#ive taken this approach because despite assurances i can just start where i want

[t4tails]

Im curious are you planning on watching the dc cartoons as well? Or are you plannin on just sticking with the movie-verse?👀

i am going to be watching the cartoons yes!!! after the dceu im going to watch the 1960s live action batman series + movies (also maybe the wonder woman 70s show? idk maybe. we will see.) BUT EVENTUALLY i want to watch the cartoon shows and movies!

[multifandomingmess]

The One That Got Away (Sonny Carisi x Daughter!Reader) Part 1/2

anonymous inquired:

Hii do you fanfics, imagines for SVU? If so can you do a Sonny x reader where you are his daughter and you try to kill yourself after being raped. The team finds out and hunts the rapist down. If you could make it middle length maybe? It’s ok if you can’t. If you can thank youuu

Trigger Warning(s): mentions of rape, description of rape, suicide attempt, self-harm, language, etc..

Reminder: Spoilers from recent episodes of SVU - so Carisi is ADA now. If you don't like spoilers, please watch/start on Season 22 beforehand. Thank you.

You could still feel the touch of him. How he threw you around like garbage. When you look down at your legs, you see reminders of him. That night was horrifying for you. However, you weren't surprised that you were targeted since you're the daughter of ADA Carisi.

Y/N Carisi - you were born on M/D/Y - having e/c eyes and h/c hair. Despite all that, you grew up near the SVU, so you knew the signs but you felt like you were stupid and deserved this. Like it was meant to happen. You haven't told anyone because you felt ashamed. You know (for a fact) that your dad will literally kill the guy - but you don't want him to risk his job for you.

(POV CHANGE - I/IM/ME/FIRST PERSON)

I came home from school and immediately went to my bedroom. My dad wasn't home yet so I just lay in my bed - and do what I've been doing. I just look at the wall and think. I think about the things I've done, the things I've wanted to do, the things I want to do, and the things that I wanted to do but was too scared to do so.

It's hard being an ADA's daughter because I've seen the threats he's gotten. People have cyberbullied me a lot, which isn't a surprise, but it's still not pleasant. Through my dad, I've felt unsafe because of threats I received - and some of the things that have been done to me.

A few weeks ago, I was raped after my dad won a case. The convicted man's family, who is apart of a mafia, seemed to convey hatred against him. I'm not sure if it's one of them that raped me but I just want to block it out. I want to forget it ever happened but it's not that easy. The past few days have been even harder because the thoughts have gotten worse. My dad knows I struggle with my mental health, in general, but he doesn't know why it's worsened lately. He doesn't know that I've started self-harming again.

It's hard to be alone with all these thoughts - because it's getting harder. I look at the belt nearby and place my hand against the leather. I just want this pain to be gone.

(HOURS LATER; 3RD PERSON POV)

Sonny finally arrived home. He had been trying to get a hold of Y/N but he had no luck. He opened the front door to a silent apartment. He was used to the silence but he felt a different feeling - like something was - like a gut instinct. He knew something was up.

He began to call Y/N's name, "Y/N! Are you home?" Silence. Just pure silence. He looked around the apartment and noticed her backpack on the kitchen counter - so she was home.

He went down the hallway and saw her bedroom door barely shut. He opened the door and he felt his stomach turn. Y/N was hanging from a belt. He rushed to her and unbuckled the belt carefully, so she would fall down, but he grabbed her in time. She placed her on the floor and felt for a pulse. It was weak but she had a pulse.

He took his phone out and dialed 911, before putting the speakerphone on and placing it on the ground. He immediately began chest compressions.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"This is ADA Sonny Carisi of Manhattan. I just came home to my daughter who attempted suicide. Please, send some paramedics and SVU here."

He continued the CPR, "Are there signs of sexual abuse?"

"I don't know but something isn't right. I'm doing CPR right now. Her pulse is weak. Please, hurry."

"Yes sir, just keep doing what you're doing. They're on their way."

Sonny continued to do the compressions, hoping she'd wake up, but she was still unconscious.

"Come on, baby..." He mumbled under his breath, as he continued the compressions.

Minutes went by and the paramedics arrived, along with SVU. They rushed into the house and Sonny stood by, as they began to take her vitals and placed her on a stretcher. Sonny felt like his whole world was turning upside down.

Olivia rushed in there, along with Amanda. "Sonny, what happened?"

"I came home to check on her because she wasn't answering her phone, so when I got here - something felt off and went to her room and found her like this..." He explained, trying to contain his emotions.

"Do you think she was raped?" Amanda questioned, causing Sonny to look down to the ground.

"I don't know but she hasn't been suicidal... I've been with her and something isn't right about this."

Olivia watched them take her out on the stretcher, noticing scratches on her arms, before sighing. Sonny was right. Something was wrong.

Hours had passed and Y/N awoke in a hospital bed, looking around to see her dad and some of his friends. "Dad?"

Sonny immediately rushed to his daughter's side and gave a kiss on her forehead. "How are you, sweetheart?"

She remembered what she did and regret filled her eyes. She placed her palms over her eyes and shook her head. "I'm so sorry, dad..."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Y/N." Sonny assurred but she shook her head, throwing her hands down on the bed.

"I do, I really do, Dad." Y/N sobbed out, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. Sonny looked at her and grabbed her hand, rubbing the back of her hand gently.

"Honey, why are you sorry?" She began to tug at the IV, trying to take it out. Machines began to beep uncontrollably, "You're safe, Y/N!"

"Dad, you're gonna kill me..." She yelled out in hysterics, nurses beginning to barge in.

"Sedate her!" One of the nurses shouted. Sonny was forced to get out of the room as he watched her fight off nurses.

"What happened to my babygirl?"

"Sonny..." Olivia began as she placed a hand on his back. "I think she's been raped or assaulted."

Sonny felt himself becoming numb and in shock. Olivia had it wrong, or did she? It would make a lot of sense, though. The huge question was why? Why would someone hurt his babygirl? That question ran through his mind.

Hours passed by and Sonny anxiously paced the halls of the hospital. Olivia had gone in there to talk with Y/N. Sonny knew he couldn't do it and just knew that she wouldn't talk to him about it. Not yet, at least.

"It's going to be okay, Carisi..." Amanda reassured, standing up after sitting in the chair for some time. "We will figure this all out but you need to sit down, you'll make yourself sick."

"I already feel sick and disgusted. I should've known something was off. I should've taken off work when her behavior started changing but I thought it was just teenage things. We've all gone through it..."

Amanda tightened her lips, biting the inside of her cheek. It was really unfortunate. The creak from the hospital room's door interrupted the two. Olivia came out with a clipboard, approaching Sonny at once. "I need you to sit down, Sonny..."

Sonny knew exactly what Olivia was going to say. Either way, nothing would stop the anger evolving inside of him. He didn't protect his daughter like he was always promised. He was already blaming himself.

"She was raped about a week ago. His identity is unknown but she said he had green eyes, black hair, pale skin, and dressed very neatly - but she mentioned that he said it was a warning for you..."

Sonny curled his eyebrows together, bringing eye contact with Olivia. He began to shook his head, grabbing the sides of his face, burying his face into his lap. "No..."

"She said he supposedly was a relative of a case you beat recently."

Carisi pounded his fist into his legs, screaming out, "Damn it!"

He jumped to his feet immediately, rushing toward the exit of the building, anger overcoming him.

"Sonny, you can't pursue this case!" Olivia yelled through the distance. "I have the authority to arrest you and I don't want to do that..."

He stopped in his tracks, turning to her. "You won't let me pursue this but you pursued your buddy Stabler's wife's case..."

"Excuse me?"

"If you can help your old partner out, then you can have my back on this... Either way, I have a feeling on who this is, and no one's stopping me - not even you."

With that, Carisi rushed out of the hospital building, leaving Olivia speechless. She looked at Amanda and audibly sighed.

Carisi got home and skimmed through each case file thoroughly, especially recent cases.

Brown v. Powell

New York State v. Senator Graham

Little v. Brewster

Jackson v. Gallagher

As he went past the Jackson v. Gallagher file, he pulled up the list of relatives for the Gallagher case (the opposing side). He saw Michael Gallagher. He was 35 and had all the features his daughter reportedly claimed. He clenched his hands into fists for a moment before hearing the doorbell ring. He snapped out of it and went to open the door.

In the pouring rain, Olivia stood there. Carisi found himself surprised but grateful.

"I'm sorry..." She gently apologized as she dug her hands into the pockets of her trenchcoat.

"We don't have time for that. I think I found a suspect..."

Olivia widened her eyes a bit as he led her to his office. He began to explain the case to her, which was complicated but expressed how one of the relatives had been sending threats since the trial completed. In which, we have Michael Gallagher.

"This is good... He looks just like the guy she described. This is a good sign, Sonny." Olivia admitted as she pulled out her phone. "I'm going to have them test Y/Ns DNA samples and possibly other DNA matches as soon as they can."

"Thank you, Liv."

She flashed a sly smile at him before she headed out. However, Sonny wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon, so the night would be interesting.

[lady-plantagenet]

Unsolicited Book Reviews (n2): Death be Pardoner to Me

Rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Even before I had an account, I tended to go to tumblr to see people’s opinions before buying a histfic. Certain books are either severely underrepresented, where I feel like there needs to be something on them, whereas others, though talked about enough, something more can still be said about them. So for my quarantine fun, I have decided to start a series where I review every medieval historical fiction novel I read. Hopefully, it will either start interesting discussions or at least be some help for those browsing its tag when considering purchasing it.

TL;DR: Since the author claims this book is written through her channelling of George Duke of Clarence, I don’t know if I should approach this as a historical fiction review or otherwise. Regardless, well-written and very balanced. The voice throughout was similar to how I pictured the real George of Clarence. Nevertheless, I deduct one star because I have noticed some innacuracies. Whether this discounts the veracity of the author’s claim - I leave it up to you. Despite how dodgy this book may appear, it has gotten very good reviews online and I do assure you it is not trashy or melodramatic at all; it is high quality compared to most modern histfic and other genre fictions in its prose and psychological insight.

Plot: So what essentially happens is, we get a fictionalist account (albeit a very short one) of George’s life. The book’s chapters are split between 1st person (where he (George) intimates what he felt and what thought during an event) and 3rd person limited POV. The author claims that the entire book is told in his own words but I suppose the background descriptions and such in the 3rd person chapters were her own words. We get basically every major event in his life (birth, childhood, marriage, rebellion and death) and some in-between. The in-between moments were by far my favourites as they are what added depth to what is essentially this character analysis (because we all know what he did, we are now interested in why). I was happy to see a lot of little details in this book were confirmed by my research (Caxton dedicating him a book, his penchant for fine clothing, his suffering of headaches (maybe after suffering the recorded head injury at Barnet) etc), his gift for legal arguments (I obviously squealed when I found that out) so I did end up learning something.

On the other hand, I would have wanted an account of the time he spend with Louis XI, Margaret of Anjou, Anne Neville and Jasper Tudor and what he thought and said. I would have also wanted more insight into the whole Burdett and Stacey debacle, not to mention his relationship with Sir Roger Tocotes: the old friend who though was apparently part of the whole poisoning Isabel scheme, Clarence could not bring himself to execute. Warwick surprisingly doesn’t feature very heavily either, nor does Isabel enough. But I’ll take what I can get when it comes to his particular historical figure.

Characterisation/ Historical Accuracy: As I’ve said, since the author claims to be a medium (I shall not comment on this as I myself am undecided on where I stand) any incongruency cannot be taken as merely artistic licence. So, the voice of George (which I suppose has been transcribed into our contemporary speech so we can understand what he says) feels very true to the character. His attitude towards things definitely sounds like a man from the 15th century. He is more reasonable now, than he would be if he were telling us his story during the action itself, because a lot of the book is told through the spirits (?) hindsight. Nevertheless, you do feel as if you were with the character while everything unfolded. The portrayal is more sympathetic than in other novels, nevertheless, he is no Gary Stu or major victim. He is portrayed as someone with genuine principles, intelligence, capable of some love towards other while also being deluded by his own self-importance, sometimes irrational and judgmental. So more or less a real and complex person.

On the other hand, some claims in this novel are quite bold but though unsubstantiated are not strictly speaking innacurate (I won’t spoil here, but if anyone has zero plans of reading this book but regardless wants to know what I mean PM me). One thing that made me deduct one star was this one blatant innacuracy: Ankarette Twynyho’s portrayal as a young woman, when we know that by the time she reached Clarence’s household she had a grandson (John Twynyho who petitioned Edward IV for a posthumous parson). There was also the implausible suggestion that George would not allow for in his household to be said that Richard of Gloucester married Anne Neville for her money (which though spirit George may in retrospect believe he loved her, 15th century George would at worst have been the one starting those rumours and at best, would not have cared). However, the latter unlike the former isn’t disprovable beyond doubt - but still I can somehow feel the Richardianism from the author seep in a bit. It actually has quite blatantly in a couple of instances. For example the suggestion that Richard visited him in the Tower (which I am 90% sure could not have happened). I do believe George and Richard loved each other in some weird twisted way since they were raised together and brothers, but I genuinely don’t believe it was so conscious on either’s part. Also, Isabel Neville was described as very ill from the birth of Richard of Clarence, but as we all know she was actually really well after the birth, she did not die of childbed fever. This is precisely why Clarence thought poisoning could have taken place. Isabel and George’s relationship as a whole was rather sad, and a part of me hopes this is all a hoax just so I can hope they were happier together in real life.

Prose: You may be surprised to know that the prose is actually still better than the vast majority of historical fiction novels. It flows well throughout, the dialogue is engaging and realistic, the descriptions of places and things (what in my opinion is essential for a period novel) is really well done but not too embellished. Certain scenes seriously gave me the feels (happens rarely), but then again it is hard to know if my reaction is more to do with the draw I have towards George in general than the author’s craft - regardless, I still think it is better literary wise than anything Weir or most popular histfics ever wrote, though obviously does not hold a candle to Jarman, Lytton-Bulwer or Scott. But then again, this was not even intended to be a novel in the classical sense. This is where half of the stars come from whereas the others come from insightfulness (as it did give me some avenues of research). There is also a semi-mystical theme throughout (as you would expect from a medium) but it is very subtle and not at all TWQ-esque, an honestly - it is plausible as we do need to keep in mind that medieval people did all believe in Angels, spirits and such. I think this added a nice flavour in some scenes.

