#oh the one with the tracked orb monitors

[pred1059]

Just A Chance Chapter Seventeen

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Secret Report: Vexen II

This situation has escalated at an unprecedented rate. What’s worse, I cannot totally abrogate responsibility for its development. The best I can do is take measures to analyze and prepare some counter strategy for whatever move Ansem makes.

Still, this does open up other avenues of research. While I might not be able to prepare more replicas for deployment, I can certainly analyze a greater breadth of combat data than from Riku alone.

Roxas has been growing by leaps and bounds since his training regimen has begun. In short order he has begun to acquire power and skill far outstripping his initial outing. Furthermore, Naminé showing the initiative to develop her already unusual powers beyond the initial mission was most unexpected.

It’s quite interesting, seeing them meeting...dare I say surpassing expectations. Though being put in circumstances demanding such rapid growth in the face of fatal consequences is something that we in the Organization have had little fear of for the most part. Our work is perfected to a near science.

Gathering and exploiting this new data to its maximum potential would be a tantalizing possibility. Unfortunately, self-preservation takes priority. Ansem should remain the primary subject of my observations

Vexen had tracked the darkness using the crystal viewer nearest to his workstation. Switching from floor to floor in an effort to determine where Ansem would materialize. Of course, he occasionally would pause on the images of one of the many keyblade wielders. Taking a note on Sora’s growing repertoire, or Kairi’s increasing mastery over her light. But not too long that Ansem’s trail would grow cold, sooner or later he would show up again and Vexen needed to be ready for whatever might—.

There. On the twelfth floor the darkness was beginning to concentrate. Vexen grimaced as the viewer shifted to show the floor that was set aside for Roxas’, and now Naminé’s training. Quickly he changed the view to make sure the darkness was not manifesting right on top of them. He relaxed, seeing that at the moment Roxas, Naminé, Axel and Zexion were not at the primary site of concentration. At the moment, Naminé had developed a simple yet effective hit and run strategy weaved in with spellcas—

“Hey there tall, cold, and creepy.” His eye twitched at the sing-song sound of Larxene’s voice, accompanied by her leaning on Vexen’s shoulder. “How goes the search for your little screw-up?”

“He’s close to the floor I’m viewing. Which means I need focus.” Vexen shot her a glare as he shoved her arm away, though Larxene remained unmoved. He expanded the view outward, showing a little more of the replicated Traverse down while keeping Roxas and Naminé in the center of the picture.

Larxene leaned over to the viewfinder and gave it a tap, chuckling as she saw Naminé dispatch some shadows with some spells. “Aww, it’s cute how she thinks she’s any good at fighting.”

Vexen shook his head as he recalibrated the scrying orb to monitor the darkness. “The fact that she is even remotely combat viable on her first day of training is no small feat.”

Larxene crossed her arms as she stood upright and looked over to Vexen with a raised eyebrow. “And since when has our Organization ever been satisfied with ‘small feats’?

Vexen contemplated a retort. But for once she had a point. Xemnas accepted nothing but the very best in terms of results. Any shortcomings were not left forgotten. More than that however, the scrying spell he cast on the orb began to shine a very bright light at the gathering dark in one corner of the district. “It seems we have found our quarry, Larxene.”

Her eyes widened as he saw the possessed Riku sitting on the ledge calling out to the group of nobodies on the ground. “Oh, wow. Ansem’s making his move already?”

“Probably not. This is most likely an experiment for him before he moves on to larger plans.” Vexen mumbled as Ansem made his introduction. Axel and Zexion attacked to try and drive him off, but the darkness only grew. Vexen nodded as he saw the keyblade change hands from Naminé to Roxas. “A fair strategy given the circumstances. They need to bring all their strength to bear if they want to survive.”

“If they even can survive.” Larxene tilted her head as she watched Invisibles rise from the shadows. She began to chuckle. “Don’t worry, you’ll get whatever’s left of anyone kicking the bucket for your little experiments.”

“Larxene, this is not the time for jokes!” Vexen hissed as he began to grip the orb. “If Roxas or Naminé perishes, the entirety of the Organization’s agenda will be in jeopardy!”

“Relax. I know we still need a keyblade wielder that will dance to our tune.” She put a finger on the orb, opposite of where Vexen had his hand. “If things get hairy, I’ll Step in and make sure we have options.” Larxene flashed a smile as she held a finger to Vexen’s nose. “Okaaaay?”

“Wha—Move. Move!” Vexen shoved Larxene’s hand away and leaned in close to watch the fight. Roxas had begun to glow with a red fire.  “These...These readings from Roxas. They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before!”

Larxene set aside any annoyance watching the image of Roxas blasting flame with each keyblade slash. “Woah. Since when did the kid start cribbing notes from Axel?”

“This...this is completely new! It makes our limit break power look like a parlor trick!” Vexen grinned from ear to ear as he began to gesture and add more analysis spells to the crystal. “Yes! A style of attack based on previous inputs and commands! This opens up entire—.”

Larxene raised an eyebrow, pouting in annoyance as Vexen began to ramble. “So...how is this...command style even working?”

Vexen barely seemed to register her question, instead continuing on. “—and of course, in lieu of an actual heart, the keyblade must have a greater attunement to the elemental energies he is channeling. Nonetheless the possibility of—”

“VEXEN!” Larxene shouted with a thunder enhanced SNAP of her fingers. The booming sound immediately got the scientist’s attention as she crossed her arms. “The short version, if you would be so kind.”

Vexen sighed and gestured to the globe. “As Roxas attacks with various abilities, he draws on that power and internalizes it. In time, he can temporarily modify the attacks with his keyblade. And there’s one other fact you should know,” Vexen turned to Larxene with a mad look in his eye. “Sora has developed this ability as well.”

Larxene took a step back. “What? But Sora had the keyblade for months, why would he just learn it right when Roxas is picking up this trick?”

Vexen gave her a flat look as he folded his hands behind his back. “Do you want a proper explanation, or would you prefer some simplified drivel?”

“We would prefer you to be concise.” Marluxia’s voice cut through Vexen’s confidence and he snapped to attention as he walked in.“Now is there a reason for both Sora and Roxas progressing in a similar manner that we should be concerned about?”

Vexen’s mouth was a thin line as he began to consider the matter. “The two of them are growing in power, though obviously Roxas’ rate of growth is much faster. It’s only a hypothesis, but it may be that both Nobody and Other are establishing a power equilibrium between the two of them. Only made easier by their propinquity.”

“I see, so the fact that they are both together in this castle is influencing their growth.” Marluxia watches the shadows fade and Roxas walked over to Naminé, Axel, and Vexen. 

Larxene tapped her cheek. “Good to know, that means the kid can probably take care of himself. So the question becomes, if they both become truly equal, who will win?” 

Vexen held his hands up. “Don’t look at me. The battlefield is such an unstable testing environment, that even the slightest advantage could shift the outcome entirely.”

Marluxia’s eyes narrowed. “So once again, we must wait until the right time in order to see who will be of greater use to our Organization.”

“So this effect of a nobody gaining power as long as their other is close by.” Larxene leaned in close to the sphere, tapping on its surface. “Do you think it works for every Nobody?”

Vexen clicked his tongue and shook his head. “I wouldn’t know where to start. Any heartless created from us could be anywhere in the world. And besides, there is no other Nobody that is like Roxas.”

“No. But there’s a particular little Nobody who is very close to what he is. And she can provide quite the advantage.” A smile began to creep up Larxene’s face. 

Naminé may have enjoyed the nicer meals she received since Roxas arrived, but right now even her old bowl of porridge sounded good. Even so, Roxas tried to press the issue. “I’m telling you Axel, if Naminé is going to be training with us, she needs more to eat.”

Axel gave a wry smile as he listened to Roxas. “Food or not, I’m just a little interested to know what’s going on between you and Naminé. You’ve been seeing her regularly since this all started.”

Naminé winced and weakly waved her hands in front of her. “He hasn’t been interfering with any of my work, and we only see each other after he’s done for the day.”

Roxas clenches his fist.“No one else sees her for anything besides her powers. And she’s working just as hard as any of us to help the whole Organization. What’s wrong with me being a friend to her and wanting to make her happy?”

Zexion and Axel shared a glance at each other, before Zexion coughed. “Roxas, we’re Nobodies. Happiness is not something that can exist for us.”

Roxas winced and looked away, and again the hallway was silent. “Then why did the three of us spend time together yesterday?” He asked quietly as he stood before Axel and Zexion, with Naminé close to him. “If it was pointless, why do it at all?”

Axel grimaced at the questions and Zexion seemed little better. Even so, Axel managed to speak up.  “It...it helps. It’s the closest thing we’ve got to having anything close to what we once had with hearts.” At the confession, Axel brought a hand to his chin. “So the better question to ask might be: if Naminé is helped at all by these visits?” He looked over to her with a raised eyebrow. “If Roxas is just another face for you to know then—.”

“No!” Roxas was taken aback at Naminé’s cry, as were Axel and Zexion. Roxas looked back to her with wide eyes and hands clasped together. Her voice trembled as she admitted, “He’s...he’s so much more than that. He’s my best friend.”

Hearing her admit that, something caught in Roxas’ throat and his cheeks felt a little warm. Slowly, he gathered the words to speak. ”Naminé, thanks. You’re my best friend too.” Seeing her smile at those words, once again there was something inside. Like when they held hands together. It was the closest thing Roxas could call happiness.

“Well...I hate to change topics from this gripping conversation,” Axel interrupted, snapping Roxas and Naminé out of their haze as they looked back at him. He was scratching the back of his head sheepishly before continuing,  “But clearly this is pretty important to both of you if you’re getting this worked up about it.” 

Zexion raised a finger. “I believe it would behoove us to include her as part of a group meal. As Roxas pointed out, she is important to our work. As such, we can use the opportunity to build our relationships.” 

Roxas raised an eyebrow before asking. “So, becoming friends?”

“Erm...Yes. As close as we can be as such given our condition.” Zexion shook his head and continued to explain. “Furthermore, we can rotate whoever takes the porridge for the night and thus maintain our supplies with minimal controversy.”

Axel began to chuckle. “Seeing as how Roxas and I have already had our turn with the stuff, I’d say it’s only fair you take up the bowl tonight.” 

Zexion sighed and began to nod “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Slowly, Naminé began to smile at the three of them. “Thank you all.”

“I would save your gratitude until we get our status report.” Marluxia’s voice caused Naminé’s smile to fall. All four of them looked over to him walking down the hallway with Larxene close by. “Meeting room. Now.”

The room was one of many outfitted with the crystal ball. Though the one given the proper designation of ‘meeting room’ was the one closest to their quarters on the top floor. Laxene looked expectantly to Axel and Zexion as Roxas and Naminé stood close by. “So? How did she do?”

“Considering this was her first time fighting, period,” Axel answered, crossing his arms before giving a nod “She’s alright. A bit wobbly at the start, but she got used to the heartless fast enough.”

Zexion raised a finger as he added on, “Not to mention she has shown a grasp of basic magic in a short period of time. Even that on it’s own makes her potentially worthy of full membership in the Organization.” Nobody but Roxas noticed how Naminé’s eyes were downcast at the mention of membership.

“Well we have you as our main magic expert, so that’s not good enough.” Larxene waved off the praise before putting a finger to her cheek and turning to Naminé. “Say, Naminé. With all the ‘progress’ you’ve made. I can’t help but notice you still don’t have a keyblade.”

Roxas stepped forward. “Hold on, it’s just her first day training!”

“Unfortunately, we haven’t got the time for your hand holding.” Larxene rolled her eyes. “Which is why I’ve come up with an alternative solution.” With a snap of her fingers, the globe in the center glowed to life.

Axel rolled his eyes. “Did you need to be so dramatic?”

“Pay attention.” Marluxia snapped and everyone watched as the image came into view.

An image of someone Roxas recognized. “Kairi?” The girl was taking down a strange version of the Guard Armor he faced before, except if all of its parts were re-arranged.

Naminé watched her as the final strike of her keyblade caused the creation to collapse into shadow. Her eyes widened and she gasped,  “That’s...that’s it. That’s what’s missing.” She reached out to the crystal ball as Kairi let her blade vanish. “It’s not Roxas’ keyblade I need to call, it’s hers.”

“Exactly. In order to accelerate your growth, we will need you to make contact with the princess. Naturally, we cannot allow you to go unaccompanied.” Marluxia turned to Roxas, Axel and Zexion. “You will escort her to the princess and ensure swift extraction once Naminé has established a sufficient connection. Understood.” 

Roxas nodded. “Understood. We’ll keep her safe.”

“Good. Then there is one other matter.” Marluxa looked down at Roxas, his eyes narrowing.

“How did you become aware of Kairi?”

Just hearing the question from Marluxia was like having ice shoved into Roxas’ gut, as did hearing Axel’s. “Say, it wouldn’t happen to be related to how you know about Riku, would it?”

“If I had to take a stab in the dark,” Larxene leaned towards Roxas as she guessed, “You learned about them because of Naminé, didn’t you?”

Roxas was already having a hard time keeping his thoughts together with what was happening. And Larxene getting in his face hardly helped. Still, he managed to work up an answer, “I...saw her drawing them when I visited, and asked about what she was drawing.”

“This interrogation is inane.” Zexion crossed his arms as he spoke up. “Given the circumstances, I think this knowledge is hardly inappropriate for him to know.”

“It’s..honestly not that much of an issue.” Naminé slowly stepped forward, hands to her chest. “His visit’s aren’t really distracting—”

“I will be the judge of that.” Marluxia barely raised his voice, but at its sound Naminé completely stopped. “We cannot lose the progress made with Sora’s memories because of your additional training. It is too critical to our plans.” He walked towards her, hands behind him as she backed towards the wall. “As soon as you are fed, you are to return to your room and resume work. You will see Roxas tomorrow for the mission and no sooner.” 

Roxas’ fist clenched. He couldn’t just stand there, he had to say something, do something! “M—”

“Marluxia, wait.” But before Roxas could, someone else spoke before him. Roxas hoped to hear those words, and he was pretty sure Naminé would have liked them too. But the fact that Larxene said them with a smile only made that cold sensation begin again. “This might work out nicely for us if we pull the right strings.”

Marluxia closed his eyes and remained where he was before Naminé. “Go on.”

“If we want Roxas to beat Sora, then it might be a good idea for him to know Sora.” Larxene smirked as she walked towards Naminé. “And what better way to do that then with the rest of his memories?” Marluxia began to smile and nod, and Roxas just felt the cold sensation gnaw away at him even more.

“Yeah, I’m drawing a line in the sand.” Axel glared at them, causing Marluxia’s expression to fall to a more flat stare. “Messing with Roxas' memories is off the table.”

“I concur.” Zexion stepped forward next to Axel. “If anything went awry, we could lose Roxas completely, and that is something the Organization would not tolerate under any—”

“Relax, I’m not going to send him on a bender for no reason.” Larxene waved off the complaints and rolled her eyes. “I just want Naminé to show him some of those memories. Know the enemy, am I right?” Leaning down to Naminé’s eye level, she asked with a grin. “Do you think you can manage that, little witch?”

Naminé trembled, but didn’t break eye contact as she answered clearly.“Yes, Larxene, I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“Good. I’m so glad you understand your place in all this.” Larxene patted her head, but Naminé cringed at the touch. And Roxas felt the sensation inside of him begin to melt away, being replaced with something simmering. Seeing Naminé so afraid of the two of them...

Roxas was beginning to see why she was so lonely. And he didn’t like it at all.

“Dismissed.” With those words, Marluxia turned and left with Larxene like nothing had happened. While Roxas was left with Naminé, Zexion, and Axel, and the painful silence between them. 

Zexion looked from Naminé back to the door Marluxia and Larxene had left from. “Axel...what has been going on up here?”

“We...can...talk about that later.” Axel gave a nervous smile, “So, Dinner?”

Roxas didn’t feel like answering, all he wanted to do was try and help her. He walked over to her and slowly offered his hand.

In an instant, she grabbed it and held on tightly. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them looked into each other’s eyes. All he could think of was what he wanted to say to her more than anything.

“I’m here for you.” No matter what, he didn’t want her to feel alone and afraid. Not again.

A small smile came to her face as she whispered back. “Thank you.”

Slowly, Naminé began to step forward.“Dinner...sounds nice.” Axel led the way as they walked to get their meals. Though nobody asked why Roxas and Naminé still held hands.

Honestly, Roxas wouldn’t have let go, even if Xemnas himself ordered it.

[juliasjustanidiot]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀 | cc!wilbur soot

the words of ray simmons - cc!wilbur soot x reader

synopsis: you, tommy, and your boyfriend wilbur were to identify the ghost and get out of there. however, some things went a bit off the rails.

tw: slight gore, character death, swearing, uhh horrific themes and a slight anxiety/panic attack.

word count: 3.2K

bonus: this has a lot of platonic mr. tommyinnit content :)

the shrilling sound of screaming from yourself and the young boy behind you rang in your ears as your heartbeat raced with such an intensity you swore your heart was going to combust. the two of you were running as fast as you could down the hallway of the second floor of a suburban home, rushing to get to the stairs and out the front door.

“i can’t die now, i have wives to please!” tommy shouted from behind you, a figure chasing the two of you. you didn’t dare turn around and face it.

“it’s ok, tommy! i have jesus!” you said pulling out a crucifix from your pocket, sticking it in front of you as you ran. the flashlights you two were holding flickered, telling you the ghost was still chasing you relentlessly.

“why didn’t you place it earlier?!” tommy shouted at you as the two of you ran. “you could’ve prevented this thing from hunting us in the first place!”

“i’m sorry, tommy! i didn’t realize that this was all my fault!” you shouted back sarcastically.

“wilbur! wilbur!” tommy called as you both ran around the kitchen with the ghost still chasing you. it was no use, wilbur wouldn’t be able to hear him. at least not until the ghost gave up and the hunt ended. then the radios would begin to work again with the ghost not blocking the frequencies any longer.

this was only tommy’s third ghost hunt and his first time being hunted. to say he was panicking was an understatement.

as your boyfriend sat perfectly safe in the van, you and tommy were forced to run like mad lads around a living room with every exit locked.

you turned the corner finding yourselves in a hallway with doors. you two quickly got to the furthest room and opened it, hurrying in.

shutting the door behind you, you held it closed with your body weight while tommy breathed heavily, shaken up.

a few minutes passed with the two of you like this when finally your flashlights came back on normally and your heartbeat began to normalize, the adrenaline leaving your body.

tommy stopped, flicked the switch on the wall, and turned on the light in what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. a sigh released from his lips, “the wives will be pleased.”

as you let out a small laugh, you could hear over your walky-talky the voice of your boyfriend, wilbur soot from the van. “y/n? tommy? are you guys good?” he asked.

“we’re fine. this thing will hunt in groups, apparently. it doesn’t target specific people it seems.” you informed him, letting him know that the creature was in fact dangerous.

you and tommy exited the room, making your way outside, heading back to find wilbur.

wilbur clicked his tongue. “yeah, as soon as you guys entered the room of the ghost, ghost activity spiked.” he mentioned. “during the hunt, ghost activity went off the charts.”

“yeah, that’s what happens during hunts, wil.” tommy said, matter-of-factly as if he knew so much about ghost hunting and yet he was still a newbie.

“shut up, dickhead.” wilbur responded, a small giggle released from your mouth. you shook your head with a soft smile. there was the brotherly bickering between the two that everyone knew and loved.

“how’s our sanity looking, wil?” you said as you headed out the door of the haunted house, tommy behind you. you decided it was best to get back on track if you wanted to get this job done as soon as possible.

“sanity is looking fine for right now, tommy’s is a little lower than yours, love. which explains a lot, really,” he said, egging tommy on.

tommy was quick to respond as soon as you two entered the van. “oh shut up, you big fuckin-“

you turned around to stare at tommy with a small glare. he closed his mouth slowly, taking the hint.

wilbur passed the two of you, walking to the equipment, picking up an emf reader. “i’ll go in with the emf. it’s the upstairs bathroom, right?”

you nodded in confirmation. “right. be careful, wil. this thing is vicious.” he nodded, putting on a headcam similar to the one you were wearing so anyone could watch from the van.

“actually, tommy, why don’t you stay here? i’ll go with wil to place down the book so we can check for ghost writing.” you suggested, turning your head to look at the blonde-haired teen.

“what? why?” he protested. “i can go too!” he spread his arms, looking at you like a child that had just been rejected- which was exactly what he was. “i’m a big man, y/n! tell them wil!” he looked to wilbur expectantly.

wilbur turned to him, looking him up and down, wrinkling up his nose and shaking his head. “no.”

pointing to a monitor on the wall, you showed tommy his sanity percentage projecting on the large screen. “your sanity is gonna drop every second you step foot in there. mine’s a little higher than yours. it only makes sense that i go in before you so that you don’t lose too much. plus, this is still only your second time doing this. something could easily go wrong.”

“third.”

“plus,” wilbur chimed in, stopping for a moment. “we wouldn’t want the wives to be upset if we lost you.” you turned, grabbing the journal from one of the supply shelves and let out a small laugh. he put an around arm your shoulder, leaning some of his weight onto you.

“pft, yeah. exactly.” you agreed, lifting your head to flash wilbur a smile. he looked to you and gave you a similar one, his brown eyes staring into your own.

tommy watched from where he stood as the two of you did your weird “couple thing” while you both made fun of the boy. his eyes narrowed and his whole face scrunched as he let out a groan. “uuugggh. you two are disgusting!”

“oh, tommy.” wilbur sighed. “still so much to learn.” he released you and exited the van with you following him.

“we’d better get this job done quickly. this ghost is only going to get angrier.” you mentioned, finally getting back to business.

“yeah, well, tell that to the innit man himself. he’s the one who kept getting sidetracked.” wilbur mumbled as you entered the family home’s entrance, turning on your flashlights so you could see where you were going.

“wil, don’t bully the kid, he’s still getting a hang of things. and it isn’t just him that’s getting sidetracked.”

“wilbur? y/n? wilbuuuur.” as if on cue, the voice of a teenager rang through your ears on your walkie-talkies.

with a groan, wilbur grabbed the small device and clicked it on. “what, child?”

“the ghost’s name is ray simmons,” he said loudly, making your ears hurt.

“jesus, tommy, back up from the microphone,” you complained, turning the corner and heading up the stairs of the home.

“is this good?” his voice was only louder making your ears hurt even more. you’ve never wanted to hit a child more than now.

“alright, bye tommy.” you grumbled and shut off your device. “how did you meet this kid again?” you asked wilbur who was trailing behind you. he only let out a chuckle after shrugging.

with a roll of your eyes, you opened the door of the ghost infested bathroom and placed the book on the sink. you waited for wilbur to scan the room for emf, letting him check everything.

“oh, here,” he said as he just remembered something, “look for fingerprints or something with the uv light.” he tossed the uv flashlight to you. you caught it swiftly and clicked it on, shutting off the lights in the room. you started with the door, finding nothing there. you then surveyed the rest of the room, again, finding nothing.

“nothing with the uv. let’s get out of the room for a bit and check the cams. then we can come back and look for writing.” you suggested as wilbur pocketed the emf reader.

tommy and yourself had already set up a camera in the corner of the bathroom to look for a ghost orb and checked for freezing temperatures upon your first time entering the room. you already knew it was freezing the minute you walked into the room, it literally felt like a freezer. but it didn't hurt to check and you were correct. the room was in fact below freezing.

“actually, i think we have our answer for ghost writing.” wilbur pointed to the book with his flashlight from where he stood, illuminating it, and revealing some odd drawings.

“well, quite the artist this one,” you muttered, staring at the strange demonic drawings. wilbur came up from behind you, getting a closer observation of the obscure drawings.

“we’ve got ghost writing, fingerprints. all we need is one more piece of evidence and we’ve got our ghost,” he said, moving to the door to exit. “let’s head back to the van and watch the cams.” with a nod, you followed him out, closing the door behind you two.

entering the van, you noticed something wrong.

“wilbur?” you called, turning your head to see wilbur still walking back.

“yeah?” he looked up to you.

“where the hell is tommy?”

“shit.” wilbur cursed under his breath, observing the inside of the van to find no sight of the teenager. picking up his communication device, he quickly clicked it on. “tommy?” he called.

after a few seconds, you finally got a response. “hi, wilbur!” the boy said, a bit of static also playing through the device.

“tommy? where the fuck are you?”

“i’m ghost hunting, wil!” he shouted into the comms.

you went into the computer and clicked the mouse to watch the camera you had set up in the room.

