#one of my other conditions will probably take me out before a flesh wound does

[intergalacticinsect]

Update on the stab wound: I’ve decided I’m done being a little bitch about it and I am simply no longer injured.

[pinkinsect]

going insane over shidou ryusei recently and seeing your posts about him being connected to hide songs are making me even more crazy. can i know more about your thoughts.. maybe what you think his backstory will be like.. (<- i have clinical shidou disorder)

hi sorry to hear about your shidou disorder. as a fellow sufferer i have to say it doesn't get better.

i don't have a set backstory in my head for him, just conclusions of things it's like from all of the supplemental info we've gotten for him. to succinctly sum up my thoughts about what his backstory will be like: Not Great!

tl;dr: there's so many dots to connect that anything could happen at this point. but i think that possibly, shidou's backstory is one of deprivation; either deprivation of physical needs, self-determination, or both. though i don't have a set idea of how exactly that may have happened, there's a few options—poverty, an abusive household, family members with too many expectations, too many restrictions on himself or his behavior. i wouldn't be surprised if he'd been arrested at some point (it's happened before. it could happen again) or if he had been in the foster system, where the aforementioned conditions occurred, given there's absolutely no mention of any immediate family members in the egoist bible—and he seems to really hate santa, though that could be for other reasons.

the rest of this is basically explaining why i think so—it ended up being awfully long (it turns out i cant Not summarize rocket dive/pink spider/ever free) so the rest of this is under a cut. let's go!

there are plenty of people view shidou as someone who is Just Horny And Violent; Born A Freak Forever A Freak. and you know what? i fuck with that type of character, but i think there's more to shidou than that.

during the U-20 match, he has his trademark "football is a biological phenomenon" speech (which is probably quickly overshadowed by its last line, "right in the womb," and i can't blame everyone. it is baffling), that gives us some of the first deeper insight into shidou.

"Every human on the planet wants to leave proof of their own existence behind. The act of passing on their own genes has been programmed into all living beings. They connect with others, wound others, do things that make them persist in the memories of others. Those who create something, those who want to become something, and of course, those who make children. They're doing something that leaves behind proof they existed."

shidou often says he wants an explosion, but another way to think about it is freedom. he wants the freedom to play the way he wants, to live the way he wants. and for soccer, that's through finding people he can create an explosion with—people he can play freely with.

(i think this has been acknowledged by other characters too; given shidou's placement on the Isagi Yoichi Type Indicator compass and noa telling kunigami to "take away [shidou's] freedom" by marking him. i choose to look into individual word choices in blue lock since kaneshiro seems to like making specific word choice relevant later)

shidou is all about freedom, and i think that could come from being deprived of it, in some ways.

a lot of the supplemental info we're given about him could be described as "things someone does just because they can." people often go through their lives taking certain things for granted, until it's taken away. once it's returned to them, you'll see a sort of appreciation that might seem a little out of the ordinary.

(personal experience, so it might not be great evidence, but plenty of people who've spent a lot of time in prison seem to gain a newfound appreciation for couches and making food late at night.)

his morning routine consists of "going onto the balcony naked and soaking up the sunlight, dancing however he likes, and yelling whatever comes to his mind ("stuff like capillaries and flesh rupture!!")." is it strange? yes, but to me it's an appreciation of freedom; one's free will to do and say anything, and to let the sun hit you while you're doing it.

something else that sticks out to me from the egoist bible is his favorite and least favorite foods; yukhoe and bean sprouts respectively. i normally wouldn't mind it, but the juxtaposition of something that can be so indulgent and really cheap produce is interesting to me, especially because of his reasoning for hating bean sprouts: 「フォルムが貧弱で萎える」, which I would translate as "They look weak and wilted," but the words used for weak and wilt can also mean "insubstantial" and "to lose passion." that extra translation detail could be a reach and extraneous information, but similar to my earlier point, kaneshiro seems to really like using words with multiple meanings instead of more clear cut synonyms. the top of shidou's scale being a rich, fatty dish of raw meat and the bottom being bean sprouts is interesting to me, and fits this picture of shidou that isn't necessarily hedonistic, but is "living deep and sucking the marrow out of life" in a very explosive way.

now a section specifically for hide songs because there's so much

as you mentioned, i really think that the hide songs will tie into shidou's backstory; an awful lot of the characters' favorite songs represent their character in the past or present. pink spider is his favorite song, and rocket dive is mentioned in chapter 253 in regards to shidou's goal.

for those less familiar with hide's work, pink spider was written as an answer to rocket dive, and the cd for the single contained a third track: five minutes and twenty-seven seconds of silence, then a short clip of ever free, the titular single released several weeks after his death.

all three songs deal with a desire for freedom, and to break out of the monotony of one's surroundings for something new—but with varying tones and approaches.

rocket dive has an endlessly encouraging tone, ending happily with a new star being seen in the sky (and this is a reach, but shidou's given name—ryuusei—is a homophone with the japanese word for meteor/falling star, ryuusei).

pink spider, shidou's favorite song, is about a spider so trapped in its surroundings it kills anything that comes close, until it learns there's more. and to reach it, it steals a butterfly's wings and flies and fails and tries again, and we never know if the spider succeeds at its second attempt at flight, or is resigned to watching the sky from the ground.

ever free's speaker is trapped on the ground, and faced with the questions "how much does love cost?" "can you eat a dream?" in response to their own questions about how love feels and what it's like to feel their dreams. but still, they dream of flying toward freedom, of escaping. like pink spider, and unlike rocket dive, we don't ever know if they make it off the ground.

despite the order of songs released being rocket dive -> PINK SPIDER -> ever free, i think that the order the songs represent shidou may be the opposite. he started, trapped, wings closed, uncertain, but had the dream of freedom inside of him. and though he may have hurt someone—or lost someone—in the process, he seized that freedom, and the expanse of the future awaits him to live in and make a name for himself.

something specifically about love being something that could be bought, or a dream being something that could be eaten, makes me want to think that shidou had a lot of expectations, or restrictions, placed on him as well.

hide in general is shidou's favorite, though, not just that one song of his. hide's live performances are high energy, and he's just really funny when talking to the audience between songs? it fits the massive amount of his songs are upbeat lyrically and about sex and desire, but an equal amount are about difficulty controlling unhealthy behaviors, cynical, or reflecting on one's own flaws and the loss of others.

the duality there makes me think of shidou's other favorites, chainsaw man and a clockwork orange—both media that can be, and often are, interpreted on the surface as simply spectacles of violence and sex, but are also acclaimed for their deeper themes. it could be like shidou, in a way. there's layers.

to sum it all up. i think shidou probably was in foster care. maybe was sexually abused. probably also saw a lot of bad things happen to other people, so it's nothing personal to him on a surface level, at least. he's out of that situation and deciding to enjoy the hell out of life. probably repressed and that's why he cries when alone at night (possibly nightly ?) for reasons he doesn't know.

[wisteriashouse]

irresistible.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: fluff, nsfw, fuck or die troupe (i can’t believe i did this)

word count: 5015

remarks: a commission by the lovely @sburbanjumble​!! i hope you enjoy sweet and spicy kyoujurou <3 this is a rewrite of desire, but if kyoujurou were the one hit by the demon instead!

This demon is unlike any other you’ve ever faced before.

“Kyoujurou, follow up on my attack!” You shout as you press forward with your blade, putting all your strength in your arms as you aim for the demon’s neck. Eyes widening as your nichirin blade descends in a gleaming arc, the demon barely manages to throw up her arms in time to shield herself, and there’s a couple of wet thumps as her limbs fall to the grass, sliced clean off by your sword. Behind you, Kyoujurou leaps down, his sword held high as he swings.

“Flame Breathing, Third Form, Blazing Universe!”

You have to leap out of the way to dodge the shockwaves from Kyouojurou’s strike, so powerful that you feel the ground under your feet tremble for a second. Unfortunately for the both of you, the demon is just as fast as well - before Kyoujurou’s sword can cut clean through her neck, she vanishes in a cloud of sickly smelling smoke.

Your eyes dart around the darkness of the forest, blade already held up in an offensive stance for the slightest signal to attack, but Kyoujurou lands nimbly in front of you, holding out one hand to pull you back and the other gripping his own sword tight.

“We still don’t know what her abilities are or what her smoke does. Don’t be too hasty,” he warns you, voice low. Adrenaline is still pumping through your veins, but at your partner’s stern words, you force yourself to take a few breaths to calm yourself down. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down.

“Okay, I got it.” Adjusting the grip on your sword once more, you let out a breath and hold up your blade. “I got caught up in the moment for a bit. Sorry about that.”

The battle hardened expression on Kyoujurou’s face breaks for just a second to beam at you warmly, and its familiarity puts you at ease. “It’s no problem,” Kyoujurou smiles. “You know I’ve always got your back no matter what-” his eyes widen for a split second at something behind you. “Watch out!”

Out of nowhere, however, five shining claws erupt out of the shadows straight towards you - only your reflexes, honed from years of training, allow you to dodge by jumping back right in time, the trace of a sickly sweet scent tickling your nose. Its regeneration speed is fast. Behind you, Kyoujurou slashes at the demon once more, but it vanishes into the darkness of the forest before the blade can connect. Disoriented and senses thrown into disarray by the sudden attack, you almost don’t notice fangs bared at you until it’s too late.

“[name]!” There’s a forceful tug on your arm and you’re sent stumbling forward a few steps, clouds of fuschia pink smoke erupting into the air right where you’d been standing less than a second ago. You’re left coughing and hacking as a sickly fragrance, but through the murky haze clouding your mind, you remember Kyoujurou, who was left standing in the spot that you’d been in prior.

“Kyoujurou!” Gripping your sword tightly with one hand and waving the residue smoke away from your face with the other, your eyes dart about the clearing, searching for Kyoujurou. “Are you alright?”

You find Kyoujurou surrounded by thick clouds of smoke and his hands clasped over his mouth, the demon responsible for it all cackling madly as she raises her claws, pointed tips glinting in the dim light of the moon. Before she can bring them down, however, you lunge forward with your blade with a forward strike, the tip of your blade piercing clean through her shoulder and pinning her against a tree. The pained scream that she lets out must have been heard for miles around.

You take this brief moment to glance back at Kyoujurou, heart hammering wildly in your chest with concern. “Kyoujurou, are you alright?” You call, voice urgent. Kyoujurou does not reply, instead shaking his head firmly as he hunches over, clearly in discomfort. Poison, perhaps? Anxiety floods through you, but you steel yourself and turn back to the demon.

“What did your smoke do to him?”

The demon only laughs at your demand, even as blood trickles down the wound on her shoulder. “Did you really think I would tell you? Think again! As if I would ever tell an accursed demon slayer like you-”

Gripping your sword by the handle, you wrench it with all your might and the demon lets out another shriek of agony, so shrill you can feel your ears ringing. “Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time,” you say icily, teeth gritted. While you take no pleasure in causing another creature’s pain, even demons, there’s only so much dallying you can take when Kyoujurou is suffering behind you. “Tell me, and I will speed your passing. If not...” You raise your sword in a wordless warning.

It is brief, but you catch the faintest flicker of fear in the demon’s eyes as she stares up at you. For good measure, you tighten your grip on your sword once more, ready to drive it into her flesh a second time, but she speaks.

“Fine,” she spits, her glare so venomous you can almost feel it eating away at your skin. “My smoke causes an... arousal of the human senses, sending them into overdrive and consuming the mind. If that man doesn’t lie with someone...” her smile is fanged with wicked amusement, “his mind will go insane with lust and he’ll suffer in agonizing pain!”

At her words, your breath is caught in your throat. As much as you want to say that all demons do is lie, from the look in her eyes to the triumphant grin on her blood stained lips, all the signs say that she is telling the truth. Unfortunately, you don’t have the time nor luxury to ponder over this too much, not when every second counts now.

“Then, just as I promised.” Yanking your sword from her flesh, you decapitate her with one swift strike - too fast for her to even let out another scream. Even before her severed head has hit the ground, you’re already running to Kyoujurou’s side, the man having sagged to his knees and only kept upright by the sword he’s driven into the ground to use as a crutch. Crouching next to him, you support his weight as gently as you can, but the heat radiating off his skin takes you by surprise. “Kyoujurou, you’re burning up!”

“I… I’m sorry,” Kyoujurou barely manages to make out between laboured breaths, his face twisted from the discomfort. Quickly, you raise a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, but his hand latches onto your wrist before you can so much as touch his bare skin. He’s trembling faintly, as hard as he tries to conceal it from you, and it almost scares you to see him like this. “Don’t… Not when I’m like this. You should probably leave.”

“What?” You hiss at him, equal parts angry and baffled. “This isn’t a matter of pride, Kyoujurou! I know that you’re a Pillar, but you’ll most definitely not be fine like this. We need to get you to the nearest village, then we can think about what we can do from there. Maybe they’ll have strong enough painkillers that will be able to knock you out for a while, or something to help alleviate the pain-”

“The nearest village is at least a day’s travel from here,” Kyoujurou cuts you off, shaking his head urgently. “And besides, it’s not safe for you to be here with me right now.” You catch him glancing at you for a second before his gaze leaves you, but is that a hint of… desire you see flickering in his eyes? “The state the demon has put my body in is an unprecedented one… I don’t know what I’ll do to you like this. It would be safer if you put some distance between the two of us… I can already feel it growing worse.”

At his words, you frown in confusion for a moment before realisation descends upon you. So that’s what the demon had meant by arousal of the senses…

“But I can’t just leave you like this,” you begin to protest, anxious, but Kyoujurou waves you off.

“I’ll be fine.” Even though he’s the one in this state, he’s still trying to reassure you. “The blood demon art should wear off when dawn comes, so I need only endure this,” he shudders, body tensing up for a second, “until morning. There’s no need for you to worry.”

Even as Kyoujurou says these words, you can see his body starting to shake almost violently, his jaw clenched so hard that you can see the veins protruding along the side of his neck. It just makes you feel even worse when you remember that he had only gotten into this situation trying to save you, or else your roles would be reversed right now. Sunrise is still hours away. Chewing on your bottom lip, you force yourself to concentrate. Think, think, think! What did the demon say about his condition earlier?

If that man doesn’t lie with someone…

You falter for a moment. By lie, she can’t possibly have meant…

There’s no other meaning for the word lie that can be applied in this context, is there?

You glance worriedly at Kyoujurou, but the man only shakes his head. He must have heard the demon’s words from earlier and already made up his mind, without so much as consulting you, no less. Stupid, selfless, self sacrificing Kyoujurou. When will he learn to put himself before others for a change? Does he have any idea how you’ll feel leaving him to suffer like this until sunrise comes, all while knowing that you could have done something to fix this?

For some reason, that thought only frustrates you to no end, and making up your mind with that, you reach for the top button of your uniform.

Before you can begin undoing your shirt, however, Kyoujurou’s hand grips latches around your wrist, so hard you can almost feel the beginning of bruises forming on your skin. Kyoujurou is always careful whenever it comes to you, so it’s a testament to the extent that the blood demon art has affected him, his self control slipping away with each passing second. When you look up at him questioningly, his brow is furrowed with confusion, lips parted.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You hiss back, but you can feel your own fingers trembling slightly from the nerves. “If you… lie with me, it should relieve the pain brought about by the demon’s blood art. Friends would do this for each other, wouldn’t they?”

Would they, though? The thought just makes you uncomfortable, so you simply shrug it aside. You can think about that after you’ve solved Kyoujurou’s problem. However, Kyoujurou’s answer takes you by surprise.

“I cannot,” Kyoujurou says immediately, voice so firm you’re taken by surprise for a second. Is he perhaps worried about your discomfort? In comparison to the pain he seems to be in now, body wracked with shivers and teeth gritted so hard you can almost hear his jaw creak, it will be nothing.

“I really don’t mind,” you begin to say, but Kyoujurou cuts you off once more.

“No.”

“Kyoujurou, this is not the time to be stubborn,” you try to shrug him off, but the grip he has on your wrist is too tight. Frustrated, you glare up at Kyoujurou. You want to help him, but you can’t do anything if he insists on being like this. “Why do you reject me? Is it because I’m not good enough for you? To the point that you’d prefer to suffer like this?”

The more you shout, the more frustrated you feel, tears starting to escape the corners of your eyes. His rejection does sting, yes, but more than that is the helplessness you feel when you see him in pain, yet are unable to do anything to alleviate it.

“So you’re telling me to just walk away?” You continue to shout, voice breaking. Your throat feels thick. “Well, curse it, Kyoujurou, I can’t just do something like that. I-”

A gentle pressure on your lips cuts your words off, and you look up in surprise through wet lashes to see Kyoujurou’s finger pressed against your mouth to silence you. There’s a conflicted expression on his face, caught between a pained frown and a tender smile.

“Don’t say that,” he rasps quietly, managing a smile to comfort you even through his own pain. “You shouldn’t give your body so easily to me... it should be saved for the person that you want to give your heart to. Didn’t you tell me before that… there’s someone who you hold feelings for?”

You stare at him in shock. Why is he still thinking about something like this even now? And besides…

“I cannot possibly let you do that knowing that you have feelings for someone else,” Kyoujurou continues. He’s struggling to get the words out now, his breaths shallow. “So, there is no need to worry about me, I assure you that I will be fine-”

“What if,” your words come out a whisper, “I told you that someone is you?”

For a moment, nothing but those words hang in the silence between the two of you. Kyoujurou’s eyes are wide with shock, but you force yourself to hold his gaze, unwilling to back down. You’re determined to convey every bit of genuinity in your heart and make it known - perhaps the demon was in fact a blessing in disguise that created the circumstance to put aside your cowardice and reveal your true feelings to him now.

“I understand if you don’t return my feelings,” you say firmly, before Kyoujurou can say a word. “However, I too, assure you… that doing this with you…” it feels strange, saying it out loud like this, “it wouldn’t be a bad thing… to me at least. So please, let me help you.”

Kyoujurou is still staring at you, but then he lets out a pained groan and crumples over, unable to keep himself upright any longer. Frantic, you race over to help him up, but the second you touch him, you feel a pair of hands grip your waist before the entire night sky above seems to flip over your head. The next thing you know, you’re on your back in the grass, Kyoujurou straddling your hips. You can’t see the expression on his face, his breath ghosting the side of your neck.

You swallow, but raise a hand to rest it on the top of his head comfortingly. “You okay, Kyoujurou?”

“Ahh… this wasn’t how I wanted to do this,” Kyoujurou murmurs against the shell of your ear, and you almost yelp when you feel teeth roughly scrape the delicate skin.

“W-what, what do you mean?”

“It should have started with my confession,” your momentary shock is cast aside when you feel a large hand sliding up your side, up your ribs to the collar of your uniform shirt, playing at the top button as if to distract himself. “I would have brought you out to dinner, perhaps some flowers… and yet here we are, doing everything backwards. On the forest floor, no less. It is not the place I would have chosen for our first time together.”

All you can manage is a laugh, something akin to warmth burning in your chest as quiet joy overflows. “As long as it’s with you, I don’t mind,” you whisper. Taking his hand, you place it firmly against the top of your collar, the brass of your button cool against your joined hands. “So please, Kyoujurou.”

You can feel it, the deep breath he takes before he descends, mouth kissing along the bare skin of your neck while his hand deftly undoes the buttons of your uniform. Before you have time to be nervous, Kyoujurou’s lips are already on the slope of your collarbones, nipping and sucking lightly as you gasp. “Beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, and you have to fight back your blush.

As your top slips off your shoulders, leaving you exposed to his gaze, you shiver slightly as the cold of the night air leaves goosebumps on your skin. Kyoujurou, ever attentive, notices right away. “Don’t worry,” his fingers trail down your side, before they’re replaced by his lips, hot against your bare skin. The sensation is foreign, a little ticklish even, but strangely welcome, and you have to try not to squirm. “I’ll warm you up in a moment.”

His hands tug at the buckle of your belt even as he continues to map out your body with his mouth, leaving little bruises and marks on you. They sting pleasantly, and with each new one Kyoujurou adds to your skin, you fight back a little moan at the feeling, pressing your legs together to alleviate the strange ache there. Although the night is cool, you feel hot, burning up together with Kyoujurou as he makes good on his promise to warm you up. Perhaps the demon’s blood art is contagious? You wouldn’t mind...

There’s a metallic clink, and the belt around your waist loosens before it slides off you, falling to the ground with a soft thump. Your uniform pants follow soon after, slipped down your legs together with your undergarments, and it’s then you feel cool air brushing against you right there.

Suddenly shy, you press your thighs together, unable to bear the way Kyoujurou’s eyes rake over your body almost hungrily. Still, for all his desire, he remains patient with you, coaxing your legs open carefully with a gentle touch that you can’t help but obey. Fingers skimming up your legs, first from your ankles up to the crook of your knee and finally to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, you bite back a whimper the closer his touch comes to where you need it most.

Slowly, almost carefully, Kyoujurou runs the tip of his fingers along your damp folds and you shudder, the seemingly light touch intensifying ten fold and sending little shockwaves of pleasure down your body. It feels strange, but your body chases it of its own accord, pressing against his hand in a silent plea for more.

“Does it feel good?” Kyoujurou whispers, and you nod urgently. Anything to get rid of that aching, sudden emptiness in you.

“Please,” your voice comes out as a whine, and if you weren’t so aroused you would be mortified by how needy you sound. Isn’t it supposed to be Kyoujurou who is affected by the demon’s spell? “Touch me, Kyoujurou.”

“Mmm, don’t be impatient,” his thumb rubs circles over you, its glide made effortless by the slick now coating his fingers. The pressure relieves you for a second before an even more intense need crashes hot on its heels, unrelenting. When you whine again, all composure now thrown to the wind, Kyoujurou bites his lip and probes, his finger parting your folds to sink into you slowly. Your gasp catches in your throat, and all you can do is let your head fall back as your walls tighten around him, as if trying to keep him inside you.

“More,” you plead, nearly begging him now. One finger isn’t nearly enough, and Kyoujurou proceeds to press another into you even as you squirm on his fingers. A short, bitten off moan escapes you when he starts to move his fingers at a leisurely pace, pumping them in and out of you with an obscene squelching sound. “Kyoujurou, don’t tease.”

“I need to make sure I don’t hurt you,” you tremble under him when he begins to scissor you carefully, making sure to stretch you out so that you’ll be able to take him more easily later. Eager for more but unable to complain, you move your hips towards his hands so that his fingers can press deeper into you, shuddering when his fingers crook against a certain spot. Reaching up, you curl your hands at the nape of his neck and tugging him down towards you so that you can kiss him.

His tongue licks into your mouth, hot and wet, as his fingers still continue to move in you. Arching your back in an attempt to draw closer to him, you suck on his tongue lightly and Kyoujurou lets out a groan, a rumble from deep within his chest.

“Ready, ready,” you break the kiss to tell him, helplessly fucking yourself on his fingers. Pleasure sets every nerve ending alight, from the tips of your fingers to your toes. “Please, Kyoujurou.”

Kyoujurou’s eyes gleam, but you too, can see how badly he needs it. He’s trembling, almost feverishly now, but still he manages a smile as he looks down at you. “Always so impatient with me,” he dips down to plunder your mouth once more, rough and forceful this time, curling his fingers in you and causing you to pant into his mouth. This draws a slight laugh out of him. His fingers slip out of you, and you let out a long, keening whine in complaint.

“Don’t worry,” he squeezes your thigh and you shiver at the look in his eyes. “I promise I won’t leave you wanting.”

Even through the feeling of Kyoujurou’s body on yours and his lips of your skin, you faintly hear the clink of a belt being undone. A moan of anticipation leaves you, and you can’t help but part your legs in response. You need more, more to alleviate the burning ache in you that just doesn’t seem to abate.

Something presses against your entrance, hard and heavy, and your hips press against it involuntarily, demanding more. To your confusion, Kyoujurou doesn’t enter you immediately, instead taking a moment to run his length up and down your folds, and you let out a pathetic little moan when he denies you. Kyoujurou laughs, but it’s rougher, lower this time.

“Impatient,” he repeats, leaning over you. You look up at him pleadingly, sure that tears are gathering in the corner of your eyes from how badly you need it, but Kyoujurou leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Tell me you want it.”

You gape at him, words leaving you for a second at his sudden demand. “Wha-”

“I need to know that you want this as much as I do.” Kyoujurou’s hands trace the spot over your heart, littered with bruises that will probably turn into dark red blooms tomorrow morning. “Tell me with your own words and your mouth that you want this.”

“I-” You flush, biting your bottom lip in embarrassment. The words feel almost shameful on your tongue, but you remind yourself that this is Kyoujurou. “I…” Your voice comes out hushed, barely above a whisper. “I want you, Kyoujurou. I really do.”

Kyoujurou smiles in response, kissing you gently. His hands slide down to your knees, parting your legs and coaxing them to wrap around his waist, which you obey immediately. That’s when you feel him begin to press into you, parting your folds and slowly sinking into you. At first, the stretch is still bearable, but the further he slides into you, you can’t help but let out a little cry as you stretch more to accommodate his length.

“Too much?” Kyoujurou presses kisses to your hair, the crown of your head. You shake your head determinedly, tightening the hold your legs have around his waist.

“N-no, keep going,” you say, clinging to his form. Kyoujurou looks over you with concern in his eyes, before he nips comfortingly on your lower lip.

“You can bite down on me if you want,” he whispers, kissing the side of your neck. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

With those words, he begins moving again, and you fight back another sob as he stretches you open further. Unable to stand the pain, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, teeth latching onto his shoulder. True to his word, Kyoujurou doesn’t even flinch when your teeth break his skin. Instead, he only rubs soothing circles into the bare skin of your thigh in a silent bid to comfort.

You’re no stranger to pain, and you’ve trained in many ways to dull it in your years as a demon slayer. Taking a deep breath, you focus your mind and instruct your body to relax, allowing Kyoujurou to slip deeper into you. After a few moments, the pain begins to abate, and you carefully regulate your breathing before you grip his hand tight.

He glances down at you and you nod wordlessly. With a gentle squeeze of your hip, Kyoujurou begins to move once more, and although the ache still lingers, it has already started to dull, replaced by that feeling of fullness that you had experienced earlier with Kyoujurou’s fingers in you, only this time magnified a hundredfold.

When he finally sinks in you all the way to the hilt, you pause for a moment to adjust to the near overwhelming feeling of being filled so completely, busying yourself with sucking marks into Kyoujurou’s neck like he’d done for you earlier. Kyoujurou groans lowly in his throat, murmuring words of encouragement with each mark you leave on his skin - he seems pleased about it. When your teeth latch on to the lobe of his ear, Kyoujurou begins pulling out of you, much to your despair, but before you can whine about it once more, Kyoujurou slams back into you with a smooth, forceful thrust, and your words turn into nothing more than a choked gasp trapped in your throat.

After that, he doesn’t give you a second to breathe, hips pistoning in you with fervour, and all you can do is lie back and take it, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Kyoujurou runs his mouth over your shoulder, your forehead, your collarbone. Faintly, you feel Kyoujurou’s hand work its way between your bodies, coming to a stop at where your bodies are joined. Before you can ask what he’s doing, his fingers slip down to worry your clit roughly and you let out a cry, nails digging into the skin at his back and arms as you cling to him. Kyoujurou hums, a pleased, satisfied sound and only redoubles his efforts, causing your body to tremble with sensation.