Overall, this novel believable or not was much-needed. Too much is written about Richard III and the others. When a mutual told me of it I obvs could not resist haha. Since it was so short (around 200 pages with fairly large font) I think I might go ahead and purchase her Anthony Woodville one too (imagine my luck: two of my favourite historical figures got books).

[fictionalsadist]

Redoing this post without the cut line because I can’t figure out how to get rid of it on the original. based of this prompt from @write-it-motherfuckers

Kaiba bros from Yugioh with the tiniest dash of implied Prideshipping. Hope you all enjoy.

The faint sounds of muffled celebration could be heard through the walls, the sounds echoing through the lonely halls of the mansion even with the great distance between them. Despite the noise and just how many of them were gathered here, Mokuba knew he had little to worry about. They were a cocky bunch, assured of their own victory, and all very very drunk, he had checked.

As Mokuba finally arrived in the hall he had been searching for, he took a moment to rest against the wall, the weak irregular pounding of his heart sounding in his head as he dragged in shaky rasping breaths. Far too long Mokuba had been forced to sit aside and watch his “family” do unspeakable things in the name of “God”, too weak to take an active roll in stopping them. He had done little things to sabotage them, not that they knew, but there was so little he could do when he weren’t even strong enough to leave the house.

After what they had done this week however, Mokuba could no longer stand aside. They had always been vicious and cruel, using God as an excuse to do unspeakable evils. Their most recent hunt, had led them to capturing a family of peace loving vampires, two parents with three half vampire children. They intended to bind the parents and children, and force them to watch each other burn for their “sins”, the sin of existing.

It was the final straw for him, hearing how gleeful they were over something so deranged. So here he were, pushing his fragile body to a point you knew he wouldn’t be able to return from.

Shakily, Mokuba pushed yourself upright again, feeling some of the pain in his chest fade slightly. With trembling hands, he carefully opened up the secret door to the cells below, and made his way down the dark stairs. There were others that his family had caught, two werewolves, a witch, and one other vampire, who had been here even longer, your family having captured them a few weeks back.

He had been too powerful to be executed in the way they wanted to immediately, and so he had remained down here, being fed only enough to keep him alive, or in the vampires cases, not at all. Mokuba had always done what he could for those locked away down here, but this time he had gotten help. Two of the kitchen maids had ended up being witches, having gotten jobs here simply to help the other witch escape.

Mokuba had discovered what they were instantly, having always had a strange ability to feel a beings true nature, and approached them carefully. They had been wary at first, but soon began helping him. With their help, he had managed to bring food down to the prisoners once a day while his family were otherwise indisposed. Though they had no human blood to offer, (his body far too weak to be of use and the witches outright refusing for reasons of their own) they had managed to keep the vampires fed and strong with pigs blood, in preparation for their escape.

The witch, Ishizu, had warmed up to him first, having trusted Mokuba the moment he passed along the message from the other two. After her, the werewolves (Tristan and Otogi) had slowly come around, able to scent his lack of deceit when he answered their questions. Even the family of vampires had warmed up to Mokuba quickly when he had gently calmed and soothed their children, the family having separated the little kids from the parents, just to fulfil their own amusement at their suffering.

The only one who Mokuba was unsure of, was the lone vampire. He had been there the longest, and you still remembered the loud celebration they’d had after they had finally captured him, as well as the casualties. He was their biggest catch, and his power was why they were so wary with him, wanting him as weak as possible before they tried to officially kill the creature.

He was definitely an intimidating image, one glance from him enough to have anyone fearing for their life. You could tell that he was on an entirely different level to anything the family had ever dealt with before, and something told Mokuba that it would take very little for him to break out. For some reason though, he remained.

Unlike the others, the vampire had never spoken a word to him, watching him silently and intently with his blue hellfire gaze. Despite his silence, he had never made a move to harm Mokuba, remaining perfectly still whenever he arrived, his gaze following him like a physical touch until he had once more left, often with a light flutter in his chest that had nothing to do with his weakened state.

Shaking away his thoughts, Mokuba stepped into the room, smiling weakly at the children as they perked up at the sight of him. Seeing the keys in his hand, the rest of them perked up as well. Carefully, Mokuba went to the children first, unlocking the cell door and then carefully unbinding each of them, frowning at the sight of the burns around their tiny ankles. Next came the parents, who instantly gathered their children close once they were free.

Silently, he let them have their moment, knowing they needed to calm their children and themselves if they were going to escape properly. Soon enough he had the witch released, who thanked him before heading to the far wall that he had pointed out. The two werewolves practically tackled each other once they were free, nuzzling each others necks as they cried, soothing their inner wolf with the knowledge that they were no longer separated from their mate.

Suddenly, pain flared in Mokuba’s chest, and he subtly leaned against one of the cells, trying to ride out the wave of agony that overtook him. Once it had calmed enough, Mokuba opened his eyes and looked up, freezing as he found himself meeting the knowing gaze of the one vampire he had yet to free. In that moment, Mokuba could tell that he knew.

He was dying.

Pressing his lips in a firm line, Mokuba shakily straightened himself , determinedly making his way over to the final cell. He had known what would happen if he continued to push himself when he’d first started this, had known just how close he was to pushing too far. It was unlikely he would live to see the morning, but Mokuba couldn’t find it in him to be upset about it, not when his death would undo at least one of the families many many wrongs.

As the lock on the cell door finally clicked open, Mokuba looked up, not entirely surprised to see the vampire standing directly before it, free of his bindings as if they had been nothing but a mild inconvenience. Eyes locked with his, Mokuba pushed the door open for him and stepped shakily to the side. Behind him , he could hear the quiet sounds of the wall crumbling away at the hands of the three witches, the three of them quickly hugging as they were finally reunited, before beginning to guide the others to freedom using the path you had taught them about.

“Go… “ Mokuba whispered, unsure why he lingered.

The tall brunette vampire knelt down next to him. He stared deep into Mokuba’s eyes. “Go! You don’t want them to find-” Seto sswore softly and sliced his wrist open. Mokuba watched in a panic as the vampire brought the bleeding wound to his lips. Mokuba pushed it away “I don- wanna be a vampire…” he protested weakly.

“You already are. You’re a halfling like me. I should have known that they weren’t feeding you. I know the blood of our own kind isn’t great but it will keep you alive long enough for me to get you somewhere safe. Somewhere we can have you feed properly.” Seto pleaded. “Come on Mokie. Drink…for me…”

Something about the strange nickname echoed inside him as the vampire strode forward. Making him recall a soft smile, warmth and safety. Something that Mokuba never felt with the Schrodinger Hunter Clan.

“Drink.”

It was too soft to be a command Mokuba realized. It was almost as though Seto were begging him.

The nickname and the look of desperation in the normally stoic vampires eyes made Mokuba drop his hands and drink from Seto’s open wrist. The liquid acting like a key to the door of his own locked memories.

He was Mokuba Kaiba. He had been taken away from his elder brother by the Schroeder’s who had though they were “saving” a human child. Except he was a half vampire and with out regular blood he would have died soon enough.Mokuba fed until Seto took his wrist away and tucked him back to his chest. “There. Now let’s get out of here before those morons realize we’re gone.”

Seto scooped his little brother up into his arms and Mokuba found himself clinging to Seto’s shirt as they hit the night air outside of the crumbled wall. “I refuse to leave you behind again Mokie.”

Mokuba happily fell asleep against his brothers chest

“What the hell were you thinking?!” yelled a voice from outside the room. “You went off half cocked without a plan and no back up-”

Mokuba jerked away and found himself woke up in a large bed. Big enough for like 4 full grown adults to sprawl in without touching one another. He was warm and wrapped in blankets with an IV hooked into his arm giving him a steady infusion of blood. Mokuba looked around the room he was in, which could have fit three of the his bedroom back at the Schroeder’s. On the small bedside table sat a plush stuffed silvery white dragon with angry blue eyes. He reached out to stroke it’s soft fuzzy head

Seto’s voice drew him back to the conversation outside of his room. “Come off it Yami! Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if it were Yugi or Atem-”

“At least I have a bond so at least someone would know where I went!” Yami’s voice snapped.

Mokuba couldn’t see either of them. The door was far enough away that he was sure he wasn’t supposed to be able to hear them word for word. But it was like he’s been wearing glasses that dimmed his vision and ear plugs for years. Now everything was sharper and even the dim lighting of the room was bright enough that he could see every detail of the ornate furniture.

“You should have at least left a note or something!” Yami shouted at Seto “You got your answer from Gozaburo and ran off! He was dead before anyone else found him! What if you had died Seto?!”

“Like they could have-”

“That is not the point Seto! What if you had? You and I both know that hunters have access to things that could kill even you. If they had killed you, darkness forbid, no one would have been able to find Mokuba. No one else could have saved him. Pretty stupid move for the Head Strategist! What did you expect me-the kingdom to do with you gone….” at the correction Yami’s voice softened, almost defeated.

Mokuba wondered for a moment what kind of relationship they had.

“Okay. Okay. I get it. Next time I’ll leave a note.” Seto said in a teasing tone.

“You had better because next time you pull a stunt like this I will lock you up.” Yami told him.

“I would love to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Yami chided.

There was something in Yami’s voice that Mokuba couldn’t quite place. He didn’t get long to think about it because someone knocked on the door. Out of habit Mokuba hastily laid back down and closed his eyes to feign sleep. He heard the door open and footsteps approach his bed. Mokuba opened his eye to just thin slits so he could watch Seto replace the blood bag. Then he sat down on the bed and brushed the hair out of Mokuba’s face.

“How are you feeling” Seto told him gently calling his bluff. Mokuba opened his eyes the rest of the way.

“I’m kind of tired. But I feel better than I have in a long time.” Mokuba told his brother opening his eyes. “Who was that?”  he asked referring to the stranger.

“Oh. That was just Yami. He came over to put his two cents in one my actions.” Seto told him.

“He sounded worried.”

“Yeah. Well being the brother to the King make you do that.” Seto answered frowning.

“But-”

“Hush.” Seto chided “You should be sleeping. My room is just down the hall if you need-”

“Seto?”

“Yes?”

“Stay with me?” Mokuba asked. Seto smiled down at him in a soft fond way that Mokuba had the feeling only he would ever get to see. Seto pulled off his boots and curled up behind Mokuba on the bed. He snagged the little dragon and handed it to Mokuba, wrapping his arms around the pair of them.

“Welcome home little brother.” Seto whispered to him softly.

[cookieswriting]

Can’t Be Happening Pt. 4 (SEAL Team)

((All the tears over the brotherhood in this last episode...especially my BroTP.  Ugh, they wrecked me.  Pretty sure I’ll be writing a follow-up of some kind since I doubt we’ll get one on screen whenever our boys are back.  Sorry this took so long and is so short, class started up again and has me all kinds of busy and tired, but I wanted to get something out for you lovelies.  Will probably actually be wrapping up in the next couple of chapters, so please let me know if there’s anything else you want to see!))

By the time the rest of the team finished cleaning up, Trent was just coming into the waiting area and looked exhausted.  “Spenser?” Jason asked hesitantly, not liking the look on his medic’s face.

“He’s as stable as he’s going to get here.”  Blood streaked his cheek as he ran a hand down his face, and Trent clenched a trembling fist.  “They don’t have sufficient resources and infection is starting to set in...we’ve gotta to get him back to Virginia Beach if he’s going to get the transfusion and meds that he needs.”

Sonny resisted the urge to punch the nearest wall, and the entire team turned to Blackburn, who was already on the phone.  Within minutes, everything was lined up to get them back to home and the team was packing up.  

None of them spoke as one by one they made it to the tarmac, where their wounded brother was secured to a gurney with a bag of saline hanging from the IV pole.  Trent was the last to arrive, taking a moment to clean himself up before exchanging information quietly with the Mexican doctor and shaking the man’s hand.  The team followed solemnly as the medic eased Clay into the plane.  The flight was similarly quiet, everyone anxious to disturb Clay despite his ghost-like pallor and utter lack of movement since they’d seen him carted away upon arrival at the Mexican base.  

“Any change?” Davis asked when Trent sat down near her after going through his fifth checkup. The SEAL sighed heavily and dropped his head into his hands.  Davis rubbed his back, wishing there was more that she could do to help her boys.

“He’s got a raging fever.  The stab wound is infected, and the antibiotics they had to offer can’t even come close to touching it.  He won’t wake up, the reset and splint job they did on his leg is mediocre at best...and none of this even touches what all of this has done to his mind.  We have no idea how he’s going to react when he wakes up...if he wakes up.”

Davis shook her head.  “One step at a time, Sawyer.  No jumping to conclusions, Spense is nothing if not stubborn.”

“Landing soon.  Medical crew is waiting, they’ll get him taken care of,” Blackburn murmured, approaching the team and gesturing for everyone to get secured.  

Sonny settled in close to Clay’s head, eyes never leaving the youngest member’s face as they jostled.  When the blonde man winced and gave a soft moan, Sonny reached out from his seat to squeeze Clay’s bicep.  “Almost home, brother...almost there.  Just hang tight a little bit longer, you hear me?”

Just as when they’d made it to the Mexican base, the medical team was seamless in rushing Clay off the plane and away from the rest of Bravo team.  Sonny lingered, staring at a small pool of blood that had gathered underneath the stretcher.  “He’s home...he’s in the best possible hands right now.”  The Texan finally looked over at Lisa, seeing his fear reflected back in her eyes despite the reassurance in her voice.

“But will it be enough?” The soft voice of Bravo Two drew Sonny’s attention, and he watched confusion and then firm resolution cross his features.  “Ray?”