“no ghost orb.” you told wil. you watched as tommy entered the bathroom on the monitor. “tommy, get your ass out here.” you grabbed the walky-talky from wil’s hand and put it up to your own mouth.

“no can do, y/n! i’m talking to ray simmons currently.” he said to you.

“don’t say it’s name-“

“ray says to leave me alone. we’re talking!” if him and the ghost are talking, that could only mean that tommy was using the spirit box or the ouija board.

“fuck.” you thrusted the walky-talky into wilbur’s chest and walked over to the supply shelves picking up some sanity pills. you popped them into your mouth and swallowed them. stuffing some more into your pocket, you gathered a smudge stick and lighter in case things got a bit out of hand.

“y/n, what are you doing?” wilbur asked as he watched you equip all of your things. he stared at you with a curious look.

“i’m getting our wifehaver.” quickly, you turned on your heel and sped to the house.

“be careful, love!” he shouted to you, worried for your safety. however, he trusted you. you both had been in this job for a while. you knew what you were doing.

storming into the house, you quickly ran up the stairs to the ghost room and opened the door with great force. you found tommy sitting in the tub with the spirit box in hand.

“what the fuck are you doing?” you shouted at tommy, quickly grabbing the box from his hand.

tommy looked up to you, looking confused as hell. “what? i’m talking to ray simmons!” speedily, you clasped a hand over his mouth.

“don’t say the ghost’s name, idiot.” grabbing him by his arm, you pulled him up by his feet and made a beeline to the door. you shoved the sanity pills into his hand, forcing him to take them. “what did it say to you?” you asked, aggravated. he was so stupid, going in alone like that. he could’ve died.

“turns out mr. simmons is quite old! he was also telling me the letter ‘e’ quite often for some reason.”

lifting your walky-talky, you called for wilbur. “yeah?” you heard wil’s soft voice from your end.

“tommy managed to get our last piece of evidence. spirit box. it’s a demon.” you told him, making your way down the steps, tommy tagging along.

“if it’s a demon, it can start hunting at any moment. get out of there, now.” wilbur suggested. you of course already knew that. you didn’t want to stick around any longer than you had to. demons were always very aggressive.

“anything else that it said to you, tommy?” you asked him out of curiosity. as you got close to your escape, you felt a sense of relief. you now had all your evidence. the three of you could pack up and take your pay, and head home. the exterminators could do the rest.

“i think he said the word “ill”.” he shrugged it off. “or maybe it was “kill”? ray is a bit mental, aye?” immediately, you turned your head to tommy with a very troubled expression.

“what?”

as soon as the word had left your mouth, the door in front of you slammed shut. you let go of tommy and ran over to it, trying to open it with all your might.

“oh fuckin’ shitting hell.” you cursed aggressively. you grabbed tommy and pulled him next to you, keeping a protective stance with him behind you.

“wilbur?” you talked into your comms, seeing if you could get a hold of him at all. “wilbur?”

“y/n?” you could hardly make out due to the large amount of static and blockage in your communication. “get- there- now. huntin-“ you couldn’t understand him, but you knew he was telling you to get the hell out of there and you were definitely trying.

tommy shook your arm from behind you, confused and freaking out. “uhhmmm, y/n? y/n? what’s happened?”

“it’s hunting, tommy. you kept saying it’s name and now it’s angry.” you grumbled.

“yeah? well ray’s a pussy.” he argued.

“tommy, if you don’t shut the fuck-“

“aaaahhh!” tommy shouted, pointing in front of you. directing your gaze to the direction that tommy pointed in, your eyes widened at the thing you now were looking at. the adrenaline you had pent up earlier from the chase before now came rushing back.

there in front of you stood a tall man with his face completely drained of color and eyes that were so empty they sent a chill down your spine. his left arm was missing with a hunk of bone sticking out of his flesh and his clothes were completely torn up.

you grabbed tommy, shoved him in front of you and started bolting as the thing chased you.

“dammit, run, tommy!” sprinting, you two made a run for it through the kitchen, and into the dining area, circling around that area a couple times.

“leave us alone, bitch!” tommy shouted to the demon as he started running for the garage.

“tommy! no!” you cried to him, trying to stop him by grabbing his arm, but he was already entering the garage.

unfortunately, before you could warn tommy, the demon detected him and chased him in there where he would be completely cornered.

darting to the garage door, you grabbed the smudge stick and prepared to light it with the lighter you had taken in with you.

peeking in, you saw tommy in the far corner of the garage, there was no way he could escape from the demon in time to make it out alive. you had to do something and fast.

you motioned to light the smudge stick and jump in to save tommy, but with all the pressure and anxiety you were feeling, your hands fumbled and the lighter fell from your hands.

“fuck!” you hissed, picking it up swiftly.

an alarming scream hit your ears, forcing you to turn and look. you wish you hadn’t.

“shit, tommy!” you roared, rushing in no matter what danger there was.

entering the garage, you didn’t see the demon in sight. it seemed to have gone elsewhere, deciding it had done its job.

in the corner of the garage sat tommy, motionless and limp.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, repeated in your head as you ran over to his body, dropping the stick and lighter on the ground to touch tommy, trying to shake him awake. “tommy, come on.” you cried out as if he could hear you.

you heard rapid footsteps making their way towards you. grabbing the smudge stick and lighter, you flicked the lighter on, prepared.

bursting in was your boyfriend wilbur, out of breath and panting, searching for you. “y/n! i saw it on your headcam! what’s-“

once he caught sight of you, he let out a deep exhale and stopped in the middle of his sentence. but he could sense something was wrong. “y/n.” he breathed your name, walking over to you as you relaxed with the smudge stick and lighter.

“tommy. he’s-“ you fell apart, breaking into a state of just absolute panic and anxiety. shaking all over, your breathing was all over the place. you grabbed at your hair, tugging slightly to feel pressure on your skull. “fuck. he was- the demon- he’s dead.” you cried out.

wilbur grabbed your wrists tightly, forcing you to let go of your hair. “oh, love.” he sighed, pulling your body to him, placing your hands around his neck and burying your face in his chest while he buried his own into your hair, breathing in your scent.

the two of you stayed like this, your eyes never leaving tommy’s cold body. wilbur took notice of this and finally pulled away, grabbing your face, opting you to stare into his eyes. “hey. you’re ok. you did everything you could.” he told you, trying to reassure you. “you’re ok. yeah?”

you nodded your head, letting out a few shaky breaths. the both of you stood up and headed for the door.

“let’s get out of here.” wilbur put an around you, rubbing your shoulder gently, calming you down slowly.

entering the van, you both sighed. after that job, you knew things would be a bit different now. you would have to be more careful next time you took tommy ghost hunting.

“well, at least it was tommy and not you.” wilbur said with optimism. you turned to him giving him a small smile.

“yeah, but now he’s going to hold a grudge against me and try and get me killed all of next round.” you grumbled.

clicking a few keys on your keyboard, you marked the ghost type as a demon and started up the van, making your way back to the lobby.

there in the lobby, stood tommy’s character. immediately as he saw you two, he unmuted on discord and started shouting and cursing both of you out.

“you two are so fucking disgusting! while i died you two were doing your couple shit and making out through the game and all that disgusting shit!” he blasted into his microphone. “while my chat went ‘aww so cute!’ i was laying there dead and couldn’t do anything about it, you dickheads!”

you and wilbur couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “oh, tommy. we love playing phasmophobia with you too.”

(bonus) tommy’s pov:

as tommy watched in his ghostly form, y/n and wilbur’s characters stared at each, their heads completely inside each other’s, causing the game to combine them. with a disgusted tone, he huffed. “you motherfuckers.”

·  · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·  ·  

edited by @faithajo24​.

taglist: @etheriaaly

[yeenybeanies]

21. “Give me one reason not to kill you.” Seems like it would be good for any of your particularly scary/deadly characters

PROMPTS! PROMPTS! PROMPTS!

21. “give me one reason not to kill you.” ohoho i have a couple of deadly characters for sure! & i’ve been wanting to do more stuff in the dc universe too :> dc | raleigh november / hawkmoth ( oc ) & bruce wayne / batman 2,100 words mild language warning enjoy!!

Raleigh’s hands were shaking. They balled them into fists in an attempt to stop the tremors, and took a deep breath. Focus. They couldn’t wait anymore. This had to be done. Tonight.

From the bushes they hid in, they gazed upon the laboratory building. The sun had long set, and many of the building’s staff had left a while ago. From what they could see from the outside, only a few lights remained on.

There had to be answers in there. Somewhere, there was something that had information on where Raleigh’s parents were.

Oh, their poor parents. Raleigh’s own treatment had been bad enough; their gut twisted at the thought of what they might be going through right now. Assuming they were still alive.

No. They refused to believe that their parents were dead. They couldn’t be dead. 

Raleigh took another breath to steady themself, then pulled their scarf up over their nose. It was time for Hawkmoth to get to work.

Being four inches tall came with some benefits. For one, it was very easy to squeeze in through tiny gaps and get into the building. Spaces under doors, ventilation shafts, and ceiling tiles were all viable routes to take. Hawkmoth hid wherever they could and eavesdropped on the idle chatter of the late night lab staff, listening for anything that might have to do with them or their parents. After nearly an hour of nothing, their frustration was at an all-time high. There had to be answers here! There had to be SOMETHING here! If they had to, they would tear this place apart at the seams for information. "Do you have the results from the DNA analysis?" That voice. That voice made Hawkmoth's blood run cold. They stopped in their tracks, momentarily overtaken by memories, then darted for a hiding space behind a monitor. That voice belonged to one of the attendants. She was with the people that took Hawkmoth's family! Their blood went from cold to boiling. Hawkmoth peeked out from behind the monitor. The owner of the voice, a middle aged woman with blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, had her back to them. She was talking to another attendant about some probably-super-unethical project she was working on.

Frustration turned to rage. Hawkmoth grit their teeth and started to make their way around the room, darting between more monitors and equipment for cover. Once they reached the door, they pulled it closed and jammed the lock. 

The commotion drew both attendants’ attention. Hawkmoth didn’t try to hide anymore. They flew higher, just above eye level, and glowered at the woman.

“Remember me?”

The other attendant––a young man in need of a haircut––held up his clipboard and tried to swat at Hawkmoth. They didn’t bother moving. As the board came down on them, they swung their arm, snapping it clean in two without any harm to their person.

The people that experimented on them may have shrank them down, but they still retained the strength of their former six-foot-four self. Maybe even more. But that wasn’t the most dangerous thing they’d done to them.

Hawkmoth held out their hand, fingers splayed, and channeled their power. The man looked ready to swat again, but stumbled before he could take another step. He fell to his knees, overcome with a dizzy, sickening feeling. Odd orbs of light started to glow around Hawkmoth’s body. The man’s strength––his very energy––was being sapped. In a matter of seconds, he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.

The woman stared on in shock and horror, looking between the man and Hawkmoth. She tried to speak, but couldn’t form anything intelligible over her stammering.

“Shut up,” Hawkmoth barked. They zipped forward, quickly closing the space between her and them. She shrank back, arms held up to protect her face. “Tell me where my mom and dad are.”

“Y-your...––what?”

“My parents! Your people took my family! You did this to me! Where are my parents!” As their anger started to spill, the glowing concentrated around their hands. They could feel their energy growing as they slowly started to absorb the woman’s life too.

“I don’t––I don’t––khh! I don’t know!” Her knees shook until they buckled under her. She couldn’t muster the energy to scream as she was being drained. Her voice couldn’t go higher than a desperate whisper. “Lots of f-families! Lots of people! I don’t know where your parents––hnn!––are! Please!”

This wasn’t helping. Hawkmoth growled. They clenched their fist. The odd glow formed around the woman and contracted, squeezing her tight.

That was new.

“If you can’t help me...” they started, voice low and threatening, “then give me one reason... one good fucking reason... not to kill you.” Between the squeezing and the continued draining, the woman couldn’t choke out more than a few weak pleas for mercy.

The door behind them burst open, nearly knocked off of its hinges.

“Because you’re not a killer.”

That was another voice they knew. It elicited a different kind of rage in Hawkmoth. They swiveled in the air to face the constant thorn in their side, the Batman himself. He stepped through the doorway and stared Hawkmoth down, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t know me,” they retorted bitterly. “Just because you know my name doesn’t mean that you know anything about me.”

Behind them, the woman continued to gasp. Her head fell limply to her chest. Batman took another step forward, and Hawkmoth tensed.

“Throughout your high school record, you have multiple accounts of altercations with school bullies, defending their victims. You volunteered much of your time at homeless shelters. You pushed a child out of the path of a distracted cyclist, resulting in your own injury. You––”

“Shut UP!” Hawkmoth lifted their arm, and the woman jumped up from the floor, suspended in the air. The motion startled both the Bat and the Moth.

That... was also new.

Batman held up his hands, trying to placate. He dared to take another step. “Raleigh... Put her down. You don’t want to hurt her.”

“I do! Shut up! I want everyone that hurt me and my family to suffer! I want––” A sickening sensation flooded into Hawkmoth, making them shudder. They looked over their shoulder at the woman dangling above the floor. She was no longer gasping, nor struggling. Her breath was shallow. Hawkmoth could feel her energy nearly depleted. If they drained any more from her, she would die. They would kill her.

And they couldn’t do it.

Hawkmoth tossed the woman towards Batman with a wave of their arm. He lunged to catch her, and checked her pulse. It was weak, but she was alive. Carefully he set her down in the recovery position, and turned his attention back to Hawkmoth. They sank to the floor and fell to their knees, wings drooping behind them. Their face was pale, eyes out of focus.

“Raleigh––”

“Hawkmoth,” they interject.

“...Hawkmoth. I want to help you.” Batman approached and knelt in front of them. They continued to stare at the floor, pointedly not looking at him. “I don’t know what it’s like to be in your situation exactly... but I do know what it’s like to lose people I care about.”

“They’re not dead.”

“I didn’t say they were. I truly do hope that they’re still alive.” He leaned in a little bit more. “When was the last time you ate?”

Hawkmoth’s brow furrowed. They tipped their head up, craning their neck. “When was the last time I... ate?” That was quite the topic change. “Um... I don’t know... Maybe a few days ago.” They spoke it as a question, very confused.

Batman––Bruce––felt a pang in his heart. This wayward vigilante-in-the-making reminded him of his own wards––particularly Jason. “Come with me. My butler is an incredible cook.”

They pressed their lips in a line. “I’m... actually not hungry.” Which was a surprise to them. They distinctly remember being hungry earlier, but now...

Oh god.

A haunted expression crossed their face. Batman seemed to have the same revelation.

“My guess is that you can sustain yourself by absorbing the energy from other beings,” he said.

Hawkmoth gagged. They doubled over themself, hands to the floor, and dry heaved. Their little body shook with the effort. Batman was hesitant, but he felt compelled to reach out. Very gently, he rubbed a knuckle between their wings. For a moment, they tensed under his touch, but they didn’t move away.

“I’ve been vegetarian for ten years...” they said weakly. Batman huffed. 

“I think you still are,” he offered. “I wouldn’t consider this a violation of your vegetarianism. But, regardless... I would still like for you to come with me. You’d have access to my resources. We can find your parents easier together than we can apart.”

Hawkmoth’s wings twitched, warding Batman’s hand away. They pushed themself to sit on their knees again, head bowed. They remained silent for a long moment, pondering the offer. When they looked up to meet his eyes, they squared their shoulders and put on a determined face.

“Okay. But I’m not one of your sidekicks. I’m no Robin.”

Batman’s lips quirked up in a ghost of a smirk. “No. You’re Hawkmoth.” He set a hand down to Hawkmoth’s right, palm up. They gave him a quizzical look.

“I can... fly, y’know,” they said. Their wings fluttered for emphasis.

“I imagine how those are grafted onto you isn’t comfortable. But if you’d prefer to fly...” He kept his hand in place, letting them decide what they wanted to do. They considered it for a few more moments, then stood up and tentatively stepped into the gloved palm. His fingers curled behind them, and he lifted them with ease.

While this was certainly not their first time being carried, it was a little strange this time around. The scientists in the facility never offered their hands; they forced them. They handled them harshly, like they were a puppet. They poked and prodded. They didn’t treat them like a human.

Hell, were they even human anymore?

Batman’s movements snapped them out of their mental spiral before they could lose themself in it. His pace was quickening. Hawkmoth knelt down in his hand, wings held up for better balance. Batman was not a small man, but, amazingly, he had a talent for moving silently. He traveled through the hallways, expertly avoiding any staff and security systems. Even without the use of one of his hands, he maneuvered about the building, and made it to the outside in record time.

It was really very impressive. He made it through better than they had, and they were four inches tall!

Batman brought them to the Batmobile, the vehicle’s door flipping up upon their arrival. Hawkmoth flew up from his hand and slipped into the passenger’s seat. It was almost comical how little space they took up. They looked like a child’s toy.

Batman took the driver’s seat and quickly set the vehicle down the street. Once they were a fair distance along, his fingers relaxed against the wheel. One hand released it to pull his cowl from his face, showing Bruce Wayne underneath.

He’d revealed himself to Hawkmoth the last time they’d met, but it was still a shock to see the Bruce Wayne as the caped crusader. It made them reluctant to pull their scarf down, despite the fact that he’d definitely seen them without it multiple times now.

“Alfred,”Bruce said, tapping the screen in the dashboard, “have a room prepared; I’m bringing someone home. They’ll need some special accommodations.” He glanced over to Raleigh, one brow quirked. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

They shook their head. “I'm not sure I’d be able to keep anything down right now.”

A posh-sounding British man answered with a polite “Very good, sir” over the comm, then the cabin fell silent again, save for the humming of the engine. Raleigh contemplated their situation. They... were joining up with Batman. Up until now, he’d been a nuisance to them. But he’d stopped them from killing that woman. In the moment, they’d let their rage, their hurt, their fear take over. Raleigh hugged their knees to their chest and bowed their head, eyes closed. Their chest vacated with a heavy sigh.

They should thank him, they thought. If nothing else, they should thank him. He didn’t have to take them with him. Hell, he didn’t even have to help them. Maybe they would later.

For now, though, they let themself feel some relief. Tonight, they wouldn’t be sleeping in the walls of a grocery store.

[little-luthottie]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers & Lena Luthor, Querl Dox/Nia Nal, Eliza Danvers & Lena Luthor, Alex Danvers & Eliza Danvers & Kara Danvers Characters: Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-El, Lena Luthor, Alex Danvers, Nia Nal, J'onn J'onzz | Hank Henshaw, Eliza Danvers, Brainy, Querl Dox, Lori Luthor, sc oc kid Additional Tags: SuperCorp, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Kidfic, supercorp kidfic, Mild Angst, but I swear it gets fluffy, they just want to have start a family, dansen isnt meantioned but assume that its happening okay, they're in LOVE your honour, Married Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, KARA AND LENA ARE MARRIED AND HAPPY, ...mostly, they sad but then they happy again, mentions of death but nothing graphic, Promise Summary:

"Its just hearing the heartbeat of their child for the first time only for it to slowly give in and there is absolutely nothing they— she with all her superpowers could do, Kara doesn’t feel any bit of the hero she’s come to be. Not a single ounce , not when their child’s vitals were slowly deteriorating and watching as Alex and Eliza flounder around for ways to stop yet another foetus from dying. Lena’s on the medical bed doing all she can to aid in keeping their child alive , even if its just to keep her own heart rate steady."

Kara and Lena are ready to expand their family but complications keep them from it. Kara's at her limit and is so close to losing hope ...

until she finds her

and then everything changes.

_______________________

The heart rate monitors beeps are slow as if trying to tell Kara she can’t stop the inevitable. That again she’ll lose someone dear. Its only their third time and they knew going in this wouldn’t easy. But Lena was determined she could do it and Kara believed in her wife.

Its just hearing the heartbeat of their child for the first time only for it to slowly give in and there is absolutely nothing they— she with all her superpowers could do, Kara doesn’t feel any bit of the hero she’s come to be. Not a single ounce , not when their child’s vitals were slowly deteriorating and watching as Alex and Eliza flounder around for ways to stop yet another foetus from dying. Lena’s on the medical bed doing all she can to aid in keeping their child alive , even if its just to keep her own heart rate steady.

This time around they’ve opted for an artificial womb. One that could support the genes of a half human and half kryptonian baby since the others…failed to. Lena’s idea after their last try and everything seemed to be going well. In fact little Lori survived far longer than her other two siblings had— yes they’d gotten enough hope to name her and now, now it feels like that hope is slowly shattering , another crack for every painfully delayed heartbeat. Its only a matter of moments before she says goodbye to her sweet girl but Kara can’t stomach the idea of being here for another flatline. Another deafening, gut wrenching beep taunting her , ripping away a future she so desperately craves. So leaves , she flies out of there fast enough that when everyone realises she’s gone , she only barely here’s the whisper of her name from Lena’s lips.

It’s the final punch to the dam before the wall completely breaks and out gushes the tears. She’s far away and at a high enough altitude not to be seen , she doesn’t think she could handle the publics questions as to why their golden girl was spotted a sobbing mess in the sky.

In that instance her eyes , though blurred by tears , find the star she once called home. Kara finds herself go silent , her chest still rising and falling rapidly but despite the shallow breaths of all the sobs she’d just erupted , she’s completely still. As if in a weird limbo , floating in the air above the city that’s seemed to have gone silent like its paying its respects to the hero and her losses.

 She’s just there. Floating. Staring. Waiting. For what she doesn’t know. Her tears have ceased and its remains slowly drying on her cheeks it feels like there’s a sign waiting to be shown. That if she stays up here long enough she’ll find it , see it , hear it.

 And she does. The sound of loud wailing muffled by every other sound of the night which resurfaces right as the wails start. Before Kara knows it she’s following the sound , zipping through the skies , between buildings until she finds it.

 Not it, her.

 There in a dilapidated cardboard box that looks about ready to fall apart is a bundle wrapped in white cloth. For a moment the blonde just freezes in her tracks , her feet hovering mere inches from the ground as she watches the baby , who seems to be barely older than a few months scream for her missing family. The moment her boots touches the concrete of the alley the child’s crying halts.

And like before there is this moment of silence , a moment of serenity between the two. Its in this moment of what feels like sizing up that Kara notices the golden wisps of blond locks flicked in wayward strands and the most enchanting green eyes. There’s this intelligent curiosity to them , and the blonde kryptonian can’t help but compare them to similar orbs she knows so well and loves.

It becomes abundantly clear what she must do. What she will do. Kara unclips her cape from her shoulders and reaches down to swaddle the bundle who feels alarming cold. However the little girl makes no sound but stares in wonder , green eyes twinkling in the dim florescent light. Once she knows the baby is tucked snuggly in her cape she takes off into the sky ,mindful of the precious cargo.

 She lands at the tower once again and watches everyone hault at her presence. There’s a silence once again but this one doesn’t feel as comforting , this one she fears is filled with pity and sorrow. She wants to take off again, she can feel her heart rate start to pick up , especially at the confused and alarmed stares Alex and Eliza are giving her right now. She’s just about to take off when the small bundle shifts in her arms , eyes now closed as she sleeps soundly. For a minute Kara is stunned by how immediate the child had taken to her and couldn’t help but think how perfect she seemed not to mention the physical traits that made her seem as if somehow , in some twisted way the universe had given her , given them this precious gift.

 “Kara?” Lena calls , standing a few feet off right before her. She’s in the sweatpants and old college hoodie Lena loves to wear on days she can spare to sleep in.

Karas focus is immediately brought back to reality , back to the point of why she was here , why everyone seemed concerned and she can’t believe she almost forgot. Almost.

 “Look Lee just hear me out okay?” the blond says and hovers over to her wife. Lena seems exhausted and all but ready to go home but she still nods , still humours Kara anyways.

“I just- I’m sorry I left but I couldn’t take another second and I just needed a moment by myself to grieve the loss of our baby”

“Kara-“ Lena tries , but Kara’s on a role she needs to vent all of this right now or otherwise she won’t be able to explain herself properly.

“I know I left you alone in that moment and I’m sorry Lena really-“ the blonde steps forward scared Lena might leave because of it. “but I just lost it and I couldn’t understand why we keep losing them. I don’t want to keep losing them!”

 Kara stops. Knowing she’s raised her voice , can see the alarm in everyone’s eyes and the sympathy. She shuts her eyes , takes a breath and focuses on the movements of the little one in her arms. When she opens them there are those curious green staring at her and its doubled when she looks from the baby to Lena. She knows Lena finally noticed the bundle , realised what it was and is now worried.

 “Kara whose baby..” Lena trails off as if scared to finish that sentence in fear of what the answer will be.

 And no! She’s got it all wrong. Kara would never— no matter how distraught.

