gaze of the old man on me as Rowan waited. I caved, grabbing the jerky and some chips. Something was better than nothing, and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here. I round the corner and come up on a shelf of brochures on my left. I slow, taking them in. Some were for the national park in the Henbane, the hiking up North in the mountains, an apple orchard in the Valley east of us, and a haunted house tour of an old hotel.

A colorful pink one in particular caught my attention enough to grab it on the way. I stuff it in my back pocket before approaching the counter, setting the rewards of my hunting trip down for the cashier. His eyes narrow again before he starts scanning, grumbling, and his eyes drop to the line of my tank top. I almost growl and make a show of my teeth to give this man something to really look at, but I know better. So, I just clear my throat and glare back.

He rolled his eyes before telling Rowan our total. She hands it over with a smile, thanking him and telling him to keep the change before we’re finally making our way back outside. I settle back in the passenger seat while Rowan pumps the gas. I stick my Converse out the window as I lean back, pulling the jerky out of the plastic bag. My mouth waters, but I know that as soon as I eat it, I’ll be disappointed. It had been too long since we last hunted, not daring to take the risk of being tracked down. It made me restless.

The driver’s door opened as Rowan sat back in, fastening her seatbelt as she went. “There. That should hold us for a while. At least it can give us time to find somewhere else to go where I won’t have to be worried about being killed or kidnapped. Was I the only one getting a Cabin in the Woods vibe from that guy?”

I hum before I pull out the brochure from my pocket. “I pity any serial killer that tries to pull that shit on us. We bite back.” I flip it open, scanning and reading.

“Not really my taste.”

I chuckled and turned to her. “Hey, check this out.” I show her the hot pink trifold.

“Drubman Marina?” Rowan asked with a crinkle of her nose. “Like, I know you like the water, Wren, but I think we should probably find a place to live before we think about buying a boat. And I’m not really down for a houseboat. I’m sorry, I draw the line there. We agreed.”

“No, I know.” I flipped it open, pointing as I go. “She’s a real estate agent, and she’s right in the Henbane region. I don’t think she’s that far…” I trail off as I pull out a Hope County map that we had gotten at the visitor’s center right out of the county line. My eyes wondered over the Holland Valley region briefly, the memory of the scent there. Curiosity gnawed at me as I traced a road the small town, Fall’s End.

“It looks like she’s actually on the border of the Whitetails. Maybe she’ll know of some lodging up that way, something that can tide us over until we find something more permanent. It’ll give us a chance to get to know the area, too.”

“Yeah.” I replied, breaking from my trance. “I wonder if she takes walk ins.”

Rowan turned the key, the engine coming to life. “Guess we’re going to find out.”

“This is exciting! Y’know, we never get newcomers. I always have to deal with people who’ve lived here all their lives. Never get to show people the wonders of this treasure state of ours.” The blonde goes on as she shuffles through the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet, her back to us and bent in her chair. She pops her gum, the smell of cotton candy strong and I have to find my happy place. I could handle sweet, it wasn’t an issue, but it was so heavy in the Henbane. Mix it with the sweetness of Adelaide Drubman, and suddenly I was overwhelmed by it.

Seeming to find what she was looking for, she straightens and turns back to us, dropping the file heavy on her desk, making Rowan and I jump. “There we go! I have all kinds of stuff in this damn thing, let’s see if I can find what y’all are lookin’ for. Let’s start with regions. Now, each one has a special charm, and I’m Henbane’s.” She joked with a wink and a smile on her pink-painted lips.

“We actually did some research beforehand and had an idea of where.” Rowan chimed in with a polite smile. I could see just a hint of disappointment in Adelaide’s crystal blue eyes, but that doesn’t deter her.

“Which one did you ladies settle on?” The itching came back, that little gnawing at the back of my mind, and as Rowan answered, I impulsively blurted out mine, too.

“Whitetail—”

“Holland Valley.”

Adelaide’s brow raised as Rowan whipped her head around, her eyes scanning my face as I glance back at her. Her eyes show confusion and just a bit of concern. She cast a look at the blonde. “Can we…?”

“Oh, you go right ahead, darlin’.” Adelaide turned away, looking through her stack as Rowan’s attention fell back on me.

“Wren…I thought we talked about this. We both agreed. The Whitetails are better for us, it’s more…isolated. There would be more privacy, and it could be better hunting.” Rowan whispered, eyeing Adelaide here and there, the blonde humming lightly to herself.

Guilt bubbled inside, because she was absolutely right. We both agreed, it was a part of our plan. The Whitetails would offer us the sanctuary we needed. The Henbane was the second choice. Rangers and hikers to the north and east. Protected land that we desperately needed. Holland Valley was never an option, the chance of there not being enough cover for the both of us there. It was too open. But for some reason, I couldn’t get that damn scent out of my mind.

I leaned closer to Rowan, dropping my voice. “I know, and I’m sorry. But…did you not smell that on our drive through?”

Her dark brows furrowed. “Smell what?”

I sigh lightly, contemplating and frustrated. This wasn’t something that happened with us, being on different pages. Doubt began to eat at my insides. “I know it sounds crazy, but I smelled something strong and just…god, it was so enticing. I’ve never smelled anything like it before.”

Adelaide coughs a bit as Rowan tilts her head in contemplation. “We can check it out when everything is settled, I promise. But I think we should stick to the other two.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You know,” Adelaide gave us a look with her brow raised. “Some of these dipshits out here might still be ignorant, but there are still a good majority of us that support your lifestyle, dears.” She smirks, a knowing look piercing us and the hairs on the back of my neck raise.

“Oh, no,” Rowan laughed before gesturing between us. “We’re not a couple. We grew up together.” Adelaide only hums, but I can tell that her words held a double meaning, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

Her face becomes a mask of shock, something ingenuine about it as it doesn’t truly meet her eyes. She shrugged and continued. “Well, I’m just saying. So, any special fellas out there for yah?”

“No.” Rowan asked with a frown, both of us a bit shocked at the question.

“Really? You two are gorgeous, I’m shocked.” She laughed, and we give each other a quick glance. We say nothing, but we both know it’s not without some sort of effort. Packs, wolves in general, were dwindling in America. Or so we’ve gathered. They migrated North or overseas, or just died off. Being rogues put targets on our backs, but being unmated females made it so much worse. Female rogues that were unmated didn’t last very long, either claimed quickly or killed. The fact we made it this far was a miracle within itself, and one that wasn’t without bloodshed.

I smiled in response. “Dating isn’t really our thing. We decided to travel and just focus on what we want to do.” I lied smoothly. Adelaide sighed wistfully.

“Oh, to be young again. I envy you girls. What I would give to just pick and go wherever.”

“It’s freeing.” Rowan replied, and I nodded. It was freeing. Not being tied to a pack, or a male with too much testosterone for his own good. I think that was what made my lip curl the most. The males reeked of testosterone. Some made me gag more than others. Rowan said it had something to do with compatibility. A female’s sense of smell had a tendency to be more…sensitive than males. While all females smelled sweet to them, some were too sweet. That’s how her brother described it. Males smelled too musky sometimes, the less compatible, the worse it was. The more compatible, the stronger the pull. But at the end of the day, they were so full of themselves that even without the smell, they were repulsive. I enjoyed tearing into each and every one of them. “So, we’re thinking the Whitetail Mountains—”

Adelaide held her hand up, stopping Rowan in midsentence. “I love the mountains, dear. Absolutely. Any other time, I would be the first to suggest it.”

“But…?” I asked, eyeing her as she leaned forward.

“But I’m going to be real honest with you, girl to girl, I don’t think it’s the best fit for you right now.” I raised a brow, my pride and wrath clawing up at not liking to be told what to do. I fought to keep my teeth from showing. I counted to ten, did everything I could to calm the beast. Rowan threw me a side look, a shocked warning in her eyes. Careful. I knew that, and I was just as shocked as she was. I hadn’t been this worked up in a long time. I had long since gotten a control of that side of me. Now, the littlest thing was setting me off into a frenzy. Adelaide’s eyes looked at me curiously before continuing. “Not that I don’t think you strong, independent girls can’t do whatever you wanted, I’m just saying that the mountains and valley might be a bit…dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How?” Rowan asked with a slight scoff and hid my smirk behind my hand. Little did Adelaide know, there was nothing in this county more dangerous than the two women in front of her.

Adelaide shrugged. “Some people don’t take kindly to new folk. And you said you wanted to go somewhere isolated. The mountains are unforgiving, ladies. Things go bump in the night there and in the valley. This region offers both decent isolation, and great views. The sheriff’s station is also in this area, so if anything happens, you have a faster response. Besides, anything out of this region, you’ll have to go through John Seed when it comes to land. A lawyer makes things a bit more complicated, dears. Makes the process go a bit longer. And I don’t know if y’all want that. Trust me, I think you would love it here. Besides, we could be neighbors!”

Rowan and I share one last look, contemplating. The doubt was there, for sure. Trusting a total stranger, someone who would have absolutely no idea as to what we were and what we could do, over our own paranoia. But getting a lawyer involved was out of the question. It raised too many flags, and we needed to stay as off the grid as possible. We needed safety; it was the whole point of being here. To find a home we could reside without being discovered, and we were in an unknown territory. The choice was obvious, and we both came to that understanding without a word.