The man in question held up a placating hand.  “I hear you, baby, but if Clay pulls through this, he’s going to have to decide for himself if he is ready to see her.  I’ll call you when we know anything more.”  Ray sighed.  “I’ll be damned if we give up on him, but Naima...it doesn’t look good.  He’s in a really bad way, and having to fly back home for the treatment he needs didn’t help.  We need to be with him...I’ll call soon.  I love you.”

Sonny raised a questioning brow at Ray once he hung up, and the three finally deplaned together, several yards behind the others.  “Wanna tell me what that was about?”

“Stella ended things with Clay right before we shipped out...which explains a hell of a lot about why he was so quiet.  But she’d apparently tried to call him to fix things the day that he was taken, but we were already out on recon.  Naima picked her up the day the video was released, has been with her ever since.”

Images flashed in his mind of Clay sending Sonny a half-hearted salute before shoving him back out of a building they’d just entered, a disconnected look in his eye as he made himself vulnerable to Doza’s men in order to protect the rest of the team.  Rage simmered in his chest.  “She sent him out-”

“I know, brother,” Ray assured, patting his shoulder. “But they’re both young, new at this...like I told Naima, it’ll be Clay’s decision whether to let her back in.”  He gestured towards the hospital.  “Let’s go wait with the others to hear what’s going to happen.  I wanna make sure Trent gets cleaned up as soon as he’s told to stand down.”  Sonny nodded, and Davis squeezed his arm affectionately to tug him along.  They were met by Jason, Blackburn, Brock, and Ellis in the waiting room, and could do nothing but settle in for what they knew would be a long wait.

“He’s home? He’s safe?” Stella questioned as soon as Naima hung up the phone.  The older woman tucked her cell into her purse and guided the blonde to a bench.  “W-what is it?”

“The team found him and brought him home, but he is seriously hurt.  They couldn’t treat him in Mexico, so they flew him back to the hospital here.  Ray couldn’t talk for long, so that’s all that I know.”

Stella sensed hesitation in Naima’s voice, watched her face closely, and felt fear tighten around her heart.  “C-can we go wait with the team?”

“No, I’m sorry, Stell...it’s got to be on his terms.  If his health is as precarious as it sounds, we can’t add on to his stress until we know he’s able to handle it.”  She reached out and took Stella’s hand, giving it a comforting and apologetic squeeze.  “The team isn’t handling this well either...I could hear it in Ray’s voice; I don’t know what happened to the men that took Clay, but no matter what they’re still going to be looking for someone to lash out at...I don’t want that to be you.”

Despite the gentle tone, and the knowledge that Naima wasn’t trying to make an accusation, the gravity of her words felt like a suckerpunch to the gut.  Bravo Team would lash out at her because they blame her, at least in part, for what happened to Clay.  It wasn’t as though she could argue...there had been enough self-loathing going on already, it only made sense that they’d come to the same conclusion if they knew what she’d done.  Tears filled her eyes as the full weight of countless emotions crashed over her: relief that Clay had been found and was so far still alive, fear that he still might not make it, guilt that this was at least partly her fault...worry that even if Clay allowed her back into his life, the rest of Bravo wouldn’t.  

That, even if Clay forgave her, would be the true end of their relationship; if his brothers denied her, Clay would eventually be forced to choose between them, and she couldn’t do that to him.  She would, however, do whatever it took to earn their trust and acceptance, because she knew that they were part of Clay.  She respected them, their loyalty and protectiveness.  Was grateful beyond words, because it was the reason he’d come home breathing...she only hoped they would give her a chance to learn from her mistake and prove that she wouldn’t abandon him again.

[findtheloveofmylife]

Something Stupid (IV)

Pairing: Roger Taylor x OC (Lily Hathaway)

Summary: He was not the type to pine or whatever you wanted to call it. It usually was the opposite, they pined for him, they wanted to be with him, which is probably why he was way out of his element with her.

Author’s Note: Sorry this took a while. I accidentally deleted this chapter and I had to start from scratch again (but it’s okay, it’s here). It’s a little short but I think that’s fine, I just needed to get this part over.

I mention a while back that if anyone’s interested in being tagged for this story, messaged me so I can add you to the tag list :)

Part I // Part II // Part III // Part IV

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Before the whole Lily situation, it wasn't uncommon for Roger to be with a girl for a few weeks or months. It was rare when he was with someone more than a year. One girl, in particular, Kathy, fell in the category of a few weeks. And the reason he even remembered her was because of Lily and her uncanny ability to make everything go back to her.

Like most girls, Roger had met Kathy at a bar after their band had played, and well, he had liked her enough to have her stick around. He wasn’t her boyfriend and she wasn’t her girlfriend, it was just something casual. She was just another girl that he would soon forget about, as horrible it sounded.

Everyone was so used to Roger’s casual approach to romance that he didn’t think anyone would say something about his current relationship with Kathy. But of course, that didn’t happen this time around. Lily had to say something about it.

He was slowly realizing how nosy Lily was when it comes to people’s love life. A prime example being Lily’s obsession with trying to set up John, who refused to go on dates with the girls Lily always suggested (everyone was pretty sure John refused just to spite her). So, Roger should’ve known that he would fall victim of her nosiness at one point.

It happened one afternoon when Roger decided to show up extra early to practice because he wanted to try something new in his set and didn’t want any of the guys inputting their ‘helpful’ suggestions. The first person to arrive had been Lily. He was surprised to see her alone, she usually showed up with John by her side, but gave her a nod in acknowledgment.

“Hello, hello,” Lily said as she took a seat on the nearest couch. “Why are you here alone? Where’s your girlfriend?”

Roger ignored her greeting and frowned. “What?”

“Kathy,” she elaborated, discarding her jacket and folding it neatly.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said quickly.

“Really?” she said and when he nodded, she did a poor job hiding her surprise. “Hmm.”

“What now?” he said irritatedly, not liking the condescending tone Lily used.

“I didn’t say anything,” she said innocently, making him give her a glare. She relented easily. “Alright, Alright. Is just that... are you sure Kathy's not your girlfriend?”

“I would know if I had a girlfriend.”

Lily laughed loudly as if that had been the funniest joke she’s heard and shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean I wouldn’t?” he demanded.

“Sometimes guys are the last to know.” Lily smiled at him. “And something tells me that you’re not the person that is self-aware of their feelings.”

He was offended at that, which honestly he shouldn’t have. He had no idea how right she was going to be.

“Kathy and are not in a relationship,” he repeated firmly.

“Alright,” she said and glanced around the studio. Something caught her attention and she stood up, going towards a chair. She picked up a sweater and examined it. Roger looked at her cautiously, she turned around, still holding the sweater. “Is this Kathy’s?”

“I don't, I think so,” he said slowly.

“Isn't this where you typically dumped all your stuff?”

“Yes.”

“You know, I leave my stuff in my boyfriend's locker all that time,” she said casually, putting down the sweater and going towards Roger, who sighed in exasperation.

“Kathy is not my girlfriend.”

“Then why would Kathy leave a sweater in an area that is specifically yours if she's not your girlfriend?”

Roger opened his mouth but closed it, shaking his head. “Maybe someone moved it,” he finally said.

“Maybe,” she agreed easily. She glanced around the room again but made no move to go back to the couch. Her face was set in a frown as if she was concentrating something really hard on something. Roger had seen her wear that look often when she was about to do something that would annoy John and amuse Freddie.

“Why isn't John here?” he asked, feeling the need to distract Lily. Her head snapped towards him, taken back by his question.

“He forgot something home, so he told me to meet you guys here,” she explained. “Where's Kathy?”

Fuck. So much for distracting Lily.

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. He hadn't spoken with Kathy since he last saw her, which happened to be the previous night.

“Why do you think she's not your girlfriend?”

“Why do you think she's my girlfriend?” he shot back.

Lily brightened at that. “I am so glad you asked me that. Let’s review your guy's history, shall we?”

“Please don’t,” he sighed. If Lily was questioning his relationship with Kathy, he was certain that Kathy herself would start asking questions about them and he didn’t need that. “Why do you care if I have a girlfriend? Are you that bored with the American?”

“No, I’m not. I’m very happy with him, thanks for asking. Deacy says that I’m just annoying and nosy.”

“Yeah, you are annoying and nosy and irritating,” he agreed.

She didn’t seem to be bothered hearing that. “Anyways, going back to you. There's a lot of signs that show you're in a relationship, and I am positive that you and Kathy meet many of them.”

“I doubt it,” he said flatly.

“Oh, you would be surprised,” Lily disagreed. “Have you guys seen each other more than four days a week?”

“I’m not doing this,” he warned her.

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’m going with yes because I’ve seen you three times this week and so far she’s been by your side each time and it’s only Thursday.”

Roger glared at Lily.

“Has she met all your friends? Again, I’m going with yes because you literally only hang out with the guys. Seriously, do any of you guys have friends outside of this group?”

Roger continued glaring at Lily.

“Does she spend the night? Wait. That’s a stupid question. Of course, she does.”

Roger grunted.

“Do you guys do more things besides having sex?”

Roger shook his head in disbelief. She needed to stop talking. She was making too much sense for his liking.

“Do you look forward to seeing her?”

Roger really wanted to shut Lily up.

“Do you notice when she’s not around?”

Roger wondered how upset would John be if he threw his drum kit at Lily.

“Ooh, do you love her?” she asked teasingly.

“Lily,” he gritted through his teeth, his finger curl around his drumsticks tightly. Lily seemed to notice that he was reaching the end of his patience and raised her hands in surrender. When she started heading back in the couch, Roger thought he had heard the end of it, but of course, it was Lily he was talking about.

“Your lack of answers is an answer itself. I know that you and Kathy check off at least half of it.”

“Goddammit,” he said under his breath.

“Whether you like it or not, she’s your girlfriend, dude.”

“Dude?”

“Matt says that’s it’s almost the same thing at mate,” she explained.

“Matt’s an idiot,” Roger said flatly.

“But he’s my idiot,” Lily said fondly and Roger knew at that moment, no matter what requirements they checked off, that Kathy wasn’t (and would probably never be) his girlfriend because there wasn’t that fondness between Kathy and him that Lily had with her American.

“Hmm,” Roger grunted, making Lily smiled at him.

“I like Kathy,” Lily admitted. “She’s... nice.”

“You think everyone is nice.”

“That’s not true. I think you’re an asshole,” she corrected him, making him smile despite his irritation at her. “But going back to Kathy, to be honest, the reason I like her is that I feel like you're less temperamental with her around.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means fewer things have been thrown.”

“I’m about to change that if you don’t stop talking Kathy,” he warned her, wagging a drumstick at her menacingly.

“Alright, I get it, she’s not your girlfriend. I am no longer going to say something.”

Roger doubted she would keep her promises but nodded gratefully at her. “Finally something smart comes out of your mouth.”

“Excuse you, I am very smart.”

“If you say so,” he said mockingly, making Lily make a rude hand gesture towards him. John appeared seconds later, looking out of breath and went straight to Lily.

“What’s going on?” he asked, not missing the annoyed look on Roger’s face.

“Nothing that should worry you,” Lily said and pulled on his arm excitedly. “But I do have something to talk to you about.”

“Oh no,” John said, pulling away from her grip. “I know what it is and I don’t want to hear it. I said no three times already.”

“No, no, no it’s not about Alice. I promise you,” she assured him, making John stop trying to get away from her.

“What is it then?” he asked suspiciously.

“Are you free this Saturday? I wanted to invite you to dinner with me and Matt.”

“Oh, right.” John was silent for a long moment, making Roger glance over at them. John look like was struggling to find an excuse and still annoyed at Lily, Roger found himself speaking up.

“John can't go. We’re going out to this bar on Saturday.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lily said, looking at John skeptically, who nodded quickly.

“Roger didn’t really give me much of choice,” he said, shrugging.

“Oh.” Lily looked disappointed but nodded. “That’s alright. Another night then.”

“Sorry, Lils,” John said, sounding as if he was truly sincere about being supposedly busy that night. “Maybe next week. I promise I won’t make plans.”

“Fine,” Lily said shortly, and promptly left the room. Roger looked at John curiously, and not surprisingly, John was too busy fiddling with his guitar to look over at him or Lily. Roger didn't get a chance to question him because soon everyone showed up, and the band started rehearsal.

Sometime between breaks, Roger had barely noticed that Kathy had shown up, and was talking to Lily and Mary. He felt a twinge annoyance at her announced appearance but he didn’t let her know when she approached him during one of their breaks.

“Did you leave your jacket?” he asked her.

“Oh, yeah, I did,” Kathy said, glancing over where it was. “Why? Is it not there anymore?”

“Its there. Just don’t leave it again,” he said tersely and went back to his drums.

And that’s number four, Lily’s cheery voice sounded in the back of his head as he went home with Kathy at the end of rehearsal.

A week later he broke things off with Kathy.

It wasn’t because of the conversation he had with Lily, no matter what exasperated look she gave him when he showed up with a new girl a few days later. His reasoning behind it was that he wasn’t as interested in Kathy as he was in the beginning. He didn’t want to do something stupid like start ignoring her calls or be caught fooling around with another girl.

Like he had said, it wasn’t unusual for him to move on from girl to girl in a span of few days. He wasn’t a relationship person, unlike Freddie or Brian, or even Lily. Which is probably why he didn’t see how much Lily’s pesky questions had stuck in the back of his head.

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Tag List:

@the-freak-cassie-131, @goingslightlymaaad, @verkyun

[thegreatpikminzx789]

The Silver Warrior - Etrian Odyssey IV: Chapter 2

Really trying to get into the swing of posting onto multiple sites is a bit tedious, but that’s not my place to complain...

You can also find this chapter on these sites:

Ao3|Wattpad|Fanfiction.net

Also a quick thing to throw out there, even though he is just a mention, Zesiro belongs to @theshatteredrose

Anyways, enjoy.

The walk back was thankfully quick. The guild house they received from the Count was only a few blocks away from where explorers visit the Count himself, so it was easily noticeable by anyone who walked by. Lately, they've been getting many visitors after defeating the mighty Titan, and some of the members of the Refulgent Guild was getting rather tired of it.