“No no no! Lee this- that’s what I’m trying to tell you this baby was abandoned in an alley! I heard her cries and immediately rushed over—she was just there in this tattered box. She was confused by why the people who were supposed to love her-“ Kara consciously pulls the bundle closer , “just left and here we are-struggling to just-And I just had to do the right thing and save her but I thought what if. What if this is our chance?”

Kara is now smiling down at the little girl , whose eyes never leave her and misses the way Lena reaches for her stomach and then grabs Kara’s bicep.

“Darling I understand” the brunette says earnestly , unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “we have been through unbearable pain with the last two pregnancies and I understand your pain believe me” a tear slips down Lena’s cheek and the first instinct is to wipe it away. Lena should know its not because of her body , that there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with her. So she moves in to tell her but Lena just squeezes her bicep. Those green eyes so intelligent and vibrant , shines with a knowingness Kara is so familiar with. As if she had the power to read her mind , Kara wouldn’t be surprised if Lena could though she-

What was that?.

Her train of thought out the window as Lena guides the arm not supporting the bundle to her stomach and- oh.

There it is , loud and persistent as if scolding Kara for doubting it , doubting her.

“Lori?” just the name alone makes the tears fall from Kara’s eyes once again. How could she have missed that? Her daughters heartbeat. That was once so weak is at a steady rate. Their baby made it. They’re going to have a baby!

She finds Lena’s eyes , tears falling as well , the knowingness shining so bright. Kara thinks its more the pure relief of not losing another child. She pulls her wife in , hugs her as tight as is humanly possible with one arm. She feels so happy , so filled with love and hope.

And that’s when their little guest grunts , probably shocked by the sudden confined space and Kara laughs , just pure joy ripping out from her lungs as if it was held captive there for too long.

“I’m sorry little one” the blonde loosens her grip but doesn’t let’s go of Lena. She still keeps her close. Now there’s two pairs of forest green eyes staring at her and she’s surprised by how enraptured she is by both.

“Lee I , I can’t abandon her too. Please-“

“Kara I would never do that.” Lena pushes the sides of the cape aside so she has a view of the cherub face. “its not going to be easy but we can make this work. In any case we did agree on a big family” the grin that splits onto Lena’s face is enough for Kara’s heart to feel as if it just grew that much bigger. After all these years Lena could still make her so happy , feel so loved and understood.

 “Now hand her to me so I can check her vitals” Lena takes the bundle from Kara’s arms , cradles her close and steps away towards the medbay Alex and Eliza have been in this whole time eavesdropping.

“What why? Did I hurt her?” Kara immediately frowns and follows , notices now how everyone hadn’t moved since she’d flown in and now seem to have found it in themselves to move and act busy. Shameful.

“No honey but you did say you found her in an Alley and we need to see if she’s suffered any harm from it.”

 “oh” is all Kara says , and watches how Lena unwraps the bundle to reveal the baby in a soft pink onesie. She still doesn’t make any cries of protest but just watches Lena with those intelligent eyes.

And Lena’s smiling. Smiling the whole time. From checking her heart rate with the stethoscope to taking her temperature with a thermometer , Lena smiles and is so gentle with the little girl it makes her heart melt.

“So I’ve got two nieces now huh” Alex remarks , nudging her side with an elbow. Kara watches as Eliza goes to aid Lena in her tests and it makes her rock back and forth on her heels for a bit.

“Yeah” Kara grins and looks to her sister with such a wide smile her cheeks are protesting. She’s giddy , she can’t even contain it. At one point tonight she’d thought she would never have this but here they are. Two girls. One on the way and one already here. Granted they would have to go through the right adoption processes but there’s no doubt that, that baby is already theirs. How could there be when Eliza rocks the child gently in her arms while Lena stands at the computer probably waiting for test results, a hand caressing her stomach while her attention is on the blonde little girl whose seem to have everyone gravitating towards her as Nia , Kelly , J'onn and even Brainy enters the room.

“despite it being so early and you guys actually have to legally adopt her still-“

“I know Alex but-“

“Hey I’m not raining on your parade okay? I know how long you’ve been waiting for this and I have every bit of faith you’ll get custody of her” Alex grabs her sisters shoulder and squeezes it gently. Kara needs more than that though , so she pulls her sister in a little too tight of a hug and laughs at the grunts Alex dramatically elates but she hugs her back nonetheless.

“so you have a name yet?” Alex asks after they pull away.

Kara turns to where their family is surrounding Lena , who is now holding the baby.

It’s the purest sight , the most wholesome. A vision of everything she has desired right before her.

“Well I need to run it by Lena first but yeah” she turns back to her sister , eyes twinkling  with mirth.

“Elan”

___

hope y’all liked it uwu

[psychemeanscure]

PART 22

“Please... Please wake up now loco.”

Her continuous plead that seem to be a strong order she needed to convey as if it was the only way to let him open his eyes. Only to hear the devil’s sniggering laughter. “See what’s more gratifying now, little pea?”

Its tenacious words which still left unattended for her liking for she can only glare, glistening substance of tears begins to drizzle. “Yeah. I, as your father got the chance to play with you my daughter.” and as if she was being responded by her silent protest.

Yet instead of entertaining the old man, she chooses to turn her eyes back to him. “Cabrón. Cabrón please, wake up. Jang Taeyoung!”

But nothing. Jang Taeyoung doesn’t even give a slightest flinch as he still remained heads down hard for her to see him fully as well. Clicking of tongue from the geezer was heard instead as it approaches his unconscious body. Pulling out an Opinel pocket knife she didn’t notice but now. Terrified for him, she jolted.

“What are you trying to do?! F*ck, don’t hurt him!”

She’s bawling mad! But neither of it was followed. The old Alcaziar was just laughing to its extent, positioning itself behind Jang Taeyoung and in between the tables where the monitors of her foster parents are. A hand tapping the edges of one table while the other’s traces the crook of Jang’s shoulder by the sharpness of its pocket knife.

“How was my gift, little pea? You like it?”

“F*ck you!”

“Oh, don’t be. F*ck you too, my daughter.” It even waves its hand as if it was just a casual talk to say. “Was that your term for I love you Dad? Consider it then. You see my original plan was just your foster parents, but after learning about your acting fiancé here or shall I say your ex-acting fiancé. I instantly changed my mind. And since you are my dear niña, I might just be generous for giving choices. Threesome is enough, isn’t it?”

He’s even in the middle of twirling its knife this time as if checking its own keenness. “I’ll kill you. I swear, I’ll kill you f*cking coño!”

“Hm. My pleasure, mi niña. So shall we? Who would you like to go first? Your choice.”

Its unwavering way of threats still. For what on earth is playing even that her foster Dad starts to regain its consciousness through the monitor aiming to call her attention. Shock evident in its aging orbs the moment it haunted her situation from the other side. “Mi hija!”

“Papá!”

As it wasn’t long also long for her to hear her own screams seeing her papá being stirred on his seat caused by the Alcaziar’s man. “Oh? so your acclaimed daddy yow is awake. Shall we go with him, then?”

When its underling begins to point a gun on his foster father, she lost it. Her rummaging fear erupted. “No!”

Heart racing heavily, incessant shaking of head, eyes shut tightly with flowing tears. “Please, I will do anything you want. Just, just don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt Papá, please!” She begged. Mused face from the latter takes in. “Really? Oh, of course mi niña. Yours truly father will be glad too. Now I’ve been thinking…”

Going back its pace onto her, stroking her hair like a maniac hag adoring the epitome of his delusional creation. “Why not a reenacting will do?” she surrendered.

The crazy man undoing her tied hands behind, guiding her to grip the pistol he pulled out to pointing Jang Taeyoung. Tears became whimpers, hands quiver for coldness, eyes pleading for mercy. For it gotten much worst that just like his foster father had, an underling is also pointing a gun from her still unconscious foster mother.

She’s nowhere to go. The devil’s whisper onto her ear makes her whole stiff even. “So, little pea. It’s either you kill him, or I’ll kill your fosters. Choose.”

It was her index finger being guided on the trigger this time. “Pull it, sweet little pea. Pull it.” Urging voice that just consumes more of her already blurred weeps to the expanse of her helpless orbs. ‘No. please…’ For all she can pray an impossible hope that can let them get out from the living hell they were in.

And it did. Miraculously it did when a surprise bullet hit a skin on the Alcaziar’s face leaving a small scratch. “F*cking coño. What was that?!” as a raging complain passed on to its assistant who came running to its boss.

“An elite gang is attacking us Señor.”

“Que? The hell are you talking about? How can an elite be inv---“

“You?”

A snicker came indeed. But it wasn’t from the hag anymore. It was from him.

“Jang Taeyoung, you bastardo?!”                  

Yes. Jang Taeyoung is finally awake. Or rather, he was all along. He heard it. All of her. But his body wasn’t. He’s trying though but failed. His body seem too slow to react for the only thing he can freely do is to secretly frown and listen. But other than that, he was also waiting.

Time. He’s counting the time until the last tick of his watch he expected it to be, came. They are here, and just as right to claim his strength. “Kill him!”

“No!”

Her hasty protest from the command even but before its two underling could even point a gun to Jang Taeyoung, it was already shot by another bullet. Much precise this time. Chaos was seen to the remaining ones while searching the possible spot of the springer gunman. For he can at least give a small smile to her as well before turning to already brazen Alcaziar. “One pointing gun, and a bullet for you. What will you do now, old man?”

The next thing happened?

Tables turned instantly that it was now the Alcaziar who’s now in the bridge of running to his life. Battles between sharpness of springers and panic of splinters disrupts the area, wrecking possessions tormented by its original form. Yet, one remains intact. The safe haven of their longing stares.

“We’re not done yet, you two.”

The following convicting threat of the Alcaziar as its cowardice escape faded until its exit. But none of its words matter for them that despite his not fully recovered body still, he managed to reach her trembling appearance. Grabbing the pistol from her rigid holds, untying the rest knots that keeps her from being tangled. “M-my parents… What might possibly happen to them now.”

Her worries for her foster parents as she was staring by the wreck LCD TVs, staggered.

Cupping her face as he wipes the tracks of her tiring tears by the tenderness of his caressing thumbs as if she’s a fragile figure needed to handle with upkeep. “They’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

“B-but---

“Just trust me. I’m here. I’m here, Sung Eunyoung.”

“Jang…”

“It’s okay. It’s okay now. Did the bastard hurt you too much?”

For a minute she relieved. Not until she remembered his own situation. Shaking her head, hands went through the hems of his shirt. “Y-your bleeding.” For there it is, her proceeding worries. Eyes nor leaving the said stained. He was about to reply then but before he could manage, Jae came rushing getting his attention. “You’re late.”

“Apologies boss. Just got a little problem with the trackers. But other than that. We really need to get going as possible. The explosives might erupt anytime soon.”

Nodding, he pulls away her hold from his hem. Cupping her face once again obliging to look at him. “Now listen, Sung Eunyoung.” Questioning eyes stared at him as he continued. “As soon as we get out of this cargo, I want you to come with Jae. You understand me?”                

“W-what? Then how about you? And explosives? cargo?”

Her impatient queries certainly while he’s in the middle of assisting her wobbling body to stand up. Accepting hand reaching the gun and painkiller Jae handed. For right then she understands what he is planning. “You’re not in a good shape, Jang Taeyoung. What are you doing?”  

Her hissed disapproval and instead of giving answers to her questions, “We’re on a ship. That’s all I can say to you. Now, no more questions woman. We need to go.”  Just got one out of all, unfortunately. It was even proven the moment they felt its shaking turbulence. As she can only give in a sigh of her disappointment.

Clasping her hand, he finally drags her towing the direction Jae guiding. A passage safe to the enemy’s filthy eyes. For she only realizes then that the ship actually started sailing if not being halt by the attacks. Docks at the end junks far from where their current spot is.

A single motorboat and two were instated, awaiting to be loaded by them. Almost gasp for air when Jang Taeyoung enfolds his hands onto both of her waist, lifts her flawlessly like there weren’t a wound to endure. Arms needed to get a hold of his shoulders then. They were too close where all she could do is stare in silence.

But other than what she’s feeling, she got nervous all of a sudden. For some reason that she needed to catch his hand with hers as soon as he gets her down the motorboat for two. He let her though, even if even she knows it won’t be going to last. Holding her with the same tenderness as he smiled to her, he turns to his assistant.  

“Who’s leading the springers?”

He asked the moment he was handed an ear piece. “Lee, boss.”

“Good. And the Alcaziar?”

“Opposite side of the port.”

Nodding once again, he went back looking at her then. In their hands particularly, rubbing it in circular motion by his thumb, he ask for her understanding. “Now, I really need to go.”

His first word which reciprocated by her persuasion. “Come with us.”

She was gripping tightly on his, this time. She doesn’t know, but she really felt something might happen if she won’t hold into it. “I can’t. It’s now or never Eunyoung-ah.”

“With you in that state? Jang Taeyoung, please.”

Her proceeding plead, just to earn a chuckle instead as if trying to light up the atmosphere a bit. “Yah. I thought you’re eager to take down the old man, now we’ve got the chance, you’re retreating?”

She remained unbothered. Pushing her side still, only being forced to be handed with his assistant. “Take care of her. I’m counting on you.” Its series of command to it before cupping his hand to her face one last time. “See you on the dock.”

And with that Jang Taeyoung swiftly transfers to the single motorboat, jumps with expertise as he drove with speed leaving her sighting his far away figure instead. ‘Just be back, Jang Taeyoung’ for she can silently hope is that. Brushing herself with anxiousness.

“Worried?”  

She was surprised when his assistant talks out of nowhere that she needed to turn her slumping figure to its driving one. Indeed, this was the first time one of them tried to converse with her or rather they ain’t got the chance to. “J-jae, right?” her confirming which answered by its simple nod and smile when he turns to her for a while before she went silent, waiting to its proceeding words which didn’t came even so she initiated instead. Looking the chaos happened from afar now.

“I can’t understand. Letting your boss do what he wants in that shape while all of you, follows. Do underlings really have no say for exceptions than that? You supposed to protect him after all, right?”  

She does see them as mere underlings but looking by his assistant now was a company offering itself as someone to open up with. So she’s dropping the formalities, she opts to. Judging by its appearance they seem to be in the same age anyway. Probably not hard to adjust.

“He’s different. And I think you’re fully aware of that, miss. Besides, how can we stop a boss whose impulses already pulled off its limits by his enemies.”

“Impulses, what?” she’s confused.

Jae simply turns to her once again. “Ms. Sung, who do you think trigger him to do these sorts of recklessness?”

She can only gulp and avoid his gaze into an opposite direction for she need not further elaboration to know the answer. Although not too long after she heard his next words. Straighten like a butler on duty.

“All eyes to Queen.”

Then she felt something’s odd. They already reach the docks but the eerie silence isn’t securing them safety. That’s how she noticed the peering stance of Jae, ratifying the whole vicinity before turning to her with screwed eyes.

“That’s what he ordered. Now, get down!”

And it happened again. The same gunfights which she witnessed just a while ago. Jae was able to duck her head preventing it from any possible attacks, using the motorboat’s hull as shield. Good thing the said boat is as well enough for hiding. “Sh*t! I didn’t see this coming. I’ll definitely be a dead meat to boss after this. Stay put, miss.”

Right then, the assistant pulling out something from a secret compartment revealing a shotgun. Making her ball her eyes bigger. ‘Into how much guns should I see with this battle, por favor!’

The only complain she can think of, yes.

[cosmica-candy]

Chapter two: one pretty fishy

Another chapter written by @mechamastermind​ with illustrations done by yours truly for our Coraline NSR Au!! I apologize for the lack of illustrations 

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING, Abandonment and Neo getting in trouble

Chapter one

Neo was returned back home later as his Daddy grabbed the last of the briefcases, before calling Neo back over. 

“Neo! Come on, help me carry Papa’s luggage up to his room!” 

Neo was stomping around angry cause of the way his father treated him, he got a proper scolding when he came home just for being over the hill with Yinu, to Neo he was out playing with a friend, but to Neon he was out far past where he could see him, and that demanded a scolding apparently.

Neo kicked his feet through the dry piles of dirt, the terrain so old and worn out that a mini cloud of dust filled the surrounding area, leaving Neo to cough and try to fan away the debris. When the dust settled though Neo looked down and saw a glint in the yard. Buried under the falling dust seemed to be a palm sized metallic object, and Neo's natural curiosity would drive him to pick up said object. 

“Neo! Come on!” 

He looked closely at the thing in his hands now, pressing a little button at the top as it sprung open, revealing a system of moving gears and clicking springs. A pocket watch. None like Neo had ever seen, it was clearly very old in design yet shiny despite its age. A jade ring around the minute and hour hands, and the X’s in the roman numerals were all made in gold.

“Woah…” neo simply said, before hearing his daddy call out to him a second time. 

“Coming daddy!”

Neo pocketed the watch and ran after his daddy following him up the stairs. Neon carrying the big heavy briefcase with all of Nova’s shorts, and Neo carrying the small little snow globe with the solar system in it, gently shaking it as they walked up the creaking stairs, and past bits of wallpaper peeling down like the curled nails of an elderly woman. The second story was so much more quiet than the first, the wind blows outside and into the front door, but once it starts making its way upstairs it stops dead in it's tracks. The insects they refuse to chirp on the second story, instead they do their best to crawl through the walls of the mansion without disturbing a thing. Even the wood of the stairs as they go up begins to silence itself, as creaks become quieter and quieter with each step, until even the wood falls peacefully somber. The second story was so much more quiet, it was certainly peaceful in its own way. 

But even silence has its own killer, and does not live forever. As the quiet and dull silence that has draped over the second floor is suddenly cut down in its prime by a deep gutteral animalistic growling, air flowing in and out of a mighty beast. Neo froze when he first heard the hall suddenly filled with the boom of something much larger than him making its presence clear, meanwhile neon had no such fear… as he simply opened up the master bedroom door to reveal the source of sound, being that of a passed out nova face down in the bed, his snores pouring into his pillow and shaking the bedframe. 

Neon walked over to the dresser, beginning to unpack the briefcase of shorts he carried, while neo walked to the bedside with his snowglobe in hand. Placing it on the nightstand next to nova, as he turned the key on its side… playing Neo’s favorite tune. Neo looked to his Papa for approval, thinking it might rouse the beast from his slumber. But nova’s eye was still shut even if pointed at Neo… Neo reached up to tug on his papa’s sleeve. Tug tug. He was only responded to with a small groan as Nova laid their still asleep. 

“Papa… Can you play yet?” Neo asked, and before he could get his answer Neon scooped him up under his arms and held him to his chest. 

“No buts neo… If you want to play with someone so badly, let's go find someone then!” 

“No No Neo, let Papa rest, he had a long night driving…”

“But…” 

“I…” Neo looked down at his feet, kicking them softly as Neon took him out of this room, and watched the door shut on his sleeping father. 

“...Can I go play with Yinu?” He asked, 

“Oh neo no one lives around here but us in the mansion… Oh! How about we go meet our new neighbors! I hear there’s a group of young kids!” 

“Yinu? I don’t know any Yinu here.”

“Oh! She’s the girl I met in the field!” 

Neo pouted once more, he knew of the group his father was talking about, he overheard him talking with papa about the other mansion tenets, the people living on the first floor were a group of college students, still much older than Neo, but comparatively young to Neon. But he was already in daddy’s arms and he couldn’t quite reach the floor anymore, so it was off to meet the neighbors, to his disappointment. 

First it was down the stairs, the first floor, past the entry room that led up the stairs to the other tenants. Neon stood in front of the first floor housing, with Neo in his arms. The door was the oldest one in the house, the tenants having done nothing to repair it even as it hung off its hinges. What they did do was manage to carve their initials into the front of it, “D, R, S, T.” there was also a newly installed doorbell made of sleek and shiny plastic, sticking out against the backdrop of the aging house. Neon reached out and pressed the button, making a horribly loud buzzing noise, as both Neon and Neo had a bit of a jump. Neo was set down at the door, as the crashing of foot steps came from behind it, door knob slowly turning, breathing heavy, shadow stretching out underneath the doorframe. Click. 

Door swung open, and a tall man with blue skin, covered in large white orbs all across his jacket looked down at Neo, holding all the emotion in his face. For a few seconds there was just silence between Neo and this stranger. Neo’s eyes quickly scanning him up and down as his child mind raced to try and find anything comforting, but he looked so cold, and what didn’t help was the katana strapped to his back, worrying neo even more. The silence finally broken by Neon as he greeted the young man, 

“Dodo! How are you?” Neo felt reassured by the sound of his Daddy’s voice, but the blue man would not respond… Neo still felt unnerved by his lack of a smile… 

“I wanted my boy to see your fun project! Perhaps you can show him?” Neon said, and this lit up the blue man's eyes, as he looked down at the young neo with a smile of excitement now, he stepped out of the doorway to reveal a hall lined with fish tanks, and at the very end was a door with many flashing colors coming from underneath it. Neo felt his fear all wash away as suddenly he felt at ease seeing the man finally smile, and the beautiful tanks full of fishies behind him. Neon gently pushing him inside as Dodo lead him in. 

Neo ran straight up to the fish tanks along the wall, bouncing on his toes with glee. He peered into the glass boxes, and into their bright colorful miniature worlds, each one designed specifically for them. Each one seemed to only hold a single fishy, and it was given the entire tank to play around inside of, filled with glowing castles, divers that created bubbles, and plenty of moving parts to keep the small fishes entertained. 

Atop her shoulders in place of a head, there was  blue ringed octopus instead, gurgling its tentacles out at neo much to his fright as he leapt like a cat into Mr. Dodo’s arms. The others extremely disappointed as well as their creation turned into a half fish, half human, half octopus monster of legend. So they gave it all a hard reboot, and once it was gone from their sight everyone slowly began to laugh at the experience. The girl in the pink hoodie hanging to Neo a poster, a design of what it was meant to be, and there on that poster was “Sayu”, a pretty mermaid girl with adorable features, bouncy hair, and a fish tail. 

Mr. Dodo opened the next door, the sound of music bopping in the background as it led into a backroom, lit only by colorful nontraditional lights, like Christmas lights strung up against the wall, or the dozens of computer monitors sat around a small glowing table. Sitting at that table were three other kids, all college aged roughly the same as Mr. Dodo. There was a larger man in a yellow tee, wearing an umbrella hat. Next to him was a girl in a pink hoodie, her face hidden by her attire as she didn’t look much at Neo. And lastly there was a boy in a plaid shirt and shorts. Each one hunched over a monitor with a piece of recording equipment in front of them, a microphone, drawing tablet, and a simple mouse and keyboard. Everyone's eyes lit up though when neo walked into the room, the boy in the plaid shirt standing up. He began pointing at the others in the room, despite their silence they all seemed to be on the exact same page, they began to work overtime for Neo, as the table in front of them lit up like a mini projector beaming its light upwards at the ceiling. All the other lights were switched down until there was only the glowing of the projector. And suddenly the light began to move and form a shape, starting from the bottom neo watched particles fall together and form a fishy tail, a bright and colorful pattern along its scales, then the middle, the waist was made, the torso and the arms, of a pretty and thin little woman, dainty and elegant her form was, complimenting her bubble gum like skin… Neo was enthralled seeing this amazing light show turn the air into this pretty lady.

At that moment one of the monitors exploded, lights began to flicker, as the rest of the girl was rendered. Poorly. 

Neo enjoyed the rest of the hour he spent with the Sayu Crew, even though they did not talk very much at all, they mostly sat around on their devices trying to remake Sayu again and get her modeling correct, occasionally taking breaks to drink sparkling water and stare at the fishes in the tanks for inspiration. Neo’s favorite part was the fish tanks, each fish seemed so happy in that little box, and shined so brightly. 

At the end of the hour neon came back around to see a much happier looking Neo being brought out to him with a little mini bottle of lemon sparkling water. Scooping him up under the arms and holding him to his chest, Neon thanked the Sayu crew for their friendliness and carried his boy back outside and down the steps, towards the lower floor now, residing under the house itself. 

Neon held neo in his arms, and stood in front of a painted door split down the middle in two coats of paint, on one half was white, and the other half was pink. To Neo the bright colors of the door were slightly alarming, they weren’t gently painted like the rest of the house, they were bright and vibrant, splattered on by paintbrush. 

Neon took his hand and pounded it lightly against the door, only to find it slowly creak open… 

Neon sat his boy down on his feet, taking his hand as he walked him into the bottom tenants housing, calling out to her. 

“Miss Eve? Miss eve? Are you home?” 