The pleasure builds up in you, almost overwhelming, a wave of pleasure surging straight for you. Before you can warn Kyoujurou, it crashes over you and a high pitched sob works its way out of your throat, your body trying to curl up on itself as if that will alleviate the intensity that’s overtaking your body. Above you, you distantly register Kyoujurou’s low groan as his thrusts lose their rhythm before he pulls out of you completely, something warm splattering on your thigh.

Too tired to form words, you simply hold out your arms and Kyoujurou instantly moves into them, tugging you into his hold so that you can rest your head on his shoulder. Already, you can feel the beginnings of an ache in your legs and arms, and from what the older demon slayers have told you before, your… abdomen would probably feel the same way as well tomorrow. Still, you think, looking up at Kyoujurou’s flushed but content face, you think that this was completely worth it.

A gentle kiss to your temple pulls you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see Kyoujurou with a slight smile on his face as he gazes down at you. “Are you feeling alright? I might have been a bit too rough there.” His fingertips trace your bare shoulders, the love bites at your neck, and finally your lips. You shake your head, content to go limp against him as he cradles you carefully.

“No, I’m fine.” Glancing up at him, you wonder if the flush on his cheeks is from the earlier exertion or if he’s still affected by the demon’s spell. You try to raise a hand, but overestimate your strength - your hand falls back to your lap before it can even reach halfway to his forehead. Still, Kyoujurou only picks up your own hand with his and presses it to his forehead for you, and you’re relieved to find out that although his body temperature is running warm, it’s nothing like the unnatural heat that had been burning him up from before. “It’s good that you’re alright now.”

“[name]...” The solemnity of Kyoujurou’s voice takes you by surprise. When you glance at him, you see him looking at you with a slightly furrowed brow, hesitation flickering in his golden eyes. “The words you spoke earlier, about the person that you had feelings for being me… was that the truth?”

You blink at him, slightly confused. Had you not been genuine enough with your feelings earlier? Determined to put this doubt to rest, you grab him by the cheeks with a strength that you certainly didn’t have earlier, pulling him close so that your foreheads are pressed against each other’s and you can feel his breath dancing over your skin.

“You, yes you.” You repeat, punctuating each word with a kiss to his lips, which helplessly turn up in a smile under your affections. You can’t help the smile on your face that mirrors his own, his happiness palpable and all too contagious. “I can’t believe that it took a situation like this for me to confess. You better make it up to me, you hear me?”

Kyoujurou laughs, nuzzling your neck. “Okay, okay. The sequence is out of order now but,” he smiles at you, “how about I bring you out to dinner? My treat, of course.”

You have to press your face against his shoulder to hide your smile.

“That sounds lovely.”

[gamergirl929]

The Greatest Healing Therapy Is Friendship (And Love) (Tobin Heath x Reader)

Leaving physical therapy one day, Tobin Heath becomes enthralled with the sound of a nearby voice, which inevitably leads her to you, a patient with a bad heart, and a kind smile. 

Tobin Heath was far from happy.  

Injuries happened from time to time, but being benched for 10-12 weeks, for not only a number of Manchester United games, but the She Believe’s Cup as well put Tobin in an incredibly foul mood, a rain cloud hanging over her head.  

She stops midstride when she hears someone barking out a laugh, the sound making her head turn back and forth in search of its source.  

“Listen, you and I both know this food is shit.”  

Tobin’s brows arch as she peeks into a nearby room. She wasn’t the type to intrude, but for some reason she felt pulled forward by the voice.  

Tobin watches a crinkle form between your brows as you turn her way, though moments later a smile stretches across your face.  

“Look there, let’s get a second opinion.” You grin, nodding to Tobin.  

“So stranger, this food sucks, right? I mean, don’t even get me started on the Jello...”  

Tobin clears her throat, shaking her head.  

“I-I haven’t had it.”  

You sigh, your head hanging in defeat.  

“Sorry to say stranger, but you’ve let me down.” You frown, your head lolling towards the nurse.  

“The food’s still shit.”  

The nurse rolls her eyes, but she can't deter the smile that stretches across her face.  

“You still have to eat Y/N.”  

The nurse shakes her head as she leaves the room.  

You whine.  

“Ey! Can I get some Popeyes? Taco Bell?”

“No!” You hear the nurse shout and you groan, your hand resting on your chest.  

You turn to Tobin with an arched brow.

“I’m not sure if we’ve ever met stranger, I’m Y/N.”  

Tobin steps towards the bed with a smile, her eyes darting from the multiple machines around you to the wires that lead down the front of your hospital gown. 

“Mind the attire.” You chuckle and Tobin smiles.  

“I’m Tobin.” She whispers, nodding to the machines.  

“What happened?” She asks curiously and you sigh.  

“Heart attack, I know, I know, how can someone as young and good looking as me have a heart attack?” You smirk, the woman unable to bite back a grin.  

“I didn't know heart disease was hereditary until I ended up in the hospital because of it.” You sigh tiredly.  

After a lengthy yawn, you turn to Tobin.

“So, Tobin, what is the purpose of your visit?” You ask and she shrugs.  

“Just had to see who was going so hard at the nurse.” She smiles and you snort. 

“Eh, I’ve been here for a while, they’re used to it by now.” You shrug, your eyelids fluttering.  

“Well Tobin, it was nice meeting you, feel free to drop by next time you’re in, I’ll probably be here.” You sigh, unable to fight off sleep.  

Tobin smiles, her brown orbs on you as you slowly drift off.  

Tobin’s smile splits into a grin.  

“Nice meeting you too, Y/N. I might take you up on that.”  

                                                             ***

It’s a day or two later that Tobin finds herself limping down the same hallway, the woman coming to a stop in front of a particular patient’s door.  

She slowly pushes the door open, poking her head inside.  

“Anybody home?” She asks as she knocks on the door, the woman receiving no response.  

Tobin frowns.  

She’d hoped to see you after a tough day of physical therapy, but unfortunately, it looked as if that wasn’t going to happen.  

“I see you took me up on my offer.”  

Tobin turns around, smiling when she sees you being wheeled towards her by the nurse from the other day, a massive grin on your face.  

“I was in the neighborhood.” Tobin shrugs and you chuckle.  

“Boot looks good on you.” You wink and Tobin snorts.  

“Sure, it does.”  

You nod towards the door.  

“Let me get hooked back up and then you can come in, I’m pretty sure we’re not to the point where you’re okay with seeing me naked.” You snort, Tobin’s eyes widening as her cheeks flush.  

“Ye-Ye-Yeah.”  

You lean your head back.  

“Ready driver?”

The nurse rolls her eyes, unable to hold back a giggle.  

“To get you out of my hair?”  

You pout, your hand resting on your chest.  

“You wound me so.”  

Tobin shakes her head, the woman leaning against a nearby wall as she waits for you to get dressed.  

Moments later the door is swinging open, the nurse from before making her way out with a smile.  

“She’s decent.”  

Tobin pushes off the wall before making her way into your room, the woman smiling when she sees you.  

You give her a wave.  

“Haven’t seen you in agessssssssss!” You snicker and Tobin rolls her eyes, pulling a nearby chair to the side of your bed before flopping down into it.  

“What’s your damage anyway?” You ask and Tobin nods to her boot.  

“Ankle.”  

You grimace.  

“How’d you do that?”  

“Playing soccer.”  

You hum.  

Tobin nods to you.  

“How’d...” Tobin points to your chest and you sigh.  

“I was jogging. My chest got really tight and I went down like a sack of potatoes.” You shrug.  

“I woke up with a tube down my throat and an incision down my chest.”

Tobin frowns, glancing around the room, her frown deepening when she realizes there’s no balloons, or even a get well soon card.  

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering.  

“Do you have any family?” She asks, the words surprising her immensely.  

Your brow arches.  

“Pretty personal question Tobes-

“I’m sorry I-

“I’m kidding, no, I don’t.”  

Tobin nods.  

“I’m sorry.”  

You smirk.  

“Hey, I don’t need visitors, not when I have you.” You grin, not even opening your eyes, meaning you miss the flush on Tobin’s cheeks.  

You murmur, doing your best to fight off sleep, but you find it impossible.  

Tobin smiles.  

“Sleep Y/N, we’ll talk another day.”  

You smile tiredly.  

“I like the sound of that.”  

                                                             ***

The next time Tobin enters your room, she’s carrying not only a balloon, but a teddy bear, as well as a get well soon card.  

Her lips part, the woman about to greet you, but when she realizes you’re fast asleep her mouth snaps shut.  

Instead of tip toing out of the room, she places your gifts on a nearby table and takes up residence in a nearby chair.  

Lately, Tobin found herself excited to come to physical therapy, because coming to the hospital meant seeing you.  

Seeing you had become the best part of her week, so much so that sitting on the sidelines and watching the others play at the She Believe's Cup hadn’t been bothering her as much as it typically would be.  

Tobin pulls her legs up into the chair, wrapping her arms around them, her knees hugged to her chest.  

She was exhausted, the colder the nights got, the worse her foot cramped, meaning she got little to no sleep more often than not.  

Soon, Tobin finds her own eyelids fluttering, the woman fighting off sleep, though she loses the fight rather quickly, exhaustion overwhelming her as she falls fast asleep.  

                                                             ***

A soft, yet noticeable snoring is what wakes you sometime later, your brows furrowing as your eyes crack open.  

You hum, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you turn towards the source of the snoring.  

A smile stretches across your face when you realize the snoring is coming from Tobin, the woman fast asleep in the chair beside your bed.  

You grin when out of the corner of your eye you spot a bright balloon, the air-filled rubber bouncing slightly with the air condition’s aid.  

You shake your head when your eyes find the teddy bear resting just below the balloon.  

Tobin grimaces as she wakes, the woman stretching her arms above her head with a groan.

“Morning.” You smile, your eyes still locked onto the tiny toy resting on the nearby table.  

Tobin quickly realizes you’re staring at the plush bear and smiles.  

“Do you like it?” She asks with a yawn and you nod, turning towards her, your eyes glazed over.  

“Yeah, yeah I really do.”

Tobin grimaces, the woman rubbing her booted foot.  

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She blushes and you shake your head.  

“I just woke up anyway, thanks to your snoring.”  

Tobin scoffs.  

“I do not snore.”  

You snort.  

“Then what were you doing, gargling your spit?”  

Tobin’s eyes narrow, the woman giving your arm a playful shove.  

“Shut up.”  

You laugh, a belly shaking laugh that makes your chest ache, your hand immediately jumping to your chest.  

Tobin springs to her feet, the woman ducking down beside you.  

“Are you alright?” She asks as she places a hand on your back, the feel of her palm on your bare back making you blush.  

“Ye-Yeah, just some chest pains.”  

Tobin worriedly glances over her shoulder.  

“Should I get a nurse?”  

You shake your head, giving Tobin a small smile.  

“It’ll pass.”  

Tobin pulls her chair closer to your bedside and sits down, her hand still resting on your bare shoulder.  

The pain eventually passes, though the flush on your cheeks doesn’t fade considering Tobin’s palm is still flat on your back, her thumb running back and forth across your tanned flesh.  

You sigh, smiling when Tobin gently guides you back, your head hitting the soft pillow behind your head.  

“You should rest.” She whispers, the woman tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear.  

You hum.  

“Not yet, you’re here.”  

Tobin smiles.  

“I can always come back.”  

You hum, the corner of your mouth ticking downwards slightly.  

“You know, I’ll be getting out of here eventually, hopefully soon.”  

Tobin nods, silently, the last thing she wanted to do was lose contact with you, especially when seeing you had made her heart skip a beat and her palms sweat with nerves.  

She knew what she felt for you was more than friendship, and the thought of losing you made her stomach churn.  

“I uhhh, I live here, in Portland you know...? Do-Do you live here? In P-Portland I mean...” You wiggle nervously, unable to look at the woman beside you.  

Tobin bites her bottom lip hard to stave off a grin, the flush on your cheeks making her heart flutter in her chest.  

She hoped, hoped maybe what she felt for you was returned, and by the way you were currently acting, it seemed it was.

“It almost sounds like you want to see me after you leave the hospital...” She grins and your eyes widen.  

“Uhh... I-I mean...”  

Your typical humor and cockiness fell away in that moment as you stuttered, unable to find the words you were searching for.  

Your cheeks flush darker and darker as you stumble over your words, only saved when Tobin takes your hand, and gives it a squeeze.  

You fall silent, your wide eyes dropping down to your joined hands before your eyes eventually meet Tobin’s.  

She gives your hand a squeeze, her smile splitting into a bright grin that makes her brown orbs shine.

“I think I’d like to see you after too.”  

Tobin laughs as she visibly watches your eyes lighten up.  

“R-Really?” You stutter and she nods.  

“Really.”  

                                                             ***

Tobin walked through the hospital with a bit of pep in her step, the knowledge that you possibly felt the same way about her as she felt about you made her incredibly hopeful for the future.  

She makes her way into your room with a smile, expecting to see you waiting for her, she’s taken aback though when she finds an empty bed.  

Her brows furrow, her eyes zeroing in on the teddy bear and the get well soon balloon she’d brought you days before.  

She turns, making her way out of the room, her head on a swivel in search of the nurse she’d seen in your room so often.

“She didn’t make it?”  

Tobin stiffens, a lump forming in her throat.  

“She’d been complaining of chest pains, she had a second heart attack this morning, we couldn’t revive her.”  

Tears welled up in Tobin’s eyes, the woman dropping to her knees in the middle of the hospital’s hallway.  

You couldn’t be gone, you just couldn’t be, not after everything, not after being through so much, you couldn’t be gone.  

“Tobin, are you alright?”  

Tobin picks her head up, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looks up at the nurse who’d tended to you each and every day.  

“She can’t be gone; she just can’t be.” Tobin sniffs, brown orbs filled with tears as she stares at the nurse who’s brows furrow.  

“What are you-

“Tobin!? Tobin are you okay!?”

Tobin stiffens, her head snapping up in search of your all too familiar voice.  

Teary brown orbs zero in on you, you who are currently jumping out of your wheelchair and running down the hall towards her, gown long gone, your new clothes clinging to your form. 

You drop to your knees in front of her and cup her cheeks, your thumbs wiping away the tears covering her face.  

“Hey, hey what’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened???” You ask, your eyes darting worriedly around her face.  

Tobin simply stares at you for a moment, her shaky, clammy hands moving to cover your own.  

“Your room was empty, a-a-and the nurses said they lost someone... I thought...” 

You blink, your eyes widening when you realize what Tobin had thought.  

You shake your head, attempting to swallow the lump in your throat as you lean in, your forehead resting against hers.  

“It wasn’t me, I’m okay.” You whisper, your eyes fluttering shut.  

Unconsciously, Tobin’s hand leaves yours, instead moving towards your chest.

Your eyes widen, your cheeks flushing as her hand meets your chest, the woman sighing in relief at the feel of your heart, beating beneath her palm.  

Your hand leaves her cheek, moving to cover hers that’s currently resting on your chest.  

“I’m okay.” You repeat, your heart skipping a beat when Tobin’s fingers slip between your own.  

Tobin takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm her racing heart, but considering the proximity between the two of you, it’s a bit hard.  

Tobin’s teary brown orbs drop to your lips before again locking with your Y/E/C’s, 

Your eyes widen when you realize Tobin’s leaning in, the woman’s nose lightly grazing your own.  

A chill runs through you, your eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as Tobin’s lips brush yours, the kiss unlike any kiss you’d had before.  

You bring your free hand up to her cheek, your thumb caressing her tanned flesh.  

The two of you part only to lean right back in seconds later, unable to get enough of the feel of your lips against one another’s.  

You tilt your head to the side, changing the angle of the kiss as your lips meet again and again, something you’d been craving since the moment you woke to find her sleeping at your bedside.  

Again, you part, though neither of you pull away, Tobin leaning back in to rest her forehead against your own.  

Brown orbs flutter open as a red flush dances across Tobin’s cheeks, the woman unable to bite back a grin.  

“And now?” Tobin whispers, your brows furrowing in question.  

“How do you feel now?” She asks in a whisper and you chuckle.  

“A lot more than okay.”  

[youarejesting]

Wash Out.21 (Sope Special)

[Master List]

Banners: @purpleskies1999 Pairings: Dolphintrainer!Taehyung x SharkDiver!Jin,  Mer!Jimin x Reader, Scientist!Namjoon x MerKing!Jungkook, Mer!Yoongi x Mer!Hoseok. Rating: 16+ Genre: Mystery, Romance, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, little bit of Action, Slice of life, Enemies2Lovers, Friends2lovers, Social media au, Fake Texts, Fake Subs.

Summary: Taehyung and his best friend Y/N are Dolphin trainers at Wash Out; Marine Wildlife and Theme Park. When the nerdy marine biologist and resident veterinarian Doctor Kim Namjoon goes missing; the two friends form a ragtag team with Taehyung’s rival Seokjin and a…. Fish?

[Prev] [Next]

Yoongi stood still, his legs shaking. It was not normal for him to be standing for this length of time. They were mermaids used to having tails their strength in the water. Swimming was like breathing. Of course their legs only appeared on their sacred land under the ocean.

They couldn’t walk on human land, could never compare to their leg strength. Most Mermaids spent their days in the water only entering the sacred land for celebrations. Yoongi being one of many guards would protect the royal family, albeit there was no longer a royal family. Jungkook was all that was left, a prince forced to be a king before he was ready. 

Guards were the most common of the merfolk to adorn legs. Jungkook was confined to the sacred land, his time in the water limited. Anything to keep him safe from the threat of other merclans. Each guard embellished in the silk of the clams. Byssus was woven finely like silk, the light material was surprisingly warm enough to protect the guards and King whilst in their more vulnerable form.

Yoongi looked across the crystal throne room, the love of his life standing just as tall, his stature stronger than Yoongi’s. A feat as Jungkook tore the room apart, bioluminescent vines and lanterns ripped from the walls. Food and wine splattered on the floor of their ancestors.

Hoseok’s mouth turned down, the sight unnatural for his usually cheerful disposition. The hardest part of their job was raising Jungkook, it seemed no matter how hard they tried to teach him right and wrong, politics and history they still came up short. He didn’t have a family, not anymore, he didn’t know how to share and never had to work for relationships. 

Everyone adored him, feared him, doted on his every whim. He was given the finest foods and all the newest technology Merfolk could offer. Anything to keep him content in his prison. It surprised Yoongi that Jungkook hadn’t questioned his confines, that he was complacent with their level of control over his freedom.

Jungkook no longer understanding, why his new found friend was so reluctant to stay. He extended all his riches and gifts to the human, something other merfolk would cherish. 

“Why does he still want to leave, with me he could be treated as a king,” Jungkook seethed, throwing a leg over the arm of his throne massaging his temples. “Leave me.”

Hoseok marched dutifully to Yoongi, supporting the older merman as they made their exit. Walking him to the entrance of the underwater cove, the air though damp enough to keep their lungs from feeling dry, they much preferred sinking into the cool water. Doing so allowed the power of the sacred land to slip away leaving only their natural form. 

The two transformed their black and blue tails wrapping around each other, a romantic gesture Yoongi enjoyed more than he wished to admit. They relaxed in eachothers arms peacefully, sinking further until they landed on the floor of the large network of caves. This is where most of the merfolk lived as they were still protected from the open ocean.

Under the cove was wide and besides a few stalagmite and stalactite the surface was predominantly flat. However the local life was anything but, everyone bustling around the settlement enjoying tending to the seaweed, crafting and protecting the sealife. 

“Jungkook, is struggling. He doesn’t understand how to handle rejection. He doesn’t understand that people value the same things,” Hoseok mumbled, massaging Yoongi’s lower back to help relieve tension from standing for such a long time.

“That human cannot survive long under the ocean, he grows weaker by the day, barely eating.” Yoongi huffed, “If Jungkook doesn’t let him go, the poor thing will die, Jungkook isn’t ready to experience something like that so close to him.”

“I think he has gotten too attached, losing this human might break him,” Hoseok bit his lip, “Dare I say he is in love with him, he could be his promised.”

Yoongi scoffed, the idea that Jungkook happened to find his promised one and he was a human, the first human he had ever met. Yoongi and Hoseok were unaware they were each other's promised until Yoongi had a week off from guard duty and started to get really sick. The two had met in the infirmary wasting away and only in one another's company did their condition improve. “Hoseok, that’s a bit much.”

A figure swam down the path quickly, heading straight to the sacred cove entrance, carrying something large. Was someone trying to attack their home? The two fell apart taking up offensive stances, each lurching forward when they spotted Jimin holding an unconscious human.

“Not another one,” Yoongi chastised, eyes sweeping over Jimin trying to be inconspicuous. Though he cared he showed it silently, not fond of open praise. The kind to listen and assist others out of sight.

“I have to make sure he is alright,” Jimin gave no further explanation, swimming up into the cove entrance dragging the human onto the sacred land. Jimin’s gold tail disappearing, leaving behind two bare legs. 

Wrapping himself in a cloth, the two followed. Yoongi strained to lift himself into an upright position. Hoseok brought out their usual transport, especially for Jungkook’s deliveries. In this case they threw the unconscious human across the shell of the crustacean and they headed to their king.

“Are all humans this big?” Yoongi asked, eyeing the figure draped beside Jimin. The two crab-pooling wasn’t the issue, the way Jimin looked genuinely concerned for the human was. It was no good for humans and Merfolk to fall in love, the dynamic wouldn’t end well. 

“No, they aren’t all this big, some of them are small, delicate and beautiful. They are magnificent, fascinating beings. Some are scary and mean and others are innocent and protective, just trying to do the right thing.” Jimin whispered, checking the humans breathing once more. 

“Is he your promised?” Hoseok asked softly, not knowing how to approach the topic sensitively. Jimin smiled, shaking his head. The thought appeared to have amused him.

“He is someone else’s promised,” Jimin said, “But I think I met her, she was beautiful and strong, never letting anyone stop her, never letting bad things keep her down. She would swim head first into enemy waters to save someone she barely knows.

The human groaned, “Where am I?” Jimin let out a sigh of relief, this human was waking up and didn’t seem to be physically hurt, at least there were no wounds they could see upon his flesh. “Am I dead?”

“No, you are not dead, you are in our settlement.” Jimin grinned at the disorientation present in Seokjin’s words. He was struggling to enunciate his words, each more like a whine drawn out.

Upon entering the crystal throne room the group tried their best to support the sluggish human inside. Gaining the attention of Jungkook, ceasing his brooding long enough to assist the three struggling mermen. As if hearing the commotion or perhaps Seokjin’s terrible jokes Namjoon emerged from where he had been staying.

“Jin! Are you okay?” Namjoon grabbed his friend, checking him over for injury, “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you and avoiding the police, I ran my car off the cliff and also may have destroyed the letter box outside your beach house.” He laughed, “Never really liked it anyway.”

“You did what?” Namjoon said, concerned, “Are you crazy?”

“Listen, we were being chased. It was all for you, and Jimin of course, returning Jimin and rescuing you.” Seokjin smiled at his friend. Yoongi thought these humans were weird, they were reckless and too odd for his liking. “I even teamed up with Taehyung and Y/n in order to save you. Do you know how hard that was?”

“Didn’t seem hard at all, you and Taehyung seemed to get along really well.” Jimin pushed the human with a smile, it was weird to see Jimin acting so comfortable with the humans. “We will return you so that the issue can be resolved, I am starting to grow worried about how we left.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asked confused

“Humans tackled Y/n and Taehyung dragged me into the water. Right before you and your car contraption fell into the water I killed the man who scared you all.” Jimin said proudly, this didn’t seem to go over well with the human’s. Yoongi hoped Jimin didn’t do something stupid turf war wasn’t on his to do list.

Yoongi didn’t understand the words coming from Seokjin’s face, if he had to liken it to anything, it sounded like vulgar slang, curse words. The human looked panicked.

“We have to go back, they are probably being sent to prison,” Seokjin said, trying to leave unsure which direction to go, “They are in big trouble.”

“Can’t you just talk to your king and explain and they will be removed from prison?” Jimin said

“Prison doesn’t work the same as it does here,” Namjoon explained, “Very Very bad people go to prison, Murderer’s, thieves and other despicable humans put in one place.”

“Yeah and if they go to prison, they may be beaten or worse,” Seokjin huffed. Jimin looked up at Jungkook who nodded, bringing out a small mirror and handing it to Jimin.

Looking over Jimin’s shoulder, Yoongi noticed a human different to the two infront of him, she was feminine delicate and leaking. “What is happening to her?”

“She is crying,” Jimin explained, “Humans do that when they are hurt or in despair, from what I have been told they do the same when they are happy too.”

“Confusing and a little stupid.” Hoseok laughed, “How do you know the difference?”

The charges have been dropped, Namjoon breathed listening to the interrogator, explaining that they couldn’t record the phenomenon that occurred on the beach. “They are being let go,” He smiled, a sight Yoongi hadn’t seen since he first laid eyes on their large domestic crustaceans.

“There is Taehyung,” Seokjin called out looking down, the two humans looked void of any emotion, they collected their things and climbed into the police car getting an escort to their homes. “They are safe and that’s all that matters.” 

Seokjin smiled, his eyes leaking much to Yoongi’s disgust. Namjoon smiled, he seemed a little amused by the older human. “I remember distinctly you saying you hated Taehyung with a passion and wanted him to choke on a sardine.” They two laughed for a moment, “When did things change?” 

“I guess when you are working as a team to save someone you develop an understanding.” Seokjin shrugged his large shoulders, “It also didn’t help that he was living in my house for almost a week.”

“You like him,” Namjoon poked him, “Admit it you have feelings for him.”

“We can head back when you are ready, we have returned Jimin home safely.” Seokjin smiled, looking around at the group and smiling, “I am Seokjin by the way, you can call me Jin.”

The man was goofy, reminding Yoongi of Jungkook himself, the two so alike in their childlike nature, letting themself play without hesitation. It was almost admirable that people could act so carefree, unaffected by how they could be perceived.

“I don’t know if I am allowed to leave?” Namjoon said, his smile falling, eyes fixed on the ground before him. 

Yoongi looked at his king, the spoiled young man reflecting on his actions, it had been many days since they saw the young man smile. Almost expecting him to refuse, Yoongi schools his expression when he doesn’t. 

“You should go, You don’t belong down here?” Jungkook took the mirror before walking away from the group to sit on the throne. He lowered his head looking at his reflection trying to distract himself from the pain. Letting your promised go was the hardest thing a merperson could do. Under normal circumstances, promises are only parted by death.

Namjoon walked over, placing a hand on the king's head and smiling at him, “If ever you want to visit, I would be happy to show you some great places, places you would love.” Jungkook’s broken heart warmed at the human’s dimples appearing softly in the flesh of his cheeks.

That was the last thing they needed, their king running off for a romance on the coast line. Seokjin swung his arm around Jimin playfully, the merman giggling whilst his legs almost buckled. “Yeah Jimin knows the private beach by Namjoon’s house, he can show you the way if you ever want to visit.”

Tags: @backinblack1967 @miriamxsworld @moccahobi @simplymemyself @a-gayish-unicorn @ella-mella @vjinfan23​

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[rayadraws]

“Somehow you must not have heard all the bad things said about me.”“I’ve heard them all twice. But I’ll make my own judgments.” For Zombiemask plz and thank you : )

Ohoo! A first for me to write...

G-rated but canon typical level gore, pre-relationship, maybe mild WC spoilers?