Thankfully, today wasn't one of those days where they were constantly bombarded by people who have been inspired by them. Normally, Shirota would check to see if Korey, Anai, Kurita, and Sakuma were back, but Korey did tell them that a recent quest they accepted will take some time.

"Ah, Shirota, you're back." Kibigami's voice nearly startled the dancer, as she turned to see the Sentinel on the seat. She hardly even noticed him, and even he is much bigger than her in terms of height. Shirota took a couple of seconds to calm down.

"God damn it, Kibigami, you nearly scared me to death."

"My apologies, Shirota. I've hardly seen anyone else come back from their trip, and I've been helping explorers nearly all day." He swiftly apologized, letting the dancer calm down.

Surprises aside, she asks the large Sentinel where Logre is. "Hmmm, if I recall, he and Albert went to the outlook to discuss something. Why do you ask?"

The dark brunette dancer held out the armor she was clutching tightly to Kibigami, who inspected it. "It's because of this rare Imperial armor. And this armor in particular happens to have connections to my mother." She explained.

After inspecting the silver armor, Kibigami thought to himself for a bit. A mother who worked for the Empire was something he thought he'd never encounter, much less, having that very thing be connected to the dancer he was conversing with. Needless to say, he was intrigued.

He did witness a few Imperials back when he was living in the Golden Lair, but even he was unable to save them. They were either blue, red, or a shade of black. None of them showed an inch of silver, so even this news was surprising to him.

"Shirota, allow me to accompany you to Logre. I'm quite curious to know what he may know of this silver Imperial." Kibigami proposed, as he was positive he wasn't going to get answers by just doing nothing. Without a word spoken, the dancer nodded, and started making her way to the outlook, with Kibigami following behind.

True to the Sentinel's word, Logre and Albert were there. Shirota wasted no time in getting his attention. "Hey, Logre!"

Hearing his name, the Imperial turned to see Shirota and Kibigami heading towards them. "Evening, you two. Any reason why you're out this late at night?" Logre inquired, to which the dancer swiftly answered, while revealing the armor to him. "I couldn't fall asleep, okay?! Just look at what I found!"

"Is that... silver armor?" Logre asked, rather astonished at what he's seeing before his very eyes. Albert took a look, and his face immediately lit up, as if he just found some rare treasure.

"Not just any regular silver armor, Logre- that's silver Imperial armor! Tell me Shirota, where did you get this?!"

"Well, I found this Imperial guy named Zesiro, who had it originally, and then I took it from him, we talked about it, and well, here we are..." Shirota answered honestly. Even with an answer from the dancer, Logre was still surprised at what he's witnessing.

"But, how... I don't..." He uttered to himself, almost in disbelief. There was no way an Imperial soldier would find an armor that rare...

"Logre, please tell me if you saw someone wearing this armor! I need to know if my mother is still out there!" Shirota pleaded, hoping he'll tell her the information she needs. She wasn't going to lose the opportunity now that it's in her hands.

"Well... I, uh-" Logre started, before looking at Kibigami, who was patiently waiting for an answer. Silence reigned for a few minutes, as Logre attempted to find the right words to say, before Albert inevitably sighed and nudged his shoulder.

"Come on, sir. Don't keep our guests waiting, just get on with it." Albert teased, which prompted Logre to swat his arm away. "Oh shut up Albert, you're not helping things."

Logre's response prompted a short chuckle from Albert, turning away from him to turn his attention to Shirota, who was clutching the armor near her. "I suppose one of the Imperials who was on the search crew alongside me was wearing silver armor, but I never knew her personally. All I know is that she was a strong Imperial soldier, and I'm not even sure if I ever saw her again after the crash..."

Shirota seemed to avert her gaze from Logre's, hearing what he knew about her mother. "I see... I was honestly hoping for the best and expecting everything to work out easily..." It wasn't the most exciting news, but it hurt Shirota to know that the person she went out of her way to get to didn't have the most direct of answers...

Kibigami must have sensed Shirota's guilt, and attempted to comfort her by rubbing her shoulder. "No need to worry about the negatives, friend. If she's out there, I'm sure she'll return to you. It would be rather sad for a parent to leave their daughter like that."

Albert was also about to comfort Shirota, until he heard footsteps coming towards them and looked behind the Sentinel. "Oh, am I interrupting something?" Baldur asked, when everybody looked at him the moment he spoke.

"N-Not at all, Baldur. I was just talking to Logre and Albert about something..." Shirota explained, seeming to loosen her grip on the armor.

"About what, may I ask?" The Imperial Prince asked, before glancing at what Shirota was holding onto, and immediately, Baldur was taken aback. That armor... How did she even?

"...Shirota, may I hold the armor you have in your hands?"

The dark skinned dancer looked at the armor, and gave it to the Imperial Prince. Baldur wasted no time inspecting it. He couldn't even believe what he was holding... After all these years, is it possible that she was still out there?

"Did you remember something, my prince?" Logre asked, concerned that Baldur was likely overreacting to something so old. Baldur assured him that he was alright before looking at the armor.

"I recall... seeing someone with this armor a year before the exploration failure. To think I'd see any trace of the armor was nigh impossible!"

"Impossible, you say? In what way?" Kibigami questioned, his curiosity being raised with more answers that he receives. Baldur took a few seconds to explain what he was about to say, then turned to look at the Sentinel.

"Well, I don't recall much of what I had heard before the airships launched, but apparently, records of the Gold, Silver, and Bronze Imperials had all just vanished. No one in the council knew how or why this happened. I doubt they care about such records now as they were then, but it was rather strange that records coincidentally disappear before news of the airship crash came to the Empire."

"Interesting... Do you think it might have been an act of sabotage, Prince Baldur?" Albert commented, as Baldur attempted to think of something. Logre, however, butted in on the question.

"I doubt it, Albert. The council forbid anyone to go through the records, and the fact that such records of those colored Imperials were the only ones in the Empire, I find it hard to believe they specifically wanted to sabotage the Empire if all they did was remove three Imperial colors."

"And I doubt the council would remove them and feign ignorance as to how they vanished..." Baldur added, after listening to what Logre suggested might be the case. He knew how strict the Council was when it came to anyone but themselves looking at the records in fear that the one looking at them might snatch them away.

"Who knows... I was just merely throwing a suggestion out there. Whether or not that's the case, I doubt we'll find out now." Albert sighed, shrugging his shoulders while leaning back against the fence.

Baldur turned to Shirota and gave her back the armor, satisfied with relieving the sight of the Imperial armor for himself. "Regardless, from what I heard, that Silver Imperial served my father well. The robes on the armor were meant to originally symbolize that the Imperial was selected by my father, before it was supposedly lost because the Council hated wasting their resources on such minimal additions. Her strength was on par with Logre's, if one were to compare the two of them."

"I concur. From both my father, and from watching her spar with other Imperials... But if my mom is still out there, I want to show her how much I improved. I just pray that she survived the airship crash." Shirota conceded, seemingly being lost in conversing with the Imperial Prince for a couple of minutes.

Kibigami perked up when he heard footsteps approaching him, and turned to see the white haired Arcanist, Wufan. "Hello Wufan. Decided to come up to join us?" The Sentinel asked, as the Vessel chuckled at his question.

"Oh, how I wish, Kibigami, how I wish..." She replied, continuing moving towards Baldur and the others. Logre and Shirota eventually notice Wufan approaching, as Shirota halted her conversation with the Imperial Prince to greet her friend and ally.

"Glad to see you made it back, Wufan. I assume everyone else is back, too?"

The Vessel nodded in response, so as to get to the point of why she was there. "Yes, they're currently at the Outland Court. The Count has asked every member of the Refulgent Guild to come, hence why I came all the way here. And he also adds that if the Imperial Prince wants to come, despite the Yggdrasil curse that's plaguing him, he can."

Baldur was honestly quite surprised the Count had even gave him a second chance, even after what had occurred the first time the two had discussed about the Yggdrasil. In all honestly, he felt like he didn't want to go, but given his status as prince, and the fact that he's stuck under the Refulgent Guild's watchful eye, he just couldn't feel like he would have nothing to do but sleep if everyone else went.

"I see. Tell him that we'll arrive shortly." Logre acknowledged, as Wufan simply nodded and started making her way back to the court. Baldur was still lost in his thoughts when the Sentinel called out to him.

"Look, Baldur- I know you and this Count fellow didn't see eye-to-eye at first, but the man's giving you a second chance. If I were you, I'd seize the opportunity to mend what went wrong before. Besides, what have you got to lose?" Kibigami then stood up and started following Wufan.

Logre's voice seemed to bring Baldur back to reality, as the Prince looks at his most loyal Imperial. "If the thought of meeting him is too much for you, you don't have to go. We can-" Logre offered, stopping midway through as Baldur signaled him to stop.

"Look, Logre, I understand you're appreciation for my concern, but this curse, nor the mere thought of meeting him won't stop me from doing anything I can to help another. Let's make our way over to the Count at once." He addressed, his voice as firm and clear.

Logre couldn't help but grin at the Prince's words, as he patted him on the shoulder before he started to make his way towards the stairs. Shirota followed him, as Logre offered to help carry the armor, handing him said armor as a means of accepting his offer.

"Looks like I'll have to tell everyone else about this later..." She began, as Logre didn't seem to agree with the idea too much. "Well, tomorrow would seem like a better option, Shirota. It's late enough as it is..."

Baldur could hear their conversation diminish as they went down the stairs. He started following them, when he realized that the Imperial wasn't following him. "Hey, are you coming or not?" He called out, getting the Imperial's attention, who merely motioned him to buzz off.

"Don't worry about me, your highness, I'll be there soon. Just want to think to myself about what I just learned today."

"If you say so, soldier..."

Taking his word for it, the prince heads downstairs to catch up with the others, leaving Albert alone on the outlook. Although he's worked so hard for the Imperial as it's main overseer of materials and the Council's most helpful scientist, the mere mention of a Silver Imperial seemed to never cross his mind. Truly, the Council would have told him of this sooner had the records not vanish into thin air.

"If such armors really did make it out of the Empire... then they should have been left to rot in our history. But I can't help but wonder if they truly exist... If they would have the will to make it back alive, after all that has happened."

[spartanguard]

i love you (and i like you)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @ive-always-been-a-pirate!!! I hope you have an absolutely fantastic, amazing day, because you are one of the sweetest peeps out there and deserve it. Here’s a quick little Parks & Rec AU to celebrate!! (because the only thing possibly more perfect than CS is Ben & Leslie) HAVE A BEAUTIFUL DAY!

Nothing infuriated Emma Swan more than Killian Jones.

She hated him the minute he waltzed into her department, announcing that Storybrooke was basically bankrupt and that he and his friend were there to make sure that didn’t happen. Which, in hindsight, sounds like a good thing, but not when doing so meant slashing half of the parks department’s budget. As Director of said department, how could she be okay with that?

“It’s not just us, Emma, it’s everyone,” her deputy, David, reminded her.

She groaned in response.

“Would you rather the city went broke?”

“Yes.”

She hated that sinful British accent of his, and the way his dark hair sometimes fell in his blue eyes, and how that scruff-covered jaw was just begging for someone to run a thumb across it. Those were the things she noticed when he took her out for a drink in an attempt to assuage her regarding the coming changes.

And that he was annoyingly charming, and funny, and flirtatious, and unfortunately, he too wanted to do the most good for the most people.

“Why is it you went into parks, Swan? Someone as fierce as you seems more fit for politics.”

She snorted, then shrugged. “I mean, I’ve thought about it. Running for office. I’d love to. But then I had my son, and I really wanted to make sure that he always had a safe place to play and have adventures. So this was kind of logical.”

He took a sip of his rum, swallowed, then looked up at her. “No, that’s not all, is it?”

“Beg your pardon?”

(This was when she learned she hated how well he could read her.)

Those too-blue eyes bored into hers. “You’re trying to give him something you never had, aren’t you?”

Her gaze narrowed; how could he know that?

“You’re something of an open book, love,” he said, apparently reading her mind. “You’ve got that look in your eyes—the one you get when you’ve been left alone.”

Damn, he was good. She didn’t tell many people about her life before Henry and then this guy just figures it out on his own. To her own surprise, she found herself filling in the blanks to this relative stranger. Reluctantly nodding, she explained, “I was a foster kid, and for a long time, I didn’t really have a place that was mine. But no matter where I went, there was always a park, and I could always find some quiet space there, even as a troubled teenager. So at some point, I got it into my head that that was what I wanted to do: make sure that there were always clean, nice parks for everyone to enjoy—and yes, most of all my son.”

His stare softened at her admission, and something seemed to shift between them ever so slightly. Then he smirked and replied, “Guess we have a few things in common.”

“What, were you a troubled teenager, too?”

“You could say that.”

She scoffed. No way this straight-laced, albeit somewhat lascivious, stud was anything but a goody-two-shoes in high school or primary school or whatever they call it in England. “I find that hard to believe.”

He looked down to study the wood of the bar. “Have you ever heard of Captain Jones, Teenage Pirate?”

Her jaw dropped. Of course she had—how could she not? Right around the time of her own rebellious teenage years, she’d heard the story of a kid not much older than her who’d taken to the high seas of England, terrorizing any ship he could, though doing not much more than being an annoyance to the Navy and convincing some wealthy minor royals to part ways with some jewels. She remembered the one picture she’d seen: a scrawny young man, wind whipping his long dark hair and reddening his babyish face. But his eyes…

“Holy shit, that was you?”

He was blushing—the nerd was actually blushing. “At your service.”

She couldn’t reconcile those two images in her head. “Just…how? How do you go from that to…this?” she demanded, gesturing to him.

“I was protesting what I thought was an unjust action by the Royal Navy that put my brother in unnecessary danger. He survived, but he’s my only family and I was just angry enough at the world to go rogue. When they finally caught me, I went to jail for a short while but then was released to him, and he made me realize just how foolish I’d been. So I straightened up, went to university, and eventually found myself over here, working to right wrongs in government as a way to atone for my youthful follies in a more productive manner.”

