#oz didn’t check for a pulse so

[sazernac]

Sadly, I knew the moment Vic told Oz he was like family to him that he had fucked up.

[fakesurprise]

It’s late, but the Wal-Mart is open all hours. Nothing in it has an unusual light or shade, not the staff or the customers. A sense of quiet hangs over it despite the noise, as though the mega-store was some kind of church. I buy their cheapest china-made offerings of pants, socks, shoes, shirt, underwear all on the credit card. I try not to look shocked when my card goes through; the woman on the till doesn’t notice, barely reacting at my appearance. I want to ask how many customers drove her to this point but think she’d call security. I leave instead.

The parking lot is a scattering of vehicles parked close to lights, dry leaves skittering across pavement. I close my eyes, and in that moment they are the sound of rain on pavement. When I open my eyes they are merely leaves. The sound of them follows me like distant rain. New clothing makes things seem fresh and new despite the made in china smell of small hands clinging to fabrics. I pretend I am imagining that. It helps.

I pass small shops closed up for the night. The signs of them are old guttering neon flickering like morse code messages, flickers and pulses of the remaining letters. High school lessons surface from the recesses of my brain as I stop and stare at one shop, decoding.

’David’. David’s this, David’s that, on every shop. If the Wal-Mart has neon morse code, I imagine it as Goliath, dying battle played out in cheap neon. I don’t look back to check and walk on, hands shoved into my pockets. The world is opening up secret messages to me. I didn’t die, and so a curtain pulls back and it’s all the Wizard of Oz, obvious truths: Wal-Mart destroys small businesses. Hospitals are vestibules of death. The truth is disappointing for being so shallow, which is why we like lies. It makes sense, fits together, but it fits too neatly, without seam or rip or anything showing through and I find I don’t trust it.

Not the morse code, or the signs, and I can’t trust whatever Sam is. Ed. I turn down side streets, winding between apartment complexes and homes waiting to be devoured by condos. I don’t know if I can trust Ed. People don’t come with morse code signs. But what we were, what we are now: it all skitters like the leaves, falling away. Whatever has happened to me, it’s good that we’re too complicated for easy answers. I don’t want to learn those. Not about us.

[robbybirdy]

65. Baking therapy on a budget Ft. Genshin Characters: Amber- Black Bean

Hello, every birdy. Today we are going to be making a recipe that I have made in the past, but everyone says that this was the best version of it. I made my famous brownie recipe, but I added Black Beans to it. It tasted really good. 

First off we have to talk about the character in question. Amber is the wind gliding champion of Mondsandt. She loves gliding around, and she shows the main character how to glide for themselves. She is also the first character that you are given at the start of the game. Her favorite food is coffee, but as I have done with Layla and Sacarmouche, I am doing recipes that work with their drink of choice. This recipe pairs really well with coffee and is a great breakfast item because it has so much protein in it. 

The first thing you want to do is preheat your oven to 350F and prepare your muffin tins. 

The recipe and the measurements will be in the description down below.

The ingredients you will need are:

Butter/margarine

Brown sugar

Cocoa (both powder and Chocolate Frosting)

Eggs

Black beans

Flour 

Baking powder

Vanilla

A food processor is a must for this recipe. Just because it makes everything so simple and it becomes a one-bowl recipe. Meaning less cleanup for your future self. 

Pour your 15 oz container of black beans into the processor. Pulse it for a few minutes until it is liquid and no whole beans are left. 

Someone brought home a can of chocolate frosting, and I knew that I wanted to make something with it. Not just put it on top of something. And I realized that I wasn’t going to have enough margarine for the recipe. So I grabbed a liquid measuring cup and measured out the butter and then added the frosting. Put that in the microwave until everything was melted. Stirring at the 30-second mark. 

Because of the frosting, I reduced the amount of sugar to 1/2 cup that I added next. I also reduced the cocoa powder from 6 Tbsps to 3 Tbsps. Because I didn’t want it to be too overwhelmingly sweet or too chocolatey. 

After you add in the cocoa and the sugar, you are going to add in your eggs. It is helpful to add in them one at a time. And make sure to crack them in a different container, I usually use the measuring cup. Just in case something happens. 

Add the rest of your ingredients now. This includes your flour, baking powder, and vanilla. 

We are going to add the batter to the muffin tins. I used two teaspoons to measure all of them out and I ended up with 5 dozen muffins.

 Bake your muffins at 350F for 10 minutes and then rotate their position and bake for another 10 minutes. Making it 20 minutes in total. 

This recipe was interesting because I have made it so many times. But this time I added two ingredients and it changed so much. Everyone was saying that these were the best black bean chocolate muffins that I have made. 

I hope that you liked this recipe. Feel free to check it out for yourself. See you in the next post. Thank you. 

Pinterest: Here

Recipe: Here

[bellzettifarism]

Bell's hand hadn't changed.