Neo looked around the hallway they walked in, to see the divots in the walls, and along those divots there rested statues of a woman's head, her skin tone split down the middle, pink and white, long blonde hair, her busts lined the walls. 

At the end of the hallway Neon and Neo walked into a large dugout, surrounding this hexagonal room were even more statues of this woman, standing in various positions and holding various objects. And in the middle standing atop a ladder with a chisel and bucket of paint in hand, was the very subject of all these statues, Miss Eve herself. Neo was wandering around the room, excited at all the fresh buckets of paint, as Eve was mindlessly painting her latest statue. 

Neo tapped a green paint can, expecting it full but finding it very empty, it shifted off the edge of the desk and fell onto the floor. The sudden sound shifted Eve off her ladder as she took a step off the ladder from surprise. The buckets of paint she was holding in her hands going flying and clattering against the floor completely recoloring the room. 

Neon gave his boy a scolding look as neo began to rub his arms. He ran over to help eve up as she seemed quite upset. 

“Did you not hear us coming in, eve?” 

“Neon could you go fetch me more buckets, they’re in the back room.” Eve asked, Neon nodding as he went and fetched buckets. 

“I was in my minds eye…”

She looked over at Neo, frowning at him as he shrunk in on himself… 

Eve walking up the step ladder again, but when she walked up the top she looked down at the floor, and saw what the paint cans had fallen into, the paint splattered in a beautiful but completely random pattern, and this put a smile on eve’s face, suddenly from upset to very happy as she looked down at neo now, seeing a tiny artist. 

She stepped off the ladder and knelt down in front of the boy with cupped hands against her cheek. 

“Well hello there little artist! I’m afraid we didn’t get introduced properly… I’m eve.” 

But neo didn’t respond back, he was still startled by the mess he made and worried about the trouble he was in. It was quite clear he was very close to crying… that’s when eve got an idea. 

She went over to her fridge and pulled out one of her Artistic Juice boxes, neo’s eyes almost instantly lit up as he saw her pull it out. 

She walked back over to him with the juice box in hand, as she looked down at the tiny artist, 

“Perhaps you’d like some juice? I find juice helps me when I feel down…” 

Neo bounced as he looked at the extremely tall woman with the juice. Reaching up with the grabbiest of hands, clamming up at her wanting the juice already. 

She pulled the straw off the back and poked it into the top for him, kneeling down as she handed it off. His eyes sparkling for a moment as he took a long hard sip. 

Neon walked back in to see his boy and eve giggling over two juice boxes, their feet covered in paint as they stomped around on the wet floor. 

Neon darted over taking neo up into his arms, a mix of frustration and concern. 

“Thank you miss eve for your hospitality but I think we must be going now.” Said Neon, as he took away neo and carried him back up to their floor, passing by the other boys as they all walked to their rooms for the night. 

Neon set him back down in the kitchen as he sat him against a kitchen chair, pulling his shoes off as they were absolutely covered and ruined with paints. 

Neon was upset for sure, so he left neo in the kitchen for a moment, coming back escorting a half asleep Nova into the kitchen, as Neon pointed down at his feet and the shoes on the floor.

“Look what our boy did, his shoes got ruined!” Neon exclaimed, as Nova began to frown at neo… Neo felt a new level of fear he didn’t know he had before… as he watched his large space dad kneel in front of him, picking up one of his shoes and holding it. 

“Neo… What were you doing to make your shoes all messy?” Nova asked, as neo couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. 

“I was… painting with miss eve… and stepped in the wet paint…” Nova simply sighed as he shook his head. 

“You can’t be ruining your shoes like this Neo… Your father will take you to get new ones in the morning.” He was so stern and direct, and Neo felt his heart sink… 

“You mean… you won’t take me, Papa?” 

“No Neo, i’ve got work to do.” 

“...But I didn’t… get to see you all day…” 

Neo felt his little heart twist as he was about ready to cry, he hadn’t spent time with his Papa in days it felt like, and it was just too much for him to handle… He tilted his head down as a few tears began to roll down his cheeks, hidden to both of his father’s… as nova simply turned away and went back to bed. 

Neo felt the tears burst like dams holding back too much water, as Nova leaving felt like the last straw. He hopped off his chair with one arm covering his eyes, darting past Neon who was too slow to catch him. Neo ran to his room, eyes tucked into his elbow soaking his sleeve as Neon stood back and just watched him run, gently sighing as he felt pain in his heart as well… 

Neo leapt into his bed, boxes upon boxes of unpacked toys and clothes stacked to adult height levels in his room, the only thing he had ready for him was a blanket and pillow, of which he held onto tightly as he poured the rest of his tears into it… 

Minutes and one tear stained pillow later, neo was laying there clutching onto it still, as his sobbing turned to sniffling and all he could do was look at his door, wishing, waiting, hoping that maybe Papa would come back and apologize, and tell him they’ll look at the stars again together… 

Neo ended up staring at the door for hours. 

Waiting. 

He fell asleep waiting. 

Another time, another place… large fingers, massive like loaves of bread descended down carefully against a workshop desk. Atop this desk laid a small mouse, as if disassembled of all it's parts. One by one the pieces were picked up, cogs and gears, springs and levers, in such massive hands carefully putting it back together again. The eyes put back into place, a tail reattached. But when all the pieces came back together it looked like any other mouse, just with a small keyhole in its back. It was missing the final touch. The massive hands reached into the desk, pulling open the large drawer to reveal a collection of hundreds of keys, various shapes and sizes, materials and textures. It hovered over the pearl section for the longest time, sometimes switching back and forth between it and the silver keys… but ultimately deciding on the bronze keys, picking one up and rubbing it in oil and wiping it clean with a delicate rag, before slowly pushing it into the back of the mouse. Locking into place as it turned the key several times, winding up now… 

The mouse sprung to life as soon as the hands let go, scurrying across the desk before leaping into a grandfather clock and disappearing. 

“You’re coming home soon, neo.”

Chapter three

[glenncoco4]

Choices

Alternate plot to 9x23

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kensi tries as best as she can to hold back her tears as she, Sam and Callen continue to layout their plan. She’s not sure if they’re tears of anger or sadness but what she does know is that she’s never felt so defeated in her life. 

Walking out the mission door, she heads to the Audi for her go bag. 

Just as she walks back into the bullpen she sees the tech operator running down the stairs. “Kens.”

She takes a deep breath, whatever he’s about to say she really doesn’t want to hear it right now. Get the kid and get back is all she’s focused on. “Not now, Eric.”

“It’s Deeks.”

“Just tell him I’m busy.” Her focus stays on the map before her as she goes over the mission plan one more time in her head.

“Kensi.”

The tone in his voice catches her off-guard and she quickly turns her attention the blonde whose got an unsettled look on his face. “What?” 

For a brief moment he’s paralyzed. He can’t get out the words that so desperately need to be spoken.

“Eric, what happened?” Kensi abandons the bullpen and is about to come up the stairs when his next words stop her in her tracks. 

“I just heard over the scanner…Deeks was driving home and his truck got t-boned by a semi.”

No. No. This is not happening. “What?”

“Kensi, I don’t-“ A ringing interrupts him, cutting him off from finishing the rest of his sentence. 

Quickly pulling her phone out of her pocket, the brunette answers, combing her fingers through her hair worriedly. “Mikey, how is he?”

“It’s not looking good, Kensi.”

She paces back and forth in front of the bullpen trying to gather as much  information as she can before getting behind the steering wheel. “Where are they taking him?”

“Cedars.”

“I’m on my way.” With out saying another word she walks as fast as she can down the tunnel. She’s got to get to him.

Callen brow furrows in concern when he sees a distraught Kensi sprint towards her car and quickly walks over to her before she has time to drive off. “What’s going on?”

Her voice shakes answering him but not turning to look at him as she hops into the drive seat. “Deeks got t-boned by a semi.”

“Go. We have this handled.”

She starts the car with one last parting before driving off into the dark early morning streets of LA. “Thanks, but I was going with or without your permission.”

XXXX

She rushes into the ER looking around the chaotic room when she finally spots him. “Oh my god.”

A frazzled nurse walks up to her alerted when she sees the tears in Kensi’s eyes. “Excuse me, miss, can I help you?”

Kensi’s eyes stay focused on Deeks’ still form as a swarm of doctors and nurses poke and prod at his body. “That’s my fiancé.”

“Oh.” 

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Right now he’s stable but they have to rush him into emergency surgery. A large piece of glass nicked his heart.”

She takes a few strides meeting the gurney as they begin wheeling him down the hallway. Taking hold of his free hand, she has to say something, something that will keep him fighting. “Deeks. Baby, I need you to fight. I need you to fight because I can’t lose you.  I love you so much. Just fight like I know-“

Before she can get another word out the heart monitor goes crazy and she’s pushed aside by a nurse as she grabs the other side of the gurney and they charge the double doors towards the OR. “He’s crashing. Code blue.”

Those are the last words she hears before he’s pushed around the corner and suddenly out of sight. Her legs give out and she crumples against the wall, burrowing her face in her hand. He can’t die. Not now, not ever. 

XXXX

She hasn’t been able to sit down for the past 2 hours. Her mind is all over the place wondering how he’s doing.

“Miss. Blye?”

She quickly spins around at the sound of her name and walks over towards the doctor. “How is he?”

The redhead woman smiles reassuringly at the brunette putting Kensi somewhat at ease. “We almost lost him but he’s stable now. As you know a piece of glass nicked his heart, luckily it wasn’t that large and we were able to close the wound fairly quick. He’s also got a broken arm and some internal bleeding, but he’s gonna make it.”

“Can I see him?”

“Gives us about 20 minutes and I’ll have a nurse bring you to his room.”

Kensi shakes the woman’s hand unbelievably grateful that the man she loves is still breathing. “Thank you, doctor.”

XXXX

6 hours later

He slowly opens his eyes, becoming aware of his surroundings and the incessant beeping in his left ear. As he scans the room his gaze stops when it lands on a the familiar head of hair and the most beautiful face he’s ever laid his eyes on. Her eyes are closed and he suddenly realizes that the last time he saw those mismatched chocolate orbs that he so deeply loves were full of tears. 

That could’ve been the last time he ever got to see her and it terrifies him. 

His eyes roam her features taking her in, her head laying on top of his hand with her ring proudly displayed on her left hand which is kinda surprising to him. 

At the feeling of movement she startles awake, tears already springing to her eyes when she sees his beautiful cerulean blues. “Shouldn’t you be in Mexico?”

“Are you insane? You almost died, why on earth would I be in Mexico right now?” She can’t hide the sadness in her voice at his assumption. How could he think for one minute that she would be off in some other country when he needed her.

“I just thought-“

“No, Deeks, no. I love you and I know we have some things to work out and we may fight some times but know this…if I ever have to choose between you and the job, I’m choosing you.”

“That didn’t seem like the case earlier.” He looks down at their intertwined fingers, his eyes focusing on her ring as he rubs his thumb across the diamonds. 

“Well, I was just frustrated earlier and…”

“And what?”

“I was scared.”

He looks up so fast that he almost gives himself whiplash. “Baby, why on earth were you scared? You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Seeing the concern in his eyes, she bites her lip worried about what might come tumbling out. “Well I was and it has everything to do with you.”

“Me?”

“You just had our whole life planned out and you started talking about having kids.”

His brow furrows he’s not really sure if its the anesthesia that’s making it hard for him to follow or what. 

“And I know you want kids, I do too.”

“You-you do?”

“Of course I do but you have to understand that it’s different for women especially women in our line of work. I love my job, you know how much I love my job.”

“I do know.”

A teary eyed smile crosses her face when he places his hand against her cheek. It may be cheesy but just the feel of his touch gives her the courage and strength to gather her feelings and tell him what’s been running around in her head for so long. “But I love you more and that scares me. Ever since my dad died I’ve only had myself to rely on and I’ve never counted on anyone else for my happiness. For a long time NCIS was my happiness, I knew that I would be content in the life I had if I got to help others, but then I fell in love with you. We got engaged and I was happy-am happy. Bringing kids into our life would make me even more happy but then while I was trying to talk to Mosley to calm her down she said something to me that struck a nerve.”

“What did she say to you?”

“I told her that maybe one day I would understand…but she took it a different way than what I meant. It rattled me because it’s happened to us before.”

Now he’s really confused. “What do you mean?”

“Remember our conversation after you got tortured?”

“The one in the bullpen?”

A soft smile crosses her features when she thinks back to that day, the good part of that day when he told her that she was what got him through probably the most painful time in his life but her smile quickly disappears at the reason for his need to focus on her. “Yeah, I said I know what you’re going through and you said you hope that I never do but a few months later I did.”

That’s when everything starts to makes sense. The way she suddenly changed her mind or rather off-put about the thought of having kids. “And you think the same thing would happen to our kid as Mosley’s.”

She looks down afraid of the disappointment that she may see in his eyes.  “I know its irrational but-“

“No, no it’s not.” His heart breaks at the smallness in her voice. He places his finger under her chin, tilting her head up so that she’ll look at him. “Don’t hit me for what I’m about to say but you sound just like a mother.”

“I do?”

“Kens, the fact that you’re worried about the wellbeing for our hypothetical child - baby, that’s what every good parent goes through. What you’re feeling is normal, I just wish you would talk to me about it.”

“What do think I’m doing now?” Her lip curls into a smirk.

He huffs a laugh. God he loves this woman. “Touché.”

There’s a beat of silence as their eyes stay locked before he finally works up the nerve to ask her. “So we’re gonna work this out?”

She shakes her head. They’re a mess but they’re a perfect mess. “We were never not gonna work this out. But I need you do something for me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Promise you’ll be patient with me.”

He rolls his eyes because even though she’s being completely serious right now he knows she needs a good laugh. “Please, I’ve been patient with you ever since I met you.”

She scrunches her noses knowing exactly what he’s trying to do. Standing up, she scoots closer towards the head of the bed, her hand finding the scruff of his jaw. 

He lays his hand atop of her and relishes in the feel of her touch. “I need you to promise me something too.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll marry me and spend the rest of your life with me.”

This time when the tear falls down her cheek its from happiness…pure elation. She leans forward bringing her lips to his. It’s not the most passionate kiss they’ve ever had, but they have all the time in the world for that. “I can do that.”

“I love you.” He leans in for another kiss, smiling.

Once their lips part they don’t lose contact for long as she places her forehead against his. “I love you.”

[elsanna-shenanigans]

February Contest Submission #12: Life On Mars

words: ca. 3200 setting: Modern AU lemon: No cw: Angst, Horror Elements, Psychological Horror, Mindfuckery, Hospitals, Ancient Alien Wars

“Status update?”

“All systems nominal. Solar charge at 65%.”

Elsa looked at the screen through her glasses, the monitor displaying the rover’s current route as it made its way across the red planet. OLAV was due to be passing over an unexplored sector of the Syritis Major region of Mars today and there would no doubt be a lot of analysis and data gathering to be done. Their rover was going to be the first visitor from earth to visit this largely explored region of the red planet.

“Good, keep OLAV on his present course,” Elsa stated. “Let me know once it reaches the site.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Anna replied.

The blonde rolled her eyes. She never understood why Anna kept referring to the rover as if it was a living being. OLAV was a robot, a mindless automaton. It only knew what it was programmed to know. It wasn’t a true artificial intelligence like the ones from the science fiction movies Anna and her had both grown up with.

And yet, it was always rather cute when Anna did it. It was part of why she fell in love with her; Anna and her seemingly limitless ability to be warm and affectionate to those around her, even to a robot with no real life of its own. Elsa found that very endearing. She and Anna had been dating since college, and Elsa couldn’t have asked for anyone better to help her on this project. Working for NASA definitely was a dream come true.

Anna in particular had a hand in designing OLAV in the first place, even naming him after a cuddly snowman plushie she had back in their college days. Though of course, she justified it by clarifying OLAV stood for “Omnidirectional Lifeform Analysis Vehicle”. All the same, Elsa found it adorable.

Anna relaxed back in her chair, grinning. “So… what are the odds we’ll find life today?”

“Anna, I swear you ask that question every day,” Elsa remarked with a playful roll of her eyes.

“But it’s the question that has haunted scientists like us for centuries, Elsa,” Anna said honestly. “Is there life on Mars?

Elsa had to giggle, knowing Anna was partly quoting the David Bowie song. Her girlfriend was such a nerd and she adored her.

But so far, that particular question still hadn’t been answered. It was a known scientific fact that at one point Mars did once support a much more habitable climate, with vast lakes and rivers. However, the loss of its magnetic field had resulted in the planet becoming the red, lifeless desert it was today.

If there had been life at some point, it was probably only very basic. Some sort of bacteria or another microscopic organism. And yet, if anyone could prove that life had indeed existed on Mars at one point, it could prove that life wasn’t just confined to the little blue and green orb that was the Earth but was out there amongst the stars in all sorts of shapes and forms.

“He’s just coming up to the ridge now,” Anna said.

“How much solar charge has OLAV got left?” Elsa asked.

The redhead looked at her screen. “52%.”

“The steep incline will likely drain the power of the motors by quite a bit. As soon as the rover gets over the ridge, shut him down for the night. The sun is starting to go down.”

“Yeah, he’s earned a good night’s sleep,” Anna said with a smile. She then stared at another one of the screens, showing life camera footage from the rover. Every few seconds a new picture would appear, showing where the rover had travelled every few seconds.

So far, all Anna had seen from the pictures was red sand and large boulders as the rover travelled up the ridge. It was rather basic and yet… it had a certain beauty to it. A hellish beauty one might say.

Mars was a fascinating world, even if it was a vast desert that didn’t really have much variety in scenery. Anna and Elsa and the rest of their team were just merely the latest in a long line of scientists and scholars wanting to discover the secrets of the red planet.

“Think Mars would be a good place for a vacation?” Anna joked. “I mean, there’s lots of sun there. Bet I’d get a great tan.”

“Unless you prefer sunbathing at minus 80 degrees Fahrenheit, I don’t think so,” Elsa replied flatly.

“Minus 80? Oh, that’s perfect for an ice queen like you.”

Elsa shot Anna a look and playfully nudged her girlfriend’s arm. “Oh shut it, you.”

Anna giggled. “Okay, okay, I guess that nickname has worn out its welcome.”

“It wore its welcome the week after you started calling me that back in college,” Elsa remarked.

“Well, you used to be so closed off when you were focused on your studies,” Anna retorted, smiling in nostalgia. “You got so into your work you practically cut off all contact with the outside world… and then you met me.”

Elsa smiled, blushing. She remembered fondly the days when Anna encouraged her to get out of their dorm room and get outside on their campus. Science had always been her passion, but she hadn’t truly felt love until she met Anna.

Leaning over, Elsa gave her girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Yes I did, and I couldn’t have been more thankful for anything else in my life.”

Anna giggled. “Should you really be making such comments to me here? We are supposed to be working right now.”

“Hey, I’m the project director here,” Elsa spoke with an air of faux haughtiness, upturning her nose slightly. “I think it gives me certain advantages.”

Anna giggled at that. Elsa smiled down at her. The two of them leaned in at that moment, almost kissing… and then something caught Anna’s eye. She blinked again, thinking whatever it was just a figment of her imagination, but no, there was indeed something unusual being projected on the screen.

“Wait… what’s that?” Anna asked.

She looked at the monitor with the live camera feed from the rover. In the corner of the screen, as the rover drove over the ridge, Anna saw a strange shape. Whatever it was, it didn’t appear to be a natural rock formation, but it was still too far away for Anna to see.

“You see something?”

Anna nodded and pointed at the screen. “There, right there.”

Elsa pulled down her glasses, leaning in closer. “That looks like a rock.”

“No, I don’t think it is,” Anna said quietly, eyes on the screen in focus. “It seems taller than everything else, taller than any of those other boulders…”

“Hmmm… how much charge does OLAV have left?”

“He just dipped below 45.”

“That should be just enough to get a closer look before we shut down for the night,” Elsa stated. She got up and looked across to another one of the scientists in the control room. “Kristoff, make a course adjustment. Left by about 15 degrees.”

“You got it!” The blonde man called back.

Anna looked at her screen again, seeing the camera view shift slightly as the rover altered its course. For the next few moments, she felt her heart begin to race in her chest. Was the hunch she was having correct? Was this strange object the proof mankind had always been looking for? In the next few minutes, they’d know.

Putting her hand on Anna’s shoulder, Elsa gave her a concerned look. She didn’t like to see Anna stressed like this. “Hey, relax. It might just be a rock.”

“I know… but for some reason, I don’t want it to be,” Anna admitted.

Elsa smiled. “You’re a determined one, Anna Armstrong.”

Anna merely smiled, before looking at her screen again, and then her jaw dropped. As the rover drove up closer to the strange object, Anna could see that her hunch had been right. Standing before the rover was a strange, tall structure. It was a tall obelisk, its surface covered in strange alien runes and hieroglyphs.

As Anna stared at the screen, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Right in front of her eyes was the evidence everyone had been looking for, signs of alien life. But Anna never thought they’d find something like this, an alien relic from a forgotten time.

“What in the…”

Elsa blinked. “That’s…my god, that’s it! That’s what we’ve been looking for!”

There were hurried murmurs and whispers all through the control room as the other scientists saw the image of the obelisk on their screens from the camera feed. The rover was stopped in its tracks, the camera panning up and down, giving the team back on earth a good look at every inch of the strange monument.

“So… what exactly do we do at a moment like this?” Anna asked in wonderment.

“I… I’m not sure,” Elsa said, still awestruck by the fact they had found genuine proof of alien life. After all, how else could one describe what was essentially a stone obelisk built on the surface of Mars. But that’s what indeed it was. As Elsa looked at the markings, she wondered what they meant. A warning? Some prayer to a divine being?

Looking at the screen again, Anna gazed at the strange glyphs. She couldn’t begin to understand them, but the more she looked at them, the more they seemed to be… glowing. Each of the symbols seemed to be glowing a deep, vibrant red, like the colour of blood.

The red glow seemed almost mesmerising to Anna, completely hypnotic. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t look away. As she stared more and more at the strange obelisk, she started to hear whispers in her ear, voices that clearly were not human. Deep, hissing tones that unsettled her completely.

Suddenly, the symbols flashed an even brighter red, as Anna heard the voices start screaming in her ear. Images suddenly filled her mind. Those of a vast empire that spanned what seemed to be the entire cosmos, fleets of ships that travelled to every world, a Mars very different from the one she knew, one of lakes and plant life and a beautiful green sky. And then chaos. Black, monstrous creatures that descended from the heavens, destroying everything in their path.

Anna wanted so desperately to look away from the horrific imagery she was witnessing, of the civilisation, she was witnessing being slaughtered by the black creatures, their world being utterly devastated to the point there was nothing but a red lifeless desert in its wake. Anna screamed in pain, trying to force the images from her mind, but it was no use. Her eyes were glowing bright red with alien energy and were bleeding, as was her nose and ears.

“Anna!” Elsa cried out, rushing to Anna’s side. Her girlfriend grabbed her head, screaming in agony as the alien visions were burned into her mind. Elsa grabbed ahold of Anna, holding her close. She stared at the monitor, seeing the glowing red obelisk.

“Shut the monitors down!” Elsa yelled, alarmed. “Don’t look at the obelisk!”

The other scientists did just that, shutting down each one of the computers until the room was in complete darkness. Anna was still screaming though, suffering in agony. She screamed louder, her eyes glowing the same bright red as the alien glyphs, those same glyphs flashing across her eyeballs.

Elsa felt her heart shudder in her chest, as she watched Anna, holding her close. Nothing in her life had prepared her for anything like this.

“Someone get a doctor, now!”

xXx

It was about half an hour before the ambulance arrived and Anna still hadn’t stopped screaming. By the time Anna had gotten to the hospital, she’d lost consciousness, but fortunately, she was still alive. Throughout all of it, Elsa stayed with Anna for as long as she could.

The doctors hadn’t found anything wrong with Anna, aside from some rather odd brain activity. Elsa hadn’t told them the exact reason why Anna had ended up in this way, telling them she’d merely suffered a seizure. She knew most people wouldn’t understand the truth.

As she was making her way back to Anna’s room with a cup of tea in her hand, Elsa suddenly got a phone call from Kristoff. He’d stayed behind to watch things at the control centre while Elsa escorted Anna to the hospital. She sat down outside the room, picking up her phone.

“Kristoff?” Elsa asked.

“Elsa, thank goodness,” Kristoff said, relieved. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get through to you. Some major shit just went down at the lab.”

“What?” Elsa asked. “What happened?”

“Just after you left, these guys in black suits showed up. They confiscated everything on the computers, including all the data we received from the rover. I think they might have been the FBI or something. They swore everyone to secrecy. I didn’t tell them about you and Anna though.”