It took us a week to get everything settled legally and moved in. I eventually got used to overly sweet scent, my nose only burning here and there. Adelaide and her boy toy, Xander, had graciously offered to help us. She was starting to grow on me more and more as time went on. She showed us the best place to go shopping, to get fresh meat, and highly recommended a pizza place not too far off the way. Our first night running was short and cautious, getting a feel for the land.

We stocked up on supplies, not having anything else better to do. Rowan applying for the newest park ranger posting, insisting it would help us blend in and establish some sort of roots here. I didn’t know how I felt about that, having been on the move all these years. I felt dizzy while everything seemed to finally slow down around us. I didn’t really think we could ever be able to do this, to have some sort of semblance of normality in our lives. It gave me hope.

The air was crisp, the sky full of stars as we got out of the car. The 8 Bit Pizza bar was busy and in full swing, even at eight in the evening. Outside, we could see Addie’s son and nephew, Hurk Jr and Boshaw, drinking beer and laughing away. They had helped us move furniture in, Adelaide not taking no for an answer. I opened my mouth to say something, but I froze, my feet coming to an immediate stop as the scent hits my nose. My mouth twists in distaste as Rowan’s nose crinkles. We both look, our guard up and prepared for anything.

I spot a cruiser at the end of the parking lot, closer to the forest. Two men, one older and the other younger, stood close and whispering urgently to each other. Even with my enhanced hearing, the noise from the establishment made it nearly impossible to hear what they were saying. Before Rowan and I move to leave, the older man caught our eyes and his head tilted to the side. His companion whipped his head around, taken in what had caught the old man’s attention.

He’s not unattractive, his tan skin and messy, swept back hair. He rolls his shoulders back, his chest puffing out a bit in the process. I sigh internally, because it was a show we’ve seen before, and I wonder who is the first one to die. Males didn’t typically take rejection well, despite how desperately we wanted peace. I’m trying to figure out a way to get out of this unscathed when the younger wolf turns and flashes his teeth, teasing and showing off.

My reaction is instantaneous. It wasn’t as much of an aggressive move as it was a way for him peacock. His way of putting himself on display while still in his skin. His way of flirting and an attempt to impress, a common move for most males. It wasn’t new to me. But the wolf was clawing inside, offended and aggravated at his audacity. It’s disrespectful to her, and she won’t stand for it. I’m shaking, fighting the instinct to go for the throat, and not for a mate’s mark. My teeth flash, promising violence and death if he dares to take another step.

Rowan squeezes my arm firmly, looking around to make sure no one is paying attention, but everyone is pretty much inside. Hurk and Sharky too plastered to comprehend what’s going on this far away. “What the hell are you doing? Wren, calm down.” She whispers harshly, softly pulling at my arm.

I wished I could answer her, but I couldn’t. I was consumed with rage and I honestly had no fucking clue what was wrong with me. I just knew this male was beneath us, unwanted, and he deserved to be put down until his throat was bare in submission. I wince, doing what I can to rein it in. I didn’t want a scene or to start off on the wrong foot. Something was wrong with me, and I needed to get my shit together. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

The older man stalks towards us with purpose, his eyes hard, and it reminds me of a time when my father did the same. The everything, the anger and offense, evaporates immediately and fear replaces it. I hated males with a passion. I hated their need to be in control, feeling more powerful than anyone else.

“Rogue females? Don’t see that every day.” His voice is gravely as he grumbles, and he spits to the side. “Name’s Dutch.”

“Didn’t think there were any more wolves around here.” Rowan replied icily as she glared at him, and he shrugs.

“There are more wolves in the North, girl. Don’t know where you come from, but we’re around up here. Maybe should’ve thought about that.”

“Noted.”

His friend finally came up to join him, and I fight to snap at him. His eyes are twinkling in amusement, as if I was nothing but a piece of entertainment for him. “Unmated females, at that. You know, that won’t last long with you being on your own.”

I sneer at him and his taunting. Dutch rolls his eyes. “Forgive this dumbass here, Pratt isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.” Pratt shot him a look, but the older man ignored him. “He’s right though. You passing through or staying?”

Rowan and I share a look, unsure of how to respond, before she throws her chin up high. “Staying. And we don’t intend on leaving anytime soon.”

Pratt let out a low whistle as Dutch rubs his bald head thoughtfully. “Ain’t no one asking you to leave, girlie. Relax.” He held his hands in surrender. “Just thought you could use some friends, I’m sure you’re a bit short on those.” When we don’t say anything, he sighs and continues. “Look, we aren’t the only ones here. I’m offering you a friendship, here.”

“You don’t know us.” I blurted, eyeing him up and down, trying to size him up as my instincts kicked in. He was a strong beta and could possibly pass for an alpha status. He carried himself as if he was a leader, more than what was pumping through his veins. Pratt was no better; except I knew that beta was all he could ever be. “What’s in it for you?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Everyone starts off not knowing each other real well, don’t they? I figured maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a makeshift pack. Rogues don’t last long on their own, which is why I’m sure you two are running around together.” I shift uneasily, because he’s not wrong. When my father died, I had felt it. I had felt the loneliness of being without a pack, or at least someone. Rowan and I had stuck together ever since, but it wasn’t enough. I could feel the pull, the desperate need for more than what we had.

“And what? Are you supposed to be the head of it?” Rowan asked genuinely, and I held my scoff to myself as he smiled at her.

“Of course. And I take care of my own.” He reached his hand out. “Friends?”

We both hesitate, unsure of what to do in this situation. Both of them together is making me want to gag, their scents mingling and making me want to hurl. Maybe at one time, Pratt would’ve smelled more appealing to me, his pine undertone with a crisp scent I can’t pinpoint. But it’s not good enough, not anymore. I can feel myself looking down on him, despite him being a bit taller.

Rowan sighed, her hand grasping his. “Friends.” I follow suit, offering him, and him alone, a polite smile. This male is no threat to us, not showing a bit of interest like his partner. It’s easier to make friends with strangers who haven’t offended you.

“Word of the wise, ladies.” He said, holding up his pointer finger. “Stay clear of those mountains and that valley. Like I said, we’re not the only wolves around here. I have some land, an island in the center of the county. You’re more than welcome to stop by whenever you want.”

Adelaide calls to us, making Rowan and I jump out of our skins. The blonde eyes Dutch with a sickly-sweet smile, malice shining in her bright blues. I’m taken aback by it, knowing nothing but kindness from the woman. She motions us forward, beckoning us to join her and her family inside. We part ways with the males, eager for the escape, and Addie doesn’t follow us in until she sees them leave. She turns to us, lips pursed.

“Be careful, ladies. You’re better off in the Valley or Whitetails than to hang around him. Trust me, he’s not what he claims to be.”

“So, we agree?” Rowan asked on our drive home. “That we keep our fucking heads down. I do my job at the springs, you do whatever. I heard of a deputy posting at the jail, wouldn’t hurt. But either way, we stay the fuck away from whatever is going down. Right?”

“Why don’t we just leave?” I ask, glancing at Rowan. “It’s been a week, and we’ve already stepped into a werewolf soap opera. I don’t know about you, but I could do without dramatics. Or that pup sniffing around.” I sneer.

Rowan scoffed. “Is this about the drama or the male?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“I like it here.” Rowan admitted. “I think it’s pretty and it could do us some good. There’s an older wolf here that seems to mean well. And it wasn’t like we were running eager to Holland Valley or the Whitetails. Sure, we contemplated it, but we know the area better now.”

I frowned and I picked at the edge of my t-shirt. “What about that scent? The one I caught when we were driving through the valley?”

“It could’ve been a fluke, Wren. Maybe it’s best to stay in the Henbane, you know?” she sighed and glanced at me. “You wanna talk about what happened back there?”

I turned, looking out the window as I shrug. “I have no clue. I haven’t lost control like that in a long time. It just bothered me, you know? I felt like he wasn’t…good enough.”

“When hasn’t that been the case for either of us?” Rowan laughed.

“It was different this time.” I turned back to her; my brow furrowed. “I, my wolf, got offended, Rowan. In the worst possible way.”

Rowan frowned. “Wren, he didn’t really do anything…insulting. It’s a typical practice in our nature, especially with males.”

“I know. Ro, I think there’s something wrong with me.” I glance at my hands, the dark vine tattoos contrasting on my light skin. “I was so ready to rip this guy apart, to make him submit. I’ve never felt like that before, you know?”

“And you’re sure you don’t have alpha blood in you?” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Positive.” I sighed with a roll of my eyes. “Maybe…maybe I’m just stressed from the long drive and the change of moving, you know? I just need time to adjust.” I couldn’t tell who I was trying to convince more: Rowan or myself.

#deputy wren blake #john seed #far cry 5 #my writing #far cry oc

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mychemicalficrecs · 5 years ago

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Can you recommend some high school AU frerard or Ray/Mikey fics? :3 thank u

Hi Nonny!

I'm going to make seperate lists for this again. Can't promise the second one will be ready by tomorrow but I'll try ;)

I'm not a big reader of High School AUs, so the second half are fics that looked promising on AO3!

Frank/Gerard High School AUs

In Repair by autoschediastic, 33k, Explicit. "Shit," Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he's gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he's gonna do. He's just gotta do it. Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It's dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He's pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate." Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging-- the thing's busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot's skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they're a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, "Am I dead?"

Get Naked (I Got a Plan) by autoschediastic, 11k, Explicit. Frank slides his hand all the way up to where Gerard's arm and tentacles fuse at his armpit. The difference between the feel of one beneath his palm and the other is literally the stuff his dreams are made of. His wet dreams.