She was speechless. Yeah, it was an incredible tale, but, damn…they really did have something in common.

She hated the way he seemed to have no remorse in shutting down the government, despite their conversation—despite all that he and Robin had seen in Storybrooke. She hated that she had started to let another guy in only for him to betray her again.

“These are people’s jobs, Killian! Their livelihoods! And not just them—this is going to affect all of Storybrooke!”

“You think I don’t know that? I’m trying to save the town, Emma. Sometimes you have to pick your battles.”

“And what am I supposed to tell all these people who were looking forward to that concert?”

“It’s a concert, Swan; there will be others. You think these people can’t handle it?”

“Here? No.”

They glared at each other for another moment, tensions high, and while most of her was raging, a small but significant part of her just wanted to kiss him.

“There’s more to this, isn’t there?” he asked, voice low.

Damn him. Of course there was, and of course he knew it. She could give him some drivel about how Henry was looking forward to it, or that it was a tradition, but those would be lies. It just…stung.

“No, there isn’t.” She turned away. “Call me when you’ve figured this shit out.”

She absolutely hated that, when she had found a way to nearly save the community concert, it was Killian that actually did, by rehiring the band out of his own pocket. She hated it so much she cried happy tears in the privacy of her own car (which freaked out Henry a bit, so he hugged her tight).

And she really hated it when she overheard the conversation between he and Robin about staying in Storybrooke, even after fixing the budget. Worse yet, they’d be working with her in city hall, both in the city manager’s office.

How awful it had been to see him every day, especially once she got the idea to revive the Miner’s Festival, and Killian was totally on board. He helped her every step of the way, even when she was delirious with the flu and drunk off her ass.

“You really think we can pull this off?” she wondered aloud, hopelessness seeping in after a sponsor pulled out.

“I do, Swan,” he assured her, completely sincerely. “I’ve yet to see you fail.”

She kind of hated that he was right, though she was mostly relieved. Everything had gone off without a hitch; everyone was having fun; and Mayor Mills had managed to find the town’s mascot dog, Wilby, before he’d ran off too far. It was pretty much perfect.

“Told you. I knew you could do it, Swan. You’re a bloody hero.”

She blushed, uncomfortable with the praise. “So are you. I wanted to thank you, Killian, for all your help—for staying in Storybrooke in the first place. We couldn’t have done it without all your help.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

There was something that had been bugging her the more they had worked together—and gotten closer—over the past few months. “I’ve gotta ask: why did you?”

“Why did I what?”

“Stay. You told me about how you’ve been all over the place, never staying in one town for long. But you’re here, in this crazy little town. Why?”

He took a step closer, somewhat nervous. “Don’t you know, Emma?” She tilted her head, confused. “It’s you.”

She prayed Henry was nowhere nearby, because after so many close encounters, awkward hugs, and exchanged wanting glances over the past few months, she was tired of holding back. She didn’t even care about Robin’s no-dating rule that she’d been using to justify not acting on her growing feelings. She just stepped right into his space, grabbed the lapels of that silly leather jacket he was always wearing, and hauled his lips to hers. He didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, pulling her tight, and she quickly got lost in their kiss.

She hated how perfectly they fit together, how easy it was to have him in her life. She hated how well he got along with Henry. She hated how sweet and caring he was, always supporting her fully and so in tune with what she needed. She really hated sneaking around, but there was a certain thrill in having to hide their relationship work.

That is, until David caught them. And until someone approached Emma with running for a position on City Council. And Killian was just too damn perceptive for his own good.

So what she really hated was how he put her dreams and wants above his.

They sat down at the table and she took a deep breath, building up courage for the conversation she’d been avoiding for weeks.

“I know I’ve been really weird lately. I…like you a lot, even though that contradicts what I’m about to say—”

“I know,” he cut her off, understanding as ever, and sliding toward her the small box he’d been trying to force on her all day, ever since lunch at Granny’s. “Open the box.”

“Killian, would you stop it with the box?” she complained, exasperated that he was trying to give her a gift when she was trying her damnedest to keep it together despite what was coming.

“Okay, then, I’ll open the box.” He calmly tugged the box back, flipped the lid, and put it back in front of her. And she was speechless.

Inside was an oversized campaign badge. In white text on a red background was written SWAN 2017.

“Wow,” she breathed. “You knew.”

“Aye,” he nodded, looking down. “I know I should have told you sooner, but…I wanted this to last as long as possible.” He looked up at her through his lashes. “We have to break up, love.”

Knowing it and hearing it were two different things; a stone dropped in her stomach. “Why? Why do we have to break up?”

“Emma, you’ve worked so hard for this—you’ve earned this. And I don’t want anyone to think you’ve gotten here by sleeping with your boss, as devilishly handsome as he may be.”

“But I like sleeping with my boss.”

He teasingly offered every bad breakup line in the book— “It’s not you; it’s me”; “you disgust me”—but it didn’t reach his eyes and she could always spot a lie.

She really, really hated seeing him with another girl on his arm.

It had been six weeks since their reluctant breakup and while things were progressing in her campaign—and she was getting ever closer to achieving one of her dreams—she wasn’t sure if the success was worth the aching loneliness she felt every night, lying alone in her bed. Henry, bless his little heart, had tried to cheer her up, and she appreciated it, but it only partly filled the void.

She still saw Killian every day, which was probably the worst part—being close to him but not being able to be with him was a whole different kind of torture. She’d been through her share of heartbreak, but this was on a whole other level.

And then he started to pull away from her, and she had no idea why. She’d even selfishly tried to drag out a low-level parks project—installing the smallest park in Maine in the center of town—because it was the last one they’d do together.

But it went through faster than she thought, and here they were, celebrating their victory with a little shindig at David’s house. And there he was, with that pixie-like blonde journalist at his side.

“Oh, so just because I can’t go out with him, someone else can?” she complained to Mary Margaret, David’s wife and her best friend.

“Yes,” was the matter-of-fact response. “That’s actually the first time I’ve seen him smile in a while.”

No, that—that was the worst of all.

“Really?” Emma asked voice small.

“Really,” she answered in a knowing voice. And Mary Margaret would know—Killian had been renting their spare bedroom ever since he decided to stay in town.

If Killian had been just as torn up over their break as her, and it took this new woman for him to move on, then no wonder he was pulling away.

She hated that the most.

She couldn’t stay there any longer. Quickly, she made sure Henry was okay to stay there for a bit and headed out, walking around their small town to clear her head, or her heart, or something.

It shouldn’t have been any surprise that she ended up at their tiny park. It was just a lamppost and a bench with a few flower pots, but it was their brainchild and it was perfect. She took a seat on the bench and stared into the night.

“Thought I might find you here.” She jumped at Killian’s voice, turning toward it as he stepped into the light.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tink?” she threw back, more bitter than she’d intended.

“Maybe.” His tone was non-committal but he sat down next to her.

They sat in silence for a few minutes—not an awkward one, but they both seemed to want to say something. So she did.

“Why are you here?” His only reaction was to turn to look at her, so she continued. “If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, I understand.”

“Believe me, Swan—I don’t want that,” he was quick to reply, to her relief. “I just…” he trailed off, scratching nervously behind his ear. “I think it’s for the best,” he concluded sadly.

She sighed; he was probably right. “Okay.” His face fell a bit, but he nodded and stood, and started to walk away.

And in that moment, she was reminded of everyone else who had walked away: foster parents, Henry’s father, a string of exes who never seemed to want her for her. But Killian—he never had done that. Even dumping her was putting her first. She couldn’t let that go.

“Or we just say ‘screw it’,” she called after him. “And do this for real.”

He stopped and turned back to look at her. “What?”

“Everyone I’ve been with has left me, except you. I can’t lose you, too, Killian. And I miss you like crazy, so let’s do this.”

His head was down as he stepped back toward her, making it hard to read his expression. “We’d have to tell Robin.”

“Yeah.”

“It could cause a scandal.”

“I know.”

“It could hurt your campaign.”

“I know, but I know how I feel, and I want to be with you.” She swallowed; she couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d been more nervous or when so much had hung on one question. “That’s how I feel. How do you feel?”

He looked up and a smile was teasing at the corner of his mouth and eyes; the weight that had been sitting within her since they’d first broken up started to lift.

And then he was in front of her in two strides, hands cupping her face and his mouth on hers. Their first kiss had been one of pent-up passion, but this? This was like coming home. And she kind of never wanted to leave.

They were making out for what felt like ages, but let Granny, or Tink, or this town’s crazy raccoons watch. When they finally broke apart, she only had one thought.

“I love you and I like you.”

“I love you and I like you, too, Swan.”

thanks to @shipsxahoy for looking this over! Tagging a few others who might like this: @kat2609 @mryddinwilt @thesschesthair @fergus80 @optomisticgirl @captainswanismyendgame @fairytalesandtimetravel @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @disastergirl @laschatzi @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones

[a-tired-bitch]

You Should Know Better Pt.8

23 Parts:  I  -  II  -  III  -  IV  -  V  -  VI  -  VII  - VIII  -  IX  -  X  -  XI  -  XII  -  XIII -  XIV  -  XV  -  XVI  -  XVII  -   XVIII  -  XIX  -  XX  -   XXI  -  XXII  -  XXIII

MASTER LIST

YSKB MASTER LIST

Summary: After the events of last night, regret begins to take hold of Joe and the only thing he can do to amend things is to do a face-to-face apology. 

POV: Joe

Characters: Joe Merriweather, Natalie Jankoski (Italics), Waiter (Indented Italcs)

Word Count: 3400ish

Author’s Note: xX

Quote:  “Why don’t I just take them out so you can get a better kick at them.” 

With regret seeping into his conscience ever since Joe dropped Natalie off and returned to the station to deal with her unruly partner, Joe knew that deep down, despite enjoying the actions of last night, some sort of apology was needed.  It wasn’t necessarily that he had to apologize for all his actions - it was very apparent that she enjoyed the whole having sex in the back of a truck while he was in full uniform - but the thing he felt obligated to apologize for was his immaturity and misconduct when dealing with the situation. Not only was there the excess roughness on his end, but the using of the power that radiated from his uniform to get into her pants and the way the act was conducted -  there was no premeditated plan to have sex with someone in the back of his police truck while being on duty, especially if that someone was one of his students.

It didn’t take long before Joe turned onto the street he visited last night to drop off Natalie. The surrounding area was quite the familiar scene for Joe. Nicknamed ‘the college ward’ for the excessive amounts of students that rented houses in the surrounding area who caused a handful of issues for the docile people living in the area, Joe frequented the area when on patrol or for calls during the college breaks. So, surprisingly, Joe had yet to cross paths with Natalie during or prior to this semester.

For a moment, Joe’s eyes rested on the familiar house before switching back to the road, his eyes bouncing from parked car to parked car. Nervously running a hand through his damp hair, Joe eyed a spot on the shoulder of the road and pulled forward. Quickly trading in the view of the car cluttered road, Joe set his sights on the interior of his Jeep Wrangler, his eyes focusing on the blue colored numbers that read 11:26 a.m.

Letting out a deep sigh, he shifted in his seat – it was obvious, to him at least since he was the only person in the car, that the situation was a bit awkward despite him being a 44-year-old man who had a plethora of awkward situations under his belt.

For a few moments, Joe allowed the awkward silence to seep in and permeate the entire car. It was finally interrupted by a harsh bite on his own lip, forcing the coppery taste of blood to snap him back to reality. Stroking the back of his neck, Joe finally turned his attention to the house was once occupied with a driveway full of cars, but now was completely barren except a single white car.

Thrumming his hand along the sun-beaten surface of the steering wheel, Joe looked away, shaking his head, and gritting his teeth. “What am I even doing?” He muttered, the guilt from last night making an appearance and silently answering the question for him.

Bowing his head, Joe attempted to think of an acceptable reason to just start his car up and drive off, but the stubbornness that resided deep within him refused to let that happen.

“And what if she isn’t home then what? What if that car right there…” Joe pointed to the white Ford that stood idly in the driveway. “What if that isn’t hers?” He tried to rationalize with himself, despite his mind journeying back to when Natalie was holding her keys when speaking to him, a key engraved with the Ford emblem hanging from the lanyard.

The mental tug-of-war continued to rage on for a few more minutes. Every time an illogical thought was presented, it was quickly swept away by another so-called ‘logical’ reasoning.

Finally, slamming his palm onto the steering wheel in a fit of rising anger that was laced with annoyance and disappointment, Joe snatched his wallet from the center console and nearly ripped out the key from the ignition.  Flinging the door open as the words ‘fuck it’ rained down from his lips, Joe stepped out, his shoes finally connecting with the road while his skin erupted with a line of goosebumps as the warm sun landed on his cold body.

“Just get back in your car and drive away. There’s no need to be here. She…She is your student and you…You are her professor and there is absolutely no reason for you to be here. You shouldn’t even know where she lives. Just get up and go, Joe. Get back in and leave.” His conscience screamed at him.

Pushing aside his thoughts along with his car door, Joe trudged forward until he approached the front door of the house. Taking a second to himself, he began to look around at his surroundings – at first, his sights landed on the flowers planted along the front of the house then switched to focus on the car parked just several feet away.

Setting his attention back to the door before him, Joe finally formed a fist and just as he was about to connect with the door, a noise from within the house forced him to stop. Standing there in a frozen state for a second, Joe looked at the white door for a moment before dropping his sights down to look at his feet, his relaxed fist falling back to his side.

Rubbing the nape of his neck, Joe scoffed at himself, almost embarrassed by his actions. It was as if he was a young boy, scared to knock on the front door of his crush’s house in fear of her father opening the door instead of his crush.

“You’re a grown ass man. Your balls have already dropped so there’s no need to grow a new pair. You’re already too far in, so, knock on the damn door, say what you need to say, apologize for what needs to be apologized for, and go on your way. It’s as simple as that,” his conscious spoke.