Burryaga gently held the limb like it was made of glass, slack in his own hand. Shuddering, Burryaga began the repetitive motions of examining Bell's hand again, near obsessively checking for any sign of the grey ash spiderwebbing its way up Bell's wrist like he had seen back on Naboo.

It wasn't there.

With each turnover, every swipe of his fingers, Burryaga was only met with soft brown skin and the tiny burn scars that dotted Bell's skin. No ash and stone.

Healthy and alive.

“What're you looking for Burry?”

Burryaga jerked, head snapping up to where Bell had been previously been curled on the cot, unconscious with relaxants. He was met with half lidded eyes, the copper of Bell's irises shining like molten metal in the fluorescent lighting of the medbay. Bell's lashes were brushing his cheeks with every languid blink, and Burryaga briefly wanted to reach down and feel them for himself.

Burryaga chewed on his lip, taking in the curve of Bell's body under the blankets, curled on his side with his head pillowed on his right arm, bent to fit in the cot while his left arm had been coaxed to rest in Burryaga’s own lap. Relief and embarrassment warred in his chest; how was he supposed to explain that he’d been obsessively holding his Partner’s hand in case something happened? hat the effects of the Nameless would suddenly show up hours after an encounter? It sounded stupid, even in his own head.

Bell’s hand flexed in his grip, and Burry near let go, if only to make Bell more comfortable. Instead, Bells hand only gripped tightly, and Burryaga couldn’t bring himself to let go.

(Selfishly, he wanted to cling to Bell a little bit more.)

“Nothing, I think.” Burryaga replied quietly, cheeks warming under Bell’s gaze. “I thought I had seen something. Don’t worry about it.”

Bell’s low hum was unconvinced.

“I’m fine Burry. Nothing is going to happen the second you let go.”

‘But what if it does? What if I can’t protect you?’

The idea of Bell needing protection was laughable, Bell was more than capable of protecting himself, but…

Bell’s screams of terror from earlier, begging an invisible enemy to stop had been seared into his brain, and they still echoed in his mind like ghosts that wouldn’t leave. Bell’s brush with the Nameless had been horrifying to hear, more so than his own, so feeling Bell’s pulse had been his solution. Feeling warm skin and Bell’s forcibly calmed heartrate had been a soother while they waited to leave the OZ.

“You’re thinking about them again, aren’t you?”

Burryaga sighed at the question. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep his anxiety from Bell for long. One might’ve though that Bell himself had hyper-empathy. But only for Burryaga’s own state of mind.

The thought made his stomach flutter.

“Yeah.” Burryaga admitted quietly, his voice nothing more than a low growl.

And you. Always you.

“…You scared me out there.”

Burryaga couldn’t help the hitch in his breath following the quiet confession, so loud in the otherwise empty medbay.

“You sounded so scared and I could see the ash begin to spread on your wrist-”

Bell’s hand tightened in his own, and Burryaga had to take a deep breath, let his anxieties bleed back out into the Force. Bell’s breathing was still slow and even, and the covers shifted as Bell slowly began to rise.

Cooing in alarm, Burryaga gently grabbed Bell’s shoulder with his free hand as Bell sluggishly pushed himself up so he was sitting upright. The blankets pooled around his waist, and Burryaga had the sudden urge to tuck them back around Bell. He didn’t, but he wanted to.

(If he wanted to tuck Bell into bed back at the Temple and curl around him like a sentient blanket, well… Burryaga would keep that urge to himself.)

“I’m scared about the mere idea of losing you. Every time there’s the threat of the Nameless my first thought is not me, but you.”

“You-” A small sigh, tired and worried. “My life shouldn’t be your top priority on the field Burry.”

“I know that!” Burryaga growled, staring at Bell with desperation. “You’re one of the most important people in my life and the idea of losing you is unbearable.”

Bell’s eyes widened, and Burryaga could see he second Bell got what he meant, just how deep in his heart Bell had burrowed himself. How the Force was so much more fulfilled to Burryaga when Bell was nearby.

A sun that Burryaga revolved around, happily stuck in Bell’s orbit.

The small suns that were Bell’s eyes shined in the fluorescent lights, his hand still gripping Burryaga’s tightly.

“Burry.”

Bell’s voice was soft and Burryaga wasn’t sure if he was imagining he note of longing in his voice or not.

He hoped he wasn’t.

“We-.” Bell’s tongue flicked out to flick along his lips. “We can’t Burry, not when the galaxy is such a mess.”

Burryaga squeezed Bell’s hand, willing back the soft coo of sadness, even though he knew that would’ve been Bell’s response. They were Jedi first, and that meant the galaxy over their own wants until there was peace again.

“Not yet anyways.” Bell’s voice was still soft, his eyes shimmering. “When this is all over, okay? Ask me then.”

Bell gently reached up and extended his pinkie, the slim finger within reach. “I promise you, I’ll do my best to survive until this is all over. Can we do that?”

Can you promise the same?

Burryaga reached up and hooked his own pinkie around Bells, the Force rustling around them like tree’s in a light breeze.

“I’m not promising that neither of us will rejoin the Force,” Bell said softly.