A State Of Orange by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 20k, Explicit. Being a halfling in a red state can sometimes cause issues for Frank Iero. He’s the weakest at Jett Clement High School, and probably the entire state (not counting the meal plans). His moods are oddly stable, as much as he tries to be mercurial. And being able to withstand the sun for up to twenty minutes only allows him more time to be forced into chores. Still, his parents are insane if they think he’s going to be happy about their decision. Frank doesn’t want to move to a Mixed state. How is he supposed to get great friends? How is he supposed to find great food? How is he supposed to have great sex? But Frank doesn’t have a choice. He’s New Jersey bound for the next year, if not longer. He’ll be surrounded by tame vampires who have been nagged out of a sex drive, and humans he’s not allowed to eat. Mixed states suck. Lucky for him, not every person in Jersey sucks.

The Truth Is I'm On My Way by samanthahirr, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's been drawing on himself since elementary school, up under his sleeves and pant legs where his teachers and classmates won't see; he knows how to color inside the lines. He doesn't need Gerard to do it for him. (A high school AU.)

You Only Hear the Music When Your Heart Begins to Break by Solarcat, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank has high school figured out. His mom has given up arguing about the amount of time he spends in Gerard's basement, and he doesn't actually care if people think it's weird that he and Gerard hold hands in the hallways and go to the bathroom together. The only thing Frank cares about is figuring out why Gerard's suddenly avoiding him -- because what's the point of losing your virginity on Prom Night if you can't tell your best friend about it in the morning?

Smokeless Flame of Fire by tabulaxrasa, 21k, Mature. Frank blinked. "What kind of name for a genie is Gerard?"

to the midnight land by akamine_chan, 24k, Explicit. Being a teenager is hard. Being a Blooded teenager, one with a connection to the Moon and his fur-self, is even worse. He's got to contend with his own hormones, high school, and the fact that he's in love with his best friend. Luckily, Frankie's got the determination to see things through. He's got family, friends, and a community of shifters to lean on, and he's not going to give up. Frankie's not patient, but he's stubborn when he knows what he wants. And he wants Gerard.

Thing-Thing by sinsense, 43k, NC-17. When Gerard signed the admissions paperwork for the Fordhaven School for Boys, he knew he was signing up for four years of sexual frustration. No one was gay at Fordhaven. Gerard was all-too-aware that he would be a virgin until he graduated. In his senior year, though, this stupid gay freshman disproves Fordhaven's straightness, and throws Gerard's entire world off-kilter. Now, in between drawing, avoiding bullies, running an incredibly serious tabletop RP game, failing out of math, and hanging out with friends, Gerard is also busy kind of falling for this asshole who's way too young for him. It's not what he planned on, but it's what's happening. In conclusion: high school sucks.

You'll Always Feel This Way by wakingup, 14k, Not Rated. It's Frank's birthday and he's gonna A) get drunk B) hit on Gerard C) get laid. Yeah, it's definitely going to work out like that. (Spoiler alert: it might not be that easy)

Nothing Comes as Easy as You by rivers_bend, 9k, Explicit. "Um, I've heard, you know, around, that like, there are guys who can get off three times without stopping. And I was, I mean—" god he sounds like a fucking idiot. "Have you ever heard of that?"

Church of Hot Addiction by spleenjournal, 0nlymemories, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Adult. When Gerard Way gets transferred to Our Lady of Peace in Arlington a few weeks into his Senior year, he thinks it's his chance to be cool. Too bad his idea of "cool" is no cooler than it was in 3rd grade, even if there aren't any green tights. (AU of the INO AU, more or less.)

The Marching Band AU by frankiesin, many pairings in a bunch of different works, 150k, General Audiences, Teen And Up Audiences, Mature, Explicit. A bunch of gay teens are in a band and do dumb things while in high school. There will be a lot of pairings, each part can be read without reading the others, and the series is in chronological order.

We're all Okay by rivers_bend, 28k, Explicit. A story in which Frank is not a stalker, Gerard is not a psycho, and Mikeyway is nobody’s boyfriend.

Where Did The Party Go by frenchpirate (Whiskey_n_speed), 16k, Mature. The one where Frank get's a new and nocturnal neighbor, Gerard throws a Halloween party that turns out far from what was expected, Pete wakes up on a strangers couch and Mikey really doesn't want any serenades (but that doesn't mean he isn't getting any).

Miss Congeniality by melusina, 11k, Mature. Gerard pretends to be a girl, Frank and Gerard discover email and Mikey’s good advice goes unheeded.

honey, this mirror isn't big enough for the two of us by orphan_account, 17k, Explicit. You should have raised a baby girl / I should have been a better son. (the unholy union of a high school au and a gender feel)

SKETCH by frnklyiero, 77k, Teen And Up Audiences. "You having a problem with drawing straight?" "I'm having a problem with being straight." Gerard Way happened to be the most fascinating sight in school to Frank Iero perhaps besides Jamia Nestor. Every little detail of his perfect features made Frank itch to sketch them. There are just a few problems: 1) Gerard is probably straight as a ruler, 2) Jamia isn't thrilled that her boyfriend may or may not have been secretly doodling Gerard in his notebook, 3) No matter how much Frank practices, his Gerard sketches still look like eggplants with creepy faces on them.

Save Me (From My Self Destruction) by cyanidepurified, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank and Gerard are best friends, both are unaware that they're in love with each other. When Frank discovers Gerard's secret, will he be able to save his best friend?

Speeding in a School Zone by 1001cranes, languisity, 16k, Teen And Up Audiences. High school AU where Frank and Gerard are awkward, Pete is romantically confused, Patrick owns, and Bob is a ninja. Pete, the first time we met you proposed to me. I don’t think your heterosexuality was ever all that secure.

The Chasing of Moons by Helena_Hathaway, 110k, Explicit. The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts.

Early Sunsets Over Monroeville by FedeLove96, 11k, Explicit. Frank Iero was a junior when he fell in love with Gerard Way, but their love story was just at the beginning.

A Case of Unknown Identity by Helena_Hathaway, 44k, Explicit. Frerard High School AU. Frank is a teenager with only a few friends, one of whom is a charismatic guy who is just like Frank. He might even be falling for the guy, but the only problem is that he’s just a username on a website without a face or a name. The guy goes by 'Watchman' and he’s perfect in Frank’s eyes, he doesn’t even need to meet him to know he’s amazing. Frank also deals with bullies which makes it hard for him to hold onto friends, but things start to become better after he befriends the antisocial kid Mikey, and realizes that Watchman might just go to his school. Watchman might also know a little more about Frank than he’s letting on.

But The Pages Are All Torn and Frayed by blindlyseeking (orphan_account), 55k, Mature. Basically, this is based off of the music video for “I’m Not Okay” and it also includes (but is not limited to) gratuitous mentions of a drunken fascination with a lamp, one evil lacrosse team, two breakdowns in a bathroom, grandmothers with green hair, a couple bruises, and a whole lot of revenge. Enjoy!

#fic rec list #frank/gerard #frerard #high school au #alternate universe

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ixnova · 5 years ago

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Pathfinder x SO hcs

SINCE NO ONE ELSE IS REALLY DOING IT i GUESS i’LL HAVE TO PROVIDE IT MYSELF. GOTTDAMN AND Y’ALL CALL YOURSELVES A FANDOM. (I kid.)

He’s your friend first, boyfriend second.

Like he just genuinely cares about you romantic or not.

Literally info dumped everything on you the first day you two met, explained APEX, his goal to find his creator, etc.

Get’s a lot of dating advice from Mirage and the interwebs, is completely cheesy with it because of this.

Gives you flowers and gifts in excess amounts until he kinda learns for himself how to handle a relationship.

You’re his first and probably only.

Will take you on dinner dates and such even though he can’t eat. He just enjoys watching you eat and chatting to you while you eat.

Great for Netflix and chill, he loves watching new tv shows and such. He really wants to know what happens next but will wait for you.

Probably does too much “research” online and becomes paranoid about losing you sometimes.

Doesn’t get the concept of sleep but knows you need it and will keep you company while you sleep. Maybe move his charging station into the bedroom.

He can be cold or warm depending. Metal is naturally cooler to the touch but he’s warmer towards his core where his computer screen is. You can hear his fans going if you listen closely enough.

Not actually comfy to cuddle with, but you’d get used to it and find a position that works. Very chunky and bulky. Sometimes he puts pillows and such between himself so you can rest better.

He can actually wear certain clothing even tho he doesn’t need it. Got a few jackets from APEX and such, but they have to be oversized to fit him, so bonus for you when you steal them.

Honestly why steal them though just ask and he will give them to you, he doesn’t need them.

He’s not one to scare easily by normal means but he has his limits, will hide behind you and curl up with you when he does feel threatened. Lightning storms are one of the niche things that gets to him.

Always down to make you laugh, Will rehash jokes constantly, borderlines on telling dad jokes. Somehow he manages to get a chuckle out of you every goddamn time.

You love it though, you know you do.

He’s completely infatuated with you simply because you’re human. He likes seeing how you react to things, learning how you operate. He’s just interested in humans in general, but something’s special about you.

He’s not really sure what the emotions he feels really are, but he supposed based on research, “love” might be the closest thing to describe it.

Not many would expect it from his bubbly personality but he’s actually easily jealous when others flirt with you.

We’re talking rehashing some trash talk insults he learned online telling someone to leave you alone and go away when he’s had just about enough of them pestering you.

one of the few times hes actually mean, instantly feels bad about it later though... but not sorry.