Like herding cats. Uncooperative, mad, possibly-no-likely rabid cats, the lot of them. It seemed a requirement for the S-class heroes to be as awful as humanely possible. Beauto sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. At least the meeting was finally over and he was all alone; a rare if temporary blessing.

That didn’t mean his work of the day was done. He had to write and submit the report, he had an´telephone interview in three hours and he’d fallen behind on his fan letters again, he should really spend at least an hour tonight to try to catch up. But at least he could allow himself a few minutes to himself right now. To breathe, to compose himself before reality came crashing back down. To enjoy the semi-darkness in the room. The more he changed, the more he seemed to enjoy the comfort of darkness.

He stood up, eyes closed, taking another deep breath, only to jump at an unexpected rattling cough in the room.

Beauto startled and looked around for the source. There, in the far, darkest corner sat Zombieman, frowning, one of his trademark cigarettes sticking out of his mouth, looking straight at him with those dead eyes. Beauto should reprimand him for smoking inside the Hero Association’s pristine meeting room, but he’d had enough tonight trying to keep Metal Bat and Flashy Flash from ripping into each other over who had the best hair, as if it had anything to do with their job! He just couldn’t muster up the energy to start another argument. Not now.

”Why are you still here?” he just asked, instead.

Zombieman chewed on his cigarette, looking unblinking at him with an unreadable expression.

”You look tired,” was all he said in return.

”So do you, with those dark circles and pallid skin,” Beauto automatically countered.

Zombieman’s expression didn’t waver. ”Yeah, but I always look like this. You don’t.”

He straightened his jacket. ”I’ll be fine.” ’Thanks for worrying’, he didn’t add. He’d accepted his lot in life, even if it meant being disliked by everyone in this place. It was worth it, if it meant they could do what they needed to do.

”Hey,” Zombieman suddenly said. ”Wanna go get a beer?”

Beauto stared at him.

”I feel like shit and you look like shit, we’ll be a perfect pair,” Zombieman continued. He coughed twice, a deep, concerning cough, but at least he had the courtesy to cough into his elbow rather than across the table.

In a moment of weakness? Madness? Beauto agreed to the offer. He must be going insane, to agree to willingly hang out with one of them. But Zombieman waited patiently as he retrieved his coat - the inconspicuous one he used for undercover missions - as he put on his scarf and hat and sunglasses that he always kept in his desk.

”You allergic to sunlight or something?” he said, still chewing on the damn cigarette.

”I can’t be seen drinking in public.”

”Ah, yeah, the idol thing.”

As they started to walk down the lobby and his trenchcoat fell to the side, Beauto realized the probable reason Zombieman had stayed so still for so long, past the meeting even; he was missing a good portion of his torso. It looked almost like something very big had simply taken a large bite out of him.

In their profession, that was actually not unlikely. How he was still standing, nevermind walking, was beyond him.

Noting Beauto’s eyes on him, Zombieman pulled his coat tighter, hiding his horrifying injuries from view.

”I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

”How can you even walk like that? Don’t you feel pain?”

”I feel pain. Don’t worry. It’ll heal.”

Beauto knew it would, but it was still disturbing. He tore his eyes away. ”Lead the way.”

”Aye, cap'n.”

The walk was slow. Zombieman limped with every step, until Beauto had had enough and put his arm around him, helping him walk more steadily. At least this way if someone recognized him, he could use Zombieman as a way to avoid them. Out of the way, this man needs immediate hospital care!

”Such a gentleman,” Zombieman purred.

”You’re too slow, that's all.”

He was taken to a bar not far from the HA, only a couple of blocks away. The way no one paid them any attention, he suspected Zombieman must be a regular here. The suspicion was made even stronger when they were immediately led to a booth in the far back, the darkest corner without as much as a word.

Beauto approved and apparently Zombieman did too, still with the damned cigarette.

”They let you smoke in here?” he asked as they sat down. Zombieman just grinned at him.

”They’re bad for you, you know,” Beauto continued.

Zombieman removed the cigarette from his mouth. Only it… wasn’t. It was a god damn lollipop.

”That’s what the kid tells me too, you know.”

Gingerly he put the lollipop down on the table and flagged the server down for two beers.

It was, despite everything, not that bad. Beauto was trained in pleasant small talk. Almost on auto pilot, he asked Zombieman all the silly little questions. The man was… strange. His hero name was well earned, at least as far as looks went. But Beauto found that beneath it, Zombieman was pleasant enough to talk to. He didn’t seem to have any grand ambitions or plans, beyond being a good role model to Child Emperor, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he was doing. As for why he took Beauto to this place? ’You looked like you needed it’, apparently.

”But why would you care?” he asked, too tired to keep up any charades.

”Isn’t that part of being a hero? Caring about everyone. ’Sides, you seem pretty cool.”

”Cool?” Beauto snorted. That didn’t fit with what he usually heard from his colleagues. Arrogant, stuck up, nothing but a pretty boy, jealous, evil…

“Somehow you must not have heard all the bad things said about me,” he replied.

Once again, he felt those red eyes squarely on himself. Unblinking and unwavering.

”I’ve heard them all twice. But I’ll make my own judgments.”

Beauto tried to meet his gaze, failed and looked down. Watched his perfectly manicured fingers resting on the worn wooden table, full of dents and scrapes.

”Thank you,” he muttered.

A small eternity passed.

”Hey,” Zombieman suddenly said. He took a deep swig of his beer and lifted the edge of his coat. Beauto glanced up, not sure he wanted to see that gross injury a second time. But instead his eyes fell on soft skin. It was pale and somewhat sickly-looking, like all of Zombieman’s skin (what he'd seen, anyway), but it was perfectly smooth, not even a visible scar.

Seeing him gawk, Zombieman pulled his coat even more aside, revealing that there was still some healing to happen near the bottom. But it was a flesh wound now, opposed to a large chunk of him just… gone. It was a marvel, quite frankly.

Beauto made an effort to close his open mouth.

”That’s… fascinating, I suppose.”

”It does come in handy. Most people do heal, though. Just slower than this.”

”’Most people’ can’t re-grow missing tissue.”

”True.” Zombieman looked thoughtful as he put the lollipop back into his mouth.

”What about you?”

For a brief moment, Beauto went cold.

”What about me?” Had he let his facade slip? Was Zombieman on to him?

”You done here?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. ”Yes. Sure.”

He offered to pay, but Zombieman insisted on paying for them both.

”Almost sounds like you took me out on a date,” Beauto joked as they left. Zombieman was walking normally again, now. It was good to see.

He chuckled. ”Me, ask Sweet Mask out on a date? As if I’d dare.”

”Well. It wasn’t… it wasn’t terrible.”

”Really? In that case, it was a carefully planned date, carried out to perfection.”

Despite himself, Beauto laughed. Somehow, he felt lighter than before. ”Fine. It’s a date. Under one condition.”

”What’s that?”

”Next time, you let me pay.”

The red eyes sparkled, looking more alive than he’d ever seen them.

”Deal.”

[liamloveslarry]

The Boy Who Cried Wolf~

okay i’ve posted some snippets below and i’ve kept the general theme the story flows in so far, however it may not make sense as i’ve purposefully left some things out but i think u can get a general vibe from it hopefully, idk let me know what you think bc it’s been ages since i’ve picked this up and i would love to finish and post it soon!

tw for one use of derogatory language, violence, body horror/gore, swearing, experimentation, surgery & fictional medicines, mild nsfw, use of guns but at the beginning - these all sounds worse than they are, but it’s a werewolf fic so there had to be some element of ~horror.

The ground beneath Harry is hard and damp. 

He can feel the wetness soak through into his already sodden socks from where his shoes had come off in the brawl, and it reminds him of being young and spilling ice cubes on the floor, trying to hastily clean the water up with his foot and feeling the cold cling to his toes. 

He squeezes his fists together and bends his head between his knees, breathing deep. 

There’s a chill in the air and the frost nips at his nude body, causing goosebumps to flare in his skins wake so fast it stings as they burst through his flesh. 

His long hair acts as a barrier against the frigid air, but every time he rocks back, the metal bars stood tall behind him hiss against his skin and cause him to whimper and growl. 

He looks up and wraps his arms around his knees, shielding what little modesty he has left. 

He can see two guards standing either side of the cell, each holding firearms in their sturdy arms. Their fingers on the trigger ready to shoot if Harry so much as thought about doing something he shouldn’t. 

There’s another body to the right of him that looks in bad condition. He can smell it before he sees it. The person’s leg appears to be injured judging by the sluggish trail of blood that’s pumping into a puddle on the floor, and there are multiple cuts and grazes across their torso and face. 

Deep enough that Harry can see muscle and bone. Deep enough that Harry can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

If he focuses enough, he can hear them breathing. 

Or maybe that’s just himself.

Harry’s feet scuffle on the floor as he tries to get a closer look, but it causes one of the guard’s head to twist towards him and narrow his eyes, gripping his gun even tighter as he opens his big, fat mouth.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He growls.

Harry whips his head up and looks him in the eye. He retracts his arm slowly from where he was reaching out to touch the person’s pulse point and places it on the floor.

The guards face is pinched and sweaty, as if he’d be afraid of Harry if there wasn’t a thick barrier of metal between them. He can hear the hitch in his breath when does so much as blink, confirming the theory further that he’s more afraid of Harry than Harry is of him.

“What am I doing here?” His voice his shot and gruff, a reminder of just two hours previous when he’d been snarling and shouting, trying to tear chunks of flesh from their bodies out of fear while they’d held him down and stunned him into submissive shock.

He doesn’t remember much after being shoved into the back of a truck and led to where he assumes, he is now, cooped up in a dingy cell with a half rotting body and two wankers as company.

The guard punches out a laugh, the tip of the gun clanging against the metal as his body jerks forward. It causes Harry to wince as the sharp sound penetrates his ear drums.

“For a dog I thought you’d be smarter. But it looks like you’re just another dumb bitch.”

Harry’s fingers catch against the grain of the floor as the tip of his claw protrudes and causes the concrete to shift and crumble beneath him. He can’t help the rumble in his chest while the thought to bare his teeth becomes more prominent each second the guard smirks and cocks his gun mockingly at Harry’s head. 

“Calm down puppy, it’s not even a full moon yet so I dunno why you’re gettin’ all hyped up.” 

Harry doesn’t feel himself move but he can see the guard’s eyes sweep across his form, right from the tips of his toes to his hairline as he clenches his gun tighter, which means he now must be standing. 

He knows better than to step forward, knowing he’ll probably get shot if he dares so much as inch his pinky out. 

He can feel his bones shift and his muscles twinge, and there’s a deep throbbing coming from his thigh which he only notices now. As he casts his eyes down, he can see it’s torn and open. There must be something slowing the healing as usually something like that would’ve closed up by now.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

The guard cocks his eyebrow.

“No.”

Harry’s hands clasp into fists and he takes a deep breath.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

He can see the guard smirking, albeit if he narrows his eyes slightly, he can still see his pulse jumping under his skin as if trying to scramble from his body. He shifts his hip slightly to take the weight off his injured leg, causing his cock to slap against his thigh.

The guard’s eyes drift down and this time it’s Harry’s turn to smirk.

“What’s the matter? Never seen one this big before?”

The guards face turns red and he splutters, his pig face scrunching up as if he’d sucked on a sour lemon and he scrambles to point his gun through the bars and at Harry.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking dog! I swear to god I’ll blow your fucking brains out you mutt, you utter cu- “

“That’s enough.”

They both whip their head towards the second guard as his hand inches out and places it on the other guard’s gun, pushing it down slowly.

“You!”, he says, eyes piercing into the other man and gritting his teeth, “need to shut your fucking gob and stop riling Lassie up; and you!”, he turns and sweeps his gaze over Harry’s form, boots coming to rest against the edge of the metal, “need to stop asking so many sodding questions and shut up.”

Harry blinks down at his wet socks and frowns.

“Can I at least have some clothes?”

The second guards gaze lingers on his abdomen.

“No,” he smirks, eyes trailing upwards and resting on Harry’s face, “I’m rather enjoying the view.”

Harry growls out “fucking pervert” and doesn’t think twice before moves his foot forward, which causes the first guard to panic and fire his gun. 

The bullet doesn’t pierce his skin, but it’s made of something hard and it smacks full force him in the chest, instantly knocking him backwards and winding him.

He can see both of the guards arguing and waving their arms at each other, but his hearing has gone woofy so he can’t understand what they’re saying. 

The room is starting to spin and the pain in his thigh and upper chest are getting worse, causing Harry to sway on the spot and collapse onto his knees.

The last thing he remembers is the sound of an alarm before his vision blurs and turns to black.

~

It was dark by the time he’d left the office, nodding and waving at the receptionist who was sat in the tiny booth on his way out. It had also been raining, which Harry realises now he probably should’ve driven in, but the morning had been so frosty and clear with dew drops settling on autumn leaves, that he couldn’t help but walk through the winding paths and bramble bushes to get to work. Even if it did take him thirty minutes.

He remembers pulling his hood up and walking down the road until he reached a narrow ginnel that acted as a bridge between the small town and his house.

It had been here he’d been attacked.

At first, he thought it was just somebody mugging him and he knew it wasn’t best placed to chomp his way out of it, it wouldn’t look too good if a local hooligan had been found with teeth marks imprinted onto his skin, so he’d done his best to ignore him, promptly shoving them off; only to realise there was two of them and one had what looked to be a gun.

Stunned, he’d tried to run but they’d pinned him down and cast a sickening blow to his stomach. It had caused Harry to go into sensory overload as he could smell the cheap cigarette smoke on their collars and their nasty breath wafting up his nostrils, causing him to heave and snarl. It was only a matter of time before his abilities kicked in and his claws and teeth had decided to make an appearance. He’d nicked of the men on his jaw and tried to bite his neck, but the other man held an electric rod against his ribs and shocked him.

~

She’s fair skinned and has light brown hair that’s held up in a ponytail. She doesn’t say much as she checks the stats on the monitor screen, but Harry does his best to smile whenever she looks over at him.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

She startles and nearly drops her clipboard, grasping it at the last second before it falls to the floor. She looks at him wide eyed and says nothing.

“I’m not going to do anything, I promise”. He grins and wiggles his fingers slightly in the straps. “Not like I can do anything, anyway.”

She stares at him for a beat longer and lowers her head.

“Mary.” She mumbles, fiddling with the pen and twisting it in her fingers.

Harry smiles again and tries to get her to look up.

“Mary. That’s a nice name. My name’s Harry, but I’m guessing you already know that.”

She blushes and looks away, busying herself with the buttons on the monitor and biting her bottom lip. 

She’s nervous, Harry can sense it. But if he wants to get out of here semi-unscathed, he needs to play nice with those who so far, haven’t been very nice to him. She seems kind enough anyway, judging by the fact that she wasn’t poking any fingers into his wounds or prodding at his teeth.

“I know you probably can’t say much, and I understand that; I really do, but.” He sighs and looks down. “Please can you tell me where I am?”

She continues to ignore him, taking out a needle and flicking the cap. She pumps it a few times and Harry watches as the liquid inside begins to bubble up.

She goes to inject the tip into his thigh but he catches her wrist just as she was about to press in, claws forming a shield around her delicate bone.

She looks up at him wide eyed, her breathing heavy and scared.

“Mary, please. Please tell me where I am. I won’t let go until you say something.” He can feel her small hand trembling but he isn’t going to give up without a fight.

Her fingers squeeze tighter around the needle and she tries to force the tip into his skin, but his hold is stronger and she lets out a gasp.

“Please stop, you’re hurting me.” 

“I’m sorry, I will, I promise. But not until after you tell me where I am.”

Her fingers seem to seize and stop, dropping the instrument onto the bed and her quiet, shaking voice splits the silence open like a knife cutting through paper.

~

He can smell the winter air and the frost settles in his bones, calming him instantly. He’s also very aware that he’s still in a gown and participating in a full moon event of his own. 

He’s about to step over the threshold when a hand tugs him back.

Harry turns around, and he sees Mary for the kid she is. Barely an adult and shivering in the cold.

Her nose has turned red already.

~

He lets out a ragged sob and pounds his fist against the floor. He tries to move his leg and bend his arms to press against the solid ground so he can at least heave himself up when he notices a beaming light coming towards him. He turns his head and sees through tears, rain and the dirt prickling his eyelids, the headlights of a car that’s heading his way.

The car eventually slows down to a stop in front of him, but he can’t see much through the business of the windscreen wipers and the headlights shining in his eyes. He must look a right state right now, and he’s shocked the car even stopped for him. 

If it was him, he would’ve kept on driving. 

There’s a click and the engine turns off. The lights stay on, albeit they’re dimmed a touch. 

The car door opens from the driver’s side and a man dressed in a parka and joggers hesitantly makes his way around the front of the car.

There’s silence for a few moments until the man opens his mouth.

~

Harry doesn’t know how long they drive for. He’s content to just let the sound of the quiet radio wash over him while he huddles into the blanket more, directing his toes underneath the heater. He appreciates that Louis probably has a multitude of questions he’s dying to ask, but instead he keeps his mouth shut, humming along to the radio every now and then.

They drive through the tiny town of Barnstable and the car jostles as they drive over cobbled streets and the sporadic pothole. The occasional light flickers from the shore to the right of them, but other than that the streets are as dark and as quiet as the night sky.

They tumble upwards towards a hill and Louis leads them through winding roads and sharp bends. On a particularly keen one, the car lingers to one side and Harry’s thigh moves with the turn, bashing slightly against the inside of the car door.

He winces and Louis catches it, sending a look of sympathy his way.

“Sorry, mate. Won’t be long now – another couple of minutes.” He nods down at Harry’s leg which has started to seep blood through the material. “We’ll get that patched up straight away, just try and keep some pressure on it for now.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods, wrapping a part of the blanket around his fist and pressing it harder against the wound.

~

He grabs some shampoo from the holder that’s stuck to the wall and squirts a generous amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together and lathering it through the strands. He does the same with the shower gel and starts to wash his body as he thinks.

What he remembers from the night feels fragmented and broken, tail ends of memories flashing before they disappear. He sighs and dips his head backwards underneath the water and washes the shampoo out. 

Whatever they shot him with must’ve delayed or hindered his healing abilities as usually anything superficial or worse, only takes around an hour to heal. Granted he’s never been shot before, it should’ve only taken a little longer before it had fully closed up, instead it had gotten worse the longer the bullet had been trapped inside his leg, rooted underneath muscle and skin.

He looks down and feels as well as sees, his skin starting to knit back together. Bits of flesh fusing as one around the stitches like solder to an iron. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to Louis in terms of there no longer being a wound or a scar left in its wake, but he figures he probably doesn’t need to be semi-nude around him again, so he decides not to say anything.

He scrubs the last remnants of dirt from his body and turns to switch the shower off, taking his time to grab the towel left for him on the radiator and wrapping it around his waist. 

He pads over to the mirror and looks at his reflection.

His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his cheekbones look hallow. His long hair is dripping lukewarm water down his chest and onto the floor, but he can’t find the energy in him to do something about it.

~

He spins towards Harry, blue eyes tired and sleepy, with a soft smile etched onto his face. He lifts his arm to ruffle the back of his hair and his arm muscle expands slightly, filling out the sleeve of his hoodie. It makes Harry swallow, a quiet click due to his dry throat echoing through the room.

“You’ll be okay in here, right?” Louis asks. “You know where the bathroom is and there’s some spare toothbrushes in the drawer, feel free to get up when you want and have another shower and stu- oh!” Louis pauses and places his hand into his hoodie pocket, pulling a small box out. “There’s some paracetamol here in case you need them in the middle of the night for your leg – pretty sure there’s a spare glass in the bathroom too, just in case you didn’t wanna stick your head under the tap.” He places the box down onto the bedside table and throws a smile Harry’s way.

Harry won’t need them but he nods and smiles anyway, yawning out a thank you. He forgets momentarily that Louis is still in the room when he starts taking the hoodie off, and only remembers when a cough sounds out against the silence and he whips his head up.

~

Harry unclicks his seatbelt and goes to open the car door when Louis’ hand stops him. He turns back. 

Tired, green eyes meet concerned, blue ones.

“Just.” Louis pauses. “Just be careful out there, okay?” Harry stays silent while Louis’ fingers tighten around his arm. 

It doesn’t feel unsafe.

“When I found you, I thought you were dead. I haven’t asked you what happened because I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready. And you still don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He rushes to say, then pauses to stroke his thumb lightly over Harry’s arm, hair standing to attention and swaying under soft material and fingertips. “So just, be careful. Please.”

His eyes feel like they’re boring into Harry’s soul, each pupil filled with worry and pleading as if for Harry to promise him. Harry doesn’t know what to do, so he gently places his hand on top of Louis’ and smiles kindly.

“I promise. It was just a,” how does he word this “– a bad night. And hopefully it won’t happen again.” He figures he might have to verbalize what happened one day, but today is not that day. Where would he even start? ‘Thanks for saving my life and oh, by the way, I’m a werewolf?’

One headache is enough for now.

Louis looks at him for a second longer and breathes out, squeezing his arm one last time and dropping his hand back down, resting it on his thigh.

“I’ll call you.”

Harry nods and opens the car door, turning back one last time.

“Thank you, for everything.”

~

Making his way through to the living room, he flicks the light on and watches as dust bunnies flit about the air, as if to say welcome home. The machine to the right of him is flashing relentlessly, signifying there are messages waiting for him. He presses the voicemail button and listens as a robotic voice, followed by a woman’s, floats through the speaker.

Beep. Three new messages.

Beep. First Message.

“Hi, love. It’s only me. Just checking to make sure you’re alright? I know you said you had a busy week so wanted to catch up before the weekend.”

Beep. End of first message. 

Beep. Second message.

“Hi, Harry. Me again. Not sure if you got my first message and I know you’re probably having a minute to yourself after work, but just give me a call back when you get this.”

Beep. End of second message.

Beep. Third message.

“Harry, it’s me. It’s nearly 8 o’clock and I haven’t heard anything. I’m starting to worry, will you ring me back, please? I swear to god if something’s happe-yes! I’m ringing him again, he’s not answering, Har-”

Beep. End of third message.

No more messages.

~

If he listens carefully enough, he can hear the hedgehog’s tiny teeth tear through the slop, gurgling as he swallows. Small wheezes puff through his narrow nostrils when he pauses, the spikes on his back sparkling under the stars. Harry’s eyes adjust better than any humans could while his ears hone in on the sounds around him. Voles and mice race through the grass, snatching worms and bugs alike. Owls hoot in the distance while foxes rummage through bins, rubbish galore. He can even hear the moths fluttering their tiny wings as they quiver and vibrate through the dark.

The plate is nearly empty when he hears something snap. Even Bob pauses licking the ceramic to sniff the air; black, beady eyes darting right to left. He must think they’re in the clear when he starts moving again, nifty nose nudging through wet food. Harry continues to watch the garden when he hears another snap. 

This time it’s louder.

Claws replace fingernails and grip the step below him, twists of PVC twirling underneath sharp talons as they’re sliced from the ledge. 

Forgive him for he usually wouldn’t be this on edge, however getting oneself kidnapped and tortured has made even the scariest of monsters slightly fearful.

Though his eyesight is much like that of a hawk, he can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bushes and leaves sway slowly in the breeze, every now and then a hoot echoes in the distance.

He stops breathing when he feels something brush against his ankle and his claws pierce the delicate skin of his palm; but he realises when he looks down that it’s just Bob nuzzling between his sock clad feet, trying to reach a meaty grub that’s getting away. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, counting to ten in his head. He shifts his feet so his three-legged friend can reach his dessert. He decides it’s enough for one night and reaches down to pick the plate up. He stands and casts his eyes around the garden one more time, settling on a tree branch that rests over the fence. He doesn’t know how long he stares at it until he feels the chill of the air whip against his face. Blinking out of his stupor, he shakes his head and lets out a small huff, breath casting white shapes into the cold air. 

“Bed,” he whispers, “just go to bed, Harry.”

~

It’s the middle of the night when he needs the toilet, bladder unrelenting as he shuffles sleepily out of the tent, torch in one hand as he makes his way over to a nearby tree. He’s resting his palm against the trunk when he hears a snap and a low moan coming from somewhere next to him. He tries to hurry his peeing as fast as he can, shaking himself off and guiding himself back into his shorts when something barges into him, slamming him down onto the forest floor.

His head knocks against the ground and he groans, mind going fuzzy. He can’t see for shit what’s on top of him but it’s dark and big and it’s groaning. Rumbling screams clutching at his bones. He tries to shake it off but it’s larger than Harry, at least seven foot and it drags him about like prey. He goes limp and cold, as if his mind is disconnected from his body. All he can remember is a white-hot flash of pain from where the thing had sunken its jaws into Harry’s side, teeth seizing around his rib cage and pulling, twisting, sinking. He remembers trying to scream but no sound escaped his lips. It was like he was watching from above. Watching as his body was tugged and heaved from left to right. Sharp claws scratched and hooked at his hip bones, making sure he couldn’t get away.

He could feel blood oozing out from where he’d been bitten and torn at, and the pain he felt was almost blinding. His fingers twitched at his side until they felt something smooth and hard. In a moment of sheer adrenaline, Harry had lifted what he assumed was a rock and slammed it down onto the thing’s head, once, twice, three times. Until its jaws had become loose and its teeth unclenched from around his bones. Blood spurted onto his face, lining his lips and staining his eyelashes. The thing went limp and sagged against Harry’s body, white eyes rolling back into its split skull as it shivered, seized and stopped.

He remembers pushing it off his body as best he could and trying to scramble away from it, bare feet and toes digging into the soft earth as he pushed himself backwards. He gulped when he hit the back of a tree and lay panting, hands shaking as they touched his side, feeling nothing but hollow bone and air. Looking down there was only red. Torn flesh and muscle protruding and dangling down as if no longer part of his body.

He remembers sobbing as he blinked through the tears and tried to get a good look at the figure lying dead in front of him. Holding both hands against where he’d been bitten and pulled apart like leftovers.

He remembers looking up at the sky above him, the moon big and bold as she stared back at him.

He remembers feeling like he was going to die.

~

A book is placed into Harry’s hands and he looks confused at the two men before Zayn just nods his head at the item, encouraging Harry to open it. 

“What is this?” He asks.

“Just read it.” Niall says, blinking at Harry.

It’s black and the corners are worn. It isn’t a big book either by any means, but it’s chunky and smells of old leather. Indented in gold on the front page are what look to be like nymphs and needles, wound tight around flesh as if both are becoming one. He turns to the first page and registers the thin, waxy paper.

~

Harry nods, doesn’t feel as though he can speak properly before stepping onto the train. His foot barely reaches the entry when his name is called behind him. He turns his head and sees Zayn walking up to him.

“I,” he coughs, looking around him a touch awkwardly, Niall turns away and bends down, pretending to busy himself with his shoelace. “Stay safe, yeah?” 

He pulls something out of his pocket and presses it into Harry’s hand. “Call us if you need us, anytime. I mean it.”

And with that he’s spinning around and walking up to Niall, clapping him on the back and nodding towards the exit. Harry tightens his fist around whatever Zayn had given him and ducks into the carriage, finding a seat near the far back and sitting down.

He rests his head against the cool glass and shuts his eyes.

Tries to keep his racing thoughts from becoming nightmares.

~

Page 37.

Sally.

ne.re.id. sea.nymph. mer.ma.id.