“That would be stupid.” Burryaga agreed with a small grin.

“Just promise me you won’t needlessly go off on a self-sacrificial mission unless there’s no other way, and that means no recklessly trying to save my life.” Bell’s eyes were piercing, his words quiet as he continued.

With a small shudder, Burryaga slowly nodded his head and brushed against Bell’s shields in the Force, preening a little when Bell brushed back fondly.

“I’ll wait,” Burryaga cooed, twining his fingers with Bell’s left hand, smiling as the humans smaller hand linked tighter. “We’ll make it through this and I’ll ask you then. No matter how long it takes.”

Bell’s smile was as relieved as it was beautiful.

“That’s all I ask.” He whispered.

‘I would give you the sun if you asked.’ Burryaga pushed the thought to the side, and le himself enjoy the feeling of Bell’s hands in his, the feeling of his heart and the small promise that was now settled in his chest.

[rxmuz]

Red is the Color of Temptation CH.1

ao3 link

Here’s chapter 1! Oz is so fine omfg. I want him to touch my face like that...and other stuff as well. And again apologies if this sucks or if you’re not interested, I’m fairly new at writing and the only skills I have are from my senior creative writing class.

CONTENT WARNING: BLOOD AND GORE, CHARACTER DEATH

word count: 2.7k

You had just killed a man, his blood pooling at your feet: thick and crimson. There was so much of it. So much so that you couldn't see the floor directly under you unless you turned your head to the side. You stumbled backward out of the sticky liquid with a groan of pain as you heard the sound of uneven footsteps, suddenly feeling the heat of warm blood dripping from your nose and covering the bottom of your face. The metallic taste of blood finally kicks in and reminds you of sucking on paper cuts from the tips of your fingers. But that had always been a drop or two at most. Having the dark liquid almost fill your mouth was an entirely different feeling. It was something that made the blood in your body rush with adrenaline and forced your hands into an iron grip.

You wanted to scream, scream at the lifeless body below, scream at the man that just tried to kill you but all you could do was stare at the blood surrounding him and the blood on your hands.

You're in one of the back rooms of the Iceberg Lounge, a little room across from the bar. Even with the club's loud music in the background, you could hear the footsteps as they got closer. A man brushed past your shoulder, bending down with a soft groan and looking at the body that lays at your feet. He pressed the tips of his fingers against the side of the man's neck and checked for a pulse.

Pointless.

"Well, ain't this unfortunate." the man says, raising his head slightly to look up at you.

His face was chubby and scarred. It looked like someone played tic tac toe on his face with a knife.

"For him or me?" you stumble out.

"For me. I'm not here for you if that's what you're worried about, hun," he says flatly, his voice thick with a Jersey accent and far rougher than you had imagined it to be.

He stands again, moving to the side after getting one last look at the man. He pulls out a cigar from his coat, lights it, and looks at you again. You take a moment to look at him. His weight was to one side, mainly resting on his left leg, but he didn't seem to be in pain as far as you could tell.

That's why he waddles.

Oswald Cobblepot or "The Penguin" by his associates. He's commonly referred to as Oz by his employees.

You've worked the bar for the past two years, but you've never actually met him or seen him up close. He knows all of the girls who worked at the Lounge; he never overstepped or made them feel uncomfortable, always keeping a close eye on them. You may not know him, but he knows you.

It was always quick glances as he walked through the club, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. But here he was noticing you because you just killed one of his goons.

"He owed me some money. But, obviously, I ain't gonna get it off him now, am I?" he continues as he smirks at you, gold shining in his mouth.

"No…" you mumble as you trail off, your voice growing increasingly small as you go on. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't-"

"You're fine, kid, didn't like the fucker anyways, I only kept him around for small things." He spoke genuinely, his accented voice now softer than it was before.

You stared at him, eyes wide and hands slightly shaking. You felt like you were on the verge of tears, yet anger still raged through your body.

"Told ya it was fine, don't look so shocked," he assured, clearing his throat before taking a long drag from his cigar.

You simply nodded in acceptance.

Oz looked up at you with an odd expression, something between surprise and annoyance marring his face.

He removed his fingers from the cigar in his mouth and reached up cautiously, and placed his hand on the side of your face. The gentleness in his touch surprised you, and you felt your face warm. He pulled you toward him, and you shuffled forward until you were standing right in front of him. He was warm, heat radiating off of him in waves, and you wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch and sob.

You didn't, though.

You knew how much violence his hands were capable of, but at that moment, it was as if you'd never felt safer in your life.

"He hit you pretty good, didn't he? Messed up your pretty face…" he noted with soft admittance, his brow furrowing as he kept his gaze on you. His large hand easily covered the whole side of your face, his thumb edging dangerously close to your bottom lip; it made you shiver.

"I missed my shift, I've-" you stupidly start, the urge to apologize for something that you couldn't have controlled.

He merely nods and squeezes your face slightly.

"Shush, it's fine…you were obviously preoccupied with other things, sweetheart." he soothed.