You’re his. He doesn’t mean to be possessive and he doesn’t freak out when you’re out alone without him, but it’s just like, he’d like for you to be his.

He’d take you ziplining for fun sometimes, if you’re not afraid of heights.

Prepare for having to answer lots of questions, he’s curious about everything and if you’re spending time with him you’re gonna get the brunt of it.

Also expect to be told completely random facts, he loves learning about stuff!

“Turtles can breathe through their butts, how interesting!”

Would probably tell everyone that he’s dating you, even random strangers.

He’s called out to you live on APEX a few times making sure you’re watching or dedicating a win to you.

It’s a bit embarrassing but he means well.

“Everyone! This is my girlfriend!”

He’s just proud of you man.

He’d also be super supportive of you and whatever you’d want to do in life.

and when that doesn’t work out he’d be there to cheer you up.

Brings you all of your favorite things, including himself of course.

No more tears, let’s go watch our favorite Netflix show.

Takes pictures of you all the time without you even knowing, benefits of being a robot.

He just saves them for personal use, to look at when he misses you. Nothing weird though, its not like he watches you sleep or anything!

He thinks you’re beautiful all the time, even when you know you’re not at your best.

He just really, really likes you. He hopes you feel the same.

There that should fill the void for awhile. But while I’m here.... NSFW under cut.

As we all know, it’s canon that he can fuck. Of course he’d put that knowledge to use in a relationship if you were okay with it.

Probably learned about sexual intercourse while browsing the web and found porn or something.

Maybe picked it up from just learning about humans in general and with that comes information on mating patterns.

He’s extremely inexperienced though, so you’d have to personally show him how things are done.

He’d draw comparisons to videos and such he’d seen online, so at least he’d be aware if he was hurting you or not. Which he’d never do intentionally.

Your first time was probably extremely silly and awkward, but it was alright.

He doesn’t exactly have a dick or anything, naturally anyway, but he does have hands.

If you like being fingered you’re in for a real treat, he’s surprisingly good at that.

He’s always intrigued by your moans and like seeing how your body reacts to his touch. Sometimes he tries new things just to see how you’d react.

Even though he doesn’t really get much out of it, knowing you’re enjoying it is all he needs.

Extremely lame at dirty talk, he’s just too nice. He will read scripts and repeat quotes from online porno to try and get you going but it just falls flat because its rehearsed.

Probably would be best as a dom, no, he’s decided from watching videos and such that he wants to be the dom. Submissive just doesn’t suit him.

I can’t express how bad he is at dirty talk though, its funny. “I’ve been very bad.” “What? Who said that? I think you are doing wonderful, friend!”

Maybe later on you’d experiment with strap ons, or maybe someone in this wild universe can customize him a dick attachment.

That’d get a bit more interesting, he’d again reference what he’d seen online and try to go down on you.

He gets to be closer to you this way, and its odd because he likes it though he can’t explain why.

Those handles around his screen and such are GREAT to hold onto while riding, FYI.

He’s a robot so he never runs out of energy so he can go for as long as you want to, and then some.

He might forget himself once or twice, perhaps get a bit too into it, but all you have to do is say stop and he will instantly drop everything.

He loves your body, he loves every inch of you, expect metal hands to explore and violate every part of your being.

Oddly enough, sexual intercourse really gets his motors going. Perhaps another one of his many emotions is possible arousal.

You’re often going at it above the sheets or in a colder room, he WILL overheat eventually.

You’ll have to pay attention sometimes, he won’t tell you he’s overheating for fear of ruining the mood, or interrupting your enjoyment.

Bondage? BDSM, yeah he’s heard of it. Maybe he’s itching to try a few things with you, if you wanted.

He’s not into the cuffs and whips though. Oh no he has a very special kind of kink.

Ropes are fantastic, you can zipline with them, grapple onto stuff... Tie people up.

You ever seen those very intricate rope art porno? Yeah.

Yes he uses the ziplines rope.

He’ll never tie it too tight though, just enough to keep you in place.

He makes cute patterns with it while he’s tying. small hearts, sometimes ties roses into the design.

You are a canvas and he is the artist, he’s quite proud of the tie when he’s done.

He’d much rather gaze at you and admire his work than fuck you sometimes when you play like this.

Extremely big on after care. He’ll cuddle you and tell you how well you did and that he enjoyed it too. He’d make sure you’re okay and tell you that he loves you!

Although he’d never hurt you purposely, sex is always a bit rough with him no matter how gentle he is. You’ll always have a few bruises here and there. Around the hips, thighs, wrists, it’s just the nature of the beast.

You kind of dig the markings though.

#Apex legends #apex #apex legends pathfinder #pathfinder #apex headcanon #pathfinder headcanon #pathfinder x so #pathfinder x reader #x reader #pathfinder headcanons #SINCE NO ONE ELSE WANTS TO LOVE THE ROBOT LIKE I DO I WILL PROVIDE FOR MYSELF.

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providentially-demonic · 5 years ago

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Necromantic Mistakes

Based on this drawing by @ectoimp.

Arthur had always dreamed in technicolor, bright violets and soft blues and warm reds filling his restless sleep. After that night in the cave, the colors changed, acid greens and splashes of bold crimson and delicate pinkish-purples that did their best to drive the other, less pleasant colors away. Nights after their reunion with Vivi had been better, sea tones creeping back into his slumber, and holding the line against the darker shades.

Tonights dream was different, first in that he was certain he was dreaming and second, that everything was black except for a hellish orange light that wrapped around his limbs, holding him immobile one moment and then forcing reluctant movement that he fought against with everything in him, remembering with terror the last time his body had moved without his permission. He looked down at his arms, trying to claw at the lurid orange that held him, but his claws weren’t there, replaced with blunt nails on massive tanned hands below white sleeves. He knew those hands, having clung to them desperately, both before and after the cavern.

LEWIS!

He came awake like a drowning man, gasping for air and flailing against the sheet tangled around his legs, claws scoring great rents in the linen. His wings beat the air frantically and he tumbled off the couch where he’d been napping.

Unlike the graceless awakening, he landed in a neat crouch, legs tucked under him, ready to spring at some unseen enemy, wings mantled and tail lashing like an angry cat’s. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

Vivi, curled up in an overstuffed armchair with a book, yelped in startlement, the book going flying.

“Artie? Are you okay? What happened?” She sprang to her feet and rushed to him, coming to an abrupt halt a foot away as his growl deepened. “Arthur?” she offered cautiously, empty hands held out soothingly.

It took a moment to orient himself. He straightened up, but the growl wouldn’t stop, only lowering to underscore his words as he asked. “Vivi? Where’s Lewis?”

She relaxed when he came up out of the crouch, her expression settling into a familiar one, the mulish frown she got when she couldn’t make someone understand something. “He and Mystery went to the store to pick up food for the weekend. I’m hoping they’ll actually talk, not just glare at each other the entire time.” Lewis still hadn’t quite forgiven Mystery for the cave though he mostly kept his temper under control.

Arthur didn’t respond with his usual “Good luck with that.” Sniffing, he prowled to the door and then outside, shifting unconsciously into the faster gait that using his wings afforded him. He loped back and both in front of the cabin a couple of times before heading down what was now a well-worn path through the underbrush to the hidden spot where they parked the van. Vivi followed him but he had no mind for her, all his attention on that tenuous feeling of wrongness that had been burning under his breastbone since waking. It strengthened the farther he got down the path.

Vivi had the sense not to distract him, only trotting grimly in his wake, her baseball bat clenched in white-knuckled hands.

The van wasn’t parked there, and Arthur moved unerringly over the crushed grasses toward the road. He hesitated only long enough at the edge of the trees to be sure no one was coming and loped out onto the blacktop, turning toward town after a moment of hesitation.

Vivi gamely tried to keep up with his quadrupedal stride, but kept falling behind. As much as it chafed, Arthur stopped and turned back to her. He dropped into a crouch, wings held carefully out to the side. “Climb on.”

Vivi huffed but obeyed, settling herself against him, piggyback. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and pinning her bat between her stomach and his back, wrapped her arms around his neck. He carefully tucked his hands under her hips and hoisted her up, shifting back into the strange, wing-aided locomotion.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on, Artie?” She asked in his ear.

Most of his attention still on that wrong feeling, he answered her absently. “Something bad happened to Lewis.”

“What?!” Her shout startled him and he missed a stride, staggering. “How do you know?”

Recovering, Arthur hiked her back up into position. “I-it’s a little hard to explain. Y’know how Lewis and I had been practically in each other’s pockets, when we were tr— stuck in the cave? And even after, living in the cabin, we’ve been really close. Sometimes, like— I know when he’s— he’s having a, he calls ‘em ‘moments’— but they’re basically breakdowns, when it hits him again, what happened. Him dying and me— turning into this.” The sound of an engine reached them and Arthur darted off the road and into the treeline. When the car had passed, Arthur took to the road again. “I know when they’re coming and do my best to help him through them, and I can always tell when it’s working. I kinda sense it, I guess. That dream I had, that I woke up all weird from? I knew something had happened to him.”

“That’s strange,” Vivi said thoughtfully. “I had no idea you were... sounds like you’re empathic.”

“Dunno if that’s what you’d call it, honestly. I just know when something’s wrong, and right now—? It’s way wrong.”