Elsa sighed. It seems not only were aliens real, but so were the men in black. But she had to remain calm. Even if those government agents had taken all her data, everything she’d spent most of her life working on, her biggest priority was Anna and her safety.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Elsa responded.

“I’m so sorry, Elsa,” Kristoff told her. “I feel like I should have done something to stop them.”

“You did what you could,” Elsa said softly. “I suggest you go home and get some rest. It’s been… a really long day.”

“I’ll do that,” Kristoff nodded. “How’s Anna doing?”

Looking through the nearby window into Anna’s room, Elsa saw her girlfriend lying on the bed, motionless with an IV tube stuck in her arm. It pained her to see Anna like this. This wasn’t the first time Anna had been in the hospital since she’d known her, but she hadn’t felt this worried about her before either.

“No change in her condition,” Elsa said quietly, glancing back at her comatose lover. “The doctors can’t really explain what happened to her.”

“Damn,” Kristoff said, his face creasing in sympathy. “Well, if she does wake up, tell her I said hi, will you.”

“Sure thing,” Elsa smiled. “See you later, big guy.”

After hanging up, Elsa walked into Anna’s room, closing the curtains on the window that looked out onto the hallway. As she sat by Anna’s bed, she reached over and held her lover’s hand softly, gazing at her unconscious form lying beside her.

The room in the hospital was quiet, save for the ambience of whatever was going on in the corridors outside. As Elsa looked at Anna, she felt tears swell in her eyes. She wasn’t a religious woman by any means, but at this moment, Elsa was praying to god for Anna to make it.

Though as the hours ticked by, Elsa began to wonder if her love would ever awaken. It was at that point that Elsa started to blame herself. She was in charge of the mission and she should have stopped the rover before it approached that obelisk or perhaps she should have chosen a different route for the rover to take.

But at that point, Elsa realised that blaming herself wasn’t going to do anything, nor could she have predicted that something like this would have happened. What had been done was done and nothing could change that. All she could do now was keep hoping that all would be well again, that Anna would wake up.

Her prayers were answered.

“Elsa…” Anna croaked, barely above a whisper.

Elsa’s eyes widened, gazing at the redhead as she finally awakened from her unconsciousness. She held Anna’s hand tighter, staring into her eyes. “Anna!”

Anna looked up at her lover, her teal eyes fluttering open weakly. “W-What… Where am I?”

“In the hospital,” Elsa explained. “That weird obelisk we found on Mars did something to you. I… I was worried for a moment that you might…”

“I… I’m okay,” Anna assured her, weakly raising her hand and stroking Elsa’s cheek. The blonde sighed and touched Anna’s hand, resting her head against it.

“Do you… Do you remember what happened when you saw those glyphs?” Elsa asked. “All I saw was you looking at them and then you started screaming.”

“I… I remember now,” Anna groaned. “Oh fuck… it was horrible…”

“Easy,” Elsa placed a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Relax for a moment, snowflake. Just take it one step at a time. Everything is going to be okay now.”

After Anna got a drink, she explained everything to Elsa. All the images she’d seen, the voices, how horrible it all felt. Elsa couldn’t begin to fathom what Anna had seen… but she was just glad that Anna had been strong enough to recover from it, a testament to her spirit.

But the whole affair had clearly taken its toll on her girlfriend. Every time she spoke, Elsa didn’t feel that sense of joy and excitement she usually got from Anna. It was as if the Anna she knew and love was gone and what was left was just an empty, emotionless shell.

“What do you think it all was?” Anna wondered.

“Well if I had to make a guess, I’d say when you looked at the glyphs, that obelisk must have telepathically beamed those images into your mind.”

“It all… It all looked so real,” Anna said, her voice still shaking. “It’s like it was a dream and yet I felt like I was really there on Mars, watching it all.”

“We probably won’t be able to tell anyone about this,” Elsa told her. “Apparently, the FBI or someone like them went to the control centre just after I left with you and took all our data.”

“What the hell?” Anna wondered. “Elsa… We need to tell people about this. This is big, really big.”

“I know, but if we try, the government will likely have us arrested,” Elsa argued.

“But people need to be told about this!” Anna shouted. “During those visions… when I saw the Martians get slaughtered… I saw these giant black monsters attacking them from space. I.. I couldn’t help but feel like those things wouldn’t have stopped at Mars.”

Elsa’s eyes widened. “Anna… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I have this weird gut feeling that whatever destroyed Mars… might still be out there,” she then looked out of the window. “And… they might be watching us here and now… and one day, they might come to wipe us out too. And we have to be ready for them if they do.”

Elsa held Anna’s hand. “That won’t happen, Anna. Not as long as I’m around.”

“You promise?”

Elsa nodded, taking Anna’s hands and leaning in. The two of them touched foreheads and Anna sighed, welcoming Elsa’s loving, tender embrace.

“I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll face it… together.”

[ziracona]

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

New Dawn Fades (part 1)

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You see it?” mouthed Quentin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the Preschool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Quentin turned left and ran.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better run.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Only.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least the…pain stopped…

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

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

.

.

[part 2]

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

the simple things

Guardians x Reader

Summary: a purely self-indulgent reader-insert version of (most of) the guardians’ first encounter. (some dialogue lifted straight from gotg).

Characters/Pairings: reader, rocket raccoon, peter quill, groot, gamora

Warnings: minor language, violence.

Word Count: 2,160

marvel masterlist or check out my fanfic dedicated blog

“Xandarians. What a bunch of losers.” Rocket declared, eyes on the monitor in his paws. “All of them in a big hurry to get from somethin’ stupid, to nothin’ at all. Pathetic.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, leaning back on your hands comfortably. You were sitting on the edge of the fountain in the city square, face turned upwards to catch the day’s warmth on your skin. After two weeks in that shitty commuter ship the three of you had hitched a ride on a few planets over, you were completely content to relax and enjoy the sunlight, but Rocket had these crazy notions about getting paid. He’d spent the entire journey talking about making a score, and you’d spent just as much time wishing for the iPod you’d left on Terra those years back. You liked a payday just as much as he did, but you were really sick of hearing about it

“While you’ve got nothing but important, life-or-death plans, right?” you said snidely, a hand raised. With a practiced flick of your fingers a small bubble of psychokinetic energy appeared above you, shining in the sunlight. You guided it higher with a few gentle movements of your hand, letting it float away like a bubble. When it got too high, you’d let it disappear, and start all over again.

“Would you stop showin’ off?” he replied, pointing the tablet at a blonde-haired man walking by, shopping bag in hand.  “Look at this guy! Can you believe they call us criminal, when he’s assaulting us with that haircut?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned it toward a small child, dawdling along the sidewalk with its father. “What is this thing?”

You released your latest bubble with a sigh and followed his gaze, raising your hand to shield your face. You shook your head in exasperation. “It’s a baby, Rocket.”

“Look how it thinks it’s so cool. It’s not cool to get help! Walk by yourself, you little gargoyle.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes again. You returned to sunning yourself pointedly, kicking a boot up along the fountain’s edge in front of you. The other was planted on the sidewalk. You dipped a hand in the water, enjoying the coolness of it on your fingertips. “Again, it’s a baby. They tend to need a hand every now and then… say, like you after too many drinks?”

“Stop spoilin’ the fun, Y/N,” he said, turning his head so you could catch the edge of his smile. You grinned lazily back. “I mean, look at this. Look at Mr. Smiles over here.” You followed where he was pointing; an old man was cozying up to a much younger woman against a railing, his hand around her waist. “Where’s your wife, old man? What a class-A pre-vert.”

You smirked despite yourself as Rocket burst into laughter.

“Right, Groot? …Groot?” he turned towards the two of you when he got no answer. He gestured in exasperation as he did. “Don’t drink the fountain water, you idiot! That’s disgustin’!”

You coughed a laugh as Groot turned, mouth and hand still dripping, shaking his head.

“Yes, you did! I just saw you doin’ it! Why are you lyin’?” he rounded on you. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“He’s a plant, Rocket.” you pointed out, leaning forward briefly to pat Groot’s hand reassuringly. He smiled widely at you. “I don’t think it’s gonna hurt him.”

“It’s unsanitary,” Rocket griped petulantly. His ears perked up as his tablet sounded, and he dropped the issue immediately, distracted. You arched your neck to see the read-out over his shoulder. He held it up as it flashed, trying to find a focus. “Look’s like we got one.”

“That was fast.”

He pointed it toward a man on one of the upper streets and you straightened to get a look at him. Good-looking, and talking to a woman. “Okay, humie.” Rocket said, and you paused, eyebrow raised. “How bad does someone want to find you…? Forty thousand units? Groot, Y/N… we’re gonna be rich!”

He sighed as he turned to face the two of you – Groot had his face buried in the fountain again. You barely noticed – your eyes were still on the man, now headed toward a few smaller businesses down the way. “Groot, damn it…”

“Did you say he was Terran?” you asked, curiously. You hadn’t seen someone else from Terra in… you weren’t sure how long. People like you didn’t tend to end up off planet, let alone out of the milky way.

“Yeah, you can swap childhood stories once we got him sedated and on a ship,” Rocket said sarcastically. “Now, would you two focus up. We got a bounty to collect.”

*******************************************************************************************

You watched carefully as the target – Peter Quill (also known to go by the moniker ‘Star-Lord’, according to his wanted listing) – stumbled backwards out of a small pawn brokerage, the ball he’d been throwing around earlier still in hand. You were sitting on a wall further down the way, close enough to keep an eye on him, far enough away to be inconspicuous. An attractive  Zehoberei woman lingered by the doorway – and had been since he’d gone inside – and he stopped to speak to her. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but your fingers twitched as your eyes tracked her body language.

It had changed as soon as he’d stepped outside; she was alluring, and she was laying it on thick. Either she was a hooker, or he was a mark of a different kind. He was just too stupid to see it.

“Rocket, eyes up. I don’t trust this chick.” you muttered into the communicator on your jacket collar, feigning a languid stretch of your arms above your head.

“Keep your shirt on, woman.” he grumbled back. You weren’t entirely sure where he and Groot were, but you knew they were nearby. None of you were willing to let that many units slip away. “We got it.”

“This chick has him marked.” you shot back. “How am I supposed to distract him if he’s already got eyes on her?”

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N—”

“Shit! Move in, NOW!” you ordered, uncaring about your volume. You jumped to your feet, flinging yourself away from the wall. The Zehnobereian had just snatched that thing out of his hand and kicked him in the chest, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. She’d taken off impressively fast through the crowd, and equally impressive, Quill had thrown a magnetic rope after her and followed.

You chased after them, pushing your way through shocked pedestrians as the woman struggled to free her legs where the rope had caught. Quill launched himself at her as she succeeded and she kicked, landing two boots to the stomach for his effort. The two of them fell into a brawl on the pavement, and you were still about fifteen feet away when he reached for the gun on his belt. She trapped his hand with her boot, trapping him beneath her, a knife suddenly in her hand.

“This wasn’t the plan.” she told him, raising the blade above her head. You shoved a gawking woman out of your way, swinging your hands up in front of you to force them apart.

“Rocket!”

He caught the woman from the side, knocking her to the ground. He struggled on top of her as Groot approached, a sack in hand. “Put him in the bag! Put him in the bag!”

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, momentarily distracted, as Groot’s roots began to wind themselves around the woman. Quill was still on his back, eyes wide with confusion.

“No! Not her, him! Learn genders, man!” Rocket shouted, struggling to hold her back as she stood. His claws were in her hair, dangerously close to her eyes, scratching up her face as Groot tightened his hold around her middle. You were trying to find an opening to subdue her, but with her entangled in Groot’s roots, there wasn’t much you could do. While your abilities were an asset, they meant you’d never really needed to be competent in hand-to-hand altercations. “Y/N, a little hel—Ah!” he withdrew a paw. “Biting? That’s not fair!”

“Goddamn it! Groot, let her go, I got it!”

Quill’s eyes flew to you at the sound of your voice,  his forehead creasing for a second before he shook himself and took off, orb in hand.

“Shit!” you cursed again, taking off after him. You wove your way through the throng of people between you, pushing people out of the way with two hands. You just needed a clear line of sight—

“Y/N!” Rocket’s voice brought you skidding to a stop, and you turned to see him thrown from the balcony. The woman had broken free from Groot and had flung him off of herself, and you caught him with a shield moments before he hit glass. It softened his landing slightly, but it would still hurt. She was leaping off the wall to the square below, a sword in hand, and you turned to find Quill at a standstill, orb gone from his hand.

“I guess she’s not in it for the bounty,” you muttered as he launched himself off the upper-street as well, a rocket-pack from his boot in his hand. Groot was gone, and you rolled your eyes, cracking your neck as you ran for the nearest stairs. “Why is nothing ever easy?”

You’d made it to the lower-street just as Groot managed to throw his sack over Quill’s head, and you wiped a hand over your forehead. You panted, catching your breath as you fell into step beside Rocket. “So, what’d I miss?”

“You still got those quick reflexes, doll,” he said, giving you a quick smirk before turning to head down the stairs. He turned to speak to Groot as he went. “Quit smilin’, ya idiot. You’re supposed to be a professional.”

He stopped in his tracks, sobering, as he turned to find the Zehobereian in front of him, soaking wet and sword still clutched in her fist. “You gotta be kidding me.”

She pushed him to the ground without a glance, eyes on Groot. He dropped the sack, backing up a few steps. You flung up your hand as she raised her blade, a forcefield appearing between them and throwing her back a few feet.

Putting you in the middle.

Fury in her eyes, she turned her attention on you, and you grimaced, stepping between her and Groot in the hope she’d be distracted long enough for him to get the payload out of there. Or at least away from her crazy self. “Uh… whoops?”

The woman spun, so quick you didn’t have time to react, her kick catching you in the stomach. The wind left you in a heaving exhale, and your feet left the ground as you were thrown backwards. You landed in a heap on top of Quill – still trapped in the sack – and heard him grunt in surprise.

“Sorry,” you wheezed, hand clutching at your stomach as you struggled to catch your breath.

The woman hadn’t paused, and she cut off both of Groot’s arms and buried the blade in his stomach in a matter of moments. Satisfied he was no longer a threat, she turned and bent down in front of you, opening the sack. She was flung back, body shaking with electricity and suddenly unconscious. You were jostled to the ground as Quill stood, and you coughed a breathless laugh as he shot you a wink and what could have been a flirty smirk before taking off at a sprint.

Rocket pulled the blaster from his back. He spoke to you over his shoulder where you sat painfully on the pavement. “You wanna do the honors?”

“’s all yours,” you replied with some difficulty, waving a hand towards Quill’s retreating back. Rocket grinned, taking aim and setting it to ‘stun’.

“I live for the simple things. Like how much this is gonna hurt.” He fired, and a ball of electricity was launched across the square and straight into Quill’s back. Rocket snickered as he fell to the ground with a shout. “Yeah. Writhe, little man.”

He turned to you with a grin. “Only thing that comes close to that satisfyin’ is when you have ‘em run right into one of those walls of yours.” He laughed loudly, high on success. He stopped short as Groot whimpered, toeing pitifully at his fallen arm. Rocket rolled his eyes. “It’ll grow back, you d’ast idiot. Quit whining.”

You gasped as you were suddenly lifted from the ground, held weightless a few feet from the pavement by suppression beams. You looked up, sighing heavily as you were met with the sight of five Nova Corps ships hovering above you. “Looks like we’re not getting paid.”

“Subject Eight-Nine-P-One-Three, drop your weapon.”

Rocket dropped his gun reluctantly, ears drooping in defeat. “Oh, crap.”

.

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tags: @lovely-dreamer19​ @spacesuitsforemergency​ @wittyforachange​ @wefracturedmotivation​ @january-echoes​ @glossyloner​ @dragon-chica​

[sportyheroesimagines]

Just wondering when you’ll make another part to your Soulmate Dabi series, take your time though. :’>

yeah, series are hard for me because just like my life nothing is thought through or well planned 

“Oh, Dabicchi,” Toga rasps as Dabi grabs her by the throat.

He snarls, forcing her back against the wall. The toes of her loafers are barely scraping against ground. Her mouth curls into a sick smile as a hot blush rises to her cheeks. She stares at him with her shimmering cat-like eyes, tongue hanging from her lips. Her eyelids flutter and orbs roll up into her sockets. Dabi releases some of the pressure from her windpipe, but he still grips the girl by her neck. Toga grins.

“If you’re gonna choke a girl, at least buy her dinner first,” she giggles hoarsely, “Didn’t know you were into things like this. So pervy.”

Dabi snarls. His free hand bursts with flames. The threatening blue glow flickers over Toga’s face, gleaming against her pearly canines. He applies more pressure, and she gasps for air again. His face twists angrily, pulling and stretching the skin around in staples in a nightmarish scowl. Toga pulls a knife from her thigh holster; she tries to stab him, but Dabi grabs the blade with his flaming hand. Metal and blood drips down his forearms as he melts her weapon, crushing it in his grip.

Dabi lets her go. Toga falls to the floor, coughing and gasping for air. He looks down at her, before grabbing the back of her sweater and lifting her to her feet. Dabi menacingly places his hand atop her head and bends down to her level.

“Do something like that again, and, I promise, I promise, I’ll burn you alive. Got it?”

Toga nods; Dabi pets her hair.

“Good. Now, you’re going to make it up to me.”

White sheets. White walls. White curtains. White dust dancing through the air like a dream as you slowly open your eyes. Vision hazy, hands heavy, you look over at the heart rate monitor, beeping steadily. You’re alive. Alive, but with tubes and wires pouring out of your body, hooking you up to various machines. You blink slowly and take long, slow, deep breathes, nose slightly wrinkling at the scent of antiseptic hanging over the sickness’s subtle stink. Your dry tongue runs over chapped lips in a lame attempt to moisten them. Bits and pieces of your memory are gone, like a movie missing frames, hacked to pieces by a mysterious editor. You grimace as the space between your eyebrows begins to pound like a drum. Rolling your head to the side, you stare out of the window. It’s nighttime. Again. 

Just how many days will you miss?

How many times will you wake up  in an infirmary?

A young male nurse walks into the room, pushing a small cart. He wears baby pink scrubs that compliment his rosy rabbit nose. He walks over to your bedside.

“I’m Tomeo,” he says with a polite nod, floppy ears moving with him, “I’m going to be taking your vitals, alright?”

You nod slowly, and he begins taking your temperature and blood pressure. The door to your hospital room opens again. This time, a middle-aged doctor walks in holding a clipboard in her hand.

“Hello, (Last Name)-san,” the woman says, “My name is Dr. Nanase.”

She wears large glasses with circular rims. They sit upon her freckled nose and magnify her warm brown eyes. Her thick brunette hair tied into a loose braid that hangs over her shoulder. Dr. Nanase smiles; her face is kind and motherly.

“Temperature and blood pressure are stable, Dr. Nanase,” Tomeo speaks up, placing his instruments back onto the cart.

“That’s great. How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I … I’m feeling okay,” you croak, throat dry and scratchy, “I’m just really tired.”

“That’s to be expected. You were in and out of consciousness for two days,” Dr. Nanase says as she checks your vitals, “Your body’s been through a lot.”

“What exactly happened? I don’t remember much.”

“When we found you, you had multiple stab wounds on your arms and your abdomen. You were fading in and out of consciousness before you went into cardiac arrest. For the next several hours, it was a fight to keep you from coding. Who ever stabbed you apparently laced the blade with a poison.”

“Who brought me here?“

“I don’t, but whoever did saved your life.”

They saved my life, huh? Dr. Nanase flips through the pages of your chart, then smiles at you again.

“Your vitals look very strong. You’ve stabilized and the majority of the poison has been cleared from your system,” she says, “If you hold steady for the next few hours, you can be discharged if you’d like.”

“Yes,” you can’t say it quickly enough, “I’m … tired of being in infirmaries. I just want to go home.”

“Well, they do say you heal faster in a comfortable place,” Dr. Nanase says, holding the clipboard to her buxom chest, “I’ll see what I can do to get your discharge expedited. In the mean time, there’s someone who has been very eager to see you.”

She nods to Tomeo, and he slides the door open. Your blonde senpai comes bursting into the room, dressed in her civilian clothes. Takeyama rushes you, taking you into her arms and holding you tightly. Even in her normal state, she’s still has a lot of strength. It hurts. It actually hurts quite a bit, but, in teh same breath, it also feels quite good. She lets you go, but her hands still grip your shoulders tightly.

“Oh my freaking god! What the hell!” she shouts, “If I knew you were going to end up in the hospital, I wouldn’t have even went to see Takeru! Are you alright? Those old hags out front wouldn’t tell me anything. Hey, is she going to be alright?”

Dr. Nanase smiles, “(Last Name)-san is going to make a full recovery. She can be discharged today.”

Takeyama sighs and loosens her hold.

“I see you have good someone to take care of you,” Dr. Nanase says.

“Damn straight,” Takeyama says. And you can’t help but to smile a bit.

The doctor chuckles, “Good. I’ll have Tomeo get your paperwork started right away. Please take it easy, (Last Name)-san.”

She bows politely then leaves your hospital room; Tomeo follows in suit, sliding the door closed behind him. He tails after Dr. Nanse as she flips through the pages of your chart again, scratching down several notes on a separate notepad. She hands the nurse the clip board and sends him on his way. Dr. Nanase sighs, stretching her shoulders. She walks into an empty doctors’ lounge, decorated with one long sofa, several small tables and some chairs. She takes off her glasses and places the notepad on the table. Sliding off her white lab coat, her skin melts down her face and breasts.

Toga grins as she sheds her second skin like a serpent. She slips the doctor’s coat over her nude body and holds the glasses as she skips to a small closet. She opens it, and a woman, bound with rope and tape, flinches when the light hits her face. She trembles, hiding her beaten face behind loose waves of brown hair. Toga bends down and lifts Nanase’s chin. She gently places the glasses on her face, then kisses her duct-taped lips.

“Thanks for letting me borrow these. I’m keeping the jacket though,” Toga says, “Be good and stay quiet.”

Toga pats her head and closes the closet. She tears the note from the notepad, sliding it into her jacket pocket. The girl grins as she slips out of the lounge unnoticed, making her way to the nearest stairwell. She hops on the railing and allows gravity to pull her body downwards. Toga makes her way to the back of the hospital, to a small section where two large dumpsters sit and where Dabi waits.

He stands, leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. The scent of tobacco fills his nose over the stench of the garbage. He watches the thin lines of smoke disappear into the dark sky. 

“Hey, Dabicchi, I’m back!” she says, waving with one hand, holding the jacket closed with the other.

He turns his head to face her, but says nothing.

“(Name)’s okay by the way. Lookin’ to make a full recovery soon,” Toga gives him a thumbs up.

Still he doesn’t speak to her. 

“Oh, right! Here you go,” Toga sings as she hands over the personal information she’d gathered on you, “I’m off the hook right?”

Dabi flicks his cigarette on the ground and stomps out the glowing butt. He snatches the paper from her, looking over your name and address. Toga grins at him. She throws herself at Dabi, but he swiftly avoids her grabbing hands.

“Wait, are you still mad at me?” she pouts.

Dabi folds the piece of paper carefully, sliding it into the inner breast pocket of his jacket. He looks down at the blond girl who stares up at him with with her big eyes. Dabi sucks his teeth.

“You’re off the hook.”

He walks away from her. Toga leaps happily behind him, skipping with a warm smile stretching her cheeks. Dabi stops dead in his tracks; the high schooler bumps into his back. She rubs her forehead, looking at him with confusion.

“I’ll called it even this time,” he says, “But I’m dead serious about what I said so you ever don’t forget it.”

Toga stops. She doesn’t feel fear; not many things genuinely got under her skin. Her blood doesn’t get cold; it runs through her veins that way. But the threatening look in his icy blue eyes, the overwhelming murderous intent emanating from like a cold front, it raises the hair at the back of her neck. 

[namjoonchronicles]

pretty thoughts | jungkook

♠ pairing: jungkook x you ♠ genre: fluff, domestic, parenthood au ♠ word count: 6k ♠ honorary mention: @jungkookiemycutebias and her beautiful moodboard ♠ description: visiting your husband at work as the youngest senior barista, when he couldn’t get off on time as promised because of a sudden surge of customers. You met someone from the past that wasn’t supposed to know where you are while you wait, and Jungkook wasn’t very fond of him.

♠ author’s note: A spin off to Granite Glow.

When you first met Jungkook, you didn't think he was going to take this much space in your heart.