Why did I even try to apologize…

He studies you carefully, the seconds feel like hours, but you know that to be otherwise. After a second or two, something shifts.

He lets go, and you're left there stunned.

"Come with me. You need to get cleaned up."

With you? What about the damn body in the middle of the floor?

"What about him?" you stumble out, completely confused by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"I'll have one of my boys clean it up, now come on baby, promise ya I don't bite."

He turns and holds out his hand to you, a shit-eating grin on his face. It makes you weak in the knees.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck was that? How hard did that asshole hit me?

You eventually take his hand and move to leave the room you're in.

His hand is rough, but his grip is so soft. It's comforting…

You turn to look back at the lifeless body in the middle of the floor as you pass through the double doors and exit into the hallway. Oz takes you around a corner, and you enter an elevator. You were still shaking. The only difference this time was that you were alone with your boss, and he was holding your blood-covered hand.

Why am I still shaking? I don't have any reason to think he's going to hurt me…not yet, at least.

---

You exit the elevator and finally enter the 44 Below. It was the "club in the club" where all the corrupt politicians and government workers came to get a quick fuck and get high. The music was so loud it felt like your bones were vibrating. Unfortunately, the lights are too bright for your currently sensitive eyes.

It was sickening.

You hated everything about this place. You didn't hate Oz because he didn't give you any reason to hate him, but you sure did hate the men that work here. Perverted and so aggressive that sometimes you would rather live on the streets than work around them, it constantly left you in a state of panic whenever you were within ten feet of the building.

You had been so far in thought that you hadn't even noticed when you arrived at his private area or even when he showed you to the bathroom. His words snap you out of your trance.

"There's a tub and shower past that door, and there's a bunch of soaps and shit so you should be fine on gettin' cleaned up. I'll have one of the girls bring ya some clothes."

You wondered for a second if he was going to stand there and watch you undress. He didn't, of course. He could take advantage of you if he really wanted to, he outweighed you by at least 150 pounds, and he was a good few inches taller than you. You couldn't fight back even if you wanted to. The adrenaline had worn off, and you were so tired and sore that you could simply pass out right here and now.

But instead, you just stood there like an idiot and stared at him.

I'm totally not fucking crazy, sir! Just admiring the view! Definitely not on the verge of tears!

He stared back, and you wondered if he would just grow annoyed with your bullshit and throw you out or even just kill you.

"You're safe here, I don't want anything. I just gotta make sure you're okay." he admits, and before you can say anything, though, he has already left.

Tears fell down your face and you finally broke, your arms closing around yourself as you moved to sit in the middle of the floor. You can't remember the last time someone had given a damn about your well-being and the fact that it was coming from a criminal who has killed made it so much worse.

Why me?

You don't know how long you sat there, but it must have been a little while because at some point your tears stopped falling and you just wept into your knees. Your bottom felt raw and your back ached, the dull headache that was festering in the back of your head finally emerged into a full-blown migraine, and it resulted in a slight ringing in your ears. You stand and stretch slightly before heading to the sink and turning on the tap. The water poured from copper pipes in a heavy stream, the water flowing over your blood-stained hands. It burned but you didn't care, it kept your mind off your migraine for a little bit. After you washed your hands, you made your way to the tub to run some water, a shower sounded amazing right now, but you couldn't trust yourself to stand on your feet any longer.

The hot water soothed your aching bones, the scent of rose and geranium rising from the bath foam you had found. You looked around for a moment, taking in how big the bathroom was and the dark colors of the room; it was fitting of Oz. Taking a bath felt like a true luxury, and you stayed in there until the water was tepid, wrapping yourself in a thick towel when you were done. You felt yourself shake ever so slightly as you stepped across the bathroom floor, nervousness accumulating in a tremble as you opened the door to emerge into Oz's office.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

You scrunch up your nose as you turn in his direction.

"My body hurts…he threw me around a bit," you respond, not meeting his eyes.

He hums and then points his thumb at the couch beside him.

"Had one of the girls bring you some clothes, might not fit though…"

"Thank you, sir."

He stared at you for a moment.

"You don't gotta call me sir, Oz is fine."

"Okay." you reply tiredly.

With that, you move towards the couch to pick up the clothes but before you could make your way back to the bathroom, he speaks again.

"When you're done, I wanna talk about what happened," he says firmly, continuing. "Whatever happened, that is, I wanna make sure it doesn't happen again. I don't need my girls ending up dead."

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip, and meeting his eyes, shaking your head briefly.

"No," you said. "No, that wouldn't be good for business."

He nodded, and there was a moment of silence. You fidgeted, looking awkward, but seemingly unable to break it.

You took that as your cue to leave.

When you enter the bathroom, you lay the clothes down on the counter. It was a pair of loose-fitting gray sweats and a baggy white hoodie. They were soft and comfortable; it's something you would wear back at your apartment.

He didn’t have to give me these. Shit he didn't even have to let me use his bathroom.