August 13th 1989. 15:07pm.

Found near the North coast of Portknockie in Scotland. Terrain is rocky and waves were at high speed. Out of plain sight to any passersby, however not so hidden she wouldn’t have been spotted by cliff dwellers. Water is salty meaning she has not swum from any freshwater rivers or lakes. Around 250cm in length, including the tail which has been jaggedly severed from fin upwards. The creature is unconscious but has a strong heartbeat. A mixture of morphine and hematide has been administered into the left arm of the creature and she remains stable. 

Despite her long frame, she has a petite torso and fine hair decorating her entire upper half. Subject has dark hair and green eyes. They seem to change to lilac under fluorescent lighting while her pupils dilate. She speaks in broken sentences, mostly garbled hums and high-pitched warbles.

Subject has webbed fingers and sharp nails. Subject also does not have a belly button nor any eyebrows.

Harry’s fingers freeze around the handle of his mug and he places it down onto the table shakily, taking another steady breath inwards. Outside the bin men are talking joyously as the disposal unit crunches in the distance while the neighbours next door are having yet another argument about who’s turn it is on the computer. But nothing registers, and Harry can only focus on the words standing stark against yellow stained paper below him.

~

September 7th 1989. 14:24pm.

Subject ‘Sally’ has been prepped for surgery. Subomunex was dispensed into the subject’s neck gills. We have found this to be most effective when operating on water-based creatures as it releases certain toxins and nutrients to ensure the subject can breathe without the need for H20.

Research into the common cold occurred almost one year ago, and we have found certain elements that make up a nereid’s larynx fight most, if not all symptoms of a ‘sore throat’. Today we shall create a medium incision into the subject’s neck muscle and remove the larynx, most commonly known as the voice box, from the subject’s throat. Delicate strands of tissue and muscle will be removed and sent to the Section B lab where it will be tested and if successful, dispensed into edible capsules and distributed among Pharmacies across the UK. 

A tiny proportion of the larynx’s genetic makeup will be extracted and re-created to ensure there is enough material for us to provide in the long term.

There’s a picture underneath the paragraph of what looks to be a theatre and Sally stretched out along a bed, four doctors are also in the photo, two standing either side of the creature and if Harry squints, he can see their smiles through their surgical masks.

~

“H-hello?”

There’s silence before the other person speaks.

“Uh…is this Harry?”

He doesn’t register the voice and his brows furrow in confusion, nose sniffling.

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

“It’s um, Louis?” the voice replies, “I picked you up from the middle of the road, uh. About a week ago?”

God, has it really only been a week?

All of a sudden, his eyes widen in stark realisation and he clutches the phone tighter in the palm of his hand.

“Oh! God, I’m so sorry, hi. How are you?”

There’s a little huff of laughter and Harry imagines Louis’ eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate. Are you? You sound a little…off.”

Harry leans against the living room wall and rolls his head sideways, “uh,” he glances at the book, “just a sad film, proper got to me, had a little cry as you do.”

~

“I should probably leave.” Harry says, and carefully dislodges Cliff’s head from his leg, placing it down gently onto the couch cushion beneath him. He doesn’t even move, just wiggles his back slightly and twitches his paw from where it’s resting in mid-air.

“If this is about you dribbling on me, I really don’t care. I’ve had worse things on me.”

Harry’s blush darkens, and he mumbles out, “it’s not about the dribble thing, I just think I should go.”

He stands up and makes his way into the hallway, vaguely aware Louis is talking to him, but the words are muffled against the heavy sound of Harry’s beating heart. He grabs one of his shoes and slips it on his foot, patting down his chest and pockets, trying to search for his keys while shielding his face so Louis doesn’t see how red his cheeks have become.

“-think you should just stay the night.”

Harry’s in the middle of slipping on his other shoe, when he braces his arm against the wall to stop him from tripping up, and turns to face Louis who’s piercing Harry with his gaze, despite the warm flush that’s expanding across his face.

“What?”

“I said, I think you should just stay the night.”

“I-,”

“I don’t mean, um,” Louis huffs a laugh, a telltale pink blooming on his cheeks, “in my room, or anything. I meant the spare room again, if you want?” He places his hands into his jean pockets and rocks back a little on his feet, “it’s just really frosty outside, and dark, so I’d feel pretty shitty if I let you drive back now.”

“Lou-“

“Sorry if it sounds like I’m being pushy, I don’t mind, really! It’s just,” he sighs, lips pursing and fingers reaching out to scratch at the chipped paint on the wall, “I’d just hate for something to happen, y’know, like last time,” he murmurs quietly, a sad sort of smile sweeps across his lips and he looks down, shrugging his shoulders.

You’d think what happened that night fucked him up a little too.

Maybe it did.

After all, he was the one who made sure Harry was alright and pulled a bullet from his leg, right over where Harry casts his eyes into the kitchen.

~

He groans and lifts his body to sit upright, leaning down and massaging his leg with his hand. 

He drops his head forward and sighs, insides feeling like they were going to jump out of his skin any second and run off the excess energy without him. He stands up and stretches, fingers pointing upwards towards the ceiling while his back cracked along his spine. 

It felt like a shift, bones and muscles repositioning under flesh, like tectonic plates moving and slotting into the different crevices of his body. But it wasn’t time, and Harry had learned to control the urge quite early on after he’d found himself naked in the local park after a midnight stint, bleary eyes opening to find ducks quacking nervously in the pond and a jogger staring at him with his mouth hanging open; probably wondering what he was doing lying there nude at four in the morning. He wasn’t too far from home that he couldn’t sprint back in time that nobody else noticed him, covering his delicate parts with his hands as he ran through the streets in the milky morning light. 

His clothes had been torn to shreds and he doesn’t remember much, not a great deal of evidence either from the night before other than the dirt that had gathered underneath his fingernails and twigs in his hair. He also felt different somehow, as if his body finally relaxed into itself and took one huge breath out.

~

Louis slides the door fully open then and steps into the room, toes sinking into the plush carpet beneath him. He isn’t wearing anything other than his boxers and Harry’s very aware he’s in just the same. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Harry shakes his head, fingers spreading out along the bed and clutching at the tight bottom sheet, trying hard not to think about how Louis’ shut the door behind him, not fully, but just enough to bathe the majority of the room in moonlight and heavy whispers.

“Me neither.” Louis huffs, lips morphing into a small smile and feet shuffling forward. “Feel like my body’s just pent up, y’know? Usually I’m out like a light.”

“Same.” Harry replies. “My brain won’t switch off so I’ve just been,” don’t tell him you’ve been snooping, “counting sheep.”

“And the bang?” Louis laughs.

“Oh! Uh, I just got up for some water and tripped into the bedside table.”

Harry doesn’t think about how it’s becoming easier and easier to lie.

“Do you need anything for it?” Louis asks, coming closer as if trying to inspect Harry’s foot. His toes scrunch inward under the careful scrutiny, as if they don’t want Louis to see how unblemished they really are.

There’re only a few feet between them now and Harry can feel the sleepy heat radiating from Louis’s body, can count the chest hairs that sit between his pecs and can smell the fabric conditioner of his bed sheets caught up in the hairs on his arms.

“No, I think I’m good.” He swallows, throat clicking and fingertips twitching beside him as if they’re aching to reach out and feel just how soft Louis’ skin is underneath quivering patterns of swirly flesh.

“Okay.” Louis whispers, eyelids blinking slowly, heavy with heady want, tongue inching out to lick his dry lips.

[unprofessional-bard]

Chapter 11 - The Introduction

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: Fluff, smut (just a good ol' handjob in a tub and implied smut) and a lil bit of angst/tense situations + uncomfortable talks/thoughts of pregnancy and trauma.

Summary: Unprepared for the consequences, the reader has to put up with two new arrivals, even though there's something off about them. Something more than just the shock of survival.

Word Count: 6.810

Author's Note: This chapter is set between April and July 2036, I apologise bc the reader is slowly turning into her own character, like Dolly's becoming an OC 😭 but yeah I love you all so much, thank you for reading my series 🥺💗

Enjoy!

"Well, well, what have we here."

The trio halted in their tracks as your voice echoed in the stables, your flashlight shining on them.

"Hey, Dolly," Ellie turned around, dying inside. Beside her was Cat and Jesse, turning around with pursed lips. "What'cha doin'?"

"Oh not much- patrol, you know," You said nonchalantly, walking towards them with threatening steps as you did. "Making sure people don't sneak off in the middle of the night with the horses. Kinda like what you three are doing."

"We weren't sneaking off," Jesse chuckled, but the panic in his voice gave him away easily. "We're just here to... feed the horses?"

"They're being fed regularly, you know that, so cut the crap." You spoke sternly. "Where the hell are you all off to?"

"We were just-" Ellie took over. "We're meeting with Dina. Eugene is there with her."

"What for?" You inquired. "What does Eugene have to do with whatever it is you're planning?"

They were struggling to reveal the truth, but Ellie knew better than to lie. She knew that, as long as it was the truth you wouldn't get angry; it was your thing and Ellie had noticed it from the Boston QZ, so she gave a look to Cat, whom you suspected to be Ellie's girlfriend, and she spoke: "Eugene has weed."

"Ex-cuse me?" Your eyes widened with a long blink at the three words. You weren't against it or anything, but you were just shocked- How and where in hell did Eugene find weed?

"Yeah, shit- Uh, we'll head back," Jesse mumbled.

"No it's-" You quickly recovered and fixed your posture. "How?"

"We were going to find out," Cat offered an apologetic smile.

"Christ," You chuckled. "Oh, Eugene, Eugene..." You quickly look around, a devilish smirk spreading across your face. "You know what? Go."

"Are you serious?" Ellie asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. I'm not gonna rob you bunch from your teenage years," You chuckled. "Under one condition: I'll ride with you all."

"Oh, okay," Cat grinned excitedly and proceeded to climb on a horse, Jesse mirroring her actions after he offered his thanks.

"Okay," You pointed at the rifle you had in your hands after climbing on a horse. "Let's ride quick, I'm probably gonna get in a lot of trouble as it is, so..."

"Thanks, Dolly," Ellie spoke after she settled behind Cat.

If Eugene wasn't there, you wouldn't have let them out and would've proceed to fetch anyone who was already outside. You knew they could handle themselves, but you just didn't want anything to happen to them. It had just finished raining so it was extremely dark outside. After the quiet and fast ride, you saw them off into the partly wrecked building.

"If it's legit, we'll bring you some." Jesse smirked after the girls waved goodbye and walked in.

"Go on, get!" You chuckled and shooed at him, then began riding back the way you came while ignoring the offer, which was actually quite enticing.

It was near dawn when you heard a bunch of horses riding at full speed, nearing your position. The sky was turning a bright shade of blue, and you couldn't deny the beautiful scene in front of you. The air smelled of earth and remnants of rain from a few hours ago and there were the occasional chirping of birds and a squirrel here and there - the peace however was gone the moment the horses appeared. You immediately shot up from your place to see what was going on, shoulder aching a little whenever you gripped your rifle (the bullet which had teared its way into your flesh right before your showdown with Axel, although healed for the most part, still hurt).

You let out a relieved sigh when you recognised Ellie's red hair and Eugene's white ones, then you saw Dina and Jesse, but there were two other people you didn't know riding with them. You blinked a couple of times after you lowered your rifle, then shouted down to Cedric: "Open the gate!"

You made your way down and immediately went over to Eugene and the strangers, hand on your rifle just in case: "Hey, what's going on?"

"Cedric, take them to Kat, have her take a look at their wounds," Eugene instructed and he immediately obliged. After they disappeared and the kids went to put their horses in the stables, he spoke: "We were on our way back here when we heard shouting, found this couple fighting for their lives against a dozen infected in the woods. We took them down easily and offered them help afterwards... They're a bit freaked out, but they'll be okay."

"Okay, I'll let Ma-" You suddenly stopped, realisation dawning on you. "How the hell are we gonna tell Maria?"

Eugene looked deep in thought for half a minute, then spoke: "Tell her it was me and Dina. We were patrolling anyways-"

"What about the couple?"

"We'll ask them to say it was just the two of us, and to decrease the number of infected, problem solved. Relax, will ya?"

You nodded quickly, then walked off after telling him to alert the kids about the plan.

You stopped by the infirmary first. Daisy and a new medic, Angie, were tending to them and Cedric was standing guard while Kat wasn't present. You walked up to your patrol partner and tapped his shoulder: "You can go now, I'll take over from here."

"Sure," He shrugged, yawned, then waved goodbye. You slowly approached the beds the pair were sitting on, opposite each other, the grip on your rifle strong.

"How are you two holding up?" You said awkwardly, making them look between themselves before the woman spoke.

"We'll be okay... Thanks for helping us."

"Right- sure," You sighed quietly. "Could I ask for your names?"

The young woman looked at her partner once more, as if asking for permission, then looked back at you: "I'm Kiki... This is my husband Ward."

You nodded and offered a simple nice to meet you, but didn't give your name to them. Instead, you turned to Daisy: "Let me know when you're finished."

She nodded and proceeded with her stitches before you left the room. You weren't the one to judge people right off the bat, especially in the apocalypse. A lot of newcomers (including you) came here looking bewildered and drained because they were either almost eaten by a pack of infected or murdered by bandits, simple as that.

Ward was a brunette with a dark stubble, thicker than Joel's and had short, black hair. His nose was large but suited the rest of his face just fine, with big, dark brown eyes. A scar ran over the crook of his nose down his cheek and he looked hardened, just like everyone else. Kiki, on the other hand, was also a brunette, but her features weren't as sharp as Ward's, or she was just much younger than him. She had long, black hair and her eyes matched the colour; she was also smaller than Ward, with a petite figure. She was very beautiful, too and looked frightened rather than hardened.

Around ten minutes later, Daisy walked out: "Angie's finishing up, but I'm done. I'm heading over to check on other patients, if you need me I'll be there."

"Okay," You nodded and walked back inside. The couple was neatly patched up and sitting quietly, eyes wide. When you walked in, Kiki jumped, but relaxed the same moment she saw your face. "Must've been through a lot, you two..."

"You could say that-" Kiki murmured, then looked over to Ward, who didn't seem to take notice of he conversation. There was a gash on his chin and he was squeezing the hell out of the bed sheets as Angie worked on the wound. He didn't make a single sound, but the nurse looked a little distressed. "Do you-" Kiki abruptly asked. "Do you run things around here?"

"Uh- No," You turned your head towards her, your grip on your rifle never faltering once. "No, I'm sort of responsible for the security. The boss lady will be here soon."

"Lady?" Kiki looked genuinely confused.

"Yes." You offered a simple nod. "I'm gonna ask something of you both. Don't worry, it's something simple."

Ward immediately intervened before Kiki could open her mouth: "What?"

"Relax," You warned, keeping your eye on him. "Angie, could you give us a minute?"

"Of course, I'm done anyways," She practically threw the equipments onto the small table next to the bed, took off her latex gloves, tossed them into the trash and ran out.

You gave Ward a hardened look, then spoke, walking between their beds, keeping them in your vision: "When the boss comes here, she's going to ask you a few questions... I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about the kids' being there when they found you."

"Why?" Kiki asked, worried.

"Well, they weren't supposed to be outside- Except for the girl with long, black hair and the man who brought you here. It'd save us a lot of trouble if you didn't mention them."

"So, what, you expect us to lie?" Ward huffed.

"No." You spoke coldly, rivaling his hostile tone. "I'm simply asking you to leave out the part where there were 4 kids- There was just one. Besides, she may not even ask about it."

Your staring contest with Ward ended when, as if on cue, Maria, Tommy and Eugene entered the room. You saw the fright in Kiki's eyes, so you spoke calmly: "Hey, it's okay. That's her, the boss lady- and her husband."

"Boss lady?" Tommy chuckled and stood next to you, Maria and Eugene mirroring him.

"It's okay," Maria spoke: "We got this, you can go now."

You nodded once and reluctantly walked out from the room. Stepping outside the infirmary, you came across Cedric waiting by the entrance. You shook your head towards the gates with a simple: "Let's go."

Cedric was almost 15 years younger than you, had even younger features than someone would have in their 30s. He had chin length, dirty blonde hair with hazel eyes fleeing to green. He was a calm and collected person, unlike most people in Jackson. Your tactics and strategical thinking were similar, which made patrol much more effective and easy.

Both of your shifts ended around two hours later, when the sun was up completely and shining down on the streets, calling people to duty; it was, however, your call to hit the bed. After turning over your weapons and heading your separate ways with Cedric, you walked over to your house, a smile spreading across your face at the thought of seeing Joel.

You hadn't seen each other in almost three days due to different shifts but, with the weekend off, you could finally rest in your husband's arms.

You quietly entered the house and tiptoed up the stairs. The bedroom door was closed, he was obviously still asleep. Normally, he'd be awake by 7AM, but lately he'd been really hard on himself with patrols- it was only right he treated himself to a few extra hours of sleep. You really wanted to crawl next to him, or just take a small peak inside the room to see him, but you knew better. He awoke to the slightest creak of the bed when you got up, or simply turned to drink some water. You wanted him to rest though, that came first, so you used the bathroom outside your room to get cleaned up, then moved into the bathtub to treat yourself. It had been a while since you let your muscles rest and relax in the deliciously hot water.

Not even five minutes later after you settled in the warmth, you heard the slow opening of the door. You opened your eyes to find Joel with nothing but his boxer briefs on, heart beating with ecstasy and joy at seeing him in his sleepy state: "Hey," You giggled. "Morning handsome."

"Mornin' baby," He rubbed the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?" He smirked as he proceeded to take off his underwear.

"Probably not," You smiled apologetically, he'd quite possibly woken to the sound of the water filling. You extended both of your arms to him, calling him to your embrace while stretching and yawning: "Come here, I missed you."

The words made Joel stop in his tracks for a short moment, heart wearming at them, then walked over to the tub with his naked glory: "Scoot."

You simply leaned back and parted your legs, offering him to lay against you. He obliged, got in and sat, making the water level rise when he laid down against your chest. Your left arm rested on his chest, partly hugging him, while your right hand went through his hair. You gave him a kiss on his neck, a lovely kiss which made him sigh contentedly: "M-hm, I missed you too. Missed this..."

You wanted to stay like that forever: Caressing his hair and the occasional, soft kisses against his jaw, cheek and neck which made his heart melt. You could sense that this small gesture made him very happy, which in turn made you hug him tightly.

"What do you say we..." You purred into his ear. "Ditch the dinner plans for tonight, hm?"

His eyes were closed when he spoke: "Why? Got somethin' else in that pretty little mind of yours?"

"Yeah," You confirmed, running your hand up and down his chest. "We could do something, just the two of us."

"Like...?"

"Hmm, like movie night? Or you can play me something?"

"Only if you sing." He grinned.

"Nope, scratch that," You chuckled and shifted under him a little. "Or we can just... You know, fuck." He coughed out a laugh at your bluntness. "What? You don't want to?"

"I didn't say that," He turned a little and looked up into your eyes with a brilliant smile. "I'd love nothing more, actually, but these are Jesse's parents." You sighed, disappointed, saying I know, I know. "We have two days to ourselves, (Y/N)- You can have me all to yourself, except for a few hours."

"Fine," You growled jokingly, smiled and kissed his lips softly.

What was intended to be a simple kiss now slowly moved in the direction of a filthy make-out session, his tongue parting your lips with ease and meeting yours. Joel grabbed your calf and caressed it slowly, while you took advantage of his distraction and sneaked a hand down his abdomen.

You shifted a little more to the side and took his cock in hand, which made him sigh and drop his head on your shoulder: "(Y/N)..."

"Hmm?" You hummed with a smile when your thumb pressed on his slit, making him hiss and become harder. "Let me take care of you, huh?"

You watched Joel's brows drawing together when you slowly started to pump him. You kissed the pulse on his neck, then moved down to his collarbone. His grip on your leg was more solid the firmer you worked his length, and he jumped ever so slightly when you bit down on his collarbone. His erection grew bigger by the second all the while you sucked and bit a small hickey on his skin.

"Shit..." He shifted in the water, pulling himself upwards so that you didn't have trouble reaching for his shaft.

"You want me to go faster?" You whispered and kissed his shoulder. He nodded but didn't speak and let you work your magic.

You picked up pace, flicking your wrist and focusing on the underside of his head, making him groan broken, unclear profanities. After a while, you felt him tense under your touch, his breathing turning a little laboured.

"(Y/N)..." He sighed through gritted teeth, letting you have your way with him.

"That's it..." You cooed and continued kissing him. Soon, he let out a loud groan and came, making you moan quietly.

Seeing Joel like this -relaxed and euphoric- was always a treat, moments like this where it was just the two of you; no infected, no survival, no bullshit from tha past. You were aware of how it was a luxury to do the things you were able to do: Taking a hot bath, finding someone you loved and marrying them, sleeping on a bed with clean sheets without worrying if infected or bandits were going to jump you.

You were grateful, you were reminded of this everyday, but it took its toll on you, too.

A lot of people, innocent kids were out there, suffering- dying, surviving... You wished you had the power to help them all and rebuild, but you were aware of how dangerous it was out there. It was simply too risky to leave Jackson. You weren't some superhero, after all.

Not a hero...

"What's got you thinkin'?" Joel snapped you out of your thoughts, his fingers ever so gently tracing your cheekbone as you laid on the bed across each other. It was night-time, after dinner with Jesse and his parents and, of course, a round of much needed love making. You both were a little sleepy, definitely content with sweat covering your bodies like a thin layer of blanket.

You looked into his eyes from where your head was -which was on the crook of your elbow, resting on your pillow- and gave him a phantom of a smile, nodding slightly: "Nothing in particular. You?"

"You," He smiled, which made you chuckle. Convincing Joel that you were absolutely, 100% okay was getting trickier as he'd spent just enough time to sense a depressive episode's approach; you didn't want to burden him with your self-doubt and self-loathing, as you hated it when his mood shifted for the worse because of you. "Wonderin' what goes on in that head of yours."

"Wish I knew that myself," You grabbed his hand which was tracing the left side of your face, then turned the back of it for a kiss.

You knew, though. While you and Joel were helping with the dishes in the kitchen, Jesse's mother, Robin had asked if you were planning on having any children. The question you'd been dying to avoid had finally been asked, which made you drop the plate you had in your hand into the sink. It truly was an off-guard moment for you, which startled Joel, but luckily the topic was never brought up again after the plate in question shattered into pieces. You weren't sure if you wanted a child, not after the incident with Miles.

The moment when the contents of his skull splattering onto the ground while he was in your arms- under your supervision haunted you day and night. You never talked about it to anyone, and no one had asked, but it only intensified after your wedding. Because you knew what people had in their minds: Will we be seeing a Joel or Dolly Jr. running around?

You were fucking old, too, and so was Joel. Even if you didn't know whether you'd be able to carry due to that, there was no point in risking it either way, since I clearly suck at watching over kids.

"I think you do," He pushed himself closer to you and sneaked the hand against your mouth onto your waist, propping his arm up and putting his head against the palm of the other. "You just don't wanna talk about it. Which is okay, y'know." You nodded, smile growing a bit wider. "We've been over this before, but If you ever feel like- y'know... you're borin' me or something-"

"I know," You offered a full smile, pushing your thoughts away at the best of your ability. "I see you, Joel Miller," You then put a hand against his chest, where his heart should be: "I know you, you know me... You know what I think?"

He gave you a curious look, but it got replaced with something that hinted excitement when you ever so slowly pushed him on his back with the hand on his chest, then straddled his hips. Joel chuckled: "How is it that you still have this much energy after only four hours of sleep?"

The sleep in question took place after the 'mingling' in the bath. Warm April breeze, even warmer covers and warmest above all, Joel's body pressed against yours, both of your hairs wet and drying on their own as you slept in your lovers arms. He woke up after an hour or so, lingered there for awhile, just enjoying your presence by his side; he then quietly left you to sleep- lord knows you needed it.

"You're just getting old, baby," You giggled and leaned down to kiss him, his hands immediately going to your hips. "Not complaining, though."

An uneventful few weeks passed as Jackson entered the first week of June. Two losses in the town, but no new arrivals after Katie- Kiki and Ward. No raids as well, so overall it was calm.

After reporting in about the week in general, one evening, Maria asked you to stay behind: "It's time for Ward and Katie to go through the test," She declared. "We gotta see if they're fit for patrol or not."

"You got it. When?"

"Tomorrow. I already notified them, we'll meet at the northern training post-"

"We who?" You ran a hand through your hair.

"You and me. Robert and Eugene were supposed to be there originally, but they'll be off hunting." She explained and you nodded. Without further ado, you walked out and made your way back home.

The next morning, Joel accompanied you to the training post. Normally it was your day off with him, but training awaited. The weather was particularly hot for an early morning, so it came to you as a little shock when you saw Kiki, who was wearing a rather thick looking blouse. You didn't question it of course, but it made you think.

"Alright," You cleared your throat, after a quick greeting, stepping into the open training area. Joel and Maria remained inside, arranging the medical needs list while keeping an eye on you three. "I'm gonna put you two through a little test. Maria tells me you decided to stay here in Jackson, so we need to decide which duties you're fit for."

Ward remained incredibly still while Kiki nodded. Her hands were resting between her knees, while Ward had his arms crossed. They were sitting on a bench under the shade: "It's going to get a little physical, but I assure you I'm not going to hurt either of you." You turned around and walked over to the middle of the area: "Right, let's start with you, Kiki."

She gave a panicked look to Ward, but he just nodded with a thoughtful frown, rather than a permitting glare. Over the weeks they had been in Jackson, people sort of got used to their non-verbal interactions, even though some people found it suspicious. She got up and made her way over to you and, by the look on her face, regretted her outfit of choice as she tried to loosen the collar.

"If you want to stop- at any moment, let me know," You reassured her. She nodded, went to roll her sleeves up, but stopped immediately. You acted like you didn't see it, then proceeded to get in stance and lift your hands up: "Okay, let's start with something simple. Show me your stance."

She gave you a blank stare: "My what?"

"Your... stance, you know, fighting stance?"

"I don't have one," She simply shrugged.

"Okay," You sighed quietly. "Then show me how you punch."

She threw what could've been a proper punch but it was weak, you immediately caught her fist in your palm. She panicked and pulled back, and you immediately let go. You glanced at Ward, who seemed to be on high alert.

"Again," You got into stance and she obliged, throwing another weak punch your way. Her stance was there, actually, and her punches came through like she knew what she was doing, but the impact wasn't effective.

It went on a couple more punches, which you caught in your hand each time, until she spoke: "Why do you do that?"

"What?" You lowered your hands.

"You keep holding my hands," It was as if she was more annoyed than confused. "Can you not do that?"

"It's a reflex-" You explained, glanced at Ward again, then looked back at her. "I do it with everyone I train, but if you don't want me to then it's fine."

Not everyone, only the ones with punches as slow, weak and predictable as hers.

"Okay, now let's try some... combos," You added and got in a more secure stance. "Throw one punch after another. Fast and hard. Don't hold back."

"I'm not holding back," She grunted and did a typical boxing combo, which, generally, only people trained in boxing knew- but her punches were still weak. You remained quiet and let her go at it for a few rounds.

You suddenly took a step back, raised your hand up to the same level as your face and spoke: "Kick."

Instead, she went to kick you between your legs. A rush of panic and years of reflexes kicked in and you caught her feet between your knees. You looked up with a what the fuck was that? expression on your face and waved your hand in the air: "I meant here."