That time when you were in the cave, you only had one thought. If you couldn't see those galaxy eyes again, you'd be damned forever. As you sunk deeper in the depth of darkness, accompanied by the remnants of the memories you had with Jungkook, you felt serenity and despair all at once. They played like montages in the back of your mind, pulling you in and then out of nowhere, you heard him. Heard him calling your name. With it, you gained a newfound strength that allowed you to carry the weight of the yellow line and into the next mound where you could find surface. When you did, you took a lungful of air, and the sounds echoed through the granite walls of the cave.

When he scrambled to your side in the back of the ambulance, face so pale with chapped lips, you couldn't help but smile. You couldn't hear a word of what he said but you remembered feeling safe, because you saw those beautiful galaxy eyes, and it felt like coming home.

One year later, your love remains hot to the touch, scalding down your throat as you take it in, like this bitter coffee. No sugar, just black. It was too bitter for your liking but you downed them anyways. Jungkook would make better coffee than this. If he wasn't late this morning, you would have enjoyed one. He's a very capable husband.

Odd, he never lets those laying around the kitchen, you thought.

A microphone for his DSLR camera. Taehyung must have left it there this morning. You took it in your hand, and carefully walked down the left corner of the hallway where Jungkook's golden closet office was, pushing the baby walker to the side.

Look how far we’ve come, my love.

His Supreme skateboard, hung up the wall, three cameras in glass case, and three monitors for his editing works. Some other appliances arranged, neatly and orderly in some kind of synchronisation. This was where Jungkook spends most of his time if not working at the actual headquarters. His camera bag set aside, next to his half-packed luggage. He was getting ready to be in Hong Kong soon and you worried about that a lot. It’s going to take time to get used to not having him here.

He hums to the tune of Norah Jones’ classic, “Come Away With Me”. The skin of his  forearm showed the ripple of his muscle, his hands busy wiping the white coffee mugs with dry cloth. It had been a relatively relaxing day at work for a weekend.

Jungkook worked part-time at a coffee shop on public holidays and weekends to cope with the expenses needed at home. Honestly, he was still worried about the videos that needed editing at his main job. Although he had an ample amount of time to do that when he gets off at noon, he doesn’t like putting task off. Be it his current job or his job as a husband, who frequently runs errands in place of his wife.

Married young, Jungkook always worried if the struggles dented you in some way, like it has in the past. Jungkook did all kinds of odd jobs just to keep both of your heads afloat, but he’s glad he no longer has to. He is chirping to the fact that he gets to leave his part time job with a half day shift today. He has a date with you today, and he’s looking forward to that. Finally he gets to act his age and hold your hands, and just be him. And then he heard a glass falling to the floor. He dropped his head and blew hot air to his forehead. Chewing his lips, he walks over to the poor little co-worker.

“Get the broom, don’t touch it with your hands,” Jungkook commanded him. And he scurried away, to disappear down the hall to where the utilities were. Hyungjin just joined the team a few weeks ago, and he hadn’t let go of the newbie jitters. It’s twice this week. Now Jungkook isn’t the kind to lash out but he does give off a dark vibe. Not because he is authoritative, it’s because he is experienced. He tips his head up to Hyungjin who shyly hands him the short broom with dust collector pan, his expression softens to the newbie.

“...Do I scare you?” Jungkook smiles. Hyungjin shifted his eyes side to side, clasping his forefingers together like a child being punished.

“Can I be honest?” he stammered, nervously. His tongue peeped out his mouth, to swipe along his drying lips.

“Sure bud,” Jungkook collects the broken shards into the pan while Hyungjin held the mouth of the plastic bag, open for him. “They say you were in mafia once, which explains your built. And did assassinations, because you have good reflexes. You also grab hold of customers who don’t want to pay for the coffee they finished.”

Jungkook stands up straight, and tipped his head back, showing off his neck and jaws.

“That was once.”

Hyungjin visibly stiffens.

Upon straightening his view, Jungkook cracks his neck to one side, keeping his eyes close. This boy had been fed with outstretched lies by those before him. He twists his wedding ring as he begin to explain.

“Everything changes when you find love,” Jungkook cocked an eyebrow at the poor boy, before wiping his hands, “Tie the bags and discard it.”

He was rather enjoying the superiority he could play with this facade of ex murderer, ex military, ex mafia member past--his past co-worker had joked about him. Hyungjin nodded and dutifully committed to his duties.

Jungkook wasn’t superstitious, and never would ever believe when people say that when a mug breaks during your shift, there will be a sudden surge of customers. A bus stops in front of the cafe and vomited its content.

Oh no.

It was a foolish kind of love, you and Jungkook had.

Late last night,you’ve finally had time to take a look in your full figure mirror in what seemed forever, you pinched the back of your arms.

And he notices the expression you wore. Dissatisfaction, rejection and self-ridicule. “What’s with that face?” He lifts his face from the phone briefly, his round glasses reflected the screen as he continue to type a reply to a coworker.

You were standing there in just white bras, with your pastel pink mommy trousers for night wear before twisting your head over your shoulder to see your own back side on the mirror. Lips puckered, and you see the marks on the side of your stomach, before letting out a disappointed sigh. “My body changed,” you grumbled as you snatched a folded orange tee beside Jungkook’s ankle.

How long had this been going on? Jungkook wonders.

He hoisted himself off of the bed, slide his phone carelessly on the bedside table before taking your t-shirt away from your hand. Then he rested his chin on your shoulder, circled his arms around your waist, just underneath your bra line, pulls you close to him. You couldn’t stop the smile from blossoming on your lips and he continued to stare at your reflection through the mirror. Now that’s a view.

His sparkling brown orbs, shooting mega hearts to yours despite no words being exchanged. “What did you say?” Jungkook said in a harsh tone but his touch was anything but. He pressed his lips onto your shoulder without breaking eye contact. Your smile is getting wider and wider as he held on. “You’re sexy… drives me wild all the time,” he taunted you with his hushed voice.

“You’re a good liar. I have stretch marks, on my butt, on my stomach… And my boobs? They look disproportionate with the rest of me, I look like an alien…” you said them with half hearted giggle and, “My body turned ugly… I feel heavy, I look heavy, I’m… hideous.”

Jungkook had been shaking his head ever since you begin talking, refusing to acknowledge anything you said. “I’m nothing like the girls you filmed, yeah I saw your edited videos with that new female news anchor, she got nice legs and butts too,” you leaned your head back on his shoulder, sighing. Throwing acid glanced at yourself through the mirror. Jungkook moved his arms down your hips and cupped your butt, before squeezing it.

“I’d take no other butts but this one,” Jungkook gave you a disturbing grin that either makes you want to punch him or kiss him hard. You rolled your eyes to the side and switched to press your front on him, circling your arms around his neck while he glided his eyes up to find yours. He towered you easily, and you got absorbed in those mesmerising iris that it took you a thought loud enough to bring you back to the situation you were in.

“Look at you,” you pointed at him with your lips, “You’re flawless. Beautiful… captivating.” Jungkook smacks his lips together, while fixing your baby hair, giving you that crinkling eye smile and spoke in articulate whispers that, “No matter how much your body changes, I’m madly in love with the very soul you bore, and even if you think that you’re not enough, I am still going to love you for who you are. And. In my eyes?”

He pauses, he tips your chin up with his index finger and spoke to your lips, “Your sexiest moment has yet to come.” Kiss.

Foolish, you thought. Jungkook meant every word but you thought it was foolish of him to love you. Jungkook gave away so much. He gave away a secure future to be married. He gave away his youth, his hard work, his dreams, to be married to you. It was not easy. It was not easy to have this life with him.

With no family to turn to, you both only had each other. There was so many first times. First interview, first rent, first job, first child.

Things would have been easier, albeit, if you had just stayed on track and did as told; and leave Jungkook behind. Tell him it was over and that you didn’t want him. It was mere words. But those pleading eyes could never let you lie. You know it when you touch, when you embraced him, when you kissed. You knew you weren’t going to want any other lips, have another arms to hold except this one. That’s why you did it.

That’s why you eloped.

A life without Jungkook isn’t worth living, no matter how easy it was.

Your family didn’t want anything to do with you. They didn’t want a child who refused to follow their path of life. Jungkook, a simple person, with simple background, didn’t worth their time. The fact that he was too young for you became the only logical rejection. Ridiculous, you thought. Age gap is a myth. Jungkook is alike you as you were alike him. What was it about Jungkook being too young for you? They just didn’t want you to be married to Jeon Jungkook. Because Jeon Jungkook wasn’t Kim Seokjin. The guy they preferred.

“Man should be older, for the marriage to be ideal,” your mother sipped her tea.

Ideal is an illusion.

“Dad was older than you. Was it ideal? The backbone of marriage is to trust and communicate. Something your ‘ideal’ marriage, certainly lacks,” you were greeted with a splash of tea across your face and hair.

And that was the last time you saw your mother. She loathed Jungkook. Unable to look at him in the eye when you brought him home once. One glance and you knew she was disappointed. 3 years in an expensive college and this is the boy you found? A videographer?

Not to mention the unconventional piercings, his lack of spiritual faith and low social class vibe. To her, he was revolting against her upholstered chair that she might have to send to laundry spa after Jungkook left. Afraid that his mediocre financial wealth be infatuated to her luxurious furnitures.

He was not enough for her, but he is enough for you.

Tough times do make the easier one more meaningful. No family to turn to, and you both only had each other, and that was enough and more.

Fostering through emotional wounds, you held your chin up high for the man you choose to love and his devotion was clearly infested in the way he was with you one night, lips parted to watched the stars in your room, that lit up in pitch darkness above the bed.

“Everything we have isn’t extraordinary, but is enough…” you heard him say, your head resting on his bulging bicep, twirling your fingers with his very own, while staring at the self made constellation ceiling you spend time creating. It was the best thing you’ve ever done and Jungkook did all the sticking. It was true what he said. The life you had before him was full of materialistic infatuation but no soul. It was a thirst to be above everyone, get ahead of the time, be an icon people would look up to. But no longer do you yearn for such attention, for the only attention you craved was his.

It was easy to love and leave for some people, but not to you. When you love someone, you gave them everything you had. And everything was Jungkook had. Sometimes it scares you, how much you create a place that is his, in your entire being, that when you bore his child, you were frightened that she will take your place. Foolish thoughts, isn’t it?

When Ben came, she changes everything. Jungkook’s little office was littered with polaroid pictures of her.

Her little nose, the corners of her lips that resembled her fathers’, the need to push boundaries she was set in—she was only four, but heavens, the energy she has. Jungkook was not only teaching her all the martial arts available, he was teaching her to an individual. To speak for herself, to be unafraid and heavily invested in her to make her happy. You maybe the love of his life but Ben is so much more than that.

Too young to be a father? You mocked your mother’s childish rejections. Jungkook was a better father than you remembered having.

Speaking of Ben. How is she?

Dial tone ended after what seemed to be ages. Taehyung was giggling heartily upon answering the call. “Hello Ben’s mom!” He chirped.

“Hi! How’s everything going?”

“Everything is great! Jimin is helping her on the slide, and she’s faster than both of us combined… we’re heading to the zoo when it opens, and she’s just been fed.”

They’re doing pretty well. They’ve been entrusted to do the babysitting job eversince Ben was 2. Jimin is good with keeping her entertained and Taehyung had enough babysitting experience with his niece and nephews for you to even come up with a complaint. Thank God for Jimin and Taehyung.

“I’m going to head over to Jungkook’s cafe. Just called to make sure everything is fine. I missed her.”

“It was a little over four hours, noona! Ben is only catching up with her uncles… hurry up then! The movie is going to start!”

You ended the call without talking to Ben, afraid that she would want to come with you if she knew you weren’t working. It was difficult to get the day off, taking a break from mothering and having a full time job. Besides, Taehyung and Jimin took their day off too, with paid babysitting by the hours. Their fares are cheap compared to other babysitters.

Grabbing your purse, you slid out the main door with simple brown loafers and stockings, a beige knee-length long coat and ash grey turtleneck, paired with jeans. It’s winter.

But when you arrive to his cafe, you saw endless rows of people queueing to get a table. There’s no way the new staff can handle such crowd without Jungkook’s help. Your best guess that he would still be in his barista uniform, making drinks.

And your intuition proven right when you saw your husband struggling to meet the order demands while being the only one in the barista corner, preparing coffees. The new staff is taking orders and putting on a fake smile for incoming customers at the cashier stand.

Poor baby. You glanced through the fogged up glass window at your husband and finding purchase in your heavy sigh. Where did the rush of crowd came from?

You looked around for clues, only to witness someone leaving a black Palisade Hyundai, parked on the side. This man, was on the phone and grey long coat as he exited his car, his brown hair neat and short. He was in the back seat and his driver stood at the door for him. He looks expensive. When he turned to the side, your heart dropped.

When is the noon shift going to be here? Jungkook grumbled in the back of his thoughts, your voice lingering in his head.

“Don’t be late…”

He let out an exhale through his nose, as he tips his chin back looking at the order screen where Hyungjin had keyed in the paid orders. Hyunjin rushes to his side, leaving the cashier stand vacant only to say, “416, said no caramel syrup.” Handing back the coffee he just made. Jungkook was about to lose his cook, but he grinded his jaw and nodded, silently.

Surely he could do better speed but with the constant modification of orders, he is stalling his usual pace. Plus, he was worried that his wife is somewhere out there in the cold, waiting for him to finish his shift. But with this many people and the noon shift not showing up, the movie date might have to be cancelled. And there’s nothing more Jungkook hated than to irresponsibly break a promise. Especially towards his wife.

Even if she’s walking in with a dude into his very cafe—hold up, what?

He is in fact, pushing the doors open for you. Wanted you to be seated on a couple seat but you declined and went with him.

He looks rather friendly. Too friendly perhaps for Jungkook’s liking. The noon shift finally arrived but it will take time for them to merge into the situation, so Jungkook switched place with Hyunjin to take orders from the man you’re with.

“Hello, my name is Jeon, how may I address you sir?”

“Seokjin,” this attractive man pursed his lips and leaned to the menus to see them clearer, while choosing he murmured, “What shall we have…”

You on the other hand were playing charade games with Jungkook. He mouthed, very angrily, “Who is he?”

And you replied, “I tried to call but you didn’t answer…”

He goes, “I’m working!”

Seokjin shot his eyes up and Jungkook cleared his throat, “Two hazelnut cappuccinos and two egg tarts… please.”

Jungkook switches back to his barista mode and chirped, “Would you like to try our new cheesecake along with it? It’s half price today…”

Seokjin scrunched his face briefly at the screen and, “Nope. Just the coffee and egg tarts, thanks.”

“Sure, that would be $18.80.” Seokjin tapped his shiny platinum card on the pad and it clicked to cash. Paid. As easy as that.

“Egg tarts is still your favourite right?” Jungkook heard he asked you with the most gentle voice a man could possess. Jungkook passes the cashier stand to the noon team, and excused himself to the toilet for a bit. He untied his black apron roughly, and threw it against the wall in the hallways meant for staff. Then he walked in long lunges to his locker, and unlocking them to get to his phone.

17 missed calls from Wife. 32 messages.

“His name is Kim Seokjin.”

Jungkook quickly replied, gnawing his lips in between his teeth as he typed. His beauty mark underneath his lips showing evidently.

“Who the fuck is he? Why are you having coffee with him?”

Wife is typing…

“He is the guy I was supposed to get married to.”

Jungkook stilled. That makes more sense.

You’re fidgeting. Eyes wide open, to every corner in that cafe. Fingers a little clammy, pupils darted out at every person there--you’re nervous, it isn’t difficult to see.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother where you are…”

You glanced up to meet his gaze. He looks handsome. As always. Every young women in that coffee shop wanted to be you.

“Is it that obvious?”

Seokjin nodded in reply.

“How are you?” He asked. In a way only past lovers share. There was no quick answer to that question but you out your priorities first. The most important thing he should know about you is that…

“Married? And a daughter?” Seokjin’s eyes doubled it size as he leans back into his chair, in disbelief.

“I mean…” he glances up and down, drinking in your figure, “don’t tell me that that/ body had a daughter that’s four now… how does your husband sleep at night when you’re not home?”

Pretty well if he’s tired, you thought.

“How about you, Seokjin?”

“Same old same old. Business is like always. We’re venturing new ideas. Since coffee shops are overrated now. They grow like mushrooms after the rain,” Seokjin crossed his legs and brought the brim of the cup to his moistened lips. Feeling a slight discomfort at the fact that your ex-fiancee spoke ill of coffee shops, knowing your husband is working in one.

You were at a crossroad of revealing Jungkook as your husband and risk Seokjin telling his brother about it. His brother will tell his mother and his mother will inform your mother about you and your choice of a life partner. It's not that you were ashamed of Jungkook’s job. It's more to save him than it is about shame. But Seokjin is still a friend. And there’s a side to him that is trustworthy.

“You know, things ended abruptly between us,” you began.

Seokjin’s false confidence begins to wane when you started speaking about the sore spot in his heart. You knew he felt something when you two were together. Whatever that was there, was engulfed by the resemblance of a lover you tried to play for his sake. To him, you were an enchanting one. And it hits him, how great of a pretender you proved to be.

“I apologize if it bothers you in any way. I know the engagements was all your money. And the time you’ve invested in me, I can never repay…” you spoke to your chest, fiddling with your wedding ring.

“I’m married to one of the staff working here, in this coffee shop that grow like mushrooms after rain, you said,” you glanced around to show emphasis, and, “He works part time on weekends, and have a full time job as a cameraman for news anchors. We’re supposed to have a date today but the coffee shop got busy so we’re going to be a little late but that’s okay, I guess?” You smiled and puffed your cheek while cocking your head to one side, unaffected by it.

It was way different from when you were dating Seokjin. Seokjin had hotels, you never ate in any restaurant below 4-star rating, he buys you clothes and dolls you up with his favourite luxury brands. You never had to leave the house because there’s a cinema in his mansion. His idea of a date is on a cruise ship, with food cooked by a Michelin-graded chef, a good bottle of Dom Perignon in a Swarovski studded champagne glass. He would have provided you everything.

A world class jet. A trip to Mallorca. A designer handbag. You name it.

But if it wasn’t love, it wasn’t love.

“I’m very happy. Jungkook had opened my eyes to many things. Made me learn about myself. Help me indulge in the simpler way of living, one that is slower in pace, deeper in meaning. I realise I really didn’t need that much, just a few dorks who loves me the way I am, and that’s where home is,” you bit your smile and hung your head. Seokjin slowly smiled too.

“This daughter of yours, how does she look like?”

You happily showed Seokjin your little family. And you pointed Jungkook. Seokjin immediately recognised him. “He is way too good looking for this coffee shop,” Seokjin gushes, you thought he was gay for that nano second.

“I know right… he doesn’t believe me when I say so,” you giggled.

“And your daughter’s name is Ben?” “Yeah… Just her pet name.” “And Jungkook just agrees?” “He lets me get away with a lot of things.” “He seems like the more mature one in this union, thank goodness someone is taking charge huh?”

You knew he meant how childish you could be and it was true, Jungkook might be wearing the pants in certain areas in your marriage, but in some, he wears the apron. Versatility is important.

“I should probably go, I didn’t plan to stay long in Seoul,” Seokjin took one finishing sip of his coffee, pushing his chair back in one swift move, refastening his long coat and you stood up with him. You both enveloped in an embrace, long enough for close friends and parted. Seokjin is making a business trip to Brazil and he managed to joke that if you end up marrying him, you two would have met for 20 minutes in a month because he’s just so busy. You watched him walk back to his Palisade through the glass window and the engine whirls away, elegantly, just like its owner.

“Ready to go?” A clipped tone suggests that Jungkook may have resented the sudden reunion between you and Seokjin. What else can you say than it was unplanned? He is murky and sour like the lemon juice you had last night, with his black turtleneck on his grey puff jacket.

“I’m sorry you had to wait for me,” but you didn’t have to bring your rich ex-fiancee over to fill time, Jungkook set himself aflame.

“I told you, I didn’t plan it to happen,” you sounded defeated yourself, trying to explain a harmless situation to a deafened man, “if I didn’t refuse his offer, he might tell mother where we are, and that would be—will you slow down please, I can’t keep up with you!”

He spun around, nose flaring, face sterned and hard unforgiving gaze met you. “You’re just rubbing it in my face, to tell me what you could have end up with, instead of a struggling videographer with a double job because he can’t afford his own daughter’s nursery.”

You stopped dead in your lunges and stared at him with reddening eyes. It was strong enough for him to feel the atmosphere shift. Jungkook crumbled with a stutter of your name out of guilt, but you rammed through his shoulder, bolting ahead. Not caring if he stumbles a little when you did.

“I can’t believe after all that we’ve been through you would say all of this with your whole chest,” you grumbled through gritted teeth, trudging forward. Jungkook was beside you, trying to capture your arm, multiple times but you just swatted them away, each attempt.

“I gave you every broken bits of me. I gave you my love. I gave you a child, damn it!” You wiped your tears aggressively, pushing him to the side on the almost empty pavements. The pace you were going at, results in a great gap between you both. And increasing as time passes, until...

“I… I’m lacking,” Jungkook shouted from afar.  

You spun your heel around. He behaves just the way he did in the past, when you told him that you can’t be with him because he was too young. Back then, he wanted you so badly and refused to let conscience take over him, persistently saying that he is going to wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

He hangs his head low, kicking the ground with the heel of his worn out shoe.

“He looks accomplished,” he added, “And successful. And… all in all, a better man. For you. Maybe you should have married him.”

You threw a scoff to the side and gave your head a half-shake, trying to process his words. Brown loafers increases speed, strutting towards Jungkook’s shoes, and you called, “Listen, Jeon.”

Jungkook took one and a half step backwards, as you charged. “I have Ben and you now, isn’t it a little too late to have regrets?” You cocked an eyebrow, smirking, standing toe to toe with Jungkook. “Too late doesn’t mean it won’t happen…” he murmured to his chest, pouting like a child.

“Seokjin barely has time for himself. Has to keep up with social demands and being a socialite had put a leash on him, struggling to keep his head up the surface of a never-ending race of who had the biggest, baddest toy cars in the market. Pretending to be happy with the money he has and have no friends he can genuinely bare his feelings with. Still think I want him? I’d be more sated marrying a lamp post than I do marrying Seokjin.”

Jungkook of all people would know the sexual appetite you have. You wouldn’t last a whole 48 hours without him. Which is why he is worried about the trip to Hong Kong happening soon. That will also be the first time Ben will be parted from her dad that long.

Jungkook’s smile lingers and caught your lips in a chaste, PG-13 kiss.

“I’m thinking of a rated R kiss as soon as we get back to our place…” Jungkook laced your hands with his and tattled to cross the road where the mall is. “If it's dark enough in the movies, maybe we don’t have to wait that long,” you batted your eyelashes at him. He responded with a crumpled face, scrunching his nose while booping yours.

Jimin kept handling you plushies while Taehyung passed a sleeping Ben from his arms to Jungkook. He waddled down the hall in relaxed strides towards Ben’s bedroom while you were still taking stuffed animals from Jimin. Taehyung excused himself to use the toilet.

“Why are there so many?”

Jimin blinked at you and stopped momentarily before resuming to hoard all the things they brought home to you.

“Taehyung played a dart game and wanted to give Ben all the stuffed animals there. He won the whole thing. We had to give the other half of the gifts to the little kids in the zoo,” Jimin explained.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be paid?” You slumped your shoulders, as Jungkook wraps his arm around you, bidding farewell to the babysitters who did an extremely good job, taking Ben out so you could have a little me time.

“Nah, we owe Jungkook a lot to doing editing for us, this is the least we could do, besides helping out with chores. Ben enjoyed her time too,” Taehyung gave Jungkook a playful fake punch on his stomach.

“I never thought that this dude would end up having kids faster than I did… he wouldn’t flirt for shit back in college,” Jimin reminisce.

“Really?” You gave Jungkook a look and he put on a bashful face.

“You jerk,” Taehyung jokes, “Who would have thought. The quiet ones are always the naughtiest one…” nudging Jungkook elbow.

“Once he set his eyes on someone, he really went full tunnel vision. Won’t settle for less, did he, Taehyung…” Jimin shoved both hands into his jeans pocket.

“Alright, go home. You’re not young anymore. You’re bothering my time with my wife by being here longer than requested. Your body is aging,” Jungkook passed, pushing Taehyung and Jimin away from the door.

“We took care of Ben and this is how you repay us?”

You crossed your arm, leaned your body to the door frame and watched the boys bickering all the way to the stairs. Your husband returns with a lingering smile. He stops in his steps, momentarily when he saw you. He wipes his hand together and continued his route, biting his smile as if he didn’t just do the most attractive thing a man could do.