But of course, he did. Because of that, you had to resist the overwhelming urge to bolt out the door and run as far away as you could.

You were on edge, and for a good reason. You didn't really want to talk about what happened, didn't want to think about how a man tried to kill you because he was insane. More importantly, you didn't want to tell your boss that he was your ex.

Nonetheless, you finally garnered the courage to step out of the bathroom. Oz is still sitting on the couch but now there's a bottle of whiskey and two cups in front of him. There's also a yellow envelope beside it. He balances his tumbler of whiskey on his knee with one hand, and his free arm rests along the back of the sofa, his head back, looking at the ceiling and another cigar lit in his mouth. He barely noticed you, seemingly lost in deep thought.

"Oz." You prompt gently.

Your call of his name isn't loud, but it's loud enough to get his attention.

"Hm?"

He's still not looking at you, his eyes focused on the ceiling. You sit quietly at his side, folding your hands neatly in your lap and pulling your lips between your teeth to keep from frowning. You aren't sure how well you're doing.

"You said you wanted to know what happened."

He doesn't answer for several long moments. Then, lazily, he moves his gaze to you, grunting slightly as he readjusts himself in his seat.

Another long pause before, "Yeah, go ahead hun."

You don't even know where to begin.

"No one else gots to know, it'll just be between me and you, promise." he says.

"Okay," you begin cautiously, "um, well…Jasper, that's his name by the way…you probably already know that though-"

"Yeah, he's the other bartender," he admits. "I remember hiring him about a year ago."

"Yeah, uh, he usually works with me…anyways, he was coming onto me. We've dated before but I broke it off after I saw him with another girl," you shrug,

"My gut was urging me to leave anyways, he was an asshole anyway."

He chuckles at that, his eyes slightly shining as he looks at you.

It makes your stomach flip but you continue.

"He was handsy this time though, he wouldn't back off. I kept telling him it wasn't going to happen but he was so fucking persistent, he always is…was." you softly trail off.

You can feel yourself getting angry, but you can't help it.

He fucking deserved it! I shouldn't fucking feel bad.

"He started fucking grabbing at me, and I didn't want to deal with that shit, so I left to go to the backroom to grab a few bottles, but of course, he followed me, couldn't take no for answer." You shout as you stand up.

You're extremely aware of Oz's eyes on you.

You look to find him staring at you.

He blinks at you, "What else?"

Before you can control your anger, you're shouting.

"What the fuck do you think? He fucking tried to kill me after the tenth time of saying to fuck off!" you hiss as you fist your hands into the side of your sweats.

You're screaming at this point, and you can't seem to stop yourself. Yet Oz doesn't move to stop you.

"I was screaming for my fucking life and no one could hear me because of the fucking music. He had the audacity to laugh at me like he wasn't just begging to get back together five minutes ago."

You fall silent as the echoes of your brief shouting die away. And all that's left is the sound of furious breathing, mingling in the space between you.

"A few of the bottles broke," you murmur.

"I picked up a piece of glass off the ground from where he shoved me and I took my chance. You can guess what happened next." you continue flatly.

There's an extended silence.

You're looking at the wall now, fists in an iron grip at your sides.

"Sorry," you mumble before casting your eye around the room. "I'm really sorry."

"You shouldn't be," he says with a gentle smile.

[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 04

Ch. 4: La Douleur Exquise: “The pain of still caring for someone that you know you can never have.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.7k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, light cursing, light angst

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Complete Masterlist

I’m not going to cross a line. Steve said it to himself every morning in Spain, every time he looked in the mirror in the bathroom or caught himself staring at all the pictures he’d stayed to help you scan. Even as he carried a handful of boxes you were willing to pack back to the Quinjet he kept on saying it over and over in his head. Then, back to you and the words would fade to the back of his mind. At the slightest glance across a room, the hint of a smile on your lips when a memory brought happiness, and the way you clung to him so tightly when a memory brought pain. Just another day, she still needs you. She shouldn’t have to do this alone. A week later and a day became days and then he decided he would leave when the team called him for extraction.

With a book in hand, Steve climbed into the bed while you took a shower, donning his last clean undershirt and the same sweatpants he wore the night before. He was about to make a joke about the bed smelling like them and soon dirty laundry when you spoke first, saying just his name. His eyes were on the book, a Spanish translation of Homer’s Odyssey, flipping through the pages to find his spot when his clear blue eyes looked up and met yours, soft with a hint of something you couldn’t read. Wrapping your arms around yourself you stood at the edge of the bed, digging your nails into your arms. “I think I want to go home tomorrow. Thinking about what you said, about it being a part of what I have left of my family… You’re right, that I could keep this place and it wouldn’t be a financial burden if I put it on AirBnB or something similar.” Steve reached out in silence to comfort you as you spoke, doing his best to respectfully keep his eyes on yours and not the shirt and leggings that clung to your damp skin. “I emailed the lawyer about what I would need to do to make that happen and he said he’d take care of it.”