He missed his stride again, but this time it wasn’t any of Vivi’s doing. This time it was because of the sight ahead of him, the van pointing back towards the way they had come, pulled onto the graveled edge, driver’s door hanging forlornly open. Vivi cursed in his ear, and he let her down, his attention centered on the van and the door standing sadly open.

He let his clawed fingers brush the metal, warm in the sun, as Vivi circled the van, to report that the back door was hanging open too. Arthur concentrated his attention on that tenuous feeling of Lewis. His nose twitched, reporting an acrid scent, and suddenly he knew what he was smelling, the sour fear-sweat of three other men. He hadn’t even known he could do that, and he tried to catalogue every bit of information as quickly as he could, before this new heightened sense abandoned him. One of them had a musky, dry-paper odor that it took a minute to recognize. He was still trying to place it when Vivi spoke up.

“It can’t have been that long ago,” Vivi reported, pulling her hand from one of the bags of groceries he could see over the back of the seats. “The refrigerated stuff that he didn’t manage to cram into the cooler,” She flicked a finger at the sadly battered ice chest. “— Is still cool to the touch.”

He itched his nose with a blunted claw. “Don’t ask me how I can suddenly do it, because I don’t know— but I can smell three other people— men— here. The were afraid. One of them smells like—” he brightened, finally able to place the smell. Vivi was not a casual drinker but she used sake— rice wine— in her spells sometimes. “Like alcohol, specifically sake.”

Vivi frowned. “Why booze? Unless one of them needed some liquid courage?” Then she brightened. “Can you track them that way?”

“Do I look like a bloodhound? I barely even knew how to do this much!” Arthur grimaced, gesturing at himself.

Vivi flicked the tip of his nose. “Okay, but how did you get this far?”

Batting her fingers away, Arthur scowled at her. “Because this is the only road to the store, dammit!”

“Before that. You knew Lewis was in trouble. How?” Vivi folded her arms, implacable.

“I— I dreamed it.”

“You said it, yourself. Because you two are connected.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Vi! Do you think I wouldn’t be right behind him if it did?” Arthur growled.

“Then tell me, which way didn’t they go?”

His left wing unfolded and stabbed the thumb-claw toward the way they had come. Arthur stared at his wing in consternation. “How—?”

Vivi stepped close enough to cup his cheek. “Because you are connected. You can find him through that. Now, c’mon. Help me track down our boyfriend.”

Arthur flushed a muddy brown color. “Vi! He’s not— we’re not—!”

“Only because we never asked formally, you silly greenbean.” Vivi chided. “But we can talk about that later— let’s go get him back first. Onward, noble steed!”

“Vivi!”

“Don’t you Vivi me. You’re faster than I am, even carrying me.” She folded her arms and nodded firmly. “Let’s go find our ghost.”

Arthur snorted at her, but climbed up into the van. The keys were still in the ignition, another worrying sign, but it made it easier. “We’ll take the van as far as we can. Hopefully we won’t have to go off-road again.”

Vivi rolled her eyes but shut the rear door and slid into the passenger’s seat. “Aww, no fun, I wanted to go charging into battle astride my noble steed!”

“No.” Arthur started the van and followed the strange link he had to Lewis. It led them down the dusty highway and to a graveled road running between between two wheat fields. Even in the van, they could not see over the tops of the rows. After he’d gone a few miles, Arthur stopped the van. “We’re close. Should probably go on foot from here. I don’t know if whoever took Lewis and Mystery are expecting us.”

Vivi nodded grimly. “Expected or not, they’re getting us and my bat to the face if they try to stop us.”

Arthur didn’t lock the van, but took the keys, just in case they needed to make a quick getaway. They slid into the waving wheat, headed for the dark treeline that marked the end of the field. The ground rose slightly underfoot and the closer they got to the trees, the more rocks poked out of the earth. It was much darker under the branches and instinctively Arthur hurried his pace. He didn’t like the feel of this place, with its tangled branches and utter absence of the almost welcoming feel of the forest around their cabin. Vivi clung close to his side.

The strip of trees ended abruptly, marked by the tumbledown remains of a wooden fence that was easily stepped over. Beyond it was a stretch of blacktop. “Where are we?” Vivi murmured softly. “It feels like I should know— Arthur?”

Arthur was frozen in place, his wings half-spread and the tuft of hair on the end of his tail puffed like that of a frightened cat. His clawed feet were inches from the shattered remains of a boulder— one that almost looked— scorched. “I— it can’t be.”

He reached a shaking hand out and carefully brushed his fingers over the stone. There was faint tingle in his fingertips, but nothing like the remembered sting.

He looked up, and up, at where the ground had risen steeply, and into the eerie face of the last place he had ever wanted to see again.

He started shaking so hard his wings rattled. “Vi—” his voice came out small and frightened. “I—”

Vivi was right beside him. “Hey, Arthur, breathe.”

He sucked in a gulp of air that lodged in his throat like a stone. “The cave—”

Vivi’s eyes widened in understanding and she glanced up at the menacing face of the craggy rocks. “Oh— I thought it looked familiar.”

Arthur had never had clearer proof of the fact that there were still some tiny gaps in her memory. She remembered most everything that had happened, but once in a while she would get a puzzled look when there was a blank. He bit hard on his bottom lip, the sting of his fang breaking skin giving him something to ground himself with. Gulping a deep breath, he shook himself all over, like a wet dog. “C’mon. W-we have to save Lewis....and Mystery.”

Still gripping her bat with the other, she slipped the fingers of one hand into his. He gave her fingers a squeeze, and started forward, avoiding the blackened remains of the boulder that had seal— He shook that thought off. No. Saving the others was all that mattered.

The entrance to the cave was much like how he remembered it, but for the tattered remains of some yellow, ‘Police line- Do Not Cross’ tape fluttering in the breeze from the entrance. It was a stark reminder of just what they had left in the cave.

At the fork in the path, he was torn between relief and dismay that the faint feeling of Lewis led to the lower path. He didn’t think he had the nerve to climb the other way, not again. Not ever. But he still didn’t want to see the lower part. Most of his memories of it were hazy with fever and delirium, but he knew what they would find. The police might have removed Lew— the remains, but he was betting the signs of what had happened were still there. The closer they got to the bottom of the cave, the tenser he got. “Vi— I gotta warn you, um— we— we both fell down here... It’s not— not gonna be a pretty sight.”

Her button nose scrunched, Vivi glanced around. “Wasn’t it... greener?”

She was right. Though the cave was still smelled of dank stone, and water dripped somewhere in the distance, the green fog that had characterized most of his earlier memories of the cave was gone. Gone but not forgotten, he thought as he stretched a wingtip into his line of sight as a balance over a rough patch. That green tone was now a part of him, as much as his hated claws.

“The mist is gone.” He knew his tone sounded a little short, but Vivi gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

The tunnel before them opened up and Arthur instinctively flinched from the sight of the towering stalagmites. Several of them were stained a disturbing rust brown, and other, less pleasant colors. Behind her glasses, Vivi’s eyes went wide and she made a sick sound low in her throat, dropping her bat to clap fingers over her mouth.

Arthur stopped in front of her, lifting a wing to block her view of the offending stones. “Hey, Vi, breathe. C’mon, it’s okay.”

Her eyes were wet as she irritatedly glared up at him. “It is not okay, you ninny!. I just— how badly you two must have suffered—?” She waved past his blocking wing. “I knew, I can remember some of it, but—” Her voice broke on a choked sob and she lunged forward to squeeze him tightly around the waist.

Arthur curled wings and tail around her, holding her close. He gave her the minute she needed, the closeness, the reassurance. But he couldn’t give her more than that. “It was bad, for both of us. But we have to find Lew and get him out of here, okay? Everything else, it can wait.”

Vivi pursed her lips and Arthur could almost hear her thinking that they had waited too long to talk about this, but she had to concede the point. Being here wasn’t doing her any good, certainly wasn’t doing Arthur any good, and she was sure Lewis was no better off. She lifted a balled fist and scrubbed at her stinging eyes. “R-right. We have to find Lewis.”

Arthur heaved a sigh and drew his wings back, but his tail, as usual, had a mind of it’s own and clung tightly to Vivi’s waist. She didn’t seem to mind, running her fingers briefly over the tuft of hair at the end, before groping for the bat she had dropped in her desperate hug.

Arthur shivered the skin of his wings a little, trying to shake off the sick feeling that just being here gave him. It took a long moment before he was able to get back the concentration needed to find the tiny trace of Lewis. It led further down, away from the fatal stone spires. He hadn’t even known there was more to the cave, but past the field of stalagmites the floor dropped into a slope, rough walls crowding close. It— felt older here— not just in the age of the cave, but like they were headed into a place never meant for human eyes.

He could still see easily enough, but Vivi’s steps had slowed, faltering. She stumbled a little and clung to his arm to steady herself. “I can’t see anything,” she muttered softly. “A flashlight would be nice, but I don’t want whoever took them to see us coming.”

Arthur managed a weak huff of laughter. “You just want to ride in on your ‘noble steed’.”

“How dare.” Vivi poked the arm she clung to. “But, yes. Onward, my faithful mount.”

“Watch it or I’ll—”

“What?”

Grumbling, Arthur crouched and guided her back into place on his back, dropping his wingtips to the floor for balance, until she was settled. “Just hold on,” he muttered, dropping back down into the graceless, but infinitely faster, strange wing-aided movement he had developed.

The way narrowed again, and Arthur could hear the plinking of water. This part of the cave was still live, with water still shaping the rocks. He could smell wet stone, and although the cave appeared in gray-scale, he could see where water had smoothed the tunnel floor, the rock damp beneath his feet and wing-claws.