“I know that look.” You started.

“What look…”

“That ‘remember what we did when they weren’t here an hour ago’ look.”

Jungkook chuckled through his nose and walked in the main door. He leans his back to it and locked them, still biting his lips the way that would drive you crazy, tipping his head back a little so you could have the little flashes of him having you on top of him, a little while ago.

“My coworker thought I was in mafia. Do I look that brute?”

“You’re probably the prettiest mafia there ever is,” you shot back.

“Awh, babe… what pretty thoughts you have.” He follows you lazily down the hallway.

“Ben… Ben!” Jungkook let out a sharp exhale, and you passed him a look that he didn’t catch. Dining table. Jungkook is trying to feed little Jeon. “Let’s eat our rice…” He sang tiredly, spooning the rice into a small ball, enough to feed your three year old, who is bunny hopping up and down the hallway. She had been excited after uncles Taehyung and Hoseok took her to the bunny farm yesterday. She hasn’t come down from her high. You couldn’t take the sight anymore. Ben looks at you when you shot her name, and came waddling her little feet towards the dining table, leaning her tummy on Jungkook’s knee. She knows she can find protection from her daddy. “What did I tell you about leaving the table when daddy feeds you?” Your voice is acid, gruelling, “When anybody feeds you?” You repeated yourself and she pouted with her perky lips and chubby cheeks, lowering her head. She had understood what she was doing had made you unhappy. Mummy is upset. “Not to… do that,” she mewled in little voice, she blinks repeatedly. Jungkook tucked her baby hair behind her ear as she was being scolded by her feisty mom. And he also pushed her bangs back and gave her forehead a loud smack kiss, whispering in daddy-like voice, “You promise not to do it again, right? Because Ben is a good girl, yes?” He attacked her with more forehead kisses until she giggles. “It’s not good for your tummy to jump up and down like that, when you’re eating. Get on your kiddy chair dad took for you,” you bracketed her waist and put her into her chair. You know she doesn’t like you right now. She had crossed her arm and turned away from you. She only entertain her dad. And he’s smiling proudly right now. You propped an elbow to give her an eye roll that Jungkook saw. “Beef briskets are your favourite, aren’t they? Dad cooked this for you. Your cheeks are all smeared with gravy,” he thumbed her cheeks in an attempt to clean her up, leaning towards her with his galaxy studded eyes. He dips his gravy stained thumb into his lips like it was the most natural thing to do ever. And you sit there, internally swooning over the fact that you had the amazing Jeon Jungkook, your baby daddy.

[carcrash15]

I'm sorry

It was a stormy day and you were out in the open in a small city in Norway. It had been devastating for you after your tragic break up with Steve and you had left your job as an Avenger and had also resigned from SHIELD.

You were forced to move away to Norway and was now leading a simple life. You would work at a local book store and would spend your nights in clubs and indulging yourself in alcohol and sex. The only things that would keep you out of Steve's memories. The only time you would think of him was when you would retire to your bed after a long day of work and that's when all those memories would haunt you down. His body on your's, both your bodies tangled together, the moanful nothings, the soft kisses, the touch, everything. And then that one night. The one night you would never want to remember. The night Steve walked in with hatred in his eyes. The night he tried to violate you even after you said no. The insults and every fucking thing.

You were pulled back in the present when you realised that the storm was growing worse and it was raining heavily. You went and took shelter under the shade of a closed cafe. There was no one on the streets and that's when you started to wander why had you even got out on that day? The storm took a worse shape and the shade above you was blown away and you almost screamed and fell down when you felt a pair of strong arms prevent you from falling face flat.

You stumbled a bit and managed to gain your balance and then stood properly and turned back to face your saviour.

Your blood boiled at the sight of his face. His blue, white and red armour fitted his body perfectly, but his shield was missing.

You didn't say a word and started to walk in the opposite direction.

"Y/n?" You heard him call your name. "Let's go. The storm's not safe."

You stood at your tracks, but didn't turn back. His voice still made shivers run down your spine.

"Y/n, please. It's not safe here." He pleaded.

This time you turned back and faced him with your face having an indifferent look. "I thought it was over. I don't think I have any more business left with you."

"Y/n, please it's not the time to argue, it's not safe here and I'm here for your rescue." He looked at you with pleading eyes. His baby blue orbs piercing through you.

"I don't think that I need to be rescued by you, Captain Rogers. Even after..." You were cut by a yelp and Steve's pleading voice.

"Y/n please. I beg you." He had been hit hard on the face by a tree trunk and was now bleeding.

"No way that I'm coming with you." You said sternly.

"Not forme, but for Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Clint? They haven't done wrong to you then why are you punishing them?" Steve asked with teary eyes. He had hit you hard where it actually hurts.

Your face softened a bit and you nodded your head in approval and he said something via his com and soon a quin jet landed Infront of you and both of you boarded.

Tony was waiting for both of you at the entrance with a wide smile. The moment you boarded, he embraced you in a brotherly hug and kisses your temple.

"Finally you agreed to meet your big brother again. I'm not gonna leave you soon this time." He said with a bright face.

"Oh, come on are we invisible or something?" It was Natasha.

"Oh, no you definitely are not invisible darling." You said as you hugged her.

"Do inform us before you leave next time and as per my guess, it's not gonna be anytime soon." Both the women giggled at it.

All this while, Steve was standing at a corner smiling at you but then he started to cough and exited the room, followed by Tony.

Natasha had been chatting with you for a while till she retired to the cockpit to take a look at Clint.

You aimlessly walked towards where Steve and Tony had disappeared. That's when you heard whispers from inside the room.

"What the hell were you planning when you jumped out of the plane in the storm and rain with a chest infection?" It was Tony.

"Tony, I'm not gonna die you know that the serum..." Steve was cut as he started to cough violently.

You cracked the door open a little and peeped in. Steve was coughing blood in a white handkerchief.

"See now you're coughing blood." Tony said in a shout.

"Tony lower, Y/n's just in the next room." Steve managed to say in between his coughs.

"Steve we know you're not gonna die but doing such things will increase your pain. Anyway it is that you're going through a lot even though you don't want to show it, it's still visible on your face." It was now Bruce's kind voice.

Steve was bent down by the coughing fits as he looked up at Bruce and clutched his chest hard in pain a he said between his coughs, "Y-you ..kn-kno--know I love t-the p-p-pain."

His eyes were glassy and he looked at Bruce with pleading eyes.

The sight made tears run down your eyes as you felt your heart ache. Whatever it was but you can never deny the fact that you still loved Steve.

"Steve you really should lay down now." It was Tony's voice this time. But it was soft and kind, so unlike Tony.

"No, I'm fine." Steve protested.

"Sorry but you're not." Tony's voice was stern this time. "Bruce prepare for the treatment."

"Tony, not now please." It was Steve. His voice horse from coughing.

"I don't wanna listen to anything. Anyways you've caused a lot of damage already, we can't afford to wait till we reach the tower." Said Tony as he helped Steve up and made him lay down on the medical table.

Bruce helped Steve open the upper portion of his armour and take off the shirt under it.

Bruce then plugged an IV in Steve's left arm and plugged two wires on both sides of his chest which were connected to a monitor.

Tony then held Steve's head in position as Bruce was pushing a tube into Steve's mouth and another tube into Steve's nose.

You could see Steve's face whiten with pain as folded his fingers into a painfully tight fist. But he made no sound. It was only once that his body jumped up but Tony's grip on him tightened and there was no more movement.

You didn't notice Tony coming out and then he was face to face with you.

"Y/n, you here?" He asked in horror.

"What's this happening Tony? What's happened to Steve? For how long has this..." You were cut off by Tony.

"Y/n, let us just talk outside. Steve needs rest." Was all Tony said and pulled you by the rust to the other room.

"I want an explanation guys." You shouted out in frustration.

Everyone was present there except for Steve. All their heads hung low.

"Y/n, Steve didn't want us to inform you. He has been diagnosed with a chest infection which is not quite cute able and is really painful. Though it will not kill him, but it has made him very weak and probably he'll never be able to fight again like before. And Y/n that's the reason he...." Tony was cut off by you.

"That's the reason he broke up with me. Because he didn't want me to spend my life with a dependent person." Your sentences ended with sobs.

"Yes." It was Tony's voice. Soft and gentle.

"Can I see him?" You looked up at Bruce with hopeful eyes.

"Hmm." Bruce hummed.

_

He was laying there on the table, most possibly asleep. His face was pale and his chest rised and fell painfully. His brows were furrowed in pain.

You went and sat on the chair next to the table. How could you not notice the pain he was going through? You loved him, but you only saw the mask of ruthlessness covering his pained withins.

You placed a hand on his head, stroking his blonde strands from his face.

He slowly and painfully opened his eyes. His baby blue orbs portrayed the intense pain he was going through and was trying to hide from everyone.

He took a deep breath by closing his eyes shut. You could say that breathing was really painful for him.

"Steve!" You sighed in disbelief. "Why would you even think that? I fell in love with the Steve Rogers who would cry for the lives he had taken in a mission, not the Captain America who would go fighting and killing people for the greater good. Steve whatever it may be, I love you and I will never stop loving you how hard I try."

"I'm sorry." He said still keeping his eyes closed. Trying to hide the pain from you which he was going through.

"Steve, it's okay. I'm sorry. I failed to understand the pain you were going through. I couldn't be a good friend. Why didn't you tell me?" You sighed.

"I thought you'd hate me. I'm no more the Captain America I was before. I'm now again the sick kid I used to be before the serum." His voice was painful.

Steve left a shuddering breath. You could see tears run down his eyes.

"Steve, I'm sorry. Please forgive me." You were crying by the time. Your hands on Steve's cheek.

"I'm sorry, Y/n." He whispered as he placed his IV'ed hand over your hand that was resting on his cheek and took you hand to his mouth to place a soft kiss at the back of your hand.

"I love you." Was all he said.

You ruffled his hair and kissed his temple gently as you said, "I love you too. And I'm never gonna leave your side, whatever it may be."

You looked at Steve. He was staring at you with smile on his lips and his puppy like baby blue eyes.

You laughed at his expression and so did he, but he handed up yelping and clutching his chest hard in pain.

You rubbed his chest to ease him and he kept on staring at you.

"Captain Rogers you should better sleep now or else you'll miss all the fun once we reach the tower.

And that was enough for Steve to close his eyes and doze off as you smoothed his hair.

[therandomfics]

Coffee’s For Closers: 3

“Wait a second, hold on. You’re telling me that my roommate is using photos of me - well, photo shopping pictures of me, and putting them online.” You drew in a ragged, frustrated breath and exhaled. Detective Tutuola turned his monitor towards you to show you what they had discovered. There you were, or rather there was your face, but it wasn’t your body that was nearly naked and in a suggestive pose. “What exactly is the purpose of her doing this?” 

He leaned back in his chair and rested his arms on their appointed rests. “Carisi found some interesting stuff when he was at your apartment. I could be wrong, but it looks like she was taking your pictures and making them more alluring, then using them to meet up with different men. I’m not sure how she could have done it though, because you two don’t look anything alike. Your picture is all over a Sugar Baby website.” 

“We’re still trying to put it all together, Y/N, but I thought it was important that you knew as soon as possible. I don’t want you to confront her, though. No matter what she’s done she’s still a victim and she could be emotionally unstable,” Carisi added, placing his hand on your shoulder. He removed it a second later when Tutuola looked at him with an arched brow. 

“I guess that’s how she’s paying for the apartment,” you muttered and rolled your eyes. “So my roommate is insane and her former lover is a rapist. I think I need to find a new place to live.” 

“I don’t think you’re in any danger,” Tutuola consoled, leaning forward and exiting out of the pictures that were on his computer. 

Carisi shook his head. “Can’t we put her up somewhere, just in case? Kenny was there yesterday and he’s clearly a dangerous bastard.” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” you interrupted and stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Is there anything else? I think I’d like to go home.” 

“One second, Y/N,” Carisi pleaded and pulled the other detective aside. Though their backs were to you and there was enough noise in the squad room to seemingly cover their voices, you were able to catch clips and phrases from the two men. We can’t just go around putting every girl you like in a safe house. What would we do if something happened and we put her back in that situation? Take her home.... go home.... stop being... Mother Theresa of SVU.

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride home?” Carisi asked once he returned, leaving Tutuola standing by the office of the Lieutenant. 

“I’m okay, thank you though, really. You’re sweet,” you replied and offered him a small smile. In that moment, he was your saving grace. Even though you’d seen him five days away for a total of three minutes at a time, you thought it was possible you might like him - beyond his tempting grin and his glimmering blue orbs. Or, maybe you liked him because he was in a position of power. Now wasn’t the time for your own personal therapy session, though. 

He smiled in return and hesitated, before grabbing your hand and squeezing it for a second. To your surprise, you felt yourself blush and turned your face away, closing your eyes for a brief moment. Pull it together, Y/N. “If you need anything, call me, please,” he insisted, standing so close you could have seen the stubble growing on his face had you the courage to look. “I mean it, Y/N. Anything.” Was he coming onto you? You didn’t have time to decide. 

“Hey Carisi, Janelle just called. She said your cell’s off, something about how you’re late for dinner!” One of the uniformed officers called out. Sonny’s face went white and then immediately blood red. 

You snapped your head in Sonny’s direction and pulled your hand away. The previous moment’s hopes and dreams retreated back into the locked box from which they should have never ventured. “Enjoy your date,” you said through clenched teeth, taking your leave to head home. 

At home, Emma was awake and was plating the sauce you’d made with pasta that she’d found in the cabinet. 

“Where’d you go?” she asked, making an extra plate for you and setting it on the bar. 

“Thanks. I forgot I had a book due back at the library and I’m sick of paying their late fees. I’m pretty sure I owe them like $60 that I have to pay or I can’t graduate,” you lied, but it felt natural. If Emma was really doing what the detectives suspected, she didn’t deserve your truth. 

“Kenny keeps calling me.” Her random admission was hard to read. Was she upset, fearful, annoyed? You found that you didn’t want to trust anything she did anymore. 

You frowned, trying to find some semblance of compassion. “Want me to talk to him?” you offered. “Or you could just block his number entirely. Get a restraining order, or a no-contact order. I’m sure one of the Detectives can help you with that.” 

She sighed heavily and leaned over the bar, stabbing at the cavatappi on her plate. “This is too much to deal with Y/N. I really just want to forget it all. I don’t want to press charges,” she admitted, although again, you had no idea how to handle her confession. 

“Emma, if that son of a bitch raped you, you have to make sure he pays for it. You can’t let him get away with it. You never know what he’s capable of now.” You pushed your plate away, finding that given your present company your appetite had fled. 

“I just want to talk to him, to see what was going through his mind when he did it,” she mumbled, her bottom lip protruding in a pout that you chose to ignore. 

“Please don’t, Emma. That’s a bad idea.” You stood up and put your plate in the fridge before stalking to your room and locking your door. 

You heard the door to the apartment open and close a while later, signaling that Emma had left. Where she went or who she was with, you didn’t know, and frankly you were too angry with her to care. 

When you left the next morning for work, you nearly stepped on a receipt that was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. Emma’s door was shut and music was playing, a usual sign that she was asleep. When you unfolded it, things started to click more than they had ever before. The receipt was from The Dungeon, a bar tab from one of New York City’s BDSM clubs. You slipped it into your pocket and left for work, making a mental note to stop by SVU when you finished your shift. 

When you arrived at work you were pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t terribly busy. It was probably the snow on the ground, and the fact that it was already 8AM. You clocked in and started working hoping that your day would go by as quickly as possible so that you could try to shed some light on the situation going on at your apartment. 

“Hi, welcome to Sacred Grounds, I’ll be right with you,” you called over your shoulder as you finished up a frappe - why? It was so cold - and handed it to the waiting customer. You turned back around to the register and saw Sonny. “What can I get for you?” 

He stared at you blankly and then frowned. “Large coffee, black,” he replied, opening his wallet. 

“Have a good date last night?” You asked, taking his money and then giving him his change. 

“It’s not like that,” he argued and shoved a few dollars in the tip jar before moving around the counter to wait for his cup. 

“It’s not? Oh that’s good. What’s it like then, Detective?” you asked as you poured his coffee into the cup and snapped the lid on. 

“She’s my girlfriend but we’re having problems.” He took the cup and opened it back up promptly, doctoring it up himself. 

You laughed, much louder than you’d intended and shook your head. “I’ve heard that one before, Sonny. In high school, in undergrad, in grad school when TA wanted some T&A. Have a good day.” You waved at him briefly before turning back to the register and helping the next guest. 

The card that Tutuola had given you was burning a hole in your pocket. When you clocked out for the day, you immediately called him on your walk home. 

“Hi, Detective Tutuola? This is Y/N Kennedy, I’m Emma Paulson’s roommate.” 

“What’s up, Y/N?” 

“Well I don’t know if it means anything but I found a receipt from The Dungeon this morning in the apartment, and maybe that’s where this happened? I don’t know anything about it,” you admitted and ducked into a shop to finish your conversation. 

“Can you bring that receipt to me? I think that might be helpful.” 

“I can, yes. I can be there in about twenty minutes. I’m just leaving work.” 

“See you in a few then,” he concluded and hung up, leaving you to backtrack and head to SVU. 

When you arrived a while later, you were frozen but anxious to see what your new evidence might reveal in the case. You were still confused at to what had really happened, and the information you’d received the night before did very little in terms of instilling confidence in Emma. 

“Miss Kennedy,” Tutuola called out, beckoning you over. 

“Oh, please call me Y/N,” you insisted and pulled the folded paper from your pocket, handing it to him. “I hope this is of some help.” 

He nodded and looked it over for a long moment, before setting it on his desk. “You must be frozen. Do you want some coffee?” 

“I.. actually hate coffee,” you confessed with a laugh. “But I’m find thank you, really. If it’s fine I’d like to get back home, though. Tomorrow I’ve got a presentation to the board to see if I’m on the right track for my degree.”

Carisi turned the corner a moment later and stopped in his tracks when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you and stood idly by his desk. “Do you need a ride home?” 

“Yeah, but I’d rather walk. Thank you, Detective Tutuola. See you later.” 

Back at home, Emma was waiting for you in the living room. When you walked in, she jumped up cheerfully and greeted you by holding out a bag from a boutique you were too poor to even think about. 

“I’m taking you out tonight to say thank you for all that you’ve done for me the past few days,” Emma declared, and shook the bag for you to take it. “Go try it on. You’re gonna look great.” 

“Emma, I don’t know, should you be going out? I mean.. that was pretty serious what happened,” you cautioned, but she ignored you and pushed you towards your room. 

The outfit that Emma chose was nothing short of notyourtype. In the bag was a black and gold bandage dress, one that hugged every part of your body you preferred to keep a secret. The shoes were worse, a stagger heel that made you feel like you were more likely to end up twirling around a pole as opposed to grabbing dinner with your roommate. She had even insisted on coordinating your make up, having bought you the classic red Chanel. Clearly, she was going something on the side. Even if you saved up two weeks of pay from the cafe you couldn’t afford the dress, let alone the shoes and make up. 

You walked out from your room and stood hesitantly in the doorway, trying to cover yourself with no luck. 

“This is.. very different than how I usually dress, Emma.” 

She was wearing something similar, if not a little more risque. “You look great. There’s a place I really think you’re going to like. I’m just gonna make a few calls and then we can go, okay? Go put on some eyeliner and mascara.” 

For someone who had so recently been assaulted, it didn’t seem like she was too upset anymore. It wasn’t you place to judge her or her actions following the trauma she had experienced, but you imagined you’d still be holed up in your room and terrified of the world if that had happened to you. But no two people are alike, so they say, and you did your best to apply an even eyeliner and full volume mascara. 

The restaurant that Emma took you was trendy enough, but it was in Tribeca and you felt completely out of your zone. It was nearly 8PM when you arrived, which seemed late for dinner, but New York never slept and people were constantly eating dinner at nearly midnight so you’d heard. 

“I love this place,” she gushed. She was on her second glass of wine and you were still nursing your sangria. 

“I’m glad to see you happy.” 

“You’re gonna love it too, just wait.” 

“Wait for what?” you inquired, glancing down at your phone. Anxiety danced through your stomach: it was nearing 9pm, you had to work the next morning AND you had a presentation following work. 

A man’s voice came over a loud speaker, silencing the entire group in the restaurant. You looked around and realized very suddenly that everyone was young, dressed to the nines and there was an electricity in the air that made you feel like running for the door. “Ladies, if you’ll look on the table you’re at, you’re each given a number. Memorize your number. Put it in the bowl. One lucky gentleman will pick your number. Consider him your date for the next hour, or until you’re ready to move on.” 

You looked at Emma and scowled. “Is this speed dating? I thought that was over in 2005.” 

“Not speed dating,” she replied with an unusually devilish smirk. “More like speed fucking. You’re lucky number 13! Good for you!” 

“What the fuck, Emma?!” you hissed and tried to grab your tiled number back from her, but it was too late. She tossed it in the fish bowl as it went around and kicked you under the table. 

“Relax. I was nervous my first time, too, but you’re gonna love it. You’d be surprised at how much these guys are willing to do for you once you get them going. And, Y/N, don’t run. The doors are locked until 10. Everyone gets an hour uninterrupted. Plus I always figured you were a sub. I’m a slave.” 

[psychemeanscure]

PART 19

He was right on relieving from consciousness, flashing the dark orbs of his eyes into its exact track. He was welcome, by the illuminating red lights of an empty four walls. Yet even between the repulsive hue he has seen, its emanating features can still awe someone in appreciation.

He starts turning his head side to side hoping to seek anyone who can possibly explain his dumbstruck situation. But no one other than its dark corner. Pure eerie silence for it starts to creeps him up. It feels like he was alone even if he sensed it. He was being watched. He tried remembering anything that had happened to him before he ends up the empty space, however nothing aside from blackout. Gulping an invisible lump in his throat, he takes the courage.

“Hello! Is anybody here? Hello!”

Then again, nothing. He wasn’t reciprocated thus he tried once again. “Hello! Anyone? Hello! Help! Help me please!” His bellowing plead already as he begins to move his body just to realize its certain numbness for he can’t assert further except slight thrashes. So he decides to give up that the only thing he could do was to look down by the cold pavement he was on.

When a droplet fell onto his head. Then another, with another so he starts cupping it then. Realizing what that is, panic came after him for it only takes him a second to lift his head up. Mr. Kim was terrified.

Helpless shriek echoed with terror. “What the f*ck.” As he forcefully pushes himself to dodge being under it. For the dripping blood onto his forehead now, was actually from a dead man tied up into upside-down. Parted lips full of gruesomeness, eyeballs were no longer apples but white. He was stuck in fear looking at it. Words left unspeakable.

Just before he finally heard the first sound he was searching all along. The portion which he failed to look into. A podium with three steps lit up with a leather single sofa set as the person behind the diligent rhythm of shoes comes into light.  

Jang Taeyoung arrogantly slumps onto his single couch, pulling out the sunglass he was wearing while his men came after the dark corners which the prosecutor thought empty. “Good to know you’re awake Mr. Kim, you almost got me boredom watching from my monitors you know.” Sighing, he spreads his arms with proudness. “Anyhow. Welcome to my humble abode.”                

His playground. The underground he was talking about, was actually a pretty leisure red room exclusive for bastards shamelessly prying against him. His execution space. But the prosecutor can’t attain to entertain any of it for he’s too concern of his own life. “Jang Taeyoung! What did you do to me, huh? Why is my body like this!”

“Tss. A simple lidocaine won’t kill you bulldog, such a puppy. What, you expect me to tie you instead? Such an old school.”

“F*ck you Jang Taeyoung. I’m going to kill yo--- f*ck!” he tried attacking by standing indeed just to remember his own situation bouncing back on the pavements, hearing the menacing chuckle from him instead. “Oh yeah? Are you sure about that, Mr. Prosecutor? How sad, you look helpless.”

“Is this about Ms. Sung? Jang Taeyoung I swear, I already told you everything I kn--- No! No, no no, Shit! A-argh!“

Before he could finish his sentence Jang Taeyoung already crossed the boundary between them as he easily struck a stiletto knife on its thigh as a continuous slapping of his palm is the only strength he could think of. “As much as I appreciate you remembering my lady. But everything? Then what the fuck your prosecutor general doing the day she was taken!”

His lashing words for he digs the knife deeper on its thigh, earning a growl as the heavy breaths of heaving pain erupts the poor prosecutor. “I was used too! The last time I interrogated you, I don’t have any idea our General Prosecutor is also working for Alcaziar. The next thing I know I was already dismissed from my service. I swear Jang Taeyoung, I’m broke!”