Your hand slipped into his, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze as Steve ghosted his thumb across your knuckles. “Even if it’s just to buy a little more time for a big decision, I think that’s a good choice.” He watched you, those gears turning like your mind and emotions needed to catch up to your surroundings, always in two places at once. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Slowly, you let go of his hand and climbed onto the bed, but you didn’t immediately lay down. “My hair’s still a little wet. You’ll freeze.”

“I’m a lot tougher than I look.” Steve laughed, thinking about all the times your head had tilted just a little to the side as you looked up to him and said that he was full of surprises, wondering if you were about to say it again. You seemed to be mulling it over and he found himself eager to put the book down and pull you into that usual position where you somehow managed to fit perfectly into the curve of his arm and his side. “C’mon, let’s get some sleep. I promise I won’t melt.”

The way you bit your lip as you cautiously closed the space between the two of you and curled into his chest as you had every night made Steve’s heart race. Your voice was a soft whisper of acknowledgment before going quiet again, “The Wizard of Oz.” Somehow, knowing it was the last time perhaps, you hesitated to let yourself immediately give in to the exhaustion in your bones. He noticed it, the little scrunch of your nose and the way you fought back a yawn as you hummed out his name to get his attention from behind the book one more time, “Steve.”

He smiled as he looked down at you but his eyebrows furrowed in surprise, just a little, when you hesitated to speak again, so he tried to coax it out of you, “Comfy?”

With a nod the yawn finally escaped you with the question you’d been holding back, “Could you read it aloud until I fall asleep?”

It wasn’t what he’d expected you to say and he hesitated, “You sure? I don’t want to butcher the language and you take offense.”

“I’m tougher than I look.” It was said in such a teasing tone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, cheeks pink with embarrassment. The pair of you held each other in silence for a moment, a mixture of identical thoughts and emotions. If this was the last night together, was this an unceremonious way to end it? Was this banter, flirting, or a bit of both?

His fingers started drawing their way up and down your back as he broke the silence and began to read aloud, slowly processing the foreign language and what was happening in the story. A part of him thought about the journey home tomorrow and what both of you would be like when you were back in the familiar setting of New York. He thought about you alone with your plants and fish in your small apartment, a few boxes commemorating what had been his first real pocket of happiness since he came out of the ice. “How am I going to fall asleep without you when we’re back in the city?”

The question had passed his lips before he could stop himself, his own tired voice deep and raspy with anxiety he didn’t realize he was harboring until that moment. Steve’s muscles went tight, book unmoving from his face as he frantically tried to find the sentence he’d just read aloud. Then, just as his panic was building, you did something you’d never done before; your hand released the bundle of his shirt and brushed over the muscles of his stomach and sides. Taking a cautious breath he let himself pay attention to the noises of the room and the house. Your pulse and breathing were steady, you’d once again fallen fast asleep against him, and for now, the question was left unanswered.

It shouldn’t have surprised you that Tony was the last person to show up for the scheduled check in once you were settled back in at work. He made sure to push it back and reschedule until it was about ten minutes before you were about to leave. Your head was in a fog, three nights back and you hadn’t been able to sleep. The exhaustion to caffeine ratio was starting to get precarious and you felt almost certain that you would finally fall asleep when you got home this time, regardless of the racing thoughts that seemed to start up just as your head hit the pillow.

Unceremoniously entering the office without a single knock, the billionaire sat on the arm of the loveseat that drank in the light from the window. It was a cozy piece of furniture you’d insisted on and it looked wholly out of place in the Tower with your postcard worthy view of the city. You looked up from your desk, tablet already ready. “Everything sorted out in Spain, Doc?” He asked with a knowing quirk of an eyebrow, but Tony didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands were clasped in his lap like he was about to play shrink himself and he let out a huff to begin. “I know you left worried about me but don’t be. I’m perfectly fine, better than fine actually.” Your mouth bobbed open to protest, but he waved you off and kept talking. “I’m going to prove it to you too. We’re having a little celebration tonight, just to celebrate the return of our team's favorite medical professional and a successful mission.” You didn’t need to ask if you’d have a say or if small really meant small, not that you needed to. He was up and headed out the door before you could even remark that parties to drink one’s way through a mental health crisis wasn’t exactly convincing. “See you at eight!”

You were half-tempted to shout for him to come back or you’d call Pepper, but his voice echoed from the hallway at the next person he was telling about the party and you shook your head. There truly was no point in bickering with Tony. He was the unrelenting sort that followed through on whatever he set his mind to regardless of the opinions of others, except for Pepper. JARVIS was already talking to you about adding the event to your schedule and chattering about traffic calculations and nearby shops to buy appropriate attire and makeup for the event. In a huff you waved off the voice of the A.I. with a quick, “Thanks, JARVIS.”