With a small rush of confidence, Joe lifted his head, shifted on his feet, and finally knocked on the door.

It felt like years, but after a few moments of listening intently to what was going on inside, the door finally opened, forcing Joe to take the slightest of steps back while greeting her with a smile.

“Joe?” Natalie asked, running her hand up from the door knob to the center of the frame.  Looking over him, her eyes trailed from his drying hair down to his open button up that revealed small locks of black chest hair forcing her eyes to linger there for a moment too long. Clearing her voice, she looked past him, glancing over the cars parked on the street. “What are you doing here?” She asked, focusing back on him, this time her eyes locking onto the gun that was resting in its holster on his hip which was accompanied by his badge.  “Coming to arrest me or something?” She jokingly asked, before letting her hand drop back onto the door knob.

A boyish grin took hold of Joe’s lips as he shook his head and scoffed. “No.” He answered, stuffing his hands into his pockets and glancing into the house. “I’m not here ‘to arrest you or something’.” He teasingly quoted, his eyes shifting and narrowing in on the dark discoloration on her neck. Tilting his head up slightly, Joe swallowed hard, his eyes still locked on the hickey. “I came here to apologize.”

Furrowing her brow and tilting her head to the side just slightly, Natalie took a second to process the situation. Twirling the hem of her shirt, she leaned against the door. “Apologize? For what?” She mused despite knowing the real reason. Running a hand along her neck, she watched as Joe’s eyes finally connected with hers. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.” Standing tall, she continued. “Look, professor, officer, Merriweather, Joe, or whatever floats your boat in this situation --.”

“Joe is perfectly fine.” He confirmed, his face softening a little.

Nodding, Natalie continued. “Joe, there is no need to apologize about last night. You don’t need to feel sorry for anything.” She assured, a smile spreading across her face before she continued. “We were both happy, both consensual, and obviously both in need of it too.”

“You’re right, but ---.” Joe started, only to be interrupted.

“And don’t you dare say you have your regrets about it.”

Pulling a hand from his pocket, Joe ran it along his stubble-filled face until he reached his lip where he proceeded to cover them before pulling on his lower one. “Don’t assume I have regrets because I don’t.” He scolded, lowering his hand. “But there are things I shouldn’t have done that I did.”

“There are things both of us shouldn’t have done but ended up doing. I shouldn’t have been with Landon. I shouldn’t have let him drive drunk. I shouldn’t have taken him up on his offer for food, but look at that, I did and the night ended up better than how it was going to end up. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but it is what it is, Joe. I’m not coming to you or calling you trying to apologize for anything and neither should you. After the day in your office, we both knew something was going to happen sooner or later. If anything, I’m the one who initiated the whole thing, not you.”

Taking a step and leaning forward, Joe spoke. “First off, last time I checked we never exchanged numbers so even if I wanted to do this over the phone, I couldn’t – but I wouldn’t since that isn’t very manly of me to do, now is it? Secondly, I’m not saying you need to apologize for anything, that’s on me, not you. Thirdly, instead of discussing this whole thing on your front porch with the threat of your roommates coming home and seeing you talking to your professor, why don’t I take you to breakfast?”  Taking his keys from his pocket, Joe leaned away and took a few steps back. “Last night you did say you couldn’t say no to free food and since I’m offering, I expect a yes.” Joe smiled, his dimples making an appearance. “Plus, I don’t expect you do break my little old man heart.”

“Oh, yeah, because going out to a place to eat is a safer option than letting my roommates see you here. Smart, Joe, very smart.” She said, almost taunting him as she retreated into her house, leaving the door open. “I’ll go as long as you don’t, in your words from last night during that very inappropriate pat-down, expect to get lucky.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, Joe patiently waited for her to reappear. “I assure you I got very lucky last night.” He chuckled, taking a few steps forward and leaning into the open doorway, looking around at the contents of the house. “But don’t worry, I don’t expect anything out of this.” He said absentmindedly as he scanned the seemingly clean area. “Well, I expect you to accept my apology, but that’s all.”

Quickly leaning out of the doorway when she reappeared, Joe looked over her realizing she had changed into a different shirt, concealed his love bite, and grabbed a set of keys.

Approaching him and shutting the door, forcing him to take a few steps away, allowing for some space to be set between them, Natalie locked up the house before turning around and smiling. “I already accept your apology.” She assured, patting his chest a few times.

The car ride from Natalie’s house to the nearest breakfast joint was anything but awkward. Surprisingly, the conversations were interesting and attention-grabbing while the questions she asked were simple and general – nothing too deep about his personal life.

Arriving at the nearest IHOP twenty minutes later, Joe parked closest to the building, shifting in his seat afterwards to look at her. Instead of immediately speaking, Joe just sat there, his eyes tracing along her features, returning yet again to her neck where the hickey he had given her was now camouflaged. “Got a little carried away when I did that.” Joe chuckled, finally mentioning something from last night while a smile formed on his lips, his tongue following behind, grazing against his lower lip.

“Could say that for a lot of things, now couldn’t you?” Natalie teased, looking around at the spotless interior of the Jeep. “Now where’s the chase and how do I cut to it because I am one hungry girl for some IHOP.”

Playfully shaking his head, Joe stepped out of the Jeep, walking around the passenger side, and opening the door. “You like to bust my balls, don’t you?” Standing beside the open door, Joe motioned for her to step out, shutting it once she did. “Why don’t I just take them out so you can get a better kick at them.” Joe murmured before winking and placing a hand on the small of her back, leading the both of them towards the front of the restaurant.

After settling down in their booth, the two of them read the menu while exchanging small talk, that is before Natalie questioned Joe about what happened to Landon back at the station.

Gripping the menu in his hand, an exasperated sigh came from Joe – not only did he not want to speak about his job when eating, he also wanted a single conversation where she wasn’t bringing up her god-forsaken ex.

Glancing up from the menu, Joe answered. “He was being unruly. You, of all people, should know that by now.” Joe eyed an older female waitress who was staring at their table.  “He would have gotten off easy if he didn’t act out, resulting in him getting those prods in his chest, but he should have known better and shouldn’t have let his temper get the best of him.” Bringing his eyes back to his menu as the woman began walking towards them, Joe continued. “Since he refused to take the FTS and a breathalyzer – which is his right – his blood was taken by the help of a warrant, his license has been revoked for a year and his truck was impounded, so, he will have to pay a hefty fine for that.” Joe shook his head, a string of laughter coming from him as he continued to scan the menu, his eyes quickly shifting to the older woman who stood next to their table.

       Offering the patrons, a warm smile, the woman spoke. “Tell me, dear, what can I get you and your daughter to drink?” She asked, glancing from the female to the male, her eyes landing on the items resting on his hip. “Drinks are on the house, officer.” She added.

Astonished by the waiter’s assumption on their relationship, Joe nearly choked on his own spit, bringing a hand from the table to cover his mouth. Staring at Natalie while stifling his chuckles, he watched as her jaw dropped, a smile claiming her gaping mouth while her head shook in disappointment.

A moment passed before he dropped his hand, Joe offered the woman a smile before speaking. “My dear, she’s not my daughter, but we’ll have a couple of cokes.”

        Embarrassingly covering her face, the waiter apologized for her statement before offering them Pepsi products instead.

“I’ll have orange juice instead,” Joe replied, turning to Natalie who just nodded her head to the offer from the waiter. Waiting for the waiter to leave their side, Joe continued their previous conversation. “Pepsi tastes like ass, but anyway, that’s all I know about that situation. As for the whole unruly thing, that started the moment he stood up from the curb and – apparently – all the way to the jail. See, if he didn’t do that, he wouldn’t currently have a first-degree misdemeanor, a newly created criminal record, a $1,000 fine, and 60 days in the county jail, but he did something stupid and now he has to deal with the punishments.”

Resting her chin on her hand, Natalie listened intently to the rest of what Joe had to say before sitting tall once more.  “Should have listened to you. I don’t know why he was acting like such an ass. Well, I mean, you two aren’t exactly best friends or friends or even fond of each other, but still. Drunk or not, he knew exactly what he was doing.” Looking away from him, Natalie watched the cars that were passing down the street. “You really got under his skin, Joe.” She said almost as if she was disinterested in the topic now.  “But tell me, ‘daddy’, did you rough him up a bit when you went back?” Waggling her eyebrows, she chuckled at her own joke before going back to reading the menu.

Nearly cringing at the word ‘daddy’, Joe rolled his eyes.  He was never a supporter of the so-called ‘daddy kink’ and found it weird to be called the name. “First, don’t call me ‘daddy’, that shit is weird. I don’t like it, so, don’t call me that. Go ahead and call me ‘old man’ like you already are, but ‘daddy’? Nope, that’s crossing the line.” Joe eyed the woman who was returning with their drinks.

Clasping his hands onto his lap, Joe smiled for a moment before pulling his lips into his mouth in an attempt to conceal that same smile. “As for the roughing up Landon…” He paused, watching as the drinks were set down. “I don’t know, I might have. I can’t disclose that type of information.” 

Taking a mental note at Joe’s displeasure with the word ‘daddy’, Natalie silently shook her head. Humming a ‘mmm’ in response to both of his replies, Natalie glanced up to the waiter, smiling as she settled their drinks down. “Pleading the fifth for your own safety. Can’t incriminate yourself, gotcha.” She theorized.

        “Now, what can I get you two fine people?” The waiter finally announced.

After receiving their meals and chowing down on whatever they could stuff into their empty bellies, the two of them leaned against their booths, content and happy with their meals.

Of course, Joe was the one to break the silence. “Now for the reason I showed up to your house.” Gripping his glass in his hand, Joe brought the juice to his mouth, taking a big swig from it before placing it back down. “That…” He nodded towards her, hoping that she would get the message. “I shouldn’t have done that.” Bowing his head as he leaned over the table, Joe continued, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I also shouldn’t have pressed you down against the bed – placing my hands on you the way that I did was completely unnecessary. In addition to that, I shouldn’t have used the authority of my uniform for my own benefit, that was completely unprofessional, not to mention literally doing ‘it’ in my uniform as well was beyond unprofessional.” Looking down at the plates before him, Joe avoided eye contact for a moment. “Actually, everything I did last night was unprofessional and I should have known better, but the situation got the best of me and I apologize for that.”

Feeling the waterfall of sincerity in Joe’s apology, Natalie felt almost sorry for him. The strong and knowledgeable man who sat before her was nothing more than a puddle of sorrow and emotions – not only did this increase her attraction towards him, but it exemplified how strong and knowledgeable he truly was.

Placing a hand on top of his forearm, Natalie fixed her gaze onto him, locking eyes with his. “Joe, it’s okay.” Was all she could say before being interrupted by the waiter who removed the plates and left the check.

Snaking her hand away from him so she could lean back against the booth, his hand gripped hers before she could fully pull away. Glancing down at her captured hand, she clenched her jaw, gazing up to Joe who had yet to remove her from his sights.

“I’m sorry, Natalie,” Joe repeated once more, before releasing her from his grip.

Silently nodding, Natalie forced herself to look away from Joe.

Digging into his pocket, Joe removed his wallet and tossed a ten and a twenty on the table. In an attempt to lighten up the situation, Joe cracked a joke. “At least I know that I don’t have to buy you food to get lucky, but you know who is the lucky one today?” Joe scooted to the edge of the booth. “Our waiter who got a fifteen-dollar tip.”

[babykooks]

YOONGI [ONESHOT] - SICK

(This is low-key the best thing I’ve ever written)

Suga had never been the one to care much.

He had watched people come and go, and his eyes had seen things no one should have. And still, he didn’t really care.

Suga couldn’t bring himself to feel compassion for any human because he knew how they all were. All they did was lie and lie, and they’d betray you the first chance they got. He bet even someone who dared to call him their friend would most likely kill him if given enough money.

But he understood. He would do the exact same thing.

Which was why he stayed out of everyone’s business when it didn’t have anything to do with him.

If he saw someone getting killed he’d just walk by. They had probably deserved it anyways.

He didn’t care.

However, his aloofness made his life a bit boring. He was in desperate need of excitement every day of his life, and he was so desperate that he’d do whatever to feel something, anything, for God’s sake.

That need was what had made him commit his first crime, and the rest, as they say, was history. Since then, he had stolen too many times to remember, killed too many people to count. All for excitement.

However, of all the crimes he’d committed over the years, arsons were his favorite.

Watching a house of someone who had gotten on his nerves some other day go up in flames was so incredibly satisfying, that he often found himself smiling wickedly at the sight. So bright and pretty, he’d think and tilt his head, letting out a soft giggle. The flames licked the stars, and Suga felt like a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

‘SICK’ was what people called him. It wasn’t an unknown fact among the citizens or other criminals who he was. They all knew him, and as the regular people feared him, the criminals hated him with a burning passion (no wordplay intended). You see, he stole all the media’s attention from all the pathetic and small crimes the others committed.

Suga thought that was funny.

Why didn’t they kill, then? He didn’t know; he didn’t understand. Maybe he was sick, after all.

***

Was he?

He grew frustrated as he coated the small gas station building with more gasoline.

Sick?

Him?

(Suga had decided to drive around that night. However, when he had decided to stop by and steal buy a few snacks, he had noticed it had been closed just a while ago. Anger didn’t even begin to describe what he felt. What was he supposed to eat now? This was a tiny town, with no other gas stations.

“How about I burn this place up and see how much you’re going to be closed then?” he’d said out loud, laughing bittersweetly as he had taken the gasoline container from the trunk.)

Sick? Sick? Sick?

The word kept going through his mind over and over again, fueling his anger. He couldn’t help but be curious; was being ‘sick’ such a bad thing anyways?

He wanted to tear off the dark hair off his head; that’s how frustrated his cluelessness had made him.

Absentmindedly, he pulled out a silvery lighter from his pocket and began to fiddle with it, dragging his fingers over the cold metal. His annoyance was soon to be replaced with a rush of excitement, and that was more than fine by him.