A sound echoed to him and he froze in place, straining to hear better. There was silence and then a mournful sound, almost a whine, rebounded from the stone around them. This time Vivi heard it to and stiffened against his back, her grip on his shoulders tightening. “Mystery—” she breathed.

He sped his pace, blunted claws sometimes slipping on the increasingly damp stone. He could now hear voices, carried by the acoustics of the tunnel, but could not make out what they were saying. None of them were Lewis’s familiar baritone though, and fear clenched his heart in an ice-cold fist. He rounded a curve in the tunnel, and suddenly could see color again, the warm amber and reds of firelight, glowing softly from further ahead.

“ — Isn’t it working?”

“I don’t know. This is where he died, the spell led us to this cave and we gathered his blood from the rocks. It should be working!” The voice, heavy with an unfamiliar accent, growled angrily.

Arthur crouched and let Vivi slide down off his back. She edged forward, back to the wall.

Another whine, louder this time, brought a curse. “Dose the beast again, it’s ruining my concentration!”

“I doubt it’s the beast ruining your concentration,” a third voice added, sarcasm dripping from the tone. “And you might want to try a little harder. We’re running out of sake and I don’t wanna be here when that wakes up from the stupor.”

“Then, shut up and let me work. Do your job instead of harping on about that,” answered the accented voice. “Once the spell works, we’ll have all the power of this revenant at our fingertips and you won’t have to worry your pretty little head about the oversized mutt.”

“I’m gonna enjoy using your pet ghost to fry this stupid kitsune.” The first speaker muttered. “Look what it did to my hand!”

“I told you not to get so close!”

“And how else were you intending to get the stuff down it’s gullet? You’re just lucky that I realized what it was back there in the store. You two have no idea how to deal with anything that’s not a ghost!”

“Two hundred dollars worth of booze should put anything on the floor.” snarked the other speaker.

“You are an idiot.”

“You're both idiots. Shut the creature up and let me work.”

Arthur growled softly, edging forward and hoping for a glimpse of what lay ahead.

A new sound shot a spear of ice right through him. The pained groan carried the strange distortion that Lewis’s voice had gained since the night his life had ended here.

The snarl ripped out of his throat before he was even aware of making a sound and he sprang forward. The ground dropped abruptly away beneath his feet, but all he could see was Lewis beneath him, lying spread-eagled on a flat slab of stone, sickly orange magic weaving a cage around him. A man stood above him, Lewis’s anchor clenched in his fist, held over a tiny brazier that burned with that same malignant radiance.

His wings snapped open, caught air, and drove him like a bullet toward the man holding Lewis’s literal heart in his hand. A wild, shrieking cry of rage tore out of his chest and four sets of claws arrowed down on the target of his fury.

“What the fuck, man?”

He heard the cry, but it was meaningless. Red rage and the sight of the golden locket, its color dimmed by the sickly orange, was all that filled his vision. He hit the man with a solid whump, feet first, growling ferally as he crouched over the now prone figure. His blunted claws still left lines of red on the man’s hand as he snatched Lewis’s anchor away. He cradled it close to his chest and leaned down to snarl in the terrified face of the man under his feet, wings mantled over them. A faint gold light underscored the wanna-be necromancer’s pale, sweating features, picking out the horror in his bloodshot eyes. “Don’t take what isn’t yours,” he snarled, low and menacing.

A thin, terrified whine was all that escaped the man’s slack lips.

Vivi’s wild attack yodel finally got through the rage and Arthur lifted his head. “Don’t move if you know what’s good for you,” he snarled down at his hapless prisoner, before turning his attention to the rest of the cave.

One of the other men, the one with a bandaged hand, was already face down next to the furry lump that was a hog-tied Mystery. Vivi was whaling on the third, who was trying to defend himself with a short knife and a hardcover book. Scrapes on one thigh and a tear in her skirt indicated how she’d got down the steep sloping drop-off.

Even as Arthur watched, she knocked the knife away with her bat and kicked her opponent in the balls with far more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. He went down with an agonized scream. Wincing in instinctive sympathy, Arthur abandoned the gibbering necromancer. Lewis was still pinned to the stone by the orange light emanating from the brazier. His first instinct was to knock it over, but something told him that wouldn’t help.

Instead, he gingerly picked the whole thing up and headed for where he heard the splashing of water. Water dripping down from stalactites had formed a pool, and he chucked the brazier into the water. Hissing, it threw up a cloud of steam and the orange bonds holding Lewis vanished like the remnants of a bad dream.

Vivi was across the floor in a heartbeat, flinging herself on Lewis in a hug. He sat up, closed his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “Vivi—”

Glancing over to make sure their opponents were staying where they had been put, Arthur hurried over to them. Scratching the back of his neck with one hand, he offered Lewis his anchor back. “You need to stop losing this.”

“R-right,” Lewis’s laugh was a little watery and he was clinging to Vivi like he would never let go.

Without looking up, Vivi caught the wrist of Arthur’s extended hand and dragged him down into the embrace. Lewis freed one arm from her and wrapped it around Arthur’s waist with desperate strength.

Sighing with relief, Arthur closed his wings around the two of them.

A whimper from Mystery broke the moment and Vivi huffed a tearful laugh. “Suppose I should go untie him.”

Arthur reluctantly let her go, but Lewis held onto one of her elbows and followed her over to the prone kitsune. She knelt beside Mystery and began picking at the knotted ropes around his legs. Mystery stirred and flopped his heavy head in her lap while she did.

“Phew, your breath reeks,” she chided.

“Ish no’ my fault.” Mystery roused enough to say. He hiccuped mournfully. “Thish time.”

Lewis groaned. “Don’t start this again.”

“Start what?”

“They clocked him a good one when they grabbed us, but to keep him from using his magic, they started pouring booze down his throat.” Lewis pointed at the unconscious one with the bandaged hand. “He knew the story that being drunk screws with a kitsune’s magic. Unfortunately, Mystery gets very maudlin when he’s not sober.”

“I shcrewed up and tried t’ kill Arthur,” Mystery pronounced woefully. “Nobody’ll trusht me anymore.”

“Shh,” Vivi said. “You stopped attacking Arthur, remember?”

“But I shtill didn’ believe in him.”

Arthur snorted. “Join the club. I didn’t always believe in me either.”

Vivi huffed, but finished untying Mystery. “Enough recriminations over the past. We made it through, all of us. Mystery, small form, please. I am not dragging twenty feet of drunk fox out of here.”

While Mystery tried to untangle himself enough to stand up, Arthur cocked a thumb at the erstwhile necromancer and his assistants. “What do we do with these yahoos?”

Mystery looked up, a little cross-eyed. “I could alwaysh eat them.”

"We'll save that as a secondary option," Vivi's tone was grim. She stood up and dusted off her torn skirt. Picking up the book from where it had fallen, she marched over to the leader of the group. He had gotten to his knees and she expertly brought to heavy tome up under his chin. His teeth clicked together from the force she put behind it. She bent slightly to meet his eyes. "You made a very large mistake in trying to take one of my boys. I don't suffer interlopers in my territory very nicely. I advise you to move along, and if you know what's good for you, leave Texas entirely.

"You see," she grinned a little too broadly. "We know you and your magic now... and if you try it again, we'll know. And we'll come looking."

His frightened eyes skittered over Lewis, Arthur and Mystery, and Arthur could almost see the calculations going on in his head. A ghost, a kitsune and a demon... that she called hers.

"W-what are you? A—"

Her smile was sharp enough to draw blood. "Oh, I assure you, whatever you're thinking—" she leaned close and dropped her voice to a whisper. "I'm much worse."

She lowered the book. "Now run along, little spellcaster, and think about what you've done..."

Gulping harshly, he scrambled to his feet, roused his moaning companion and between them hefted the unconscious one. They headed for a different tunnel than the one they had come through and vanished into the darkness.

Lewis waited until they could no longer hear them before laughing. "Vi—!"

She grinned at him. "What? I think I put a good fright in them. Plus I've got their spellbook." She sauntered over and threw an arm around his waist and the other around Arthur's. "I didn't really lie. I don't like wannabe necromancers messing around here. And if he messes with my boyfriends or doggo again, I will be his worst nightmare."

A/N: I waffled so long on posting this. Drunk, maudlin Mystery is all @phantoms-lair‘s fault. The reason the spell for controlling Lewis entirely wasn’t working? They used blood scraped off the wrong stalagmite.

#mystery skulls animated #Demon!Arthur #Demon!AU

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sippin-on-red-wine · 5 years ago

Text

Kiss Me - Part Three

Better late than never?

Part One - Part Two

Your skin feels warm under the relentless summer sun. Around you, the muffled sounds of duffel bags being slung into backseats and trunks slamming fill the air. You hoist a plastic red cooler into the back of your Wrangler as friends chatter, crafting quick goodbyes and plans to do it all again next year.

You feel Ed come up behind you as you’re loading the last of your things into the car, sweating from the effort, humidity hanging thick in the air. His hands - small, but powerful - squeeze your shoulders as he draws in close to your body.

“Want to come back to mine for a couple days? Can you get off work?” He asks.

It’s not until then that you realize your body had been so tense - your very muscles trying to stop time in its tracks, here at the lake, not wanting to leave behind your little safe space here with Ed.

Relief pounds through your veins.

It’s real.