Looking by its appearance of simple shirt rather than its usual office style. For a moment it halts him that he had to gawk his assistant who is just meters away from him, waiting for a confirmation he needed. A simple nod was answered before he mercilessly dug out the dagger much more for another growl from the latter. Absorbing every detail that was given, it is his turn to nod in consideration then as he intentionally took out his gum to putting it through the wounded thigh of Mr. Kim. Unworried by the screeching result he did.

“Alright. Fine, fine. Seems like your excuse were convincing, quite a saving. Now talk.”

His stone cold command which only leads the prosecutor shudder in silence that instead of giving him answer a plead was uttered otherwise. “J-Jang, just please promise to spare my life aft--- Agh!!!”

He wasn’t able to endure his last words indeed as Jang Taeyoung scooping the gum he just covered, digging it in further on its thigh. “Can’t you see that I spare too much of my time on you assh*le that I have to do this single patch on you, so f*ck off and give the damn answer I needed before my patience will no longer get into you!” 

“Ahh!!!” Digging it much harder, the latter squirm. Lidocaine feels useless upon its repetitive screams. “F*ck! F*ck. Okay!” Punching his own hand on the floor, he surrendered. Thus Jang Taeyoung slips out his hand as well, setting to position himself by the bottom stair of the podium just behind him. Resting an arm on his bended knee as stroke the blood from the stiletto knife he’s holding like a savoring threat against the prosecutor.

“Now, what?” Sensing it with a sigh, he begins. “The involvement of our General prosecutor isn’t the end.”

Twitching a brow, it awakes his interest. “Cut the chase.” His mere impatience then before he’d been bestowed with another one. “The old hag had approached a former police commissioner who has a close contact with the current NIS chief which also was one of the connections of Ms. Sung.”

“Was?” his knowing question as Mr. Kim only cleared a throat. “You’re not surprised I guess you knew she does.” Of course! How can he forget his betrayed look the moment he saw her own access to it? For so he listens to its next word.

“Apparently, Ms. Sung isn’t aware of the close relationship between the two. Turns out this former commissioner has a bad history with her for she was also the reason why he got dismissed by his service. Waiting for the right agenda to counter, and it did.”

“It did, what?”

“The last time she seeks help from NIS of course. The moment she digs in with Xi industry which I presume she found me as well. The rest? I think you know what comes next.”

“They’ll going to file a lawsuit like she had it against their will, you saying?”

“Obstruction of authority, compliance for own benefit.” The latter tiredly shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

The precise information from the latter, yes for he could only curse a lot. “F*ck this!” He expected it to go far but not this too much further. This is getting serious the way he actually foresees it. Looking back from standing this time, hands pose to both sides of his hips as he walks back and forth. He’s totally pissed, little not knowing that there is more than that as Mr. Kim speaks again.

“It’s still strange for me though.”

Frowning, he looks down to the latter. “What do you mean?”

“Her, learning about Alcaziar’s plan using Xi industry but still chose to clasp a hand. I do think she has more personal reason other than that. I’m not quite so sure but I think it has something to do with her foster parents. You see, following Veeros Alcaziar for a short time I heard one of his call concerning the Martins and it seem liked he knew her true identity. Like she had been set-up all along.”

Confound. That’s maybe the only thing he could describe for himself right now. He was left off guard at every information he received. The dismissed prosecutor knowing the Martin identity of Sung Eunyoung. The probability that the old hag had tried to use her foster parents as baits. The set-up that has being planned way too long than he projected. It all makes sense.          

“They are trying to ruin her. Shit!”

His fume while the dismissed prosecutor simply watching him sensibly. “The power of money that holds, what else. You didn’t expect the Alcaziars being a dimwit, do you?”

He had already enough yet after hearing another blabber from the latter’s mouth, he’s not so sure of his own identity anymore. ‘Alcaziars? So this isn’t just the work of one but two, huh?’ He thought. “That son of a b*tch.” Stroking his hair with madness, he explodes. “That’s it!” Murderous eyes turning to shoot the dead underling’s body as well as the pulley holding it, gushing blood spread all over its fall, he decided. “Wait, wait. No! this isn’t right. Jang Taeyoung, please!”

For fright has come into the dismissed prosecutor. He can feel it. Just by seeing the dark orbs of his sight, he’s in pit of losing his life. But it’s too late. They had awakened up a sleeping beast. Tossing the bloodstained stiletto on the podium, he glanced once again. “That is...”

“If you could kill me with that knife, I guess.”

With him walking out through the transparent curtain doors indeed, the resonating sound of bullets field his satisfaction.

Another scumbag has dump.

~

Going back to his penthouse now, he felt empty. He had kill two and all yet not enough. It’s been a day but he’s in the middle of finding her still for he felt useless not doing anything without thinking. He needed a better plan. He cannot just barge in knowing that this battle isn’t just as simple as it seems. There’s too many involved, he can’t be reckless.

Brushing a hand on his face while the other’s gripping his scotch drink, staring at nowhere. He stayed slouching like that. On the floor, leaning by the glass window of his living room, he chose to seek the darkness. He’s nervous for her.

When a sudden chime from his touch phone came in. Unregistered number pop-up into its lock screen. He was confused at first as if in an instant he became a corrupted workstation processing to reboot, until he snapped out. “Sung Eunyoung.”

The only name he can think of. Pressing it hastily, it was a pre-scheduled voice message. With a trembling hand, he listened after its beep. For there he was, hearing the voice he had longed already.    

“Hey there, Loco.”

For some reason, closing his eyes he saw her. His lady leaning by her parked car, a hand in coat pocket while the other’s talking to him by its phone, smiling. He savor the moment. Thus a snicker came after from the other line. “Have you been well?” And as if on cue they converse like it is the current. Groaning him, answered.

“What do you think, woman?”

“Tss. Fine. My bad.”

“You, stubborn volatile.”

Then another snicker was heard again. “I know. I’m sorry… You’ll forgive me, right?”

Looking up through the ceiling now while she’s looking down at his mind. He replied. “As if I can win over you, even.”

Seconds after, silence erupted and he waited. “You see I’m actually planning not to call you but I’m pretty sure by now you’re already had a headache because of me, so might just send you something beforehand. I hit the spot, aren’t I?”  

“You really did. Very much that I f*cking hate you right now.”

Squinting eyes, she speaks the obvious. “You’re cursing at me, I can tell.”    

The next thing he knew he’s chuckling like there aren’t problems waiting for them. He should be angry by her but this woman takes him turn so easily. “Jeez, woman. You and your cunning instincts. Can’t you spare me once even over the phone? You’re so unfair.”

He pictured her shaking a head, teasing him before giving in a delighted sigh. “Anyway! Guess where am at.” He anticipates.

Looking by the ocean, she continued. “Gyeonggi-do coastline.”

‘So she recorded this during her visit, I see.’ He thought. “The view’s breathtaking as always. You must see it sometime, you’ll going to love it.”

“Perhaps, have I ever told you that I have quite obsessions with coastlines? I didn’t, but now you know.”

For he can only react on dazed. “Are you surprised?”  

“I am.”

It was almost a whisper as if hiding his disappointment for not knowing a simple hobby she does, but after sensing the smiling coyness of her, he’s happy. “Glad, you are.” She replied as another silence calls once again. It takes her long this time for he could only hear the waves of the ocean and her calming breath. She’s thinking.

“Jang?”

With a deep sigh, he retorted. “Hm?”

“Mexico.”

It left him confused. Fortunately, not long before he heard her next words. “Well, I just want to remind you about my favorite coastline.”  

And for the nth time silence came back once again. He sensed. It isn’t still the end of her soliloquy. ‘And?’ as if his intuitive opt to her. He felt her embarrassment.

“If… If things might not be rough in time.”    

“How about a ride together, what do you think?”

Relieve when he senses her composing herself for a better idea. “No, let me rephrase it.”  Chin up, feeling the breeze of her air, she speaks.

“Let’s just put each other’s smile the next time we meet, alright?”

It was a statement, and the voice has ended.

And like a crazy man laughing like a worthless cub, he cried.

[thesevenseraphs]

Bungie Weekly Update - 4/26/18

This week at Bungie, we introduced you to Warmind.

Several waves of developers talked about what you’ll find in the game on May 8. Creative Director Brent Gibson from Vicarious Visions joined Design Lead Evan Nikolich from Bungie on our Twitch stream to talk about Destiny 2: Warmind. It was our first conversation about a new story created by two studios working as partners. After a quick tour of Hellas Basin and an introduction to Ana Bray, we dove into a bit of gameplay. Design Lead Jacob Benton and Design Lead Ben Wommack walked us through Escalation Protocol, a new cooperative endgame activity with some intense challenges and exclusive rewards. For the final act, Senior Crucible Designer Kevin Yanes gave us a preview of Seasonal Crucible Rankings and Private Matches, with Cozmo riding “shotgun,” while Senior Sandbox Designer Jon Weisnewski and Sandbox Design Lead Josh Hamrick spiced the live fire exercise with some commentary about how Exotic weapons are evolving for all players in Season 3. Oh, and DeeJ hosted, but no one cares what he has to say. If you missed the stream, here’s footage in full:

There’s a lot more we have to tell you today about Season 3. Read on for more!

Exotic Investments

How do you make an Exotic feel more Exotic? It’s a two part question, including how it feels to acquire and upgrade the weapon and how it feels to use the weapon. To answer the first question, Senior Investment Designer Mark Uyeda is here to walk us through the process.

Mark: Our goals in extending Masterwork perks and mechanics to Exotic weapons are primarily to create new in-game goals for hobbyist players and reinforce specific activities with these long tail pursuits.There were a few “problem spaces” that we wanted to address when creating the Exotic Masterwork pursuit. First up, Exotics in Destiny 2 are very easy to acquire. Many players have most, if not all, of the non-quest Exotics. As we don’t want to make players re-earn every Exotic weapon, Exotic Masterwork acquisition and progression needed to take place after acquisition. Additionally, we needed to figure out a player-friendly way of representing the process of obtaining and applying an Exotic Masterwork. The milestone tray doesn’t provide a good flow for every Exotic Masterwork, and bounties are planned for summer (as noted on our recently updated Development Roadmap). With these goals and restrictions, we landed on the following player experience: There will be one Exotic Masterwork per Exotic weapon that exists so far in Destiny 2. In order to begin the Masterwork process, players will have to find an Exotic Masterwork Catalyst. When inspecting the Exotic, there will be a hint at what activities can grant the catalyst for that weapon. Not all Exotic Masterworks have the same drop rates. Some Exotic Masterwork weapons are guaranteed after a certain amount of engagement, while others are earned at random.

Once acquired, the catalyst can be applied to immediately enable orb generation on double kills for the weapon. Exotic weapons with a catalyst applied will also start tracking enemies defeated, like their Legendary Masterwork weapon counterparts.

After applying the catalyst, there will be bounty-like objectives available that need to be completed in order to upgrade to the final Masterwork state, which will apply stat/perk bonuses to the weapon.

A few Masterworks will require you to do a single thing, where others will have multiple steps. These objectives will vary in difficulty and length, but will not be determined by RNG. The goal for these objectives is to push the player to engage with the weapon that they wish to make into a full Masterwork. When it comes to difficulty, there are a few Exotic Masterworks paired with difficult activities or accomplishments in-game. We’re expecting that there may be one or two Exotic Masterwork weapons that give players the opportunity to set goals in mastering specific activities in order to earn their most desired Masterwork. To get ahead of a few questions we’re expecting, here’s a quick roundup of more specific notes:

Exotic weapon Masterwork pursuits only need to be done once per account- you don’t have to chase your white whale on each character.

Through the Masterwork process, duplicate drops of an Exotic weapon via engrams, milestones, or even the Exotic Collection will be initialized at your current Masterwork upgrade state.

The Exotic Masterwork process takes place fully in the weapon details screen – there won’t be any objectives that take up character inventory space.

Not all Exotic Masterworks will be available immediately when Season 3 begins. If you inspect an Exotic Weapon and a Masterwork socket is not visible, the catalyst is not yet available.

We won’t be publishing guides on how to acquire specific Exotic Masterworks. This is in your hands!

As with all things in Destiny 2, these new features are subject to evolution. We’ll be monitoring acquisition rates and community reaction once these are in the wild and adjusting as needed.

The Exotic Gunsmiths

Over the last few weeks, Senior Sandbox Designer Jon Weisnewski has been giving previews on how some Exotic weapons are evolving at base level to feel more powerful in Season 3. We’re keeping the streak up. This week, Tractor Cannon, Hard Light, and Borealis are up for conversation!

Jon: Quick thanks and recognition to the video capture team that has been working hard to play, record, and publish this stuff on a tight deadline. The Tractor Cannon has delivered a high amount of spectacle and has a huge fun factor, but was lacking utility for many players. To address this, in addition to the expected damage and physics impulse, any target hit by Tractor Cannon now has a debuff applied that adds suppression and makes the target vulnerable to Void damage for 10 seconds. Suppression will function as you expect, so in the Crucible, this will shut down active supers and prevent players from using their abilities. In PvE, this will put most enemies in the suppression state where they cower and grovel. The Void vulnerability adds a significant weakness to any source of incoming Void damage. So if you’re a solo player, run it with your favorite Void weapons and/or subclass for optimal effect. If you’re running with a coordinated fireteam… we’re both excited and terrified to see how fast you can melt some of our harder bosses with strategic Void attacks. The Void vulnerability does not stack with itself, but it does stack with other damage debuffs. Get to work!

Hard Light is inheriting the Borealis damage type reload swap: Holding reload will cycle elemental damage types in combat. The teaser clip shows this off pretty well, but what it doesn’t show very clearly is the other interesting change we made to lean in to this weapon’s gameplay. The bounce projectiles have always been a dazzling laser light show, but actually using them to do real work on your enemies around corners or off of walls has been difficult. It’s more of a suppression tactic than reliable offense. One option we considered was preserving aim assist for the lifetime of the projectile, but we couldn’t commit due to the sheer amount of pressure this would put on our runtime engine. (Imagine 12 players on a console in 6v6 all using this weapon, each player firing a round every three frames, and our aim assist code trying to predict the trajectory of each bullet for up to three bounces and then attempt to correct it to hit a target.) So, rather than make it easier for you to land a bounce shot, we made the payoff better for when it does happen. Bounced bullets now do double damage. We’re looking forward to seeing some montages from the geometry nerds out there.

So a natural question that may come from this is: doesn’t this change make Hard Light a better choice than Borealis? While Hard Light will definitely have more uptime due to living in your Energy slot, Borealis is also getting an update that will make it a tempting choice.

For Borealis, the utility of having a weapon that can match any damage shield on the fly is good, but in order to make the weapon great we wanted to double down on the reward for successfully pulling this off. After breaking an enemy shield with a matching damage type, Borealis now deals double damage until the next reload or damage type swap. For PvE activities it gives the weapon a more reliable benefit than Hard Light, in both casual modes and high pressure activities. However, it’s not a perk that was meant just for PvE. This behavior also applies to enemy Guardians in the Crucible while their supers are active. Simply put: If you use a Void round to break shield and/or kill an enemy Sentinel Titan who is actively using their super, you have double damage sniper rounds (yes, that’s a one hit kill to the body) until you die or reload. It’s pretty rare to pull off and requires a fair amount of predictive awareness, but we’ve had it happen organically a few times during internal playtests and I’m highly confident that skilled players will be able to make some amazing plays with this weapon.

That’s all for this week! I’m sure we’ll be chatting again soon.

Glory, Valor, and Combat

Since their original announcement, Seasonal Crucible Rankings have been a hot topic. The Crucible team has been hard at work to implement the system. Starting with Season 3, Crucible Ranks will be available to all players of Destiny 2.

Senior Crucible Designer Kevin Yanes gave a quick overview on stream of what to expect. We’re diving deeper into the weeds to answer some of your burning questions.

Kevin: Hey everyone. During the Warmind reveal stream, we showcased Seasonal Crucible Ranks for the first time. We’ve been seeing a lot of questions from the community, so let’s get into the hot topics you’ve been asking about:

"What are Seasonal Crucible Ranks?"Seasonal Crucible Ranks are comprised of two key mechanics: a level and rank points. As players earn points in each rank, they will level up and unlock new rewards for Shaxx to dole out in the Tower. Leveling up gives players an assortment of Crucible Tokens, Crucible Engrams, and Masterwork Cores depending on how far up they have leveled. There are six specific Crucible Ranks that players can reach, starting with the rank of "Guardian" and ending with players becoming "Legend.” Here is the full break down of what levels each Crucible Rank will feature:

Guardian

Brave

Heroic

Fabled

Mythic

Legend

"What types of Seasonal Crucible Ranks are there?

"Starting in Season 3, we're launching two Crucible Ranks: Valor and Glory. Valor is a progression rank that goes up as you complete matches. Winning helps you move up faster and there are no loss penalties. Valor Ranks serve to showcase a player’s time commitment to playing Crucible. As players win, they will accumulate a win streak that will give players bonus points for each subsequent win. These win streaks will cap out after five wins, and then reset. Try to see how often you can hit a full five win streak! Players who complete their Valor Ranks can choose to reset them to begin their journey anew and even make progress toward some rewards that require a fixed number of resets. 

Glory is a progression rank earned in the Competitive playlist that goes up as you win matches, but down as you lose. Closing out wins is how players are going to move up here. Glory Ranks serve to showcase the mastery players have in some of our most intense game modes, and show how they stack up against worthy opponents. Glory features the same win streak system from Valor but with the addition of loss streaks that work similarly. As players lose consecutive matches, they will lose more and more points. This means no game is without its stakes, so it's best to keep on your A-game.

"What do I earn for moving up the Ranks?

"Beginning in Season 3, new crucible rewards will be attached to Seasonal Crucible Ranks. This means that armor ornaments, emblems, and new weapons will require players to earn both Valor and Glory ranks to acquire them. Players receive reward packages when reaching a new level in Valor or Glory. (Note: Players receive Glory reward packages only the first time a new rank is reached in a season; if you lose a match and drop a rank, you do not receive another reward package when ranking back up.)

In addition to the suite of Season 3 rewards, we’re planning on bringing a unique weapon to Glory Ranks for players to work toward. The weapon will only be available for the duration of the season and once the season ends, it will disappear for a long, long, long time. This season we have a new weapon called Redrix's Claymore. This Pulse Rifle features a unique perk set in Outlaw as well as a new synergistic perk called "Desperado" - "Reloading while Outlaw is active increases your rate of fire." This translates to defeating enemies in the same three bursts it currently takes from a high-impact Pulse Rifle, just much faster. Make sure to land your headshot kills and you can keep Desperado and Outlaw running indefinitely.

Redrix's Claymore will be available to players once they reach the Fabled level in the Glory Rank. Ranking above Fabled will be rewarded with an ornament for Redrix's Claymore and a new emblem- and for those who push their Glory rank to Mythic and above, a special secret awaits you.

"Where can I earn these ranks?"

Valor 

Quickplay

Rumble

Mayhem

Glory 

Competitive

Trials and Iron Banner will not have any Crucible Ranks attached to them as they have their own investment rewards and are separate from the Crucible. Additionally, to maintain the integrity of Glory Ranks, players will only be able to earn Glory in the Competitive playlist.

“Why should I keep earning Glory week over week?”

Each week your Glory Rank will change depending on the number of games you played, maxing out at three games per week. Players ranked Fabled and below will earn bonus Glory Rank Points each week. For players ranked Mythic and Legend, each match completed will reduce the amount of Glory Rank decay, up to preventing the decay for the week. This means if you’re a player in Mythic or Legend you’ll need to hop into the Competitive playlist at least three times a week to maintain your status.

“Will matchmaking be based on Glory Ranks in the Competitive playlist?”

The Competitive playlist will be using our existing matchmaking system. At the start of Season 3 we are going to reset the skill bucket in Competitive to give every player an equal start as they begin their climb to Fabled and beyond. This means that as you win and lose, your skill and rank will go up or down accordingly. As always, we are never done iterating and improving our systems, and so once you’ve had time to sink your teeth into ranks we’d love to hear your feedback.

"Too long, give me bullets" 

Valor 

Caps out at 2,000 Rank Points

Features win streak bonus points

Can be reset when fully completed, with no cap on resets per season

Resets each season

Has ornament, emblem, and weapon rewards

Requires a fixed number of Valor resets to earn some rewards

Featured in: Quickplay, Rumble, Mayhem

Glory 

Caps out at 5,500 Rank Points

Features win streak bonus points

Adds loss streak penalties for recurring losses

Players can earn bonus rank points or fend off decay by completing three competitive matches each week

Only resets each season

Has ornament, emblem, and weapon rewards

Features unique seasonal chase weapon that can be earned at Fabled level (about ~40% of the way through your journey in Glory Ranks)

Lets players earn ornament for seasonal weapon at Legend level

"How are you going to make sure everyone plays fair in the Ranked environment?”

Update 1.2.0 will come with a slew of improvements to our security systems to better maintain the sanctity of the Competitive experience. We've made what we feel are appropriate arrangements to ensure your Crucible experience is a good one.

"When can I begin earning Ranks?"

Players can start earning Seasonal Crucible Ranks beginning on May 8 with the release of Update 1.2.0.

Worthy Opponents

Playing the role of matchmaker isn’t an easy feat. In Destiny 2 Update 1.2.0, the Crucible team will be addressing player feedback about pre-made Fireteams being matched against solo players.

PvP Design Lead Derek Carroll has a quick breakdown of the changes that are going in, and what players can expect starting May 8.

Derek: From reading your feedback and looking at data, it’s clear that solo players are facing an uphill battle in the Crucible when they encounter well-coordinated opponents. Players in Fireteams have a substantial advantage, particularly as average skill increases. In the current Crucible, solo players at virtually all skill levels win fewer than half of their games. We're making some under-the-hood adjustments to try to ensure that even when solo players do end up fighting against Fireteams, they’ll be doing it on a more-even battlefield. 

Instead of using your normal skill value when in a Fireteam, we will use a modified value that takes your Fireteam size into account. The larger your Fireteam, the larger the potential modification. We don’t want to try to completely nullify the benefit of team-play, so our initial values are conservative and can (and will) be tuned as we see the system working in the wild.  All of these settings can be configured on our servers without waiting for a new update, so we'll be able to make additional tweaks based on what we see.

We always encourage you to bring your friends with you into the Crucible, but we think this change will improve your experience during those times you have to fly solo. As always, we’ll be keeping an eye on how well these changes are working once they’re live, and look forward to hearing your thoughts! #FTMM (Editors note: For those like me who didn't understand this hashtag immediately, this means Fireteam Matchmaking.)

Season 2 Finale

Lord Saladin returns for the final bout of Iron Banner in Season 2.

Begins: Tuesday, May 1

Ends: Tuesday, May 8

The game is Control!

As some of you may have noticed, we’re diving back into the Iron Banner playlist pretty quickly compared to previous months.

Senior Designer Jeremiah Pieschl gave us a quick rundown of initial feedback we’re looking to address since 6v6 went live:

Jerpie: While we continue to evaluate the feedback and data from the last Iron Banner Control with 6v6, we've heard two messages very clearly. Having more opportunities to play 6v6 is highly desired and Control remains the most popular mode for 6v6. As such, you can expect Iron Banner to feature 6v6 Control exclusively moving into Season 3.

As a warning, this will be your last chance to earn Season 2 ornaments, so make sure to jump in and complete those objectives.

Safari Stripes

Speaking of Iron Banner, Destiny Player Support has been working behind the scenes to investigate reports of error codes encountered last week. If you’ve recently seen a pesky ZEBRA or two, read below for some important information.

ZEBRA

With the launch of 6v6 Iron Banner, we saw a large increase in ZEBRA error codes which were determined to be caused by players timing out while loading into the maps. We took steps to reduce the rate of this error code by increasing the time in which players could attempt to load into a Crucible match. If you continued to frequently encounter ZEBRA error codes during 6v6 Iron Banner, you may be experiencing issues with your connection quality or your PC hardware may be below the minimum specifications. To improve performance and reduce the frequency of ZEBRA error codes, you may want to try the following:

Read through the Network Troubleshooting Guide for recommendations on optimizing your network setup

On consoles, try clearing your console cache

On PC, close other open programs, ensure all drivers are up to date, or run the Scan and Repair tool

We expect to see this issue continue in future 6v6 Iron Banner events; however, after Update 1.2.0 this instance of the ZEBRA error code will provide players with the BEET or KALE error codes. If you encounter these issues, please post a report to the #Help forum.