A smile flickered on his lips as he lifted his gaze up to the gas station, a bit shaken to meet another pair of eyes in the window of the building. For one moment, he thought it was himself he saw in the reflection, but soon realized it was a girl, staring right at him from the inside of the station. She looked panicked and Suga licked his lips, tilting his head. Did she work at the station?

She must’ve known who he was, or at least guessed what he was about to do, because she began to yank and pound on the door. It stubbornly kept shut. She was stuck inside.

‘Perfect’, he thought to himself and smiled at her

And it wasn’t a nice, heartwarming smile from a boy to a girl, filled with happiness and compassion. It was one from a predator to a prey, filled with danger and the promise of death.

“No”, Suga saw the girl mouth to him, a teardrop rolling down her cheek as he finally let the flame of the lighter become one with the gasoline.

As the building blew up, Suga realized he was entirely too close, and began to run.

Throwing himself on the ground, he closed his eyes and covered his face, too busy to notice the girl who had managed to break the window and get out. However, she was still close enough for the flames to lick up her whole back, leaving her laying on the ground in pain as the building slowly kept turning into ashes.

Her bloodcurdling scream arose from close by, and even Suga could hear it despite the fact that he was still half-deaf due to the sound of explosion. He grunted as he pushed his aching body off of the ground. He was mad at himself for getting too caught up with the girl and making the mistake of standing too close, and slowly turned towards the source of the scream. His eyes widened when he saw the girl lying limp on the ground. Her back had been burned and had already become charred, and Suga could swear he could smell the burned flesh over the fire. He slumped towards the girl’s figure, hearing her sobs grow more and more audible as he approached her.

A voice in his head wondered why he was even bothering to take a look if she was fatally injured or not. He could’ve just left and never looked back.

‘I’m not worrying or caring for her; I’m just checking if I can still kill her or not’, he assured the voice as he crouched down to the level of the girl.

And there he just kept looking at her - not making a single sound - simply watching the girl who was trying to squirm away in fear from him.

“N-No!” she cried out as he reached his dirty hand out to stroke her cheek. “P-Please don’t hurt me!”

“Shh,” he said, his voice husky and deep, and turned his piercing stare to her back. “That looks painful.” He let out a low chuckle and reached out to touch the skin until she flinched away.

“Just please go and leave me alone. I’ll tell them it was an accident and that it had nothing to do with you. Just please don’t kill me,” she pleaded. Suga watched her blood pool on the pavement, the tears rolling down her cheeks mixing with the dark red puddles.

“But darling, now what fun would that be?” he whispered, close enough to her ear to be considered seductive, and she squealed as she felt herself being lifted off the ground.

Suga threw her over his shoulder like a dirty rag and carried her to his car, sitting across the parking lot.

She started wriggling in his grip. If she got into that car, there was no going back. It was more than likely the promise of death his smile had given her would be filled. “No! No, no, no,” she begged over and over again, hitting Suga’s back with whatever strength her burns hadn’t stolen from her yet.

A hollow laugh rose out of him, sending shivers down her spine. "Oh yes, my beloved one.”

She couldn’t help but notice the pyromaniac’s manner of speaking that was completely out of date. This man was so utterly and purely mysterious that she couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander.

How in the world did he end up being like this?

What in the world would he do to her?

Her vision turned blurry from all of the smoke she had breathed as he placed her inside the car and slammed the door shut.

“Where are we going?” She managed to say, watching him get behind the steering wheel.

But she didn’t stay around long enough to hear the answer. Her world turned pitch black all at once.

***

Suga groaned when he finally managed to place the girl onto the table. Her bare, burned back faced the ceiling of his dingy apartment. His leg still stung from when he bumped into the couch in the living room.

“Let’s see,” he mumbled to himself, turning on the light above the table to get a better view to her wound.

Why was he helping her? He still couldn’t figure it out himself. Did she remind him of his dead little sister? Mother? Maybe, but he’d never had a sister or a mother.

He went to the kitchen and soaked up a large towel with cool water before returning to the girl, putting it over her back as carefully as he could. He furrowed his brows, thinking. What were you supposed to do to a major burn again? The first thing that came to mind was going to the hospital, but that was out of question as Suga was wanted in almost every city in the whole country. They would lock him up the second they saw his face and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be told he was sick anymore.

All he could think of, for now, was going to the medical cabinet and pulling out a bottle of liquid morphine - he’d needed it on a couple of occasions when he’d gotten severely hurt - and a syringe. She’d probably be out of pain after she woke up and would thank him later.

He measured a dosage he thought was appropriate and injected the needle into her arm. An IV tube would’ve probably been needed but, oh well. Where would Suga get such a thing?

It wasn’t like he could just go into a hospital and steal one.

Oh, wait.

Yes he could.

***

Suga watched her lay on the table after he had removed all the burned parts of her skin, cleaned the area and wrapped her torso with a gauze. The brand new IV in her arm, she was still completely out of it, only having stirred from her sleep a couple of times during the past six hours. And all that time he had sat beside her, just looking at her. What made her so special? Why had he helped her?

Why? Why? Why?

He knew that all helping did was cause problems, and problems always caused even more problems.

His breath hitched as he realized he wasn’t staring at her sleeping form anymore, but to her now open eyes. He quickly looked away and hid his face with his dark hair. It was weird to be caught staring like that.

"Where am I?” her voice was hoarse and weak, and he didn’t have the strength to hide the fact he had taken her anymore. He hadn’t slept. He was tired, and he was angry for feeling pity for her and not letting her die.

“My place,” he said, wrapping his arms around his rather skinny figure like he was protecting himself from someone like - well - himself.

He watched panic arose in her as she kept looking around, growing more anxious the more aware she became of her surroundings and of him. She pushed herself up on weak arms and he immediately pinned her back to the table.

"Trying to leave so soon, my love?” he asked, flashing her a brief smirk. “How ungrateful after I helped you, and technically saved your life.”

“You’re the reason I’m in this state,” she spat, defiantly, but grew nervous as something dangerous flashed in his eyes at her words.

"Now, now, you’re lucky I let you live.” He was trying to keep calm but she could see he was seething with rage and it made her want to be anywhere but in the same room with him. Especially not with his arms grasping her shoulders like they were now, pain blooming under his touch.

"S-Sorry,” she whimpered and Suga finally let go of her.

"Whatever,” he mumbled, and sat back into the chair he’d been sitting on for a while now. "Just shut up and don’t annoy me.”

She nodded and looked at him with so much curiosity again, not being able to help herself. At that moment, when he sat in that chair, he looked so vulnerable and broken, almost normal even, and she noticed how good-looking the cruel man actually was up close. He had nicely sculptured features and kissable lips, although what took her breath away were his eyes. They almost screamed about the things they’d seen, creating so much depth into his always intense gaze as his eyes flickered towards her and away in turns.

“What are you doing?” Suga snapped, squirming in his seat under the girl’s stare.

“What?” she seemed startled, pink tint colouring her otherwise colorless face, embarrassed she’d been caught staring.

Suga wasn’t sure what someone watching him like that meant. He wasn’t sure if he even liked it. It was like she didn’t see a murderer or en evil man but him. How was he supposed to react to something like that? He’d never been in a situation like this before, and truth be told, it felt rather suffocating.

With a loud noise, he stood up, the chair falling backwards from the speed of his movements. He ran nervous hands through his hair as he went to the window and opened it, desperate for fresh air.

“Do you have a name?” Suga asked, his back still facing the girl.

“(Y/N),” she said, and he nodded.

"And I’m-”

“Agust D. I know who you are.”

His eyebrows rose a bit. Was that what they called him?

“Agust D, right,” he mumbled before walking into his bedroom and slamming the door shut.

(Y/N) was left lying on the table, staring at the door he’d disappeared behind. She found him more confusing than anything. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

*** Suga walked in circles in his shabby room, arms wrapped around himself to protect himself from something that most likely didn’t even exist. Sobs rose from his chest, sounding like words when they escaped him.

"Sick, sick, sick,” he slapped his cheek. "Sick, sick. Sick.”

His reflection in the cracked mirror, staring with red, wild eyes: sick.

The way he lived, dingy and dark and shabby: sick.

And most importantly, his mind. His incredibly broken mind.

Sick.

His hands were shaking as he grabbed a pocket knife and a gun from his desk, taking a gulp from the open whiskey bottle as he went. The alcohol burned as it went down, but he didn’t feel it. He needed to kill someone, right now. He needed to feel alive, excited, awake. He was sad and angry-disordered, even - and he needed something that gave him that jolt of happiness.

So he threw the door open again, only to meet her eyes. He grinned. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, her hand in one of his drawers. She’d been going through his stuff.

“Didn’t your mama and papa teach you that sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong is bad?” he asked, low and threatening, as he stalked towards her. His pocket knife caught the glint of the light when he took it out.

“I-I was just looking for painkillers,” (Y/N) said the first thing that came to mind, and he laughed again. That’s right; how could I forget? Everyone was a liar, a piece of dirt.

Everyone deserved to die. Him, too.

"Lying isn’t nice, my beloved. I know you aren’t in pain; I gave you morphine and as you’re able to stand, it clearly worked. I’m not stupid, you see. Sick, but not stupid.”

She had heard him mumbling to himself in his room just a few minutes earlier. The sounds had made her insides twist. She wasn’t sure she could get through even one day if she was as messed up as he was. He wasn’t sick; he just needed someone who’d love him. Could she be that person? She didn’t know.

“Morphine? You drugged me?” (Y/N) shrieked, eyes flashing with fear and anger.

“Yeah, so?” he asked bluntly and flipped the knife open, the blade only inches away from her throat. What it would feel like to watch her rich crimson blood drain from her body? Would it feel like anything?

“P-Put the knife away,” she stuttered, grabbing his wrist. It was a gamble, but it worked. He shook her grasp off and backed off, done playing with her.

"As you want, love.”

He headed through the trashy apartment towards the front door and fiddled with the locks for a while before opening them.

“Where are you going?” her small voice asked. Suga shot her a glare.

“What did I say about sticking your nose where it isn’t supposed to be? It’ll get you killed one day, doll. I’m going out.”

“Wait-” she called, reaching her hand out to him but the unpredictable male was already gone, vanished into the night. By the look in his eyes and the knife he still had with him, he was up to no good.

She had to go after him. She didn’t know why, but she had to. Maybe it was because she felt like she owed him her life?

Nevertheless, she winced as she ripped the IV off of her forearm, looking around for a jacket and her shoes.

***

“What’s your problem dude?” the man growled at Suga, trying to back away from him in the dark alley as the blade he held flashed dangerously in the moonlight.

“My… problem?” he said slowly as he kept stepping forward. This was such a fun, intricate dance; how could he stay away from it? “I don’t know; I was wishing you could enlighten me.”

“How am I supposed to know? You- You are Agust D, aren’t you? Sick bastard, get away from me!” “I’M NOT SICK!” Suga screamed, now holding his head in his hands. “I’M NOT! I’M NOT SICK!”

“Jesus Christ,” the man whispered, looking at the boy who he thought was absolutely nuts.

"Make it stop, please, make it stop…” he cried, sobs causing for his shoulders to shake. He fell to the ground, sobbing and holding his head.

“Make what stop?” the man asked, confused. He approached the figure crouching on the ground and laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

However, he knew he’d fucked up as he saw his eyes glisten from under his hair.

But it was too late.

In a flash Suga dug his knife to the man’s stomach and smiled as he doubled over from pain, starting to cough up blood. He fell to the ground, on his back.

“Please, I have two daughters at home! I’m all they have, please, please! Please don’t kill me; they’ll have no one if I die!”

“They’ll be joining you soon then,” the psychopath chuckled, watching the man’s blood pool around the knife.

Soon enough the man took his last breath and Suga sank to the ground himself. A shaky breath escaped his pale lips as he slid against the wall of the alley and held his head again.

He was feeling gloomy. The rush of excitement he’d been craving was nowhere to be found.

For the first time in a long time he felt dirty after ending someone’s life. Like his hands were full of blood that refused to come out. Suga began to shake, the man’s words echoing in his head over and over. "Sick bastard, get away from me!”

His eyes started to water until a sound floated down the alley and to him. His head snapped up. A familiar voice was calling his name.

“Suga!”

His name. She didn’t call Agust D; she called him. How had she found out his name? That didn’t really matter to him. He felt her small hand on his forearm and heard her heavy breathing near his ear.

“Why are you sitting here? What have you done?!” She yelled, hurrying over to the other man’s limp body.

“He’s already dead”, he mumbled and sniffled, using the back of his hand to wipe away a few stray tears.

“Oh, Suga”, she sighed and he could swear he saw pity for him in her eyes for a fleeting moment. She looked up and around, and then back down at him.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

And he waited. It wasn’t like he had the strength to move anyways. He was dead tired and emotionally dull. He felt lost, and sick.

He felt like he had killed someone.

“He had two small daughters”, he said aloud and a single sob left his mouth. What kind of a monster was he? What about all the other people he’d killed, all the families he’d sent into mourning?

Fast steps could be heard a few minutes later and (Y/N) appeared in his vision again, crouching.

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up,” she whispered, opening a water bottle she’d brought and pouring the water on his hands that were covered in blood. The water that fell to the ground was a bright pink.

“Why aren’t you running away?” Suga asked, looking at her. “Why don’t you call me sick? Why aren’t you scared?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, shrugging, and tried to clean up his face. "I don’t think you’re dangerous, just broken and lost.”

“I could kill you”, he laughed humorlessly and looked her dead in the eye.

“But you won’t,” she told him firmly. "I know you won’t. If you wanted to, you wouldn’t have brought me to your place in the first place. You wouldn’t have helped me.”

All Suga could do was nod and wince as her fingers brushed over a bruise he’d gotten earlier in a fight that night. He’d fought a group of six men, and ended up running away, because there was just simply too many of them. He’d succeeded to kill one of them, but the others refused to die.

“How did you know my name?” He asked after a long pause and he noticed the girl tense for a second before continuing to clean him up.

“I-I saw a file you had of yourself laying around when I went through your stuff,” she murmured, not wanting him to get mad at her again.