"We're fighting, right? We need to be unpredictable," She said with a tone of... irritation? Was she snickering?

"Do I look like a bandit to you?" You let go of her leg, giving her a displeased look.

"You did say you wanted to see what we were capable of."

Where was this sudden confidence coming from all of a sudden?

She was always a little weird with you. Not that you saw her too often but the moments when you two were together, one minute she'd look like she wanted to be your friend (which was when Joel was around), other times she'd remind you of a cruel, rank-wise superior back in the Boston QZ (which was when Joel wasn't around).

You gave her a hard look: "Alright. Let's see how you're gonna do when someone's actually fighting you, then."

Her expression went from somewhat cocky to seriousness as you took a few steps foward and towered over her. Your instructions were simple and clear when you spoke: "I'm gonna put you in a lock. Wriggle out of it."

You slowly grabbed her wrist, giving her time to get ready and process what you were doing. Then, you twisted her arm carefully around her waist and turned her around, pressing her arm on her back, only for her to suddenly squeal: "Okay! Enough!"

You quickly took a step back, startled at her reaction, you weren't even applying the slightest pressure. Ward suddenly shot up from where he was sitting and yelled: "What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything!" You frowned.

"It's okay!" Kiki suddenly stepped in front of Ward who was advancing your way. "I panicked, she didn't-"

"Woah there," You suddenly heard Joel and Maria approach the field. Confusion was superior to your anger at that moment: Had you really hurt her?

"Calm down," Maria put her hands on her hips. "She specifically warned you that she wouldn't hurt you under any circumstances. Relax."

You gave Maria a grateful look as he defended you: "I didn't even apply pressure- Look, no one's here to hurt you on purpose."

Ward and Kiki stared into each other's eyes, and by all means it was not a romantic moment, then the bigger of the two finally groaned: "I think she's had enough. For today."

"You think?" You unintentionally slipped it out, but the companions by your side seemed to agree with what you were getting at. "Do you want to stop Kiki?"

"Um," She looked at the three of you, chewing on her bottom lip, then answered quietly after a tense moment of silence: "Yeah, I think I should stop."

"Fine," You said, trying to keep your voice as netural as possible. "Let's continue with you then, Ward." Before anyone could say anything, you and the man you challenged found yourselves back on the middle of the combat area. "Show me your stance and let's begin."

He did as you asked but didn't wait for you to size him up, throwing a punch into your palm as soon as you lifted it, startling your audience. That didn't stop either of you from starting off with a much quicker and a harsher routine, which seemed to have everyone on edge.

You didn't counter once, but it was as if he was forcing you out of the defensive with his strikes, not to mention he was forcing you to step out of the area.

"What the hell's goin' on?" Tommy half jogged over to where the three were standing, watching you two roll from a snowball into an avalanche. Ward was grunting with each hit missed, anger taking over his features, while you kept your cool. It was as if he was riling himself up because he couldn't land a punch - his aim was messy and unstable, which was nothing compared to your years of disciplinary training.

"Okay, I think you've proved your point, Ward." Maria spoke loudly after Tommy's sudden entrance, but he didn't seem to hear her.

"I agree," You grunted and dodged a rather heavy looking punch, rolled over behind him and got up immediately; before you could say anything else, thinking he had stopped, you momentarily let your guard down. Everybody seemed to have thought the same, but what none of you saw coming was the exceptionally hard blow on your nose.

"What the fuck?!" You heard someone, weren't sure who, yell as you saw a blur of people rushing toward you when you stumbled backwards, hands wrapping around your possibly broken nose with a brief shout.

Giving into your anger, before anyone can get a grip of what you were doing, you launched yourself at Ward: "Son of a-" You grabbed the collar of his shirt and headbutted him: "Bitch!"

It was beyond everyone just how fast you had moved, broke his nose with an equally strong strike and had him falling on his arse. Kiki rushed to his husband's side, Maria to yours while Tommy kept Joel from ripping Ward to shreds. You were sure you were going to pass out when Maria got a hold of you, feeling as if you were under water with the blurring of your vision and hearing. The adrenaline rush in your veins kept you from losing consciousness, though.

"(Y/N)?" Maria's voice got clearer each passing second as you chased the lingering faint away from your mind, finally opening your eyes completely to see a displeased face. "(Y/N) are you okay?"

"Yeah," You sighed, whipping your hands in the air around your waist to shake off the droplets of blood from your bleeding nose as best as you could, tears at the corners of your eyes. "Just fine and dandy."

You felt the familiar, calloused hands of Joel gently hold your elbows as Maria turned around to see to Ward: "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Joel," You nodded and wiped the blood on your white t-shirt in a pissed, exhausted manner.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You heard Maria growl at Ward, who was still shaken and sitting on the ground, face looking about the same as yours. "You can't just come up and punch people because you got angry at them! This is Jackson: You're not outside, and she isn't your enemy."

"It's okay- I'm sorry Maria- He's a little, uh," Kiki whined on her knees where she had knelt, but went quiet when he looked behind her to see you and Joel.

"You're not his mother, Katie," The blonde spoke, more calm now but no less strict. "He can speak for himself, and the same goes for you."

There was an intense moment between the three, while Tommy nodded at what Maria had said, his hands on his hips, looking at them disapprovingly: "Alright, c'mon, let's get you to a doc."

Joel in the meanwhile, like a mother duck, studied your nose and held a piece of cloth against the bleeding. He kept you focused on him while Maria and Tommy handled the other couple: "Fuckin' bastard..."

You chuckled at the way he grumbled as he wiped the blood off your nose gently: "Got what he was asking for though, don't go around wanting to kick his ass."

"Yeah, that was a pretty damn good hit..." He spoke, but his voice faded into the background when you curiously looked over to see what was going on, only to come across Kiki's face first things first. What you saw on her face sent a shiver down your spine.

Anger.

Not because you hurt Ward though, no. It was more than that.

It was jealousy.

You knew both because you had spent enough time with her to understand what that look meant, and her expression wasn't hard: It was soft, a certain yearning spread across her features as her eyes went back and forth between you and Joel. You couldn't tell what irked you the most: The way she looked at you, or him. You seemed to add more to her anger, while when she stared at your husband (and stared at him longer), there was longing and confusion.

The moment you made eye contact, she immediately turned around and scurried off, leaving you two and Maria alone.

"Hm? Dolly?" You heard Joel again once you brushed off the odd stare you got from Kiki.

"What?" You gave him a puzzled look.

"I asked if you wanted to have this looked at," He repeated in a soft voice. Most of the time, with small scratches or wounds which didn't need stitches or weren't cut too deep to get an infection or anything, you preferred handling it on your own to not waste the town's medical supplies.

"No, I got it," You nodded quickly and took a step back, feeling your nose while Maria approached you both.

"What the hell was that, (Y/N)?" She had her hands on her hips as well.

"I don't know, Maria," You emphasised each word, making your discomfort and irritation show. "...I have a few ideas though."

You moved inside, away from the burning sun and began discussing your first impression.

"So, what do you think?" Maria asked from behind her desk. Two pairs of eyes watched you quietly as you sat up on your chair, still holding the cloth up to your nose.

"Well, they're definitely not military, I can tell you that much. They don't know the first thing about combat - Kiki doesn't, anyway." Something's not right with them, you wanted to say, but decided to keep it to yourself for the time being and continued: "She's weak, can't even throw a punch. Almost lost her shit when I put her into that lock- I couldn't even put her into the lock, she just screamed."

"Yeah, what was up with that?" Maria asked but didn't demand an answer, it was more like a rhetorical question. You explained how she also went out of the training routine and tried to kick you, but again, it was weak.

"It's actually not that she's weak, but more like she's holding back," You said thoughtfully after a moment of silence.

"How do you mean?" Joel spoke for the first time.

"I mean, you can feel that she's holding back on purpose." Much as you hated your years in FEDRA, your experience with training and being trained came in handy on a daily basis - as much as you hated it, you were also grateful. "While Ward, on the other hand," You shifted in your seat, annoyed, "Fights like a feral beast, and I can tell that wasn't his full potential."

Joel growled quietly and crossed his arms. You then continued with your observation: "I don't want to be too quick on my judgement, but there's something not right with them."

Tommy walked in at that moment: "Well, that was a shit show."

"What happened?"

"They argued the whole way," Tommy sighed and pulled a chair between you and Joel, then sat exactly the same way his brother was sitting. "It was... weird is one way to put it."

"Let's keep them under supervision for awhile," You offered.

"You're volunteering?" Maria raised a brow.

"Hell no, not after that anyway. My existence would just antagonise them."

"What are you suggestin'?" Tommy turned to you.

"Put them through another training session with Walt, he'll know what I'm talking about... And Eugene found them, so maybe he'll be up for the task."

A moment of quiet and glances were exchanged among the family, then Maria cleared her throat: "Fine, we'll see what the other's think of that and vote for it."

"Okay. Now if you'll excuse me..." You murmured and got up, walking out of the room absentmindedly, deep in thought. A headache settled to the front of your head and you felt fatigue take over as soon as you stepped outside, while you left the other Millers confused.

"Hey," You heard Joel's soft voice from behind you not much later, which made you stop in your place and turn around. You gave him a blank stare, the cloth holding hand dropping to your side to reveal the smeared, dried blood around your nose. Without any rush, he walked over to you with a worried look and stood right in front of you.

After gazing into each other's eyes fro a while, Joel no doubt searching yours to understand what was going on and you just finding comfort in his, he slowly took your empty hand in his. With a soft tilt of his head in the direction of your house, you blinked once in acknowledgement and started walking with him.

Your anger and irritation started dissipating the more you walked like that, hand in hand and in silence, but your headache and slowly worsening mood, the taste of blood on your tongue remained. Not many words needed to be said with Joel, he knew what you needed by just one look. You were sure if Kurt saw you like that, he would laugh until his lungs couldn't take it: Look at you! Although the thought made your heart warm, it wasn't enough to lift the corners of your lips. You unconsciously held onto Joel's hand tighter as you walked to your house, and he returned the gesture, a simple gesture- an assurance that let you know he had you.

Once you stepped inside and he closed the door while you stood in the hallway, he walked up to you and held your shoulders and gave you a soft, still concerned look. You looked up at him with a soft sigh through your nose some seconds later, and finally spoke: "I'm gonna... I'm gonna go lay down a little."

"Okay," Joel gave you a reassuring smile and placed a kiss on your forehead. "You let me know if you need anything."

"Of course," You smiled back, a lifeless, small but an equally reassuring smile. Joel watched you climb up the stairs slowly, thinking about how long it would take you to feel better while also thinking of how he could make you feel at ease during the time.

His fears were similar to yours: He didn't want you to feel responsible or upset because of his own self-doubt and self-loathing, and he hated having you show all the effort to make him feel better about himself, about the things he had done. You kept assuring him that that was what being partners was all about, that you do what you do for him gladly and would continue doing it for as long as you were able (which meant as long as you were alive). He was glad to have you by his side, but of course didn't rely on you as if you were a rehabilitation centre, and it went both ways.

While thinking about all of this, with a cup of coffee in hand and sitting on his porch, his ears perked up at the round of laughter coming from behind the house. It was then, when he came up with a plan to make you feel better, even in the slightest.

Ellie.

—————

tags: @spideysimpossiblegirl

[honey-dewey]

Sound the Bugle Now

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Medic Reader

Word Count: 2,658

Warnings: Gore, murder of one animal, medical procedures, big Marcus whump, there’s a gladiator fight, Marcus dies for two sentences, don’t worry he’s fine, this is 99% angst, I’m sorry in advance, I promise it has a happy ending.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Eight months after the kidnapping of Marcus Moreno, and there’s no news. Everyone’s almost given up until a drone captures a photo of Marcus, and he’s definitely in bad shape. So the heroes make a plan, and that plan is sending you into the thick of it to help poor Marcus. What will happen while you’re in the cell with the missing man, and will he pull through in the end? 

“I’m sorry?”

The request seemed crazy, especially coming from Miracle Guy. But he was definitely serious.

“We need you to infiltrate this location and find Marcus,” he repeated.

You took a breath. No one had seen Marcus in months, since he’d been kidnapped on his way home from work. Missy had been with you, as had been instructed in Marcus’s emergency file. She was sad and sullen, but still had hope. “Look. Miracle. We haven’t heard anything about Marcus in literal months. What kind of intel could you possibly have?”

Miracle Guy put a photo up on the projected screen. “That.”

The photo was grainy, clearly taken with a drone camera. It was of an abandoned warehouse outside of town, the roof of the warehouse caved in, allowing the drone to capture the photo. In the circle of rooflessness, you could see two men in a fighting ring, the ground soaked in blood. One man was clearly bigger, and around the ring was a throng of spectators. The smaller man had his hands up, defending himself, but even with all the grain of the photo, you could see that it was clearly Marcus.

“Okay.” You stepped back. “Why me?”

“He’s clearly in critical condition,” Miracle Guy said, pulling the photo down. “We need a medical personnel to go check on him. We’ll send you under the guise of you simply being there to treat him. We intercepted a letter by carrier pigeon, if you can believe it, asking for a doctor for their special guest. We’ll say that’s you, drop you off with a tracker in your bag, and voila, we have Marcus back.”

It was a risky and hole-riddled plan, but it just might work. You suited up the next day, putting on your crisp white coat and loading up your black bag. Adjusting your shoes, you got into the inconspicuous black car and drove off towards the warehouse.

As soon as you pulled up, there were at least six guns on you. A large man with a bunch of tattoos and no hair stepped forward, holding a gun in one hand. You took a breath and gathered yourself, stepping out of the car. “Are the guns necessary?”

The man smirked. “Of course. Who are you?”

You handed over the small letter. “Your doctor. The hero, he needs healing?”

The man took the letter and read it over, eyeing you as he thought. “Fine,” he decided finally. “He’s busy right now. Wanna see?”

It took everything in you to nod as if you didn’t care. The man led you into the building, and you immediately saw the fighting ring. Marcus staggered around, his clothes torn and bloody as he circled with a tiger.

They were making him fight a fucking tiger.

You looked at the man. “Does he fight like this often?”

“Whenever he can,” the man responded, rattling the chain link of the cage and shouting. “Oi! Hero! Finish it already!”

Marcus slipped, nearly tripping. The tiger pounced, and your breath caught in your throat as Marcus weakly grappled with the animal. The man shouted happily, his cries mixing with the crowd’s. Apparently, people were betting on the tiger.

How disappointed they must’ve been when Marcus let out a nasty sob and plunged a jagged piece of metal into the tiger’s heart. He fell limp beside the exotic corpse, chest wracking with sobs. Two men carried him off, and you watched him go with wide and fearful eyes.

The man turned to you. “Isn’t it fun?” He asked.

You shrugged, trying to keep your face emotionless. “It’s interesting. If you want him alive, I should probably see to his injuries. He looked bad.”

“Agreed.”

The man led you down twisting and turning halls before he finally stopped in front of a metal door with a window fitted with bars. He unlocked it and gave you a shove inside.

Marcus was cowered up against the corner, blood pooling across the floor. He looked up when you walked in, and surged forward. In an instant, he was convulsing and backing away, returning to the corner, whimpering as his hands scrambled to claw at something on his neck.

You seethed, feeling rage boil in your blood as the man pulled a remote from his pocket and waved it in front of Marcus, causing him to whine and shy away, pressing himself against the wall even further. They’d outfitted him with a fucking shock collar. Now that you could see and notice it, you saw that the harsh leather of the collar dug into Marcus’s neck, the small black box on the left side of his neck pressing deep against his skin. It was clearly buckled one notch too tight. Eating, breathing, moving his head, it must’ve all been agony for him.

Aside from the collar, to say Marcus was in rough shape would’ve been a gross under exaggeration. He was at least ten, if not fifteen or twenty, pounds lighter than when you’d lost him, his face sunken and sallow, the usual brightness gone and replaced with a sickly pale color indicative of severe blood loss. His lips were chapped to the point of bleeding, his nails nothing more than bloody stubs or missing altogether. His hair was overgrown, greasy and hanging in his face. Even the usual persistent determined shine in his eyes was dull and faint. The conditions of the room, the lack of regulated temperature and light, the heavy smell of vomit and infection, the stains everywhere, nothing was meant to keep him alive. They intended to kill him, but not before they had their fun.

You had to hand it to his captors. They had successfully broken Marcus Moreno.

The man holding you shoved you, and you would’ve fallen flat on your face had your sense of balance not been impeccable. Stumbling and using the wall to keep upright, you glared at the man. “If you want me to fix your broken hero,” you said coolly. “The collar has to go. I can smell the infection from here.”

The man sneered, but he pressed a key card to Marcus’s collar. It beeped, signaling that it could be taken off.

Immediately, you rushed to Marcus’s side, worry replacing every other emotion you had. “Oh Marcus,” you breathed, just looking at his body. “What did they do to you?”

You helped him upright, guiding him to the metal tray you suspected he slept on. It reminded you, with a chill, of the rolling trays you kept bodies on in a morgue.

Marcus shivered as you lay him down, grabbing your bag and digging through it to find your shears. The heavy duty blade was technically meant for surgical procedures, but for now, they chewed through the thick leather of the shock collar with ease. You knew you could just take the collar off, but on the off chance that the man had tricked you, you weren’t about to try it.

Removing the collar led to a host of new challenges. The prongs had burned into Marcus’s skin, leaving two identical wounds that oozed and smelled like burnt flesh and infection.

Trying not to let Marcus see your worry, you continued to catalog injuries, finding severe bruising across his whole body, a few spots where injuries had been left to fester, and a rattling cough that worried you.

You determined a course of action, immediately setting Marcus up with high strength painkillers and a few travel machines that would keep watch on his vitals. The last thing you wanted was to perform CPR on his purple and blue chest.

Running a finger down Marcus’s ribs, you sucked in a breath. He was skin and bones, malnourished to a point where you wondered if he’d ever regain all the weight he’d lost.

“Talk to me,” Marcus croaked out, surprising you. “Please.”

You nodded, tackling the worst of the injuries, the infected burns on Marcus’s neck. “Missy’s been staying with me,” you said softly, putting on gloves and pressing gently against the wounds, face pinching when Marcus suppressed a whine. “She’s good, misses you of course. Anita visits on the weekends and we play board games together.” As you talked, you gave Marcus a hefty dose of infection cream, hoping it would work on the persistent infection until Marcus could be treated properly. Putting a thick bandage on the wound, you moved on to gently treating his other infected cuts in a similar manner, each one just a bit better than the last.

“I can’t do much for these bruises,” you said, running a light finger over a bruise that spanned most of Marcus’s left hand while you wrapped his missing ring fingernail. “Or that cough you’ve got. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Marcus rumbled. “You’re here, aren’t you? And you’re gonna get me out.”

You smiled tightly. “Yeah.” All you could hope was that the tracker in your bag was still working and that the team was on their way. “Here, I’ll get you a blood bag. I don’t like that color on you.”

Marcus grinned, sleepy and lazy. “What do you mean? I think bloodless grey is a perfect color on me.”

That managed a chuckle out of you. “Brink of death, and you’re still making jokes,” you murmured, grabbing a blood bag from your supplies and putting it beside the painkillers. “Hey, you’re bleeding,” you said, eyes snapping to the side of Marcus’s head, where blood was slowly trickling down his ear. He turned, laying his left ear on the metal tray so you could examine his head. He looked past your body, staring at the blank wall behind you.

You parted the hair above his ear, trying to find the source of the bleeding. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hard find. A small scratch that looked worse than it actually was. A few stitches and he’d be good to go.

“Alright, my favorite part of field work,” you said. “Miracle Guy cried last time he had a head wound.”

Marcus snorted. “Wish I could’ve seen that,” he said wistfully.

You smiled. “Maybe next time. Hold still.”  

Marcus watched you as you dug through your bag and produced a small foldable straight razor. It was shoddy and unsteady work, but with a bit of water, some gritty soap, and your deep breathing to keep your hands steady, you got a clear patch above Marcus’s ear, exposing the wound and thankfully not giving him any new ones.

“Okay,” you said, mostly to yourself. “A few stitches. Then we’ll be good to go. Still hanging in there?”

Marcus swallowed thickly and gave you a wavering thumbs up while you threaded a needle. Of all the pain he’d been through, stitches with no anesthesia would be mild.

As you worked, you continued doing what had always kept you grounded during field work. Listing injuries. You needed to know them all for when the heroes arrived and asked what was wrong, how could they help? You slowly started at the top of his head and worked down. A likely concussion, the stitches in his head, the black eye, the split lip, the still oozing wounds that stank of infection in his neck, the scrapes across the raised bumps of his collarbones. So many injuries, and you’d not even gotten below his shoulders yet. You didn’t know what he’d been exposed to here. Was he sick? If so, what did he have? The cough and the rattle in Marcus’s lungs was bad, definitely some kind of upper respiratory infection. His temperature was higher than you’d like, at an even 100. A fever, but not a severe one. His lymph nodes were nearly unfindable amongst the mess of injuries on his neck, but you had no doubt they were swollen.

Marcus’s coughing broke you from your thoughts. You stopped cataloguing, focused now only on the heave of Marcus’s chest. “Marcus? Do you feel okay?”

More coughing, and then it finally died, leaving Marcus heaving for air. He trembled, and you sighed. The rescue team couldn’t get here fast enough.

Unable to do more, you sat back and held Marcus’s hand, trying to rub some color into the almost lifeless skin. Marcus’s stuttering breaths were the only sound, and you tried not to get discouraged.

You had no idea how much time passed before a shout made you jump to your feet. That was a familiar shout. Miracle Guy.

“We’re in here!” You yelled, rushing to the door and pressing yourself to the bars. “Miracle! Please!”

He appeared before you as if you’d summoned him, suit a bit wrinkled, but otherwise unharmed. “Did you find him?”

You nodded, standing back so Miracle Guy could take in Marcus’s state. He was frozen for a few seconds before he blinked and started waving to people down the hall. “The paramedics are here. They’ll keep him safe.”

It took all your willpower not to fight the paramedics as they carted Marcus’s limp body away. His eyes lazily opened when they stuck him with a frighteningly large needle, and he whined, tearing up when they started to move him.

“I know,” you said, smoothing over his dirty and overgrown hair. “I know. Stay strong. Think of Missy. She’s waiting for you.”

Marcus chose that moment to pass out fully, but that was optimal in this scenario.  You followed the paramedics out, numbly stepping over bodies and ignoring the blood seeping into your socks. You were wearing Marcus’s blood from fingertips to waist, a little more wasn’t any worry.

The other heroes helped you recover, cleaning you up and praising you. Missy hugged you for half an hour, every minute filled with tears. You were numb to it all. Nothing could help you now.

Marcus was in critical condition for three weeks. His heart stopped twice, and he needed surgery after surgery to even start to reverse the damage done. Finally, once he’d stabilized, he was allowed visitors.

You and Missy were first.

Marcus looked over as you entered. His eye was no longer swollen and some color had returned to his skin. He was still underweight, but no longer looked skeletal. His head had been completely shaved, and beneath the bandages, you could imagine where they’d had to cut into his skull at one point. His neck, the area you’d been most concerned about, was wrapped in thick bandages, but a nurse had told you they’d finally begun to see improvement in the infection. He still looked terrible, but he was no longer on death’s door.

“Dad,” Missy said softly, stopping in the doorway.

“Missy.” Marcus’s voice was weak, but just that one word was so full of love. “Hey.”

Missy sat on the edge of Marcus’s bed, eyes full of tears. When he raised his arms, she collapsed against him, crying.

You sat silently in a chair, trying to find words that would be appropriate. Missy fell asleep against Marcus, his arm loosely around her shoulders while she slept.

“So,” he finally said. “Thank you. They said you saved my life. Your field work was the deciding factor.”

That, surprisingly, only made you feel worse. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah.”

Marcus’s face knit. “You look worried.”

You shrugged. “I-“ you still had no words. “I dunno,” you finally decided on saying. “What’s retirement like?”

Marcus chuckled. “Fun,” he said. “They’re talking about releasing me in a few months, after I do physical therapy and my weight stabilizes. They said I’d need a properly trained assistant to be with me at all times until I was in good health again.”

“That might be never.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed. “So I guess I’d better really like that nurse.”

You smiled. “You better.”

“Would you do it?”

You thought it over. “Yeah.”

A grin split Marcus’s face. “Good. We’ll get through this together.”

Standing and sitting on the edge of the bed, you nodded, smoothing a hand over Missy’s head. “Of course. Together.”

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from acogs: asma's memories

wrote this all today. absolutely in love with it. having a blast fleshing out everyone's pasts like this draft has been needing desperately. i hope you love this as much as i do <3

-

She says, “Did you know my parent was a professional [soccer name] player?”

They blink, not used to her volunteering information like that. “No.”

“They retired when I was twelve, both because of their age and the time they wanted to spend with me and Papa.” She shakes her head as if to throw it back into place. “When they got injured on the field, they taught me how to treat wounds. They were never shot with an arrow, of course, but they taught me that when I asked.” She smiles, lost in memories. “They probably thought I was going to be a healer. I can still see that look on their face the day I told them both I wasn’t going to be a healer, or a painter, or an architect. I was going to pitch my ideas in the square and run for queen.”

Kayani sits still and says nothing, soaking in the precious scraps of information about her that she’s willing to give. Her hands keep working diligently, but even after the wound is dressed, her voice never wavers. She describes her father’s keen fondness for the Actium gods, the stories he would read at her at night, turning the pages of a book with weathered brown carpenter’s hands.

All of their religions blend into each other’s countries, and it’s as common to find a worshipper of Cai or Eli living in Urkon as it is for the Kadar queen’s own father to have chosen Damokles’ mental guidance instead. Or, as the Raqutians call him, Hemocles.

Asma paints a memory as vividly with her words as she does with paint; her parent setting aside special time with her while her father went to his temple in the middle of the week. They would go to a run-down little field where they could kick around a * ball. “They spent as much time with me as they could,” she says, “because when their season was on and they had to go away, Papa and I didn’t see them for weeks or months except to watch their games.”

They would always laugh when her kicks sent the ball a whopping two paces, or when she scuffed her shoe in the grass and stained the toe green. They would patiently guide her through the proper way to do it, counseling patience and restraint, and cheer when she got it right.

At the end of the week, when Asma and her parent would go to the temple for Eli, her father would kiss her forehead and promise her favorite meal upon her return. She looked forward to it—when she was old enough to wear the headscarf, she would wash it deeply the day before they went and bathe with the special temple soap that morning. She would watch her parent brush out their long hair by the mirror, always trying to tame down the ends that curled up.

“One temple morning, I found Sasha outside the temple and I wouldn’t leave until Papa let me take her home. She was dirty and starving and limping, but I brought her to the condition she’s in now. She’s been with me ever since.”

Her cat. Kayani thinks of the dogs and smiles.

When they got back to her house, she says, she was bouncing on her feet, anxious to tell her father about that day’s events, the house would always be clean as the floor of a healer’s ward—he itched if it was not clean to his standards, so he did all the cleaning and washing himself, despite her parent’s protests—and it would smell like the warmest spices.

“Nothing was more home than my parent’s groan when we got home. They dreaded the spice in Papa’s food, they couldn’t and still can’t handle it. I can’t count the number of times Papa father teased them for it. They would say I know, I know, I’m a disgrace”—she imitates their voice and gestures with her hands— “and Papa would smile and kiss them and say it means there’s more for me. I don’t mind.”