It was five minutes to eight when you heard the elevator chime on your abandoned level of the Tower. As you looked at your reflection in the full length mirror in your office, leaning this way and that in the newly purchased cocktail dress that felt fitting for a cool May evening in New York City, you really took a chance to admire the simple but elegant dress in your favorite color. Yet, with every approaching footstep, you worried it was not glamorous or form fitting enough for a Stark Industries event, and you found yourself tempted to put on the dirty scrubs and run home. With those intrusive thoughts, you realized that no Avengers lie in any of the rooms needing care and immediately your chest tightened anticipating the worst as you clutched the closed tube of mascara in your right hand like it was a knife. Then you heard his voice, “Y’know, in the military they taught us that if you’re on time you’re late.” Steve tapped lightly on the door and waved his hand in. “May I come in?”

Chucking the makeup at your purse that sat open with your scrubs on the couch, you tried to act natural despite being all too aware of this being the first time the Avenger you were harboring a slight crush on, albeit one you weren’t ready to admit to yourself, would see you in a full face of makeup. Your rattled nerves and confused emotions left you stammering along to the cadence of your rapid pulse. “Sure, yeah, of course.”

He spun in gracefully, making you realize he’d had his back to the door just in case you weren’t decent. His mouth fell open and you realized yours had too. The blue button up made it impossible to glance at him and not look right into his bright blue eyes. Immediately, you felt like you were back in Mallorca, staring at him across a dinner table, blue skies and blue water bringing you a pocket of peace in the sadness that had threatened to consume you. Before you could get lost in the not-so-distant memory, Steve broke the silence. “That dress didn’t make it to Mallorca.”

“It’s new. I didn’t think I really had anything appropriate, but I’ve also never been invited to one of these things before.” It was true, in three years Tony had never acknowledged you in the same way he praised Dr. Banner or Dr. Cho, not that you wanted that kind of recognition. “I’m hoping it’s under the radar enough where I won’t stick out.”

“You two ready to go in there?” A masculine, vaguely familiar voice called from the hall just before Steve could protest- or at least it seemed like he was going to.

Steve nodded toward the door and you followed, only to find Sam Wilson in the hall. “As happy as I am to see you again, Sam, I think this is a sign that Tony really downplayed the size of the get together tonight.”

“Y’think?” Sam winked. “Don’t worry, we can stick to the outer limits, make them come to us.”

His eyes looked tired, painfully similar to yours, and you wanted to say you missed him but his hand was on your lower back encouraging you to walk into the elevator before him. In an attempt to calm down your nerves, you stayed facing the back corner of the lift, distracting yourself by focusing on the texture of the dress’ material between two of your fingers. Though you swore you could feel the two men staring at you as the numbers climbed a few floors higher, you didn’t turn around. Steve’s hand reached for yours and you took your anchor without hesitation. The pair of them started talking and then the doors chimed, opening to a heavy chatter and music. To your surprise he didn’t let go when you stepped out, looking back at you just for a moment to catch you mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ and he didn’t pull away or pull you closer as you held his hand but walked a step behind him and Sam.

Through the crowd full of strangers, you moved nearly undetected behind the taller men. Anyone that looked in your direction only gave you a fleeting glance before looking back to the Avengers. It wasn’t until the first larger gaggle stopped to greet Steve and ask who Sam was that Steve gave your hand a gentle squeeze and you both let go, fingertips tugging at each other as you slipped away from the crowd. You didn’t look back, feeling eyes on you and wondering if they were Steve’s because you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge that anyone had noticed you or the innocent hand holding.

Natasha found you after a while, two flutes of champagne in hand, as your eyes moved through the ever-growing crowd of unfamiliar but picture-perfect faces. You took one with a grateful smile, “Oh, look at you, Natasha! You look like one of those classic movie starlets. Trying to impress someone tonight?”

With a little wink and a sip of her champagne, she sat next to you. “Don’t drink it all. Tony’s speech is coming and I suspect it will be brief but grandiose. Maria told me there was a bit of a pissing contest between Stark and Thor tonight. Tony and Bruce got into it while you were gone.” She gestured over to the bar where the Asgardian towered over your boss, the pair of them laughing between tight smiles. “They love each other, but they love teasing each other a little more, I think. I have to wonder where we’d all be if it wasn’t for Steve.”

You followed her gaze to the tall blonde, laughing with a smile so big that his eyes were practically closed as his right hand clutched his side. Even with the room so loud you knew exactly what that laugh sounded like and you smiled behind your drink. The man was a magnet and yet you felt Natasha’s gaze on you, knowing full well the spy was trying to read what was going on in your head. For the first time in the entire time of knowing Tony Stark, you were grateful for his little interruption. “Good evening, I wanted to welcome you to Stark Tower after another successful mission. We can and do call it a success thanks to the great mind of Dr. Cho and our residential medic, and the skills of the team under superior leadership.”