"Oh,” was all he could manage to say. He had stolen the file from the police a long time ago, when he wasn’t a ‘big, bad serial killer’ yet, just to see what they had on him.

“Come on,” (Y/N) said, helping him to his feet. “Let’s get you home.” Her hand was soft in his, and warm. Suga never wanted to let go.

"THERE HE IS!” A man’s yell echoed in the alley, bouncing off the walls, and Suga hid (Y/N) protectively behind his back. “GET HIM!”

He was frozen in the spot as he saw the men from earlier run towards them. The only difference now being that, instead of six, there were only five of them.

Suga hurriedly took out the gun he always carried with him for emergencies. This was definitely one. With a loud bang, one of them fell to the ground and only four men kept running.

“We have to run! Come on!” Suga told the panicked girl behind him.

“Oh my god, Suga, what have you done?” (Y/N) asked, her voice quivering. They broke off into a run together.

“I… encountered them earlier,” He said, holding her hand tighter when taking a sharp turn to left.

"No! No, it’s a dead end!” she cried out but when they turned around, it was too late.

The four men had caught up with them. The guns they were holding were visible, as if it was the middle of the day.

“You’re going to pay for killing Jungkook and Jimin,” he heard the tallest growl at him, and Suga pulled (Y/N) back behind him, lifting his gun.

"Fine. You can do whatever you want to me, but let the girl go. She has nothing to do with this.”

All of their stares now bored into (Y/N), who squeezed the back of his shirt with her shaking hands. When was the last time someone had relied on him for protection, had trusted him that much? Had it ever happened?

“Well, doesn’t she just look delicious,” one of them purred. “How about this: You give the girl to us and we let you go unharmed. Good deal, isn’t it?”

And it was.

He could’ve just handed her over, so easily, and let her die. He could’ve just been the sick monster people called him.

But he didn’t want to be.

He didn’t want to let the only person who didn’t want him locked up to die. Even though he barely knew her, there was a strong connection between them and he didn’t want to let it go. He would die for her if he had to, in fact. There was no one who deserved death more than him.

She was the embodiment of innocence, and he was rotten to the core, having committed to many sins to count.

“No”, he finally said, loud and clear. He wouldn’t let her die.

“Is this really the famous Agust D I’ve heard of?” The man laughed, the sound harsh on their ears. “I’m just downright disappointed. How come the most wanted serial killer is a pussy? Well, it’s your choice, even though I can’t promise what happens to the girl when you’re out of the way.” The man loaded his gun and aimed it straight at Suga’s forehead, grinning from ear to ear.

He watched him pull the trigger and closed his eyes, ready to accept the cold embrace of death.

“No!” (Y/N) suddenly screamed and his eyes flew wide open as a loud bang echoed in his ears. Only her hair waved beside her, following the wind, as she jumped in front of him and immediately jerked back. She had taken the bullet for him.

It was like his heart was being ripped right out of his chest. Her body fell to the ground, lifeless, dead. No more.

“(Y/N), NO!” Suga cried out and crouched down to embrace her, his tears rolling down his cheeks to her hair where his face was buried. Blood smeared in his hair.

“Let’s go guys. Our job here is done”, he could hear the distant murmurs but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to take his revenge and kill them.

She was dead. Her eyes stared back at him, cold and blank.

A scream ripped out of his throat.

He screamed having to know the pain of loss for the first time. He screamed at the realization that he would never be able to hear her voice or talk to her. He screamed because he’d never be able to touch her skin again, to make her laugh even once.

He screamed until he couldn’t anymore. His voice was gone and his throat hurt, but his arms were still wrapped around her.

He just wanted her to open her eyes again and smile at him.

He wanted her to tell him it was going to be okay.

“It’s my fault, it’s all my fault,” he said over and over again, holding her tighter still. He was a sick monster. A terrible demon.

Sick. Sick. Sick.

“Sick”, he cried to himself with a hushed voice, staring at the gun that called to him now, gleaming in the moonlight.

“Sick”, he said again, with a stronger voice as he lifted the gun up all the way to his temple. The metal was cool against his skin.

“Sick”, he grinned. His finger searched for the trigger and he laughed aloud when he found it.

“Sick”, he said for the last time as he gazed at the dead girl lying in front of him and thought how beautiful she was under the pale moonlight. How beautiful she’d been alive, and how beautiful she was in death.

And with a loud bang and even louder silence that followed, Suga fell limp to the ground, right next to the cold girl that he almost saved.

The girl who would’ve saved him.

The girl he might have loved.

The girl who never thought he was sick.

***

CREDITS TO THE AMAZING @quill-ink FOR EDITING THIS ONESHOT AND MAKING IT TRULY AMAZING! Thank you babe xx

[readcircles-blog]

Into the Amazon

From the start of my journey it had always been about getting away from normal, from routine. In fact from the start of my early adulthood I had been constantly fantasizing to break free into the unknown of what the world consisted of. It was only until I was halfway across the world, fighting for my life, that I realized how fortunate “normal” was.

After finishing high school I felt obligated to get away from home. I was disinterested and dulled by my surroundings. Even the people closest to me, my favorite places, became smothering and uncomfortable.

I was accepted to University in Colorado and soon relocated there. I joined a community of people who were passionate about the same things as myself; hiking, climbing, skiing, anything that got us outdoors. I was fascinated by the idea of exploring outside of America, getting further out of my comfort zone. I began religiously following adventurers online; photographers, journalists, explorers. These people inspired me, yet even then I  felt myself becoming depressed, feeling stagnant in my environment. Surrounded by students from wealthy families who were partying away their educations, I became fidgety, restless. I would day dream about going out to the highway with a backpack and hitchhiking as far away as I possibly could. Yearning to experience discomfort, poverty, solitude, and anything else which came with it.

Six months later and it was almost time to depart on a one way flight to Chile, the furthest south I’d ever ventured. After leaving the manicured lawns and red brick buildings of the University of Colorado, I would embark on a solo journey across all of South America without any itinerary.

While headed towards Argentina on an overcrowded bus, I caught myself in a moment of reflection. Two months I’d been on the road; I had surfed my way down the Chilean coast, climbed volcanos, rafted rivers, met a wide variety of new people, and still I felt frustrated. Despite the oppressive heat, I was well within my comfort zone. The areas I was visiting, so massively westernised, allowing me to feel comfortable while being so far removed from home. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted change. I was longing for adrenaline, thrill, culture, wild experiences, danger, something to get me going. The reality was I couldn’t change unless I shifted my attitude towards the trip. The tormenting thoughts of a failed adventure consumed me.

By the time I arrived in Bariloche, the northernmost city of Patagonia, I was frustrated with myself and those around me in the busy town cluttered with other travellers. Shutting out my negative thoughts I pushed on. With a cardboard sign and my thumb sticking out, I worked my way down a thousand miles of desolate Argentine highway, into the Jagged peaks and colossal glaciers of Patagonia, through starry nights in the Atacama Desert, across the Salt Flats of Bolivia, and into the Amazon Jungle.

It took 24 hours riding on a bus that wound up crumbling mountain roads, three hours in a jeep through muddy farmland, and four hours on a small wooden river boat to get to what felt like, the middle of nowhere. I wanted to be off the grid, off the beaten path, into stillness. Miles deep in maze of river passages surrounding lush jungle, I’d accomplished this. Time there was spent piranha fishing, anaconda hunting, playing with monkeys; that was exactly what I’d manifested and willed myself into.

It was perfect until the unbearable pain began. Self diagnosing the fast onset of discomfort as a bad case of food poisoning, I’d hoped that imodium pills and water would get me through a few uncomfortable days in the Amazon. That night, the jungle guides brewed me a up a remedy of vines, plants, and tree bark they’d sourced from around the village. They instructed me to drink it before bed and promised it would make my pain go away.

As the third night went on, the sharp pains rapidly evolved. Hours of terrifyingly vivid hallucinations accompanied by chills and  uncontrollable shaking took over my body. Dawn approached and I felt the urge to vomit or have diarrhea. I stumbled out of the screen door and slumped against the outside of the hut. I was seeing double, had no sense of direction and my balance was horrible. I needed to get to a toilet. The closest option was an outhouse, 100 feet away at the end of an elevated boardwalk which appeared to be no more than a few planks slapped together. I couldn’t risk the walk, how could I trust my balance if I couldn’t even see straight? I began to crawl, slow and weak, dripping in sweat, in nothing but my underwear.

The early morning came quickly. The jungle was alive, noises and commotion came from every direction, the chaotic buzzing of insects and birds began to overwhelm me, forcing me to collapse while trying to get ahold of my cerebrum. The sun just under the horizon was bringing a pale blue light to the sky, and dissolving the darkness. My mind and body slowed as I absorbed the surreal setting I was in. Immobilized and being devoured by mosquitos, I looked up into the eyes of an 8 foot caiman lurking in the water next to me, just waiting for a limb.

The next day, the guides took me down river to the nearest village with a doctor. Inside a small clinic I laid still as the doctor examined my abdomen. After numerous sharp jabs and pokes to my lower belly, he looked at me gravely and in hesitance mumbled in spanish,

“Your appendix has ruptured”.

The screeching sounds of alarm bells started going off in my head, this had to be a nightmare. Unable to comprehend the situation,

“Could I die?”, he hesitated after a beat and reluctantly said,

“Yes… I believe you have 8 to 12 hours of life left”.

It’s hard to describe the feeling… comprehending your own mortality. At that moment I thought of one thing, my family, my friends, how devastated they would all be. How I didn’t want this to be the end of living.

Frantically I began to yell, feeling scared, jumbled, confused.

“We need to get a rescue helicopter, now! Call the American Embassy, is there a military base we can contact?! Please, I’ll pay any amount of money, just get me out of here!”

They assured me they’d do what they could. I felt hot, sweaty, unsure of what would happen and thought about my life coming to an end. Nothing was happening, no one was rushing around, no phone calls being made. I soon realized where I was, rural Bolivia. Being the poorest country in South America, the options were scarce, barely existent. My life was not given the same value here as back home, they didn’t have the resources to have me rescued.

I was still, staring at the old, rotting ceiling, thinking about life. All of that life that I would be missing out on. That life that I had taken for granted, been bored with, felt smothered by... all of that seemed like a far off fantasy that I now desired so badly.

Minutes turned to an hour, an hour of hearing no word of what was to happen. An hour taken of the short amount of life I had left, an hour spent staring at a ceiling in tremendous pain, trying to focus on things that made me feel happy, safe, close to home.

Quickly a man entered the room frantically, yelling what seemed like gibberish,

“airplane! airplane!”

A small four seater Cessna pulled up in front of the building. The doctor stabbed me in the butt with a giant needle of morphine, and they loaded me into the plane. My new friend Lewis that I had set in to the jungle with, and a Portuguese girl named Ines, acting as a translator, accompanied me.

Men were running around, fuelling the plane by filling up two liter coke bottles and dumping  them into the very small, rickety jet. The only reason these men even had an airplane, in the middle of the Amazon, was because of their business in the drug trafficking industry. They demanded nearly all of the money we had on us in order for them to fly us to a hospital. There were six people crammed into the four seats as we soared over the amazon in fear. Halfway through the flight, the back door of the plane flew open in aggression and we nearly lost everyones belongings.

We touched down on a dirt road in a town called Trinidad, which seemed to have outlived its reason to exist. The pilot refused to fly me to the Capital city of La Paz, so this was my only option. We entered the hospital in a hurry, though relieved to be in a hospital it came as a dissapointment. Inside, mold covered the walls and ceilings, blood and feces was sprayed over the courtyard from where they washed the mattresses, sick people scattered all around the halls, and stray dogs roamed about the entrance.

I was feeling anything but confident in the fact that I would survive. If the appendicitis didn't kill me, an infection from this place surely would. I had never seen a place like this, when I think hospital, I think clean, sanitary, smelling of alcohol and chemicals to keep everything sterile. The place smelled of mold, the air was heavy, weighing me down.

On the verge of sepsis, the doctors stuck and IV in my arm and told me that if they didn't operate now, my kidneys would fail, there was no time to think. They wheeled me in to a green room, stripped me naked, pumped the anesthesia into me and I was out.

I awoke, confused and hot. The room I was in, no longer green. Tubes were everywhere, in my nose, stomach, bladder, arm. I felt hazy, disoriented. I looked down to see a poorly stitched frankenstein like gash in my abdomen, swollen and red. My stomach was so bloated that it looked like I was pregnant.

The next seven days were the worst of my life. The first 24 hours without water, and the following five days without food. Unable to walk, I shit and puked on myself in bed, sometimes going a full night without it being cleaned up. Ants crawled all over the room, and the humidity kept me drenched in sweat, unbearably itchy. The part that bothered me the most though, was that I was getting the best treatment in the hospital.

The following is from a note I wrote on my phone while in the hospital:

I have help from friends and family overseas, I’m receiving special treatment, and can act however I want in the hospital because I am a rich white American. The man next to me has a broken and severely infected leg. I see exposed bone, blood, and dirty bandages. Although I cannot completely understand what is going on, his mother is here… she is crying. The family is arguing about an operation and something to do with eating and money. This man might die, he might lose his leg, he like most of the people in this country does not have the resources I have to get everything I possibly need to stay alive. It puts things in perspective. I’m so thankful for all I have. I can’t stop crying.

I returned home to the US after a week in that hospital. I spent six months in and out of the hospital there, dealing with infection and physical therapy to completely rebuild my abdominal wall. I started getting on my feet once I had enough strength again, and doctors cleared me.

I’ve never been more gracious to be able to go on another adventure, but more than that, I’ve never been more humbled and pleased by the perfectly normal, anticlimactic, everyday moments of my life. To simply be healthy, comfortable, and living in a family thats not struggling to survive is a luxury that we take for granted so often. In a world where so many people do not have these basics necessities, I believe all of us that can, should help spread the wealth. Everybody deserves to feel, for lack of better words, normal.

To Lewis, thanks for sticking with me.