She pauses. Kayani knows she started talking to distract them, but at some point, she wandered off into the maze of her own mind. They’re watching her come out.

She closes her eyes. “I miss them.”

They smile, fighting the urge to reach for her. “I know they miss you, too.”

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring @sleepy-night-child @florraisons @faithfire @croctears @inkovert @kait-writes

[overlyimmersed]

Nightmares and Daydreams

A Gravity Falls AU.

Hi @verysorrytobother​ Stanticore anon, revealing my true identity to share this with you! I wasn’t sure how a post this long would go over as an ask, so I decided to do it this way. I hope this is ok.

I’ve been working on this for a while and I hope it goes over well enough. The artwork took me the most time.

As a car crash victim is slowly dying, her mental self panics in the mindscape. She's offered a deal to save her life. Let the game begin.

(Content warnings: Blood. Descriptions of serious injuries.)

"What..." she whispered to herself, staring at the other in disbelief.

"Yep!" he confirms, in a high-pitched, grating, inappropriately upbeat tone, "Dead as a doornail, kid!- Well technically you still have a few more seconds till you brain totally ceases to function. Better make up your mind while you still have one!"

She's still staring dumbly at him. How can he be this nonchalant about it?! A half second ago she was sitting in the front seat of the family truck, a totally routine trip to the store- she never liked trucks but her dad's a carpenter so they need the hauling space. At least it's a pretty shade of blue- and the next she's here, laying face down in a black void with this prick this- this...All Seeing Eye? He's like the Illuminati symbol, but with arms and legs and a top hat. Caution sign yellow and talking to her- or at her. Bill. Freaking. Cipher. Every time he 'speaks' he flashes with light- no mouth so does it really count as speaking? More like his voice is being projected right into her mind- ... And he's telling her that she freakin died! Can't he see how messed up this is?! Can't he sympathize at all!? Then again, it's Bill. She ought to know better.

She ought to know better. She's seen this show a hundred times, she knows nothing good comes from dealing with Cipher. But she doesn't have time to be careful, she doesn't have the luxury of weighing options.

"Tick-tock, Car Wreck!" The obnoxious voice insists again, forcing her out of her stupor, his outstretched hand now alight with blue fire.

Her face scrunches up in a loud cringe, eyes screwed shut and teeth bared, and she swings her hand till it lands solidly in his. Crazed cackling resounds as the deal is struck, but it falls to simple soundtrack as her senses try to sort out what's going on.

She'd expected the blue fire to burn, or at least feel like something, but it didn't. Instead her entire being is flung into a...whirl? Free fall? Something that makes her stomach jump into her throat, and gives her vertigo.

The sensation stops suddenly, only to be replaced by a cacophony of new perceptions. She isn't sure which strikes her first, the sounds or the smell. Shrieks of agony and terror make up the next track of this bizarre playlist, punctuated by the reek of burnt hair. When her eyes fly open to try and make sense of it all, they have no luck. The sight that meets her is a sky of surreal, swirling, bastardized ribbons of every hue, like being inside a filthy bubble. Floating strewn about the space are pockmarked asteroids, and little else.

"So what'd ya think?" The grating voice rejoins the discord, drawing her shell-shocked gaze. "Home-sweet-home, huh? Well don't worry, you won't be here for very long. A deal's a deal, Car Wreck." With that que, and a snap of his fingers, she's falling again. This time untethered and unaccompanied. It takes her a moment to realize the scream ripping though the void is coming from her own throat. Once it hits her, so does something else, and the world goes black.

She wakes some time later, maybe moments maybe days. She has no way of knowing. She pushes herself onto her hands and knees, groggy and disoriented. It takes her a moment to notice the texture under her hands and focus her vision on it. It's grass. She sits up and looks around. "oh..." she says to herself, taking in the scenery. It's lovely, a grassy, sun soaked field. The sky made of churning colors like the last place she'd been, but they're pastel and much prettier. A warm breeze brushes past her face and she takes a deep breath of it, it smells sweet and warm, heavy with the scent of growing things, and for the first time since this started she finds some peace. Peace which is quickly shattered by a familiar, grating voice.

She jumps and whirls around so quick she falls onto her butt. There, floating just inches from where her head had been, is Bill. Laughing at her of course.

"Whoops! Didn't mean to scare you there, Car Wreck!" he claims, moving through the air to look around, then turning back around to look at her. "So how do you like the new digs?"

There's a beat of silence where she just stares at him again, but quickly she shakes off the shock and tries to respond. "Uh...It's nice." She lets her eyes roam around for a second, before returning to Bill, "Where are we?"

"This is the Realm of Daydreams! Your new HQ!" he answers, floating around behind her and making a grand gesture with his arms.

She turns her head to follow him, "Daydreams? HQ?"

"Yep! This is where you'll hang out when you're not puppeting your little pawns." He turns around to look at the scenery more himself. "Kinda dull if you ask me. Maybe you can do something about that!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh you know, some pillars of anguish, an alter of unholy fire, maybe a blood fountain or a couple of-" he gestures with each suggestion, like a landscaper creating a vision, until she cuts him off.

"No I mean," she finally pushes herself to a stand, teetering a little till she finds her balance. "Pawns?"

He turns back to her, "Oh yeah, which ones do you want anyway?" he waits a beat for an answer, but she just stares back at him, clearly not following. "Ugh, our deal?"

He hadn't really told her what the deal was, just mentioned a game and a second chance. "Uhh, I don't think you-"

"Oh right, you flesh bags need everything explained to you." he groans, rolling his eye, "Alright, here's the deal. We're gonna play a little game," he holds out his hand and a little hologram like projection appears showing an aerial view of a town. "and the people of this hick town are gonna be the pieces." ten little blue stick figures appear in the center of town, each with a little symbol above it's head. "If you win, you rejoin the land of the living!" a little magenta stick figure pops into existence next to the others and they all do a little happy dance. "If I win..." suddenly the whole projection goes up in flames, and she jerks her head back instinctively, "You burn with rest of those worthless mortals!" He bursts into a fit of maniacal laughter, which actually gives her some times to recover.

After a second of shocked staring, she blinks a few times then puts on as neutral an expression as she can. "Ok. So what are the rules?"

"Simple!" he answers, cutting off his laughter "We can't directly manipulate each other's pawns, and we can't interfere with the other's powers."

"That's it?"

"Yep. Everything else is fair game"

"Ok...What are my powers?"

"Same as mine! Except you don't have to wait till someone falls asleep to get in their head."

"I see..." her eyes wander to the ground as she contemplates the information, and her hand reaches for the longest of her three necklaces to idly play with the spiked pendant. "So you can talk to them in dreams, and I can talk to them in daydreams."

"Bingo!"

She scrunches her nose a little, thinking of a few ways that could end up being annoying. "Alright, anything else I need to know?"

"Hmm, nope! That just about covers it. All that's left is to pick our pawns, I'll even let you go first!" And with that ten, glowing, blue symbols appear between them. She looks them over carefully, she knows who each symbol corresponds to- supposing the cartoon from her world is accurate. She considers the six-fingered hand, if she takes him out of Bill's control from the start that derails his whole plan as she knows it. But, then she'll have no clue what's up to at all, at least by letting Bill have the pawns she's familiar with she has a chance at guessing his moves. She reaches forward and touches the shooting star, it turns magenta and floats to hover closer to her.

"Interesting." Bill comments, though his tone doesn't sound very interested, as he makes a simple motion with his eye and the six-fingered hand settles beside him. She chooses the fish looking symbol next, and Bill's second choice in the pine tree. They go back and forth till they have five symbols each, Bill having the the six-fingered hand, the pine tree, the llama, the stitched heart, and the pentagram. While she has the shooting star, the fish, the bag of ice, the spectacles, and the question mark.

"Welp, that settles that. Nice picks you made there, lets hope they work out for ya, Car Wreck"

"Could you not call me that?" though it hardly sounds like a request.

"And what else should I call you?" Bill asks, collecting his symbols into one hand and placing the other on his...hip?

"How about my name? It's Maranwe."

"But Car Wreck fits you so much better! Just take a look!" he quips, snapping a full-length mirror into existence. Maranwe turns to look and gasps in horror. Bill breaks out into more cackling, "Well my work here is done! I'll let you get cleaned up, see ya around Car Wreck!" And with that he fades from existence.

Maranwe just stares, even as Bill disappears from 'her' realm, she can only stare at her destroyed refection. Her hair is messy- and she almost laughs that that's what her brain zeros in on first-, It's also dirty, some of the mess is actual dirt but several spots are matted with half-dry blood. Her face is in a similar condition, smeared with dirt and blood but she can see the wounds there. Scrapes and still oozing cuts, bruises forming on one cheek bone and under her eyes. Her nose isn't quite right...broken probably. Her vision skims over her whole body for a second, making note of similar injuries where tears in her clothes reveal them. It's not as bad as she would expect a car crash victim to look- "except for that" Her mind screams suddenly while all her mouth can do is gasp, as her attention lands dizzyingly on her neck. It's...purple, but also red? There's no spilled blood but it still looks ugly, and the worst part is the...bump. It's not hard to figure out that it's a misaligned bone. Without the pain to tell her she never would have noticed, her neck is broken. Very broken. How is she holding her head up right... Probably because this isn't actually a physical body. She wonders if this is what killed her, or if there's something inside, something she can't see, that did the trick.

Whatever it is, she can't be seen like this. And she really really doesn't want to look like this for her own sake. Bill said she could 'clean herself up'? How exactly... She thinks about how Bill's powers tend to work and tries to concentrate on a cleaner, less beat up mental image of herself. She lifts her hand to her cheek and grazes her finger tips across it, a trail of sparkles follow the touch and the skin underneath returns to normal. She relaxes a little, watching the disaster wipe off her face like cheap make-up. She keeps the image in her mind and closes her eyes, cupping her hands in front of herself and imagining the sparkles pooling in them. Then she splashes the sparkles over he face, like a girl in a face wash commercial, and imagines the glittering dust washing over her entire body, cleaning away the mess and injuries. And when she opens her eyes, that's exactly what's happened. Her reflection shows her whole and unwounded, even her clothes are fixed.

The next thing she does is smooth her hair down, mostly an instinct since it's still messy, and the sparkles trail after her hands, tidying the strands as if she'd just brushed them. She watches her reflection's mouth quirk up a little in a small smirk. So she can just change what she looks like by imagining it? That figures, this is a place of daydreams that's kind of how they work. She knows exactly what to do with this, she's known since she was a kid what she's change if she could. She places the backs of her hands next to her ears and flicks up, sparkles spray up with the motion and her normal human ears, turn to wolf ears the fur the same chocolate brown as her hair. Her smirk blooms into a full blown smile, and she tilts her head to get a better look at them, watching them move as she tests them. It's like they're real! Next is the tail of course, it's mostly brown, with some silver down the top and a black tip. Then she looks down, and taps the toe of each of her shoes against the ground in turn, as she does they become the compressed paws of her own design.

"That's insane..." she laughs to herself. She's actually turning herself into something else, her own made up alien species. And she just can! With the big changes out of the way she works out the details; pupil shape, fang length, and straightens out a few asymmetries and insecurities she's always had about her body- after all why not? When she's done, she can't help admiring herself a little, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, her perfect image of herself. Well- almost perfect. She snaps her fingers and in the same dusting of glitter, her shirt changes. What was before a loose grey t-shirt with the word "nope" written across it in cursive, as been replaced by a cropped sweater, banded in 3 colors; white at the top, then light blue, then dark blue. She lifts it to look at the crop top under neither, it's just plain white. She decides she doesn't like it that way, so it changes to a cropped version of the t-shirt she'd had before. With that taken care of she lifts her arm so the over-sized sleeve falls down and she can see her forearm, which is covered by a light blue arm warmer with white lace around the edges. Perfect. At least for now. She can change later if she decides she doesn't like the arm warmers.

She giggles to herself, invigorated by the makeover and the sense of control she has now. She turns from the mirror and skips a few feet across the grass, the symbols she'd chosen follow her, floating loosely like beads suspended in gel. She laughs a little as she watches them, and idly reaches for her necklace again, but this time her hand just meets the soft knit of her sweater. She'd forgotten to add them into this new look, so she just wills them into place; three different necklaces of three different lengths. Her hand finds the middle length first, the pendant is designed to spin so she plays with it while her mind starts to wander. She starts thinking of plans for winning this game, what she might say to each other 'pawns' and who to use where and how, even letter her thoughts wonder about the new life she'll have. Cipher's hologram suggested she'll stay in Gravity Falls, which would be cool but what about-

The sound of screeching tires and twisting metal cuts her thoughts off clean and she whips around to find the source of the noise, but her fear turns to confusion when she sees...nothing. She stands stock still, her mind running over only vague impressions of thoughts relating to what she just heard, until another loud sound whips her back around. This time she actually sees something, like a huge firework in the pastel oil-slick sky, accompanied by Bill's obnoxious voice echoing through the space.

"Let the game begin!"

[mc-critical]

Who do you think, out of the entire MC franchise, would you say was the best mother? I would honestly have to say Mahidevran since she was so nurturing and compassionate towards Mustafa (I loved their scenes together) and you could tell Mustafa’s safety always came first to her. What are your thoughts?

No mother of the franchise is perfect and as I’ve said before, there is no way mothers in the harem can develop a completely healthy (as we know it) relationship with their children. Still, I appreciate the various types of mothers we saw in MC/K and I usually love the scenes they have with their sons and/or daughters, since they enrich the characters and give them more humanity and depth.

I think I’ll also put Mahidevran as the best mother of the franchise. To be fair, one important writing advantage she possesses over the rest is that her relationship with Mustafa is probably the most fleshed out mother-son relationship of the entire franchise - we saw it develop in the span of four seasons and we saw every possible side of it. Mahidevran’s motherhood is a very vital aspect of her character: her love for Mustafa has always been there ever since her introduction and after she lost SS, Mustafa was all she had left. Everyone around her encouraged her to focus only on him and his upbringing. That didn’t seem so easy for a person who had yet to adapt to the immediate changes of her life and to accept the loss of a person that has undoubtedly been very important to her, but Mustafa has been there with her in every step of the way and the support they gave each other as early as S01 was very profound and human and I couldn’t help but tear up many times. And most remarkably, when she put her past in Manisa behind, when she truly focused the most on Mustafa, Mahidevran’s motherhood became a powerful indicator of her character development and I truly can’t think of another mother who evolved this beautifully.

Mahidevran has very strong motherly instincts outside of Mustafa and I loved how she saved Mehmet, the care she took of Mihrimah during the Janissary rebellion and the understanding she provided when Mehmet was struck with the arrow in E75. Hürrem also had equally strong motherly instincts during the same rebellion as well and I admire her for it, but one could argue it’s a little more surprising for Mahidevran to show them in such a way - back in S01, pre-E16, she didn’t seem to show signs that she could take care of the children of her enemy like that. Not many people would expect a person who has wished Hürrem’s death in her childbirths to do that at all. And yet she did. Once she saved Mehmet, we found out that she didn’t want the children’s deaths at all, even though she did make an attempt on Hürrem’s life when she was pregnant out of hurt and desperation. In fact, Mahidevran’s hate for Hürrem seems to be unbreakable, to know no bounds, except when it concerns the children. Once that happens, this is the only time she’s ready to let go. These are the only times she could ever understand Hürrem. The one scene where she herself went to her in good terms, to the point of her trying to return her ring, happened after she found out Hürrem protected Mustafa. It is clear that children and motherhood are important to Mahidevran, so important they can become the most important things in her life, so important she can leave her enmity with Hürrem for that and that alone. And conversely, her hatred for Hürrem reached the strongest peaks when it concerned Mustafa, as well: once he was exiled to Amasya and once he died, respectively, giving her a whole new motive to live and seek justice from the hands of God.

The advices (E55 and E56 aside) she gave to Mustafa are Mahidevran at her most perceptive - she speaks both from heart and experience and does her best at nurturing and caring for her son, understanding his struggles the way no one else could. Mustafa seeking vast support from everyone comes as much from her as it does from Ibrahim (I’m referring to this scene in particular) and while that sure is a double-edged sword when it comes to Süleiman’s opinion, it did motivate Mustafa to give his all to be the best heir he can be and gave him a certain upper hand over his brothers. Her advices are also her at her most decisive - showing that at this point, she knows what she’s talking about and can easily sense danger and warn accordingly. She has gained a fair sense of paranoia when it comes to his safety (understandably enough) and that is a factor of her advices as well, but it proves that she can be careful, that she isn’t as naive as she may look and that it’s not that easy to deceive her as it may have seemed.

Interestingly enough, before Mahidevran fell out of love with SS, she was fighting with her own loss and winning SS back and her hurt over it may seem to have taken primacy over the advantages she has as a mother. In E10, her first thought was Mustafa when SS appeared dead. Even in E55, she begins to look at her own possible advantageous position that comes with Mustafa only after Valide reminded her that she has her son. The falling out of love has started to the point she can openly think of her own future, but her feelings for SS were still conflicted and she could freely remember all the good times with him and lament them before she considered standing up. Her arc was moving back and forth between Mustafa, Süleiman and her own independence before she completed the full transition and had the chance to embrace the comparatively calmer environment and take full hand on Mustafa. Which is why Mustafa not being a priority at all is exactly Mahidevran at her worst. Due to her will for revenge, it was him she detached from to the point of her not wanting to go to Manisa with him in order to finish her battle with Hürrem in the form of ruling the harem. That was the only moment where she considerably detached herself from one of her best virtues and arguably did the most mistakes, culminating in a definite loss, for that moment. But we can say this was a learning experience for her, the cathartic process that granted her an entirely new push in strength and made her both a better character and a better mother than ever.

Yes, Mahidevran isn’t the perfect mother and she could inadvertently put Mustafa in danger due to her own personal pride being wounded (E48), her tears that could sometimes turn into breakdowns (E23) definitely affected him a lot to the point he was constantly willing to defend her, which, admittedly, could cause trouble (once again E48), but I could understand all this, because when everyone else doesn’t seem to alleviate your pain in the best way in your eyes, you become helpless when you have nobody else to confide in. For Mahidevran Mustafa was the only one she could truly confide in and he was her only tangible source of comfort when she’s pained to the point she can’t think rationally, in a way. There were definetly moments where she was ready to assert her own power through him, involving him in her fights. But once again, these things were stuff she developed out of, now indeed considering his safety first and foremost, telling him to stay away from any and all danger and to not provoke his enemies in any way. She became ready to eliminate all threats to him by herself and that’s also why she commited her biggest sin in the series: it was in a desperate, urgent attempt to protect Mustafa that she killed Mehmet. She thought only about him then, never about herself. (in E101 we see that Mustafa isn’t in the best condition after being exiled in Amasya to the point he was willing to not let anyone close to him and commit suicide and Mahidevran knew this, giving orders to Taşlicalı through Fidan to not leave him alone while she’s gone. With that I wanna thank Joanna for noticing this a while back! <33) She was ready to do anything and everything for him. Her path as a mother is heartfelt and fascinating to me.

I find Ayşe Hafsa to also be a very good mother, though. She was also the most notable in her advices and perceptiveness she delivered to SS. It was for a reason he thought of her as his conscience and seeing how he spiraled down massively after her absence, she may have been a huge part of his justice system, even though there were times where he disregarded her. She grounded him and told him which lines he shouldn’t cross just as she provided emotional support when he left for campaigns or went in the divan.

Her and Hatice are probably the best mother and daughter relationship on the franchise (Gevherhan and Kosem come as a close second), for there we saw genuine love and genuine support, as well. She fell ill precisely for the thought of her daughter’s pain after she learns about Ibrahim and Nigar. Hafsa is more tradition-bound and that may cause her to disregard her children’s wishes or cross paths with them quite a few times, but her motherhood is certainly one of her good qualities, especially when it shined through her flanderization in S02.

Despite of her cold pragmatism, ��ah seemed to be a very good mother, all things considered. She was able to put Esmahan's wishes above her own by agreeing to try marrying her to Bali Bey and most importantly, sparing Lütfi Pasha for her sake alone.

I don’t consider Hürrem to be a totally bad mother by any means, especially how, as I mentioned, her motherly instincts can be as strong as Mahidevran’s, but there are factors where she falls a little short for me. One of them is screentime, to be brutally honest: we simply didn’t get much of her relationship with Mehmet for this reason, except for the schematic praise, hope for him to be the padisah and her not allowing him to go to the sanjack. We didn’t get much of her with Mihrimah in S03, either, even though their S03A relationship is the best part of it for me. I love her relationships with Selim, Bayezid and Cihangir much, much more writing-wise and my favourite point of Hürrem as a mother, as I mentioned once, is the S02B Cihangir arc. There we see her genuine concern over him that puts her motherhood to the forefront, we see how terrified she is of his incoming operation and that’s Hürrem at her most emotionally honest overall (and I wish we had more of that!). I love her protective mama bear attitude. I love how she managed to keep her children away from conflict in the earlier seasons (with the exception of little Mihrimah in S02A) and that certainly gave her some advantage.

Her problems as a mother, however, appeared later down the line and managed to prevail, with her mishandling of the Selim and Bayezid conflict being her biggest failing in the whole show for me. Her fixation on her enemies, or Mustafa in particular, dominated in how she dealt with her children in S04, to the point she moulded them for the political game, made pragmatic decisions she explained far too late (like why she sent Selim in Manisa), condemned them for their mistakes more than necessary (Mihrimah) and attempted to make them fully fixated on one goal, to no avail. I get her motives - Mehmet’s death empowered her will for revenge in an enormous way and she is now even more desperate to win the fight of her life that would help her make them respect her, ,,kneel to her feet’’ and defeat them all, but that way she had to make her children fully commit to that same fight, putting their personal feelings and desires behind and sometimes overlooking their own problems. She loves her children a lot and the realization that she had to choose between Selim and Bayezid broke her to pieces, but some problems manage to outweigh that. She’s an interesting, relatable in this time period, mother, but I certainly wouldn’t call her the best one of the franchise.

We didn’t see much of Nurbanu as a mother, but she certainly seemed to love Murad, but show strictness as well. We also saw how ruthless she can get when it comes to the survival of her and her son when she was about to kill Defne's kids.

Defne is a very nurturing mother, from what we saw. She's probably shown as a nurturer the most when it comes to all the mothers and her love and protection of her children is warm, yet heartbreaking, especially because she's ready to take risks she never had when Nurbanu comes for them. That scene was the peak of her removing her loyalties to her in general.

I wouldn’t compare the dynastic sultanas like Hatice or Gevherhan as mothers, simply because they’re not very often shown as such. Hatice wanted to have children so badly, but we didn’t see her much with her living children, which is solely a writing issue. Gevherhan isn’t seen as a mother that much to comment on it, either, even though yes, she clearly loves her children.

Safiye is another deal: she loves her children, but keeping her power has always taken primacy over them. Though it’s not to be denied that their deaths are moments of big vulnerability for her and indicators for the last ounces of her humanity - once Fahriye died, she seemed to have lost some of that humanity. Once Iskender died, she was finally willing to let go. But this humanity in her motherly relationships couples with her moments of disregarding them: as seen with Fahriye and especially, Humasah. There was a hinted resentment of Humasah’s of Safiye, and I’m sure there was a reason for it, despite of Humasah listening to her still in some cases.

Handan is a comparatively good mother. She also tries her best to protect Ahmet from stronger enemies and he is the reason she had fought this war against Safiye and Halime and ended up outranking them. One part she commited suicide was perhaps because she didn’t see any sign of acceptance in Ahmet of her love with Dervish, one of the few things that made her happy in the cage that is the castle. Getting such strong disapproval from her own son… it hurt.

I see Kösem as a mother that cares about her children, but is often forced to couple them with the needs of the country or caves in to the necessity to represent the traditions, as well as the country. That’s why she ended both Ibrahim and Murat, no matter how much she didn’t want to. Her whole arc was about the dilemma of representing the state and her own motherly persona and she fought the fratricide law so hardly, for no one to endure their children being killed no more. She knows best what is like to lose children and that also motivated her in doing what she considered right in ruling the empire, trying her best to stop any failings.

I elaborated in the past on why I think Halime and Gülbahar are very toxic mothers and I stand by these opinions.

I know the ask was about who is the best mother in the franchise, but I want to mention, for the second time, the worst mother in the franchise, is Turhan. Oh god, Turhan. She is the worst mother both character-wise and writing-wise - nor have we seen her show any affection for Mehmed at all, nor have we had that much time to see it, either. She is a one-dimensional thematic symbol, nearly devoid of vulnerability or humanity, and (even though that fits thematically, except for her relationship with her son) that also includes her son.

[dollfaceeeeee]

i know what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind.

Once my vision begins to swim back into focus, I realize quickly that my range of motion is limited, much more limited than it should be; my head barely able to stay upright as I attempt to scan the room around me.

It’s just as dark and dirty as it was when Derek and I came across it yesterday, and the flickering lightbulb overhead scatters across the pool of blood that sits near my feet, dripping off the end of my fingertips.

I’m not too sure what happened to Morgan, but I know the bastard came up on me fast and hard when we separated, and it was a critical mistake, one I shouldn’t have made.

At least I know that the rest of the BAU knows where to find me, but the pool of blood signifies something worse, something that might come before they get here.

If I’m bleeding out, which I very well might be, with how heavy and foggy my body is, I might never see Spencer again.

The tears come fresh and hot to my eyes, and begin to pour down my cheeks just as I hear movement somewhere across the room; something scraping and scratching against the floor, likely some mice scampering for food.

Oh no.

“Ana? Ana, can you hear me?”

Relief pours through me almost as quickly as a surreal state of hopelessness as I realize that Morgan is here with me, probably in the same state of panic and desperation as I am.

His voice rings out clear in the space around us, bringing me back into focus as I try yet again at the binds around my wrists, attempting to break free.

“Yeah...yeah I...can..”

My voice comes out slowly, and almost sounds like someone that is half asleep; dazed and confused, but I know that I’m awake, I have to be awake.

I have to see Spencer again.

I can’t, I won’t, die here.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Attempting to sort myself out, trying to locate the source of the bleeding, I realize it’s coming from a large, sallow gash near my shoulder, and the blood seems to pour out of it like a fountain; a definitive source of concern for someone in this situation.

“I’m bleeding pretty..badly,” I respond, trying to take deep breaths in through my mouth, forcing myself to find some sort of focus.

I’m not too sure how long I’ve been bleeding for, or how much longer I have left, but it’s evident with the foggy nature of my mind and the heaviness in my limbs that it’s not long.

“How bad?”

Looking back at the pool of blood near my feet, I estimate I’ve lost close to a quarter of my blood, maybe more.

“Pretty bad. I’m surrounded by my own blood.”

I can hear the panic in my voice at the statement, even though I’ve been trained for situations like this before; to keep my cool until help comes, to slow my heart rate so the blood doesn’t flow as harshly out of my open wound.

“I’m guessing, by the sound of it, you’ve probably been shot. Is it in a dangerous area, near any major arteries, organs?”

“No, no,” I say sharply, “it’s my shoulder.”

I can hear Morgan take a deep breath in the silence, his breath steady, unlike my own, before I hear that scraping and rattling noise once again.

“They’re coming for us, okay? I’m going to try and break out. Stay awake, talk to me. What did you eat for breakfast this morning?”