The ride back is relatively quiet - but you wouldn’t call it uneventful. Ed offered to drive, and damn if he didn’t look good doing it - a pair of dark aviators perched on his freckled nose, one hand on the wheel and the other planted modestly on your mid-thigh. You remark to yourself how different his hair looks here - golden and sun drenched. Nothing like the deep auburn of his head nestled between your thighs, like it was last night.

“Home sweet home,” he declares as a thick iron-wrought gate swings forward.

You make busy work of unloading the car, dropping bags in the foyer before following Ed into the kitchen. When you stand at the sink, his arms wrap around you from behind, a bristly chin coming to rest on your shoulder as you wash your hands. He follows suit, playfully suds-ing up his hands alongside yours. He presses a smile into your neck and intertwines your fingers, giving them a gentle squeeze as the warm water pours from the faucet and splashes lazily into the ceramic basin below.

And as soon as he was there, he’s gone again, fixing some sandwiches for the both of you. You grab some crisps and a couple of ginger ales and set up camp in the next room over. Ed switches on the television and you both sink down into the pale blue sofa, passing food and drink back and forth.

It’s so good, so easy - you could almost cry. This could hardly qualify as a first date, but it’s hard not to compare it to one. No time spent primping and dressing for an awkward-as-hell dinner. No maneuvering dodgy conversation, either too vague to be interesting or entirely too personal (too much too soon… you hated over-sharers).. No anxious feeling in your gut, no imagining what it would be like to date or live with or marry the stranger across the table.

None of that awful stuff. Just Ed. His floofy mess of hair, rainbow inked skin, mouth full of crisps. Goofy natured, kind, competitive. Great with his mouth...

It’s then that you remember. Last night. You had practically begged him for proper sex. He’d brought you to the top of the world with his mouth alone and even after all that, it wasn’t enough. It was an insane, primal, burning need to have him inside of you. And the way he’d fucked you with his hand, when neither of you had a condom? Was hot as hell. But the itch had done anything but subsided.

You gulp, glancing at the staircase that led upstairs to his bedroom.

The candle throws shadows on the wall; the shape of your friend-turned-lover looking down at you in his own bed. He's nestled between your legs, sitting back on his heels. He's focused on tearing the little foil wrapper, revealing the thin latex inside. His fingers work quickly, spreading the condom over top of his plump cockhead, rolling it down to sheath his full length.

You hear the latex snap softly into place and suddenly your heart is beating in your throat. Every nerve ending you have is buzzing in anticipation - you wonder if he is feeling the same thing. He's frozen; cock poised at your entrance, his chest rising and falling in quick succession while his bottom lip is held in place by an anxious bite.

He swallows and his eyes wander back up to yours. “Just tell me when you’re ready, yeah?”

You reach for his hand and pull it close to your center. Without saying a word, you lock eyes and push his middle finger inside of you. You want to show him how sure you are, how ready you are for him.

He pushes into you slowly, a dull pinch as your body gives way to his. You savor every moment as he enters you, a soft groan falling from his mouth. Long, deliberate strokes, pulling back between each thrust until he's finally, fully enveloped by you. An audible sigh of relief, you both chuckle as the nerves and anxiety melt completely away.

Your fingertips brush under a bristly chin and draw his mouth to yours. The time for soft, fluttery kisses is gone - your nipples are stiff and pressing against his bare chest, his cock fully buried inside of you, your nails digging lightly into his lean lower back. Instincts have replaced caution now and he kisses you like it might actually be his last night on Earth, like he has to get this perfectly right because it's his first and last chance to do so.

And as his tongue swirls into your mouth, he's fucking you so slowly and thoroughly, pulling almost all of the way out each time, just before rolling his hips and filling you again. You don't want to break the kiss but there are so many sensations - the weight of his body atop yours and his skin dampening and the head of his cock dragging against your walls as he pulls back each time - you need to come up for air.

You break away from his kiss with a gasp - oxygen flooding your lungs. “Alright?” He asks.

You push up, nodding furiously and gasp when you break your connection with him. His response is frenzied, pulling you into place atop his body, guiding his cock back into your warm channel. It's his turn to gasp as you sink all the way down on him, wrapping his waist tightly with your legs and pulling his pouty mouth to yours.

His hands drop, kneading the supple flesh of your ass as he starts to lift and pull, lift and pull, all while stuttering his hips up into you. The effort stunts his breath and he groans into your kiss.

"Ed, yes!" you cry out. Your nipples are dragging across his damp chest and there's a low burn in your belly from the friction of his pelvis meeting yours again and again.

"Want you to cum for me," he coaxes, maintaining his rhythm even as your fingernails dig into his back. "I need it, please, please c-"

You stamp your eyelids closed and pull him in, squeezing, wanting to somehow be closer to him than you already are, grinding into him as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Chest heaving, legs pure jelly, a light sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies... Ed’s mouth finds yours and kisses you tenderly as he starts to flip you onto your back.

“So… hot…” he praises, pausing to kiss your neck in between. His cock is still firmly inside of you, but he doesn’t start moving again until you look up and lock eyes. His eyes are a dark, stormy blue and he’s staring down at you with an insatiable lust written across his face. You’re a little sensitive down there, post-orgasm, and you’re grateful that he starts out slow… pumping into you, filling you so well.

Can he feel that you’re a little swollen from all the arousal and stimulation? Do you feel tighter to him? It seems probable, given the way he’s had to bite back his bottom lip. You glance down and watch as his hips crash into you, inked flowers giving way to traces of burnt auburn and then - oh. He’s going even harder now, picking up speed, breath coming in short spurts. Your eyes dart back up to his face, knowing what’s inevitably about to happen when you blurt out -

“God, I wish you were fucking me bare..” you pull his head down, your mouth to his ear. “Want to feel it when you…”

Groaning, he gently sinks his teeth into your neck and presses into you, filling the condom and undoubtedly wishing the thin piece of latex wasn’t there at all.

You lay together, heaving, for a few minutes before Ed breaks the silence.

“Not. Fair.”

#ed sheeran #Smut #ed sheeran fanfiction #fanfic #celebrity fanfiction #ed sheeran smut

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trade-baby-blues · 6 years ago

Text

In Sickness

Pairing: Spock x reader

Word Count: so many (2680 to be exact)

Warning: Death, dying, serious health conditions, pretty gross health conditions, I think one swear

A/N: Requested by an anon!: “Spock x female reader where they are secretly married...but the team finds out when she gets injured on a mission...” Idk if you can tell but I have watched a TON of grey’s anatomy recently which might be why I spent so much time researching the medical stuff lol. This has absolutely NOT been edited because it’s 3:30 AM and it’s my birthday so I’m going to bed. I will (maybe) edit it later.

Cold was not a word you would have used to describe Spock. The other crew members gossipped about how emotionless he was, but you knew better. You knew where to look. In soft touches in the hallway, meals sent to your lab when you forgot to leave for lunch. No, Spock wasn’t cold. He was the one spot of warmth on the whole damn ship.

When he asked you to marry him, you were over the moon. Literally. The ship had made an emergency stop at Derna after an influenza outbreak. Half the ship was bed-ridden, and you were working yourself to the bone trying to find a cure. Spock found you unconscious at your desk from a fever you’d neglected to mention to anyone, and, after a long, stern lecture he’d asked if you would be his wife.

That was almost two years ago now and it had been the best two years of your life. You didn't even mind keeping it to yourself, because it made everything feel more special - and he more than made up for it when you spent nights together. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that Spock would move heaven and earth for you if you asked, and you knew he would be completely undone if anything happened to you.

That’s what made you hesitate on the shuttle down to the planet’s surface. You absentmindedly played with the ring hanging around your neck as the emergency transport descended to the next unknown planet. Well, not completely unknown. You knew one thing about the planet: the flora was poisonous to humans, which is why you were zipping up your decontamination suit and pulling your mobile lab down the ship’s loading dock. It whirred to life behind you as soon as you were clear, receding back into the ship as it prepared for take off.

This was your choice. You reminded yourself sternly. You told Jim not to beam them up. Not to send anyone down with you. The fewer people exposed the better. You rolled your shoulders and neck, easing some of the tension you could feel building there, and started walking toward the emergency triage station that was already set up.

There was a small boulder that had been outfitted as a desk for you to work on. Samples from the plant that caused all the trouble were already laid out. Your eyes scanned them quickly, looking for anything that signaled danger. There were no thorns, no pollen, no sap - even the colors were subdued. You lifted a flower to smell, expecting a nauseating rotting meat smell like some other carnivorous plants, but even the scent was beautiful.

“He’s arresting,” an ensign called. She was hunched over a man on the ground, another ensign. Matyas. He worked with the chemists. It was his first away mission.

Someone grabbed your elbow roughly. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help him?”

“I’m - I’m not a doctor. I’m a microbiologist I don’t-”

“Damn it I can’t find a pulse.” A doctor had joined the ensign and taken over. Going against warnings to avoid touching Matyas, the doctor was alternating compressions and mouth to mouth while an assistant dug through a bag for a hypo. The needle clicked and everyone held their breath but Matyas didn’t move. It almost felt like your heart was picking up the slack for him with the way it was pounding in your chest.

The doctor sighed. “Time of death, 15:02 Federation Standard Time.” The nurse immediately waved a tricorder over the doctor, scanning for any signs of infection.

You made your way over to Matyas, sample collection kit in hand. While the nurse checked the doctor, you checked the ensign for any obvious signs of disease. Despite only being sick for an hour at most, his face had lost all color and his eyes were dark. Even with gloves on, you could feel how brittle his hair had become. You cut off a few strands and dropped them in a sample bag. Next came the blood draw. You expected it to be the easiest part, but the blood came out much thicker than it should have, almost gelatinous. As if he’d been dead for hours and his blood had started clotting. You chanced a look at the doctor, whose worry was written across his face.

“Can I borrow your tricorder for a sec,” you asked. You accepted it gratefully from the nurse and ran it over Matyas. Each result seemed more concerning than the last: “Skin rash, cardiomegaly, ambient temperature, early signs of rigor mortis.”

The doctor grabbed the tricorder from your hands. “That’s not possible.” He scanned the corpse again, yielding the same results. “We scanned him twenty minutes ago and there was no evidence of cardiomegaly. The only symptoms were a rash, fever, and minor heart palpitations and now….”

“And now the scans show he should’ve been dead for hours, not minutes,” you finished. You wanted to comfort the doctor, who seemed to be getting more anxious by the second, but there was nothing you could say when he was sitting in front of the corpse of a man who might have just infected him. You couldn’t say how long the symptoms would take to start showing, because it was impossibly to know when Matyas was infected. You didn’t even know what caused it. It could be the flower or it could be something in the grass or the trees or even in the air. The only piece of good news you could give came from Bones calling to say the quarantine rooms had been set up.

You went straight to work when you were back on the ship, running the blood through every test you could think of and examining every inch of the plant under microscope. It was harder doing it by yourself, but you insisted your team stay away in case there was something poisonous in the plant. Of course, you hadn’t told Spock you were working alone or that you weren’t working in a decontamination suit, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. It was quicker without the burden of the suit anyway.

Bones kept you updated on the status of all the patients. Neither the doctor nor the ensign were starting to show signs but Commander Oni, a member of the security team of all people, was complaining about abdominal pain and facial swelling and the leader of the expedition, Lieutenant Mavek, had a severe fever. They were both being monitored closely.

You focused your attention back to your work. Sure they were stable now, but Matyas was stable when you were first called and not 30 minutes later he was dead. You just hoped half an hour was enough time for you to make some kind of headway with a cure.

Every minute that passed was torture. Ten minutes in and you had nothing. You were starting to sweat. From nerves, you told yourself. Not from disease. Fifteen minutes passed and Bones called to tell you Oni had blood in his lower intestine now, and his liver seemed to be shutting down. Twenty minutes. Mavek fell unconscious, heart beating erratically. Thirty minutes. His heart stopped. He was put on bypass. Forty minutes. Oni was experiencing multiple organ failure. 50 minutes. Dead.

You threw everything off your desk in anger. Nothing was adding up. The blood had been poisoned but there was nothing poisonous from the plant. The people in direct contact with Matyas were fine but the people who were nowhere near him are dead and dying and you had no more time to come up with a solution to save Mavek.

You scratched subconsciously at an itch on your arm until you realized your fingertips felt wet. When you looked down all you saw was blood. You could still make out the edges of what looked like the same rash Matyas had among the blood and skin that was hanging off your arm. It appeared necrotic, a symptom none of the others had presented. You poked at it lightly in horror, half expecting your entire arm to fall off, but you felt nothing. Aside from the skin falling off of your arm you felt fine.

Then there was a flash of heat so intense you had to sit down. Your vision was white and it felt like your temperature jumped from 98 to 103 with no warning. Waves of nausea hit you as you reached for the comm but you ended up knocking it to the floor in a daze. You fell to your knees to get it, trying desperately to call in a 911 to Bones. Your throat tightened as your heart sped up. You didn’t know what was anxiety and what was a symptom.

The tile flooring felt much cooler against your knees and arms and your nausea lifted briefly. You reached for the Comm and froze. There. Sitting on top of it. What looked like an insect. You forced yourself to concentrate on it, ignoring the white creeping into the edges of your vision. You fumbled for a sample jar, knocking several over before you managed to grab one large enough for the bug and the Comm.

The insect seemed to sense it’s freedom was being threatened, because it jumped from its perch on the Comm and started running towards the door. You threw yourself at it, clapping the cup down full force against the ground. It scuttled frantically around the cup, stabbing what looked like a small stinger against its plastic prison. You slipped the lid underneath and sealed the cup before making your way back to the desk. You grabbed your Comm on the way, dialing Bones as you picked up a pair of scissors.

“Please tell me you’ve got something.” You could tell he was tired.

You stabbed a small hole in the top of the jar for air. “Insect sting. Best guess is it’s essentially Chagas disease but sped up by a few years. Oh, and symptoms also include some kind of dermal necrosis.”

“None of the patients have exhibited signs of necrosis. There’s rashes but not…” You heard Bones curse.

“Yeah. If you could send a gurney my way it’d be much appreciated, doc. I’ll try to meet you halfway.” You hung up before Bones could say anything. There was only one voice you wanted to hear right now and it wasn’t his.

“Ashalik,” Spock said, “I thought you would be too busy to call.”

“Yes, but I found the cause of the illness,” you said, leaning against a wall to catch your breath. Your chest felt tight. “I’m heading to MedBay now to give the results to Dr. McCoy.”

“Are you all right? You sound a little breathless.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Always am around you.” You slid down the wall, energy draining from you quickly. You could almost picture Spock sitting in the Captain’s chair while Jim dealt with the emergency in MedBay. His eyebrow quirking up, cheeks tinged green. You hummed softly at the thought. “Tell me you love me.”

“You know I do. Tal-kam, is there something wrong? Are you-”

“No, I want to hear you say it, Spock. It always sounds better when you say it.” You could hear a slur in your voice and you knew Spock would hear it too. There were a few seconds of silence before he spoke.

“I ayasha du.” Spock said something else, but you weren’t quite sure what. Your eyes had slipped shut by now and the only thing you could hear was a soft ringing in your ears. You felt yourself tipping over but couldn’t do anything to stop it, doomed to lie there until the medics found you unconscious, smile still playing around the corners of your mouth.

You woke up to a stinging pain in your arm and a scratching in your throat. You coughed lightly around a tube and it felt like your entire chest was on fire. You tried to ignore it, breath around it, but it felt like you were choking until you heard your door open and a nurse ran to your bedside to take it out. You smiled weakly at her as she moved to adjust your feeding tube.

“Gave us quite the scare,” she said with a smile. “Though I suppose not as much as you gave him.” She nodded to your left and you tilted your head as far as you could to see Spock curled up in a chair asleep. “Hasn’t left your side in days. Not since he and Dr. McCoy worked out a treatment.” You smiled.

Your gaze seemed to rouse him, because he began to stir. He was on his feet the second he saw your eyes on him. He clasped your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your temple before leaning his forehead against yours. He said nothing, but you didn’t need him to. You understood.

Of course, Bones didn’t understand the intimacy of the moment and barged in with a tricorder and a hypo. Most of the symptoms were gone, but the arrhythmia seemed permanent so far just as it had with Mavek. It would require some more testing and medication but would be manageable.

“Until we’re sure it’s arrhythmia and not an extension of the symptoms, I don’t want doing anything strenuous. You can go back to work as long as you stay in a wheelchair that someone else pushes. Outside that, we’ll run a few cardiac stress tests in the lab, but you shouldn’t do any running or fighting or basically anything that would raise your heart rate.” He said the last few words pointedly towards Spock.

“I’m not sure why you’re addressing me, Doctor. I have no control over what-”

“He’s talking about banging,” Jim said, all smiles. He was leaning against the doorway like he’d just won the lottery. “No more early nights or late mornings or quickies down in the lab. That is, where you went all those times, right?”

The tips of Spock’s ears turned soft green. “I’m sure I don’t know-”

“How long have you guys been married,” Jim turned his questioning to you. “I mean, come on. I didn’t even know you guys were together and now lover boy over here is pining at your bedside and you have a ring around your neck. What’s it been? A few months?”

“Give or take a couple years,” you said, still smiling.

Jim stepped into the room fully, smacking Bones on the arm as he passed. “A couple years? Did you know, Bones?”

“None of my damn business,” Bones grumbled, smacking Jim back.

“Well then,” Jim said, rubbing his arm lightly, “I say it’s high time to celebrate then.”

“You deserve congratulations for discovering a new species of insect, especially one so deadly,” Spock said. “The discovery will save countless lives if future voyages are ever attempted.”

Jim threw an arm around Spock’s shoulders. “Is he always this boring? Because I definitely meant I’m throwing you guys a bachelor and bachelorette party.”

You laughed, but, with your throat still raw from the breathing tube, it came out more like a croak which lead to a cough which lead to Bones shuffling everyone but Spock out of the room. He pulled his chair closer to your bedside again and dropped his face in his hands. It looked like he’d aged a decade in the past week.

“I’m sorry I scared you, ashayam.” You ran your fingers through Spock’s hair. His shoulders shook softly but he made no noise and you wanted so badly to hold him. “Come here.” You tugged gently on his hands until he looked at you. You scooted to the edge of the bed, and Spock took the hint, crawling onto the biobed with you until you were just a tangle of limbs and tubes and tears.

“I ashaya du, k’diwa,” you said, still stroking Spock’s hair as he laid against your chest. “In sickness and in health.”

Tags: @outside-the-government @martinawalker @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @thefanficfaerie @mysteriously-lost-forever @feelmyroarrrr @yukki-art @pabegay1 @bolontiku @brooke-taylor0323 @anotherotter

#star trek imagine #spock imagine #spock x reader #my fics

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