I try to recount what I had to eat, but I realize I didn’t eat anything, because I was running late from sleeping over at Spencer’s and we had to rush in for the new briefing.

“I didn’t eat anything,” I conclude, “Spence and I were running late for the briefing, and I didn’t want to stop for a muffin on the way and get in trouble with Hotch.”

The scraping stops, just for a second, before I hear Morgan swear softly in the darkness, and it makes my throat go dry.

“Okay, that’s alright. Tell me how it’s been going with Reid.”

My vision goes foggy again, and I blink rapidly to try and keep my eyes open, but it’s a difficult task, even when I begin to think of Spencer and how devastated he will be if I give up.

Exhaling a breath, I press my nails into the palms of my hands, trying to find a way to keep myself alert, trying to collect my thoughts.

“Ana? Keep talking to me. Please keep talking to me.”

“S-sure..sure...Spencer and I are pretty intimate now, I guess. I’m not too sure if he loves me though, he hasn’t said it yet, but I know that I love..him. I love him. And I hope he does too.”

I hear Morgan wrestling with his binds, wrestling with them hard, becoming agitated and restless and panicked by the state I’m in.

I’ve always seen Morgan as an older brother, my best friend at the BAU, besides Garcia of course, and I don’t think I’ve kept any secrets from him, not since I’ve started this job.

They are all the best partners I could have ever asked for, and now here I am, about to die.

“He does. Of course he does, baby, how could he not? You’re incredible. He’s been in love with you since he’s met you. You’re all he ever talks about. He would do anything and everything for you. Just because he hasn’t said it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. We all love you. Garcia, Hotch, Emily, JJ, me...Reid..”

I can tell he’s getting frustrated, more and more as he continues, and I can also tell I’m fading more and more, because it’s becoming harder and harder to stay focused.

Some of his words sink in, while others don’t quite settle, and all I can manage out is a mangled mess of sounds and words that sound out of place to me.

I don’t know if it’s the shock, or the gunshot wound, but something is pulling me away from here, something that is getting more and more aggressive in the dark.

Letting my eyes slide shut, I try to process why everything seems so hard right now.

Why can’t I just give in, just let go; why do I always have to be this strong, brave agent, risking it all for everyone around me?

Why can’t I just do one thing for myself, one thing that’s easy, one thing that could help me over everyone else.

But life can’t always play the easy cards, and I’m not too sure my brain will ever give in to the easy way out.

Suddenly, I hear the loud, shrill sound of a wooden door slamming open, and then someone’s hands are on me, and there’s yelling in my ears, yelling from somewhere far away, somewhere I need to get to.

“Get me out of these damn things,” Morgan yells, and before I realize what is happening I can smell his familiar scent of evergreen and peppermint in my face, like a slap of perfume hitting me square in the eyes.

“Don’t let Reid in here.”

Reid?

My Reid?

“Ana? Is she okay? Is she okay, Derek?!”

Oh, God, it’s Reid.

“She is breathing,” an unfamiliar voice says, “but she’s lost a lot of blood. She is in pretty critical condition.”

“Let me through,” Reid growls, and before long I can feel his familiar fingers against my skin, smelling his aftershave and the lingering scent of coffee on his flesh.

I’d know him from anywhere.

“Reid, Reid you need to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Spencer snaps, “she needed me, and I wasn’t there for her. I’m not doing that again. I have to know she’s safe.”

“She is safe now,” Morgan says gently, “she is-“

“If you can hear me, Ana, I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you so much. I’m here now, I’m not leaving you.”

He loves me.

I can almost feel like I can breath again, and I pull in a sharp breath just as I force my eyes open once again, and I focus right on the warm brown irises of none other than Spencer Reid.

My Reid.

Smiling tiredly, I revel in the feel of his hands squeezing my own, his warm skin heating up my own.

“I love you too.”

[softlilacmoonlight]

Everybody x Reader - Part Five (Angst Warning)

Third-person pov:

"Barbatos! What do we do!?" half screams Asmo in fear.

Barbatos quickly pushes everybody else out of the room. "OUT! I need to get her out of those wet clothes and wrapped in a blanket. We'll handle it after the fact."

Quickly, and much to your future chagrin, Barbatos takes off your clothes and wipes the frigid water off of your body. Expertly, and with very strong arms, Barbatos wraps your unconscious self up in a thick, soft, and very warm blanket. Rushing as fast as he can, he quickly ties your hair up with a ponytail into a messy bun and wraps a thick towel around your head.

"BEELZEBUB!" yells Barbatos with a cool and commanding tone.

In less than five seconds, Beel is in the room. "Yes?! Do you need something?!"

"Pick her up! Gently now. Pick her up, be extra careful to support her injured head. We're leaving the other three here. We can't wait any longer. She needs a bed, a warm fire in a fireplace, and especially an expert doctor." commands Barbatos.

Beel does as Barbatos says while the butler goes to grab the others. In a matter of seconds, Barbatos casts a teleportation spell and whisks everybody down to the Devildom. Though he doesn't show it, he silently prays that the other three men and that (Y/N) will be safe.

Lucifer's pov:

This little... no. (Y/N) wouldn't want me to cuss, not right now, and I have my pride to uphold. I'll handle this... more adequately in private at the Demon Lord's Castle in the Devildom. Glancing over, I see Mammon and Lord Diavolo land another blow to the captor.

"Enough," I whisper, my voice cold and full of hot fury. "We'll get revenge later... in a more appropriate environment, and with more appropriate... instruments. For now, we need to hurry. The others are at that safe house, the storm has blown in, and (Y/N) needs us."

"Don't think that ya' are off the hook," states Mammon. Then he leans in close in quietly whispers to him. "Because no one... NO one touches MY human. Ya' got another thing comin'. Just you wait till ALL of us get our hands on you."

Lord Diavolo nods his head in furious agreement. Casting a spell, I summon magical chains and entrap the attacker in them. I may or may not have made them burning hot... evident enough by his screams. With a hard flick of my wrist, he is quickly yanked down and into the castle's torture chamber. I smile at the grim thought of all the pain he'll feel. People aren't wrong when they say I'm a sadist, and there's only one thing they don't know. (Y/N) is the only person who gets ALL of my affection... well my brothers get quite a bit too. Oh, he'll pay alright.

"Lucifer's right. We should hurry to the safe house. The others probably need help." states Lord Diavolo.

With that, the three of us rush out and into the storm. Taking off into the sky, the wind grabs us by our wings. It feels like you're getting tugged behind a car by a rope attached to your waist. Using our inhuman strength, we get our wings up and force a path through the growing storm. Lightning's flashing all around us, and we all expertly dodge the lightning while maneuvering the storm's harsh wind changes.

Suddenly I hear a muffled scream. Turning my head, I see Mammon start to fall. Without a second thought, I abandon Lord Diavolo and dive for my brother as he plummets to the ground. Freefall diving, I tuck my wings in tight to my body so that I'll gain more of an arrow impact heading downward.

It's hard to see through the mess of the storm, and the water constantly streams into my eyes from my hair. I only realize how close I am when I see Mammon's wings by my head. He's freefalling, his face contorted in pain, and his wings pointed up above him as they try to stay up. Torpedoing downward, I grab him around his waist and pull him to my chest. I swiftly tuck in his injured wings for him. With a mighty shove of my own wings, I push us back up and through the storm. While doing so, Mammon tucks his head in by my neck and holds on tightly around my waist.

Eventually, the Lord Diavolo land in front of the house and rush inside to check on the others. I, however, carefully carry in Mammon. Looking around, we realize that no one is here.

"Where are they!" Lord Diavolo exclaims in shock.

I let out a deep breath through my nose to calm down. Suddenly Mammon speaks up. "The Devildom. I bet they took (Y/N) there. She probably needed a doctor, so they had little to no other choice. I doubt that Barbatos would leave someone here, especially when they all wanted to help with (Y/N). Admittedly, Barbatos probably needed help."

"I agree. It's our best bet at finding them." I exclaim, nodding my head and still holding Mammon in my arms.

Said demon lets out a heavy sigh catching both of our attentions. "I'm sorry. If I hadn't fallen then we would have been here a lot sooner." Glittering tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

"Hush, Mammon. Your wings aren't as thick in the middle as ours. It was out of your control that the membrane would split. Everything will be okay little brother. I'll always catch you when you truly need my help." I whisper, probably the first kind words I've told him in years, but he needs it. I know that our brothers have pushed him too far and that (Y/N) is his safety net. Right now he's beyond scared, in pain, and just needs gentle words. "Not much longer now. You'll see her soon. Let's go, Lord Diavolo."

Lord Diavolo agrees with a nod of his head, and we're suddenly yanked back to the Devildom. The world swirls together to form shapes and items as the entrance hall to The Demon Lord's Castle greets us.

Before we can even get our bearings, Asmo rounds the corner and quickly spots the three of us. His eyes widen remarkably, and only then do I realize how bloody and scraped up we are. I didn't even realize my cheek was cut till now. At least the adrenaline got us here. Faster than I think I've ever seen Asmo run, he comes shooting back around the corner with a first aid kit, Levi, and Satan close behind.

"Asmo grab Mammon from Lucifer. Try to calm him down." orders Satan, taking full control of the reins.

Asmo nods and does as told. He holds Mammon's head in his lap and gently rubs his blood-coated fingers through Mammon's wet and snowy locks. Mammon slowly shifts his head and eyes up towards Asmo.

"H-Hey..." he hoarsely coughs.

"Shh, Mammon. Save your energy. She's with the doctor. Everything will be fine. Focus on me." Asmo whispers to Mammon.

I lay back down, my own wings aching from the hard flight. I can vaguely hear Satan ordering Levi around in the background. Definitely got that trait from me, but he'd kill me if he heard me admit it. Slowly, everything sinks in and I close my eyes to get a few moments of much-needed rest.

Third-person pov:

As Asmo continued to calm down Mammon, Satan quickly ordered Levi to get him some of the antiseptic and bandage wraps. Satan quickly makes his way over to Mammon to start in on his wings, until Levi stops him.

"Give him this first. It's a numbing medicine," he states simply.

Swiftly, and with much precision, Satan injects the liquid into his wing and almost immediately Mammon starts to physically relax. While assessing Mammon's condition, Satan quickly realizes that both Lucifer and Lord Diavolo are passed out cold. That cannot be good.

After a couple of minutes of tending to Mammon's wing wound, Satan then turns to Levi. "Levi. You are going to now go and carefully stitch Mammon's wing back together."

"WHAT! I-I-I-I c-can't!" exclaims the bluenette.

Satan shakes his head in impatience. "You have to. Imagine that you are sewing a costume for a convention. Asmo will talk to you and help you stay calm, but you got to do this. It's no different than your cosplay clothes. Hurry Levi."

Levi's eyes suddenly light up and become determined. "O-Okay." With that, his expert hands from years of costuming start to gently stitch the wing back together.

Meanwhile, Satan rushes over to check on Lucifer and Lord Diavolo. His sharp eyes quickly notice bleeding around Lucifer's wings, specifically the base attachment to the shoulders. Taking a surgeon's scissors, Satan carefully cuts Lucifer's shirt off. Then comes the pain of turning him over, but eventually Satan got it figured out. Around the base where the wing connects to the shoulder bones, the poor flesh was torn and bloody. Which, is an obvious indicator of extremely harsh flight conditions. Taking his own needle, Satan quickly stitches the torn flesh back together around the wings.

Then, after further assessing Lucifer's condition. He wraps a thick bandage with medical oils around the, well admittedly more bird part, base of the wings. Delicately, he finishes by wrapping some more gauze around Lucifer's entire top, shoulder to shoulder, to carefully help keep everything in place.

Afterward, Satan rushes over to check on Lord Diavolo, but he seems to just be exhausted. "Levi." Satan states.

Levi keeps his eyes focused on the wing. "Yes?"

"How are you doing?" inquires Satan.

Levi gives his head a little shake. "Fine. The wing will work, but it'll have a scar down it."

"Same with Lucifer's bases. They were so torn up that there will definitely be small scars around the base. As for Lord Diavolo, he is just utterly exhausted like the other two, but unharmed." he responds.

"Uh, guys." pipes in Asmo's smooth voice. "Beel just texted me."

"Is it about (Y/N)!?" the other two exclaim, voices full of worry.

Asmo bobs his head up and down. "He said that the doctor thinks that she will be perfectly fine. The doctor said that her fever is to fight off the cold swim and the rain, she'll be bruised where she was tied for a week at least, and he said that she should bed rest for at bare minimum a week. Other than that, Beel said that she'll be fine."

Their shoulders sag in relief, and Levi finally sets down his own needle. His expression sagging in relief. They all let out silent and breathless laughs.

"We should get these three cleaned up and in bed, but everything will be ok now," exclaims Satan with a tired laugh.

One Week Later - Sorry, these things suck, but I want to finish this chapter. The thing is is that if I continue you'd probably have another thousand words at least.

(Y/N) pov:

Waking up, the moon's tender beams greet my face through the window. A pair of arms pull me back in as I carefully try to escape from their hold.

"Mhm... stay please," whispers Lucifer. His morning voice always gets me. It's so hot!

Who knew that damaged wings mean a whole month in bed. I surely didn't, but even the stubborn, prideful, workaholic of a demon gave in to it. When he explained it out to me it made perfect sense. Since the base of his wings was injured, he would have to stay in his demon form to allow them to heal. The kicker though is that if he stood up the weight of the wings would undo the stitches. So, even the Avatar of Pride was put on bed rest with me.

Suddenly, another hand grabs onto my arms and helps Lucifer to pin me down. "I agree. Please stay." asks the greedy demon.

I gently twist in Lucifer's arms so that my eyes can meet Mammon's tired eyes. He too is on bed rest, because his injury is also on his wing. Like Lucifer, he needs to be fully transformed to heal. If he stands up and even a gust of wind that's too strong for his healing wing hits it, then the wing will re-split open.

As for me, the doctor said another week of mainly bed rest would help, except when you have two laid-up demons who won't let you go and ten other overprotective people. I'm not fully complaining though, it's just when I have bursts of energy that I want to be up and moving around.

"Alright. I'll stay, but only because you two are hurt and way too cute to resist." I said, quickly giving in and sinking into Lucifer's arms. Mammon carefully wraps his arms around the two of us and joins us.

All of a sudden, the door opens and in pours the other ten people mentioned. They come in carrying food and more changes of medical supplies. I'm always more than happy when they come and these two goofballs get checked on. After all, I do worry.

"(Y/N), dear. Sit up." gently ushers Barbatos. I do as told and he sets a tray by my thighs. "There's eggs, biscuits and gravy, and orange juice."

My mouth watered the minute he walked in it smelled so good. "Thanks a ton, Barbatos!" I thank him and quickly dig into the food. It's so good, as usual of course. Barbatos never seems to fail at anything he makes. Meanwhile, he deftly checks and changes Lucifer's and Mammon's bandages.

"(Y/N)? Do you want to go to a little cafe with me today?" inquires Beel. "It would be no more than an hour and I'd carry you if you get too tired."

Smiling, my mouth stuffed with food, I nod my head in affirmation. Of course, though, this leads to a fight about where my attention will be. I do have to give them credit though... it's a quieter fight than normal. Regardless, I think life will resume just fine, and I know I'll spend the rest of my days here. Good, because I can't imagine my life without my precious men.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.9 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is getting a chance to meet the local Sheriff and to say he is not excited would be an understatement.

Read chapter 9: ‘Addressing the Public’ on AO3 

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

For his first day off from the grocery, today sure seemed like it was determined to make its mark so he couldn’t possibly forget it. At this point, it was about burned into Stretch’s memory, for sure.

First there was Doris who added her clues into his trick r treat bucket, then the town assholes showed up for their serial killer practice. Then, as a treat, he got to have the double punch of a lunch with Edge, a sweet and sour mixture of possibly flirtatious revelations coupled to an unwanted chat about his own traumas, served warm over some delicious pie.

Now it looked like he was about to get a sequel to the Assholes: Part Deux, the Assholes’ Revenge, in the form of a sheriff filled with blustering indignation and accusations, and all Stretch had was a mouthful of pie to defend himself. Worse, his only witness had already paid the bill and left.

Stretch swallowed his last bite, chasing it down with water when it tried to stick in the back of his throat as he went over possibilities. He could try to explain the situation, but if there was one thing he’d learned from living in Ebott, it was that if a Monster was talking to the cops, it was best to keep it short, sweet, and polite. Don’t try to explain or admit to shit, ‘cause they’d be more than happy to add another line to the list of things to harass you about.

Seriously, he missed being able to shortcut, this whole facing trouble head-on thing wasn’t for him.

The sheriff huffed again, loudly, and it fluffed up his broad mustache like a human-shaped walrus. He propped fists about the size of a baby’s head on his broad hips and growled out, “So? Is that it? You’re here startin’ some trouble in my peaceful little town?”

Stretch looked up into those mirrored sunglasses. If they were standing, Stretch would probably have a couple inches on the guy, but sitting here in the booth the sheriff loomed over him ominously, his own distorted reflection showing back his nervous face.

“no, sir,” Stretch said politely. Stick with the basic, that was good for a start, and hopefully Red would be willing to bail him out if that became necessary. At least Red wouldn’t have far to go.

The rest of the diner was staring, not a single fork was engaged as they watched the latest scene in the town drama unfold. Not that he blamed them, this was probably about the most action they’d seen in weeks, but he did sort of wish someone would be a little concerned rather than eagerly interested. Waiting to see if maybe the local sheriff was gonna slap on some cuffs so they could whip out their phones for a nice tiktok video while he was getting read his rights?

“No?” the sheriff demanded. His sunglasses reflected the overhead light, making Stretch wince back. “I heard you were out there riling up the corn yesterday. And today you were playing dog days with the doggerel boys?”

That was true, except how it wasn’t, and a trickle of sweat was winding its way down Stretch’s spine despite the air conditioning. Before he could wheeze out another ‘no sir’ or any other answer at all, a sudden, booming laugh filled the entire diner, loud enough to echo from the greasy grill before rolling back out to rattle the windows. The sheriff hooked his thumbs into a belt with a buckle so big that could probably double as a satellite dish, guffawing loudly, “Aw, you ain’t in any trouble, I’m just joshing ya, boy!”

Oh. Ohhhh, this was only a little goodnatured small-town hazing, that he could deal with, if he managed to swallow his quivering soul back down where it belonged. Stretch tried on a smile to match the sheriff’s ongoing laughter and found that it fit pretty well, all things considered.

“can’t be joshing, my name is stretch,” Stretch said with cautious humor. “but i guess stretching me would be an entirely different meaning. think they gave that one up in the middle ages.”

The sheriff bellowed out another laugh that practically shook the silverware, actually bending over to give his knee a loud slap. Around them rose other chuckles around mouthfuls of pie and how strange was it that he could feel the difference between people laughing at him and laughing with him. There was a certain fondness in that laughter, in the warm expressions coming his way from townsfolk that he sort of knew; these were people who’d bought their toilet paper and fresh apples from him on any given day, who’d give him waves and smiles when he passed them on the sidewalk and maybe it was an unusual form of kindness, but their humor still made unexpected tears prick in his sockets.

Stretch grabbed his napkin and dabbed hastily at his face as if he were wiping away sweat before anyone could see and misunderstand. How could he explain to them that in all his life, he’d never felt such a wash of overwhelming fondness from anyone except maybe his own brother.

(Not even from the person who’d told him so often and so tenderly that he loved him…until he didn’t, fucking hell, he wasn’t thinking about that right now, he wasn’t.)

The sheriff was obviously no fool and already his expression was softening into remorse, maybe coming up with an apology that Stretch desperately did not want, not for this. Rescue came almost too late and from an entirely unexpected source. Granny Collemore was so short Stretch could only see her steel-gray hair piled up in a messy bun over the top of the booth as she approached, but he heard her hollering well enough.

“Buford, you let that poor boy alone!” There was a smacking sound of a cane hitting flesh and Stretch couldn’t see where the blow struck, but the sheriff, Buford, let out a yelp, hopping on one foot as he frantically rubbed his shin.

“Sam Hill, granny, I was only playin!” he grumbled. He pulled up the leg of his trousers to examine his granny-inflicted wound. There was a reddened welt on the skin, already shading to purple.

“You hush yourself,” Granny huffed, “I’m half-past give-a-shit today and you may be the sheriff in these parts, but you ain’t too old for a hiding!” Granny shuffled into view, her cane hooked over one arm. She reached out with her wrinkled hands and Stretch leaned over obediently to let her to cup his face gently in her palms as she clucked with concern. “Does he look like he’s up for your shenanigans?” she groused loudly, “‘specially since this feller is working over at the grocery with Red, bless his heart.”

“That a fact?” Buford pushed his hat up and offered a crooked smile. “Must be a brave soul, then. Well, you tell that sonavabitch I’m gunning for him this Sunday. He better be there with silver bells on and you tell him that whatever aces are up his sleeves, better make sure they ain’t spades, ‘cause that’s the reverend’s favorite cheat.”

“i’ll do that,” Stretch agreed, a touch bewildered. Hell, he’d thought Red was joking when he said the sheriff was his poker buddy.

That sounded like an exit line, it was starting to look like Stretch was going to make it out of here unscathed, and he might have if Granny hadn’t put in, happily, “Anyhoo, Buford, you just miss seeing Edge. He was here sharing a slice of pie with our new fella.”

Dark eyebrows rose up over those mirrored lenses and Buford hooted a laugh, “Oho, that how it is. On a date with our Edge, were ya.”

Great, that was exactly what he didn’t want getting back to Red. Enjoying a little flirting was one thing, but not if it started the wheels of the gossip train turning. With his luck, it would crash right into a dumpster fire. “uh, no, no dates, just pie.”

He did not expect Buford to suddenly look a little offended, those eyebrows drawing down into a frown behind his glasses. “Why in the Sam Hill not? Ain’t he your type?”

“Uh.” Stretch looked around a little wildly, away from Granny and Buford to see the rest of the diner was still watching them with interest. No, not just interest, there was an awful lot of sly looks there and whispering behind hands, along with soft expressions and doe-eyes…

Oh. Oh, shit, it was worse than he thought. They were invested, everyone in this diner was taking sides and they were choosing the romance option, this was bad, this sort of thing was infectious and the last thing he needed right now was an entire town of matchmakers trying to hook him up with the local hottie. It was like an unsolved Agatha Christie took a sudden, sideways turn into a Hallmark Gyftmas movie.

Buford and the rest of the diner were all waiting for him to explain why he and Edge weren’t dating and Stretch was sitting here, fumbling around at the pass.

“we’re not dating, we’re just—” Stretch coughed awkwardly, hesitating. The truth was ‘it’s complicated’ was probably most accurate, although ‘barely met acquaintances’ was a close second, or even the generic, ‘he’s my boss’s baby bro whose ass i am definitely not staring whenever i see him but also his smile is really nice and—' “—friends,” Stretch finished, lamely.

Buford nodded like he’d offered not a nugget of wisdom, but an entire ten-piece with the tangy sauce. The light reflected in his mirrored gaze as he said, kindly, “That ain’t a bad thing.”

Relieved, Stretch let out an unsteady laugh, “kinda surprised you don't think i'm a cousin or something.”

Buford snorted loudly at that, “Son, you boys don't look a thing alike.”

And that there was another surprise to add to his daily total. In Ebott, Stretch was constantly getting mistaken for Papyrus or Sans, even his own brother once or twice. Half the time, people either didn’t know his name or didn’t care to, and Backwater was a strange place, no question, but that sure didn’t mean it was bad.

Buford didn’t seem to notice his shock as he went on, “Now there’s a boy who could use some en-ter-tainment. Works too hard, damned if he don’t.”

Now that was a clue looking him right in the face and Stretch took the Velma leap and pounced on it, trying for a little discreet nonchalance, “yeah? what does he work so hard at?”

A shame Buford seemed to be pretty quick on the draw. He gave Stretch a shrewd look, “He ain’t told you?”

“no, sir,” Stretch sighed glumly. Seriously, he was the worst Velma ever.

Buford went ahead and poured salt into the open wound with another short laugh, “Naw, I’ll ain’t stepping in that cow pie. I’ll let him talk to ya about that. But see if you can’t get him to slow down for another--” Buford gave him a sly wink and actually hooked his thick fingers into air quotes, “’friend date’, wontcha?”

Then he grunted as Granny Collemore jammed her elbow into his soft gut, tutting loudly, “You never did shake the ants outta your pants did you, Buford! Let those boys alone, they'll go at their own pace.” To Stretch she offered sunny, toothless grin, “Come on, and walk an old lady out.”

“yes, ma’am,” Stretch said. Hey, he might be an idiot, but he was no fool. He stood up, ready to make his getaway, halted only briefly by Buford snatching up his hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake, though his grip was gentle on the delicate bones.

“Welcome to town, Stretch,” Buford told him. For once he was completely serious as he said, low, “and don’t you worry about those boys.” He tapped the side of his nose, his broad finger reflected in his sunglasses. “I know what happened, it’ll be taken care of.”

“i appreciate that,” Stretch said, and he meant it. He turned and followed after Granny, only dodging ahead to hold up the door so she could shuffle out.

“Thank you, sonny,” Granny huffed as she made her slow way through the door. “These old bones ain’t as spry as yours. You should head on home now, there's a storm a’comin'."

Stretch looked up into the cloudless sky in confusion, greeted by endless blue.

“Oh, you can trust me," Granny grimaced and rubbed at her hip, "these joints don't lie."

“i will,” Stretch agreed. After his lesson with the corn, he was taking the townsfolk at their word and if granny said a storm was heading this way, he expected to see clouds blowing in any minute now.

He left Granny to make her way home and headed back to the store. Red only grunted when he came in, didn’t even look up from his book as he hooked an absent thumb towards his apartment. There was a bag sitting on the table and when Stretch looked inside, there was a sandwich neatly covered in plastic wrap, a bag of chisps, and a bottle of juice. He was still full up on pie, but it would make for a nice, simple dinner, good thing he had Red up there looking after him. Maybe he should suggest to Red that he get a tattoo, a nice heart engraved on his arm with ‘Mom’ in the middle, since now he had one.

Stretch took the bag upstairs with him and opened the window. He took a moment to breathe in the already cooling air, a herald to the coming storm.

The book was sitting where he’d left it last night when he’d dragged himself off Red’s sofa, limbs spaghettied from sleep and his mind noodly mush. He’d brought the book along without even thinking about it and now the hardcover seemed to mock him with the necessary knowledge hidden somewhere within those pages.

Welp, there was only one way he was gonna get the info out of it and that didn’t mean beating it against his skull until the words shook out. He picked it up and settled to sit cross-legged on the bed, bracing himself for what might well be hours of boredom as he turned it to the first page.

And frowned. At the top of the page was a family name, ‘Anderson’, along with the date, ‘1884’. There was a short selection of first names beneath it and next to each was what looked like a telephone number and an address.

“what the hell?” Stretch muttered. He flipped to the second page and it was the same thing, only the name was ‘Armstrong’ and there were a lot more first names to go with it, someone was getting busy on the weekends, for sure.

Stretch flipped to the next page, and the next. All of them had the same thing, a last name, then a collection of firsts with a number and an address. Finally, he flipped back to the title page. There, right underneath the scrolling text declaring the book ‘The Informal History of Backwater’ was a tiny addition he hadn’t noticed before, stating in a small, stark font, ‘Municipal Directory.’

For a long moment, Stretch could only stare at it, until the words started floating in his sight. Laughter bubbled up suddenly, fizzing in him like a shaken soda. "sonofabitch," Stretch burst out, snickering madly. The damn thing was a glorified telephone book and Edge had flat-out given him his damned address already, practically gift-wrapped it! And he'd almost refused to take the damn thing! Guy wasn't only sexy, he had jokes and if he wasn't already a treat to the senses, that would have upgraded him to a bone-ified snack.

Address had to be in here, all Stretch needed to do was find it. The book was bigger than he would’ve thought from a small town, but from the look of it, they never took anyone out, only kept adding on. Occasionally next to a name he saw an abbreviated ‘dec.,’ so maybe this was a bit of town history, after all, kind of a family tree, anyway.

It still took him awhile to find their names, flipping through the book. The names were alphabetized, but that didn’t help much when the family he was looking for didn’t have a last name. Finally, under the surname ‘Skeleton’, he found them.

“should’ve tried that to begin with,” Stretch muttered. He read the entry, following along with his finger, only to pause in confusion when it came to the date recorded neatly by their names. It listed them as arriving in town over a decade ago and if that was when they came to Backwater, then whoever printed this needed to proofread a little better, because that was impossible. Monsters had only been on the surface for a couple years, not quite three now, so it had to be a mistake.

Except, Edge struck him as the kind of guy who was pedantic enough that there was no way he wouldn’t bitch until it was fixed; anyone who ate their pie like it was a military maneuver wouldn’t be able to stand such an egregious error. And he’d made sure to give Stretch the book, so he damn well knew he’d be seeing this. So what the hell did all this mean?

What did any of this mean?

Stretch sank back against the wall behind him, tipping his head up so he could stare at the ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster in one the corner, spidering off into a shape like a lightning bolt and that was exactly what Stretch felt like he’d been struck with.

What the hell was this place? Some kind of fairytale, where one day in town was a week on the outside? If he hopped on another bus and made his way to the next town over, would the papers tell him it was next Tuesday or the next century?

It was enough to inspire him to check his messages. Stretch fumbled for his phone, opening the text app for the first time in days. The amount of alerts made him wince but it was the last message that roused that endless ache in his soul back up to true pain.

I understand that you’re hurting, brother. You don’t have to tell me where you are. You don’t even have to call. All I ask is you send me a message every once in a while to let me know you’re all right. Please.

Stretch closed his sockets and swallowed against the sudden knot in his throat. Before he could rethink it, he typed a hasty, i’m all right and sent it, then lurched over to shove his phone into the nightstand drawer, slamming it shut.

Even so, he couldn’t help listening, straining to hear but there was no vibrating buzz, nothing to indicate a return message.

Good enough.

Stretch took a deep, shaky breath, then dragged the book back over and studied the entry again. Red’s address was the store, no surprises there, but Edge was listed under 637 Wood’s End Drive.

Wood’s End. Seriously?

Welp, it was one mystery solved, anyway, even if he’d skipped the meddling kids part. Now all he needed was to plan a field trip.

A sudden flash of lightning lit the room, putting the fake bolt on his ceiling to bitter shame and the sky outside seemed to burst, rain pouring down and pelting through his open window. Stretch scrambled over to slam it closed, shaking away the damp on his hands. All the sunshine from earlier was gone, the sky darkened into angry, swirling storm clouds as the downpour drenched the parched earth.

Yeah, field trip was postponed on account of rain, but not for long. He’d get there and maybe once he showed up on Edge’s doorstep, he’d finally get some real answers.

For now, though, all Stretch wanted was a towel.

tbc

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 25

“Jesus,” Erica breathes, “you weren’t kidding,” and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I’ve managed to keep my heartrate under control all the way down to the barrows but now that we’re here I’m able to let my breath out and relax a little, ironically. The place is a graveyard, a grisly butcher’s workshop of stinking ichor and dismembered copepods. It is unearthly quiet, even down here in the middle of the Pit’s guts, with the only sound being the dripping of glutinous white phlegm-like vital fluids and occasionally a far-off groan from the Pit’s musculature.

The copepods are everywhere, strewn all over the place like ragdolls, and very few of them are intact. The majority have had their arms ripped off and a ragged hole bored straight through the middle of their armored faceplate that looks like it goes several feet deep at least. Here and there there are dead leeches, the only trace of the leechman, the only thing giving any clue as to what might have happened her. I briefly wish that I still had my camera with me.

Saying goodbye to Elena had made me acutely aware that I may not have been prepared for what I was getting myself into. I had helped her out of the cot and she had stumbled and cried out and then I caught her, prepared for the worst, already starting to panic – had I done a bad job? Had I hurt her somehow while I was tending to her wounds and only now was she able to feel the effects of it, getting up and moving around?

Elena had looked at me, lips already curling into a sheepish grin, and then she must have seen the look on my face and stopped, stood there straight without any assistance from me and then put her hands on my face and cupped me to her and kissed me so long and so hard that I felt a little faint. Erica had coughed behind us, a little uncomfortably, but when we finally broke apart I really had eyes only for Elena, I couldn’t stop staring at her, at the freckles across her cheeks, at the way one of the corners of her lips lifted slightly higher than the other when she smiled, at a dozen little things like that that I wanted to fix in my mind.

I don’t think I really knew, not consciously, at least, why I made such an effort to keep a clear image of her in my head then, to get every detail down in as complete a manner as I could. It only became apparent to me once we had walked out to the Cord and Elena had opened the door and turned around and waved to me before disappearing that I had been so concerned with her safety that I had had no concern at all for mine.

The door clanged shut and Marcus had spun the wheel to seal it tightly and then Elena was gone. Before she left we had hugged again, there in Oyster’s Shame, amid the glistening walls and the sounds of more of the tiny pearly deposits falling here and there like a soft distant rain. “You come back to me,” she had growled, right into my ear, and I could feel her leave a wet spot on my cheek from where she had begun to cry, and I wanted so badly to go with her but I didn’t see any way I could.

“Well,” I had said to Erica, forcing myself to sound brighter than I had felt, “let’s get this over with.”

So we did.

Marcus kicks one of the dead leeches and it rolls a little. It looks like it has some weight to it, some heftiness that isn’t immediately apparent from how slender it is. It’s about the length of my arm. “What the hell is this, E?” he asks, looking up at her, and Erica shakes her head, getting down on her haunches to examine it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says. “It’s a little bit like a gastric bristleworm but not as…I don’t know, bristly.”

I’m standing there in the back with my arms folded, waiting. Next to me is the stinking corpse of a copepod; this one has been crushed, its insides, ropy and white, flooding out in a great mass from its burst sides. Even with the helmet up I can smell it; Erica and Marcus must have cast-iron stomachs. Erica does, anyway; when we first made it down to the barrows we’d had to stop for a moment to let Marcus vomit.

The tracking PDA had lead us almost exactly the way we’d gone the day before, back before everything had gone to hell. I still don’t know exactly what had kicked it off to begin with; my best guess was that the Leechman had showed up and gone on a rampage just after we’d left with the crystal, and the copepods, they must have assumed that it was our fault, that we’d drawn it here or were somehow working with it. Did they know what it was? Did they recognize it? I wish the Big Guy were still around to ask but we had passed his desiccated, punctured corpse, recognizable only by the stump of one of its wrists, as we had made our way through the central chamber. Marcus is carrying the Sergeant’s slug rifle but he does so nervously, as though he’s afraid of it. He clearly isn’t familiar with the thing. I wonder what’ll happen if he does have to fire it, if it’ll just put him on his ass or if it’ll actually break a bone.

The two of them have been decent to me so far. Erica seems genuinely regretful about hitting me earlier; she doesn’t look at me most of the time, and if she does need me for something, mainly to use the suit computer to look at a map, she asks for me politely and in a soft voice. I thought that Marcus might curse at me or harbor some kind of ill-feeling; after all, Elena – after all, my girlfriend attacked him, and I have no doubt that if she had been able to get away with it she likely would have shot the both of them and washed her hands of it.

The thought makes me shudder very slightly, but not of fear or anger but just vague baseless exhilaration, of minor and muted joy that things are finally happening, for better or for worse, for good or ill, that great capital-letter THINGS WILL CHANGE finally rolling over and putting muscle behind its epitaph.

I had been terrified on the way down that the copepods would have torn us apart, would have eaten us. I had no confidence in Erica and Marcus’ ability to protect this little illicit expedition. They have no plan, no notion of what might be waiting for them. And I don’t know what they intend to do if they do actually manage somehow to get their hands on the crystal. Break it? But that’d be counterproductive, wouldn’t it, as if what Erica’s saying is right, that’d just give us that psychic illness.

If I don’t have it already. Was that dream a dream or the start of it? Is it –

No, stop. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the perfectly normal sort of dream to have when you’re under this much stress, in these conditions. Once you’re out of here, once you’ve – Christ, I don’t know, gotten Elena some vacation time or sick leave or whatever the hell and spent the rest of your savings taking her to fucking Tahiti or somewhere, if you’re still having the dreams then, you can worry about it.

I could tell them, I could tell Erica and Marcus. It’d be easy. I could just say something like, ‘hey, uh, so there’s this giant fucking ogre made out of leeches wandering around down here and it’s got the crystal you’re after, and it killed all these copepods. Oh, and the crystal weighs about a ton and we had to get a robot to carry it, which I notice you guys didn’t bring with you. No, you can’t use our robot, it’s probably smashed to bits somewhere.’

They wouldn’t believe me. There’s no way in hell they’d believe me. Even if I did want to save their asses, which at the moment is not very high up on my priority list. I’m still maintaining the faint hope that they might actually find the damn Leechman and try to get into a fight with it, which would be my cue to run like hell.

“Roan,” Erica asks me, again using that mildly infuriating soft and considerate voice, “have you seen one of these before?” She’s holding the body of the leech out to me, grasping it like one might hold a snake, right behind the head. Its mouth gapes insanely wide and round and the body hangs limp. I can’t stop myself from taking a step backwards.

Goddam it, Erica.

“Leechman,” I say, and then I cough. Our eyes meet for the first time in a half hour. “The leechman’s here.”

Erica’s eyes seem to grow instantly deeper. Her mouth is open slightly, and she stares at me in silence until Marcus nudges her, his eyes flicking between her and me. “What’s the leechman?” he asks, and Erica, broken out of her reverie, licks her lips and glances over at him.

“Nothing,” she tells him, getting to her feet quickly. “A fairy tale. Like the boogeyman.”

Marcus doesn’t believe this; I can tell from the way he looks at her, but he doesn’t question it, just gets to his feet as well and follows her as she pulls out the tracking PDA, taps at the screen a few times, and then points down at one of the darkened vents. “That way,” she says, and where she points we follow.

We make our winding way through the ass-end of the barrows, the part we hadn’t gone through yesterday, and then the trail takes a corkscrewing, winding path downwards. We are very clearly in a section of the Pit that people have not been in very often. Even in the sections leading up to the barrows, where the flesh of the vents is left bare and uncovered, there are still lights strung here and there, little radio repeaters and every now and then a tiny, cramped-looking ranger station, mostly mothballed and closed-off, but still evidence that someone had come before us. In the barrows, though, this stopped entirely. There were little trails of cleat-marks here and there, but I think the majority of them were from us stomping through earlier, they looked too fresh, too new.

We only saw a couple of copepods, and these from far off, across vast chasms of flesh, scarred here and there like cliff-faces. I couldn’t divine their purpose, just – anomalies of anatomy, no meaning, no clear analogue I can draw. Just places where the flesh falls away and vague misty nothing takes its place. As I stand on the precipice looking over and down into darkness, watching the way my flashlight beam peters out depressingly soon, I swear that for a moment I can see something moving around, something large, fluttering and flapping and swooping like some kind of giant bat, but if anything was there, it vanished so quickly as to not leave an impression on me other than a brief glimpse of size and frantic motion.

I turned back to see if Marcus or Erica had seen any of it but they were huddled together, deep in conversation, hunched over the PDA. After a moment I traipsed over to join them. With each step on the way down I had felt my weariness building, both in my body and in my heart – I had shoved so much out of the way down somewhere inside of me where I didn’t have to feel it, and it was only now that it was beginning to creep back out at me.

We’d passed some things I’d recognized from the rest of the squad – there was a torn piece of a suit there, in a small knurled corner, dirty and speckled with red matter that might have been blood or bits of flesh. I didn’t look closely enough to check. A boot, cleated firmly into the ground. Nothing as definite as a body; the closest I saw was a great foaming gout of blood splashed across the floor and up part of the wall of the vent, but no indication as to whether it came from a person, from a member of the team, from Klaus or Euler or – or Peter, or whether it was just natural, some artery in the floor being clipped during the fighting and spraying everywhere until capillary action cut it off.

If I think about it I won’t be able to go on. I can’t bear to –

Alright, Roan. Easy girl. Deal with it later. Right now just focus on staying alive. Get back to Elena and then you can cry about things. God, poor Peter, though; and poor Makado, waiting for him. How would I feel if it had been me up there and Elena down here?

I think of her, alone, making her way up the Cord, no weapon, still hurting, probably, as the painkiller starts to wear off, and I bite my lip, hard. Goddam it, I’m not going to cry. Not down here. She’s fine, she’s going to be perfectly fine. She knows how to handle herself.

I focus instead on the ache in my knees, in my back, in my arms. We’ve been going for so long, it feels like; hours upon hours. I’d check the time on the wrist computer but these damn gloves - !

Erica and Marcus look tired as well, at least. Maybe they’ll want to rest soon. We’ll be able to eat, sleep perhaps…they have to have some kind of tent, or sleeping bags, or something, even if it’s not one of the fancy hexagonal ones the squad used. I think about pointing out that we’re all dog tired, we might as well take a break before we go further, but I nix that idea quickly – I don’t want to seem weak. Erica’s given the impression that she won’t push me but Marcus is still a wild card, I don’t know him, how he handles stress, how he’ll act in a couple of hours when he’s even more tired and hungry.

They gesture and lead on, and I follow, dead on my feet but still forcing myself to continue.

And then, after fifteen minutes of walking, down treacherous polyped inclines, past outcroppings of redundant, keratinous spines, we find, laying in a slump with his neck at an awkward unnatural angle, his eyes terribly bright and aware, Euler.

I cry out when I see him; my stomach makes a horrible lurch as I take in the gnawed markings dotting his once-bright ranger suit, round and puckered and blood-crusted. The leeches have been at him but left him alive for some inscrutable reason. He coughs as we shine our lights on him and shifts feebly but he is unable to move more than an inch or two – his spine is clearly broken.

I hadn’t expected to find any bodies; somehow I had guessed that one way or another, anyone lost down here would be utterly irretrievable. But there is Euler, the one person I would never have expected to survive – I guess I underestimated him.

Or perhaps his current condition isn’t really surviving in the main sense. Once I’ve gathered my senses I rush to him and kneel there beside him. I have nothing to offer him, no painkillers, no first aid, nothing besides companionship, but it’s better than standing and gawking as Erica and Marcus seem to be satisfied with. I wipe his forehead with my gloved palm lightly, the sweat shining on the rubber in the wake of my flashlight, and Euler’s eyes shift up to meet mine and he croaks out my name in a hoarse voice. He says it wrong, like it were one syllable, but hearing someone I care about even infinitesimally say it is like breathing after being underwater.

“Euler,” I tell him, and my voice breaks just a tiny bit right at the end. I lick my lips and try again. “Euler, what the hell happened to you?”

“I’m – it’s bad, Roan,” he says. Rone. Should have changed my name in that rebellious phase, added that accent mark I always longed for. There’d be less ambiguity. I smile to myself in spite of everything and he grins at me, just a little bit, but his eyes stay wide and frightened. They flick over to Erica and Marcus, and I look back at them as well, and then give an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t you two have any damn medical things? A first aid kit?” They glance at each other. “Anything?”

“I thought you might…” Euler coughs. “Might have come to rescue us.”

I frown. Us?

“Euler, are there…more people from the squad down here? Hurt somewhere?”

He shakes his head minutely, then winces. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to touch him without hurting him. I tear my glove off with my teeth, just lay my hand against his cheek. It feels like an awkwardly intimate gesture but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how else to help. If it were me I think I’d – I think I’d want human contact, something skin to skin. I think it might be a comfort.

“What happened?” I whisper.

“The Leechman,” he says, “it – it grabbed me and then it –“

He cries out, gently, and I move my hand downward and grab his. He clutches at me desperately. The last time I had seen him the leeches had been streaming into his open mouth, writhing against him, wrapping him like a hundred pythons at once. I bite my lip and glare back at Erica again. “Will you two fucking do something?”

“He’s clearly past any help we could give him,” Erica says, and Marcus nods.

For a very brief moment I am so intensely angry I feel as though I might burst into flame. Euler cries out softly again and I realize I have squeezed his hand too hard, and I jerk my hand back from his, muttering a stammered apology. He shakes his head.

“They’re right, I’m done for,” he tells me. “You should – you’re going down further?” he asks, frowning, and I nod.

“Those two want the crystal,” I tell him, lowering my voice a little.

“It went…that way,” he says, glancing to the right, further down the vent and into the Pit’s depths. We sit there in silence for a moment longer and then finally work up enough nerve to ask him the question I wanted to.

“Are you in pain?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “It feels like I should be but it’s just dull.” He breathes heavily. “I’m afraid.”

“Euler, don’t –“

“I’m going to die down here,” he says, and there is a terrible layer of finality in his voice that makes my heart fall.

“No, Euler, you’re not –“ I start, but then cut myself off. Because he’s right, isn’t he? I can’t argue with him, there’s no way in hell that we’re going to be able to get him out of here. If he has a broken neck there’s no fucking way we could stabilize him well enough to carry him out of here, and even if we could, I’d need Erica and Marcus’ help, which they don’t seem incredibly inclined to give me. I look back at them and start to get up, but Euler catches the cuff of my suit and I stop, hunkered over awkwardly.

“Roan, I saw – “

He coughs; I can see his chest heaving. I wonder about those leeches; I know I saw them flooding into his mouth, forcing their way down his throat…what would have –

“I saw inside it,” he tells me. I frown.

“Inside what?”

“The Leechman,” he says. His eyes are boring into mine with a horrible intensity, practically bulging outwards. “I saw inside it and – and it was so bright –“

“Euler, I don’t know what you –“

“Don’t leave me down here,” he says quietly, and then lets go. There is a pleading in his eyes that stops me dead. I’ve let my mouth fall open slightly, but there is no mistaking what he means, there is no ambiguity in the quiet desperation in his tone. He wants me to –

I get up quickly. My hands are shaking and my arms and legs feel like I’ve been whipped with a coil of lightning. I walk over to Erica and Marcus, and Erica nods at me. “You ready to go?” she asks, and I shake my head. I open my mouth and try to talk but I choke a little, then cough and try it again.

“Erica, Euler, he –“

“What is it?”

I shut my eyes. “Kill him,” I tell her. “He asked me to but I can’t – I can’t do that. He’s scared and he doesn’t want to have to lay down here unable to move for a couple more days before something fucking eats him or he dies of exposure. Please.”

Erica’s eyes are very dark. She glances at Marcus, then back at me, before she reaches down to her belt and unsnaps the holster there, then hands me the revolver. I nearly drop it; it’s heavier than I had expected. “Do it yourself,” she tells me. Her voice is like glass. “We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

“You – “ I start, but I choke it back. She’s trusting me giving me the revolver; this means something to her. This is a test. But what am I supposed to do? Can I –

But you already did once before, some part of me whispers at the back of my head. Remember Rey? He’s dead because of you. And before that -

Marcus is covering me with his own slim little pistol. I swallow hard and try not to feel the imprint of its muzzle, covering me from five, seven, ten feet away from me, my back itching as I half-expect to hear a report and feel a sharp shock –

But nothing happens. I make it to Euler; he’s watching me, his eyes rolled upwards in a manner that somehow distinctly reminds me of a dog, somehow, and I hate myself for thinking so, but he’s looking at me in the same way a dog will look up at you, not moving its head, its eyes wide and hopeful.

I thought the gun might feel better in my hand after I’d had it there for a while, but it’s still awkward and heavy and purposeful. It’s much heavier than the pistol they’d given me to practice with during qualifications back on the range a few days ago; that one hadn’t even felt like a gun, it hadn’t felt real. This one most certainly does.

Euler nods at me infinitesimally. “It’s…alright,” he says. He seems to be laboring a bit more now; maybe he hadn’t been expending very much energy until we came across him. I certainly didn’t hear any cries for help on the walk up. If he’d been there the whole time, for hours, listening to the Leechman and the copepods duke it out…

“Euler,” I say, “what did you mean when you said you saw inside the Leechman?”

“Roan,” he says. His eyes are fixed on the revolver. I’m stalling, I realize; I’m putting it off so that maybe somehow this responsibility will be removed from me. The inside of my mouth is very dry and I swallow hard, willing some moisture to return to it.

“Okay,” I say quietly. Okay, I think to myself. I take the revolver, hold it in two hands, one on the handle, the barrel resting in the palm of my other hand. I look at the cylinder, fumble for a moment before that trip all those years ago with my dad comes back to me and I find the catch and swing it outwards. Erica hasn’t reloaded since she shot Elena, I note, some dull part of my mind logging the information without any further comment. I can see the tiny mark of the struck primer on one of the cartridges. But I won’t find any salvation here, there are still five more shots that are perfectly serviceable.

I click it shut, remembering, as my dad told me, not to flick it closed, not to spin it. You aren’t a cowboy, he’d said to me gravely, pressing the gun into my chest. It had smelled like oil and metal, like something functional, like when you open the hood of your car. And I had trembled then as I am now, and I had looked out across the flat open expanse of grass –

Even then I couldn’t bear to think of it after I’d done it.

I’m stalling.

Goddam it, Roan, goddam you and your willingness to stick your neck out.

Euler makes a small noise beneath me and I look down at him. “Are you sure?” I ask, willing him to say no, to rethink it, to give me a reprieve. He nods.

“Just do it,” he says. “They won’t come get me, they won’t care. Just do it.”

“Okay,” I breathe, and then I hold the gun in two hands – why does it come back to me so easily? – and put it up very close to his forehead, and Euler shuts his eyes, and I shut mine as well. I inhale and then exhale.

Five minutes later I hear feet squelching up behind me and then Marcus is crouching next to me and prying the gun from my nerveless hands. “It’s okay,” he says, not unkindly, and then he is gently pushing me out of the way. I get to my feet, not knowing what else to do. I meet Euler’s eyes and I start to say something, then I stop. There is no blame in them, or maybe I don’t want to see blame. So instead I turn around and hunch myself against the wall, and when the gunshot finally sounds I flinch, and then I finally let myself cry.

When I turn back around I can’t bring myself to look at him. I instead watch Marcus hand the revolver back to Erica, watch Erica slip it back into the holster, watch Marcus shove his pistol into the waistband of his heavy-duty jeans. I blurt out the only thing that comes to my mind and tell him that he shouldn’t carry one in the chamber like that, it’s dangerous, and Marcus gives me a pitying look and says nothing. When I meet Erica’s eyes they are lighter than before and I realize, with a shudder as another wave of tears rolls soundlessly down my cheeks, that whatever test there was, whatever reason made her give me the revolver, I passed.

And then we stomp off into the darkness and leave poor Euler behind.

 * * *

 The next day I feel better. I slept better than I thought I might have, sandwiched between Erica and Marcus in their tent, cramped and with not enough air mattresses or sleeping bags, but I managed. They shared some of their food with me, MREs scavenged from some surplus store somewhere, which I found faintly comforting, and then the next day, when someone’s alarm blared and woke us, I was disconcertingly and surprisingly fresh-feeling. All the pain and sorrow I thought might have come boiling out of me when I let my guard down never did, and instead it was replaced with a calm, warm, faintly comforting deadness. I was, I realize now, preparing on some level to die. I had arrived at a zenlike state that had me convinced I was either dead or dreaming, a fragile state of mind that I had tried so hard to reach at that dojo in Oklahoma but which constantly eluded me.

Since Friday I am complicit now in two murders, one arguably and one less so. When I think of myself the person I am is thorny and sharp-edged and armored and I do not recognize her when I hold her in my arms. I blow out a breath and pop my eyes open as Marcus nudges me and hands me a cup of bootleg espresso made from two freeze-dried pouches, and I take it gratefully and even manage to smile at him. I feel…clean.

We’ll see how long that lasts.

More walking, more bypasses across stinking rivers of digested slurry, more crawling across meter-wide cords of banded muscle. The anatomy gets stranger and stranger, more open, more wild. Nerves like waving cilia, waggling at us like anemones, retract at lightspeed at our approach. Everything is luminescent down here, everything glows, but what glows brightest of all is the rectangular blocky backlight of Erica’s PDA, guiding us forward like a north star. She seems less certain of it, less sure; she stops and consults with Marcus every now and then and I feel fairly frequently like I have simply been forgotten, like I am an insurance policy for the return trip, a hostage kept in waiting to be revealed and used as leverage later on.

Will Makado care, I wonder, when she knows that they’ve taken me? I hope she will. I think we got close enough that she would. I think she likes me.

Does she like me enough to send a team after me? I’m sure there’s some kind of tracking device in this suit but will it even function this deep down? I don’t know.

I stub my toe on a bloated adipose swelling and it belches a gout of rank, sticky fluid on me. We pause again for Marcus to vomit.

Eventually we make it to a curled, winding passageway, a tight intestinal-feeling loop that circles in on itself over and over again, the tissue struggling against us at every turn, that we have to claw and scrape and crawl through but that the PDA swears is the right way to go, the simplified arrow logo spinning back around and directing us back in every time we think of turning around and trying someplace else. We push through and through until finally it vomits us out, breathing hard and covered in blood and strands of pale-white membrane, and then we stop, eyes wide, staring up and up and up at the space we’ve found ourselves in.

It’s enormous, the size of a stadium and at least twice or maybe three times as deep, great gnarled coils of sparking nerves weaving in and out of the fleshy, irregular walls casting macabre light in regular snaking patterns across the broad flat plate of bone that divides the space nearly in half, knotty and bulging and thick, honeycombed and dripping with thick resinous marrow.

There are things moving, I realize, on the far-off floor of the chasm, great writhing worms or – no, no, they have legs. Squat lizard-like figures, then, moving in fits and starts, their flesh a glistening pale sickly color, like milk that’s gone off. They must be simply enormous for us to be able to see them from this distance. I glance back at Erica and Marcus; their mouths are open, dumbstruck as well – they must not have known this was here. Could we be the first to find this place?

I watch a shadow, a patchy midnight cutout, detach itself from the bone plate and fall swooping to the floor of the chasm, and then it wings its way back up, one of the lizards caught in its claws, dangling beneath like a rabbit caught by a hawk. I watch, overwhelmed, as the – the thing, whatever it is, I want to call it a bird but it can’t be, it simply can’t be – flutters ungainly and graceless back to the bone and vanishes with its prey into a whorled hole in the side, ragged and uneven.

“What is this place?” I mutter to Erica, after I’ve regained enough of my senses to think to speak, and she shakes her head faintly.

“I have no idea,” she tells me, but before I can say anything else I hear a noise from above us; a subtle noise, like a whistling, drawn-out swoosh, and when I look upwards I can only see a diving, dark-furred silhouette with outstretched, foot-long claws and a hungry, slavering mouth.

I don’t have time to scream.

Continue with Part 26

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