With the microphone in one hand, Tony used his free hand to gesture to the stunning doctor at his side who had printed the patch that saved Clint’s life. You felt your throat tighten with embarrassment as he neither used your name nor gestured in your direction, instead discussing the achievement of the technology that saved an Avenger. As an introvert, it was always a bit of a mixture of emotions to both go around unnoticed and to be called out. Natasha clapped and you understood her gratefulness, Dr. Cho had saved Clint, but there was no familiar anchor to get you out of your thoughts. Tony continued, but your skin tingled with nerves and your muscles ached with exhaustion, all while your mind raced telling you to leave. Practically turning off your ears, the speech ended without any further acknowledgement of your work, time at the company, and certainly no mention of your name.

Natasha was soon pulled away and bit by bit the growing crowd moved around until your thoughts weren’t the only thing suffocating you. Downing the last of your champagne, you got up and moved around the room trying to calm your nerves and a few drinks later decided it was best to leave. After all, most of your night had been spent alone, apologizing for taking up space at the bar or a couch and vacating the space to a group that knew each other well. Climbing the short staircase toward the elevator, one hand clinging to the railing as you kept your foggy head down, you realized you were behind Steve and Sam.

“It sounds like a hell of a fight. Sorry I missed it”

“If I had known it was going to be a firefight I absolutely would have called.” Steve was being genuine and you smiled. Too buzzed not to eavesdrop, you recalled the same tone used on you in Mallorca. Chalking up the drinks and singledom as the reason you were lamenting your trip away, you managed to bite your tongue.

“I’m not actually sorry, I’m just trying to sound tough.” Sam laughed softly as they stopped at the landing overlooking the party, elevator doors behind them and your chance to escape. “I’m very happy chasing cold leads on our missing person case. Avenging is your world, and your world is crazy.”

“Be it ever so humble.” You looked back at them as you thumbed the elevator’s button a few more times than necessary. Having never heard Steve talk about Stark Industries and the Avengers’ lifestyle in any sort of negative light, it caught you by surprise.

They went quiet for a moment and you kept your eyes forward on the elevator doors. “You find a place in Brooklyn yet?”

“I don’t think I can afford a place in Brooklyn.” Steve confessed and your eyebrows drew together in confusion. Any place worth living in New York was expensive, sure, but you couldn’t picture him making that bad of a salary as Stark’s right hand when you were making more than you ever would in a hospital or private practice.

Hearing the rustle of keys behind you, you welcomed the chime of the elevator doors hoping to escape unscathed without your liquor-laced tongue embarrassing you. You saw Sam smile at Steve. “Well, home is home, y’know.” Steve nodded in agreement, but his gaze was still toward the crowd below. “Hold the elevator, Doc.”

You hadn’t even noticed that Sam saw you, but if he did then you had no doubt Steve had too. Stepping into the elevator you held the ‘doors open’ button for Sam as you fought to not stare at Steve. “I thought the phrase was home is where the heart is?”

When Steve turned around your eyes immediately met his and slowly your faces mirrored in soft smiles. Internally, you were scolding your lack of self control. “I’m sorry I never escaped the crowd to get a chance to-”

“It’s okay.” You interrupted him quickly as Sam stood between you both cross armed and watching the interaction. “I haven’t slept since we got back and I’m just tired and boring… extra boring really because I’ve had champagne.” Waving off Steve’s apology with rambling as you let go of the button, forcing Sam to get in when the doors moved.

Sam gave Steve a nod goodnight and Steve leaned following the closing doors, “Why haven’t you been… umm, I’ll text.”

With panicked nodding you shouted a quick, “Night,” and the second the doors closed you hid your face in your palm and exhaled, “Shit. Shit, shit, shitty shit. Shit!”

It wasn’t until the elevator still wasn’t moving and then filled with Sam’s laughter that you remembered you weren’t alone. “Did you just realize you were into him?”

Your eyes went wide as you reached around him and hit your office’s floor on the panel, wondering both if he was right and if it was that obvious. The thought itself was quickly rejected, “I think anyone with half a brain cell is into him. Like you said, avenging is his world and his world is crazy.” Saying it stung was an understatement, like you were taking off the rose tinted glasses on your time in Mallorca. A little choked up, you mumbled, “What’s the point in wanting someone you can’t have?”

“Yet here you are, wanting him, right?” Sam leaned over and hit the button for the parking deck. “Does this thing usually run this slow?”

“JARVIS? What’s the hold up?” Slumping against the wall of the elevator you looked over Sam, the alcohol buzzing through your system giving you enough liquid courage to ask, “So, are you into him too?”

With a laugh he shook his head no, “We were both playing wingman for each other tonight. Steve meant what he said. He was upset about never escaping the fan club to get back to you, and that’s on me.”

You were about to scoff, but there was a rumble in the elevator, the sound of metal and something clunking around in the empty chamber beneath the elevator below you. Your eyes went wide and the lights flickered before the elevator went dark and began to free fall.

A/N: Thank you for catching another chapter of my little slow burn series! I’m missing Mallorca already. I hope you don’t mind my taking an extra Sunday to focus on getting this chapter right for you all. Do you think Reader and/or Steve will end up back in Mallorca again? Now that they’re both coming to some terms with there being a spark between them, will Ultron crashing the party will it bring them closer together or drown them in work?

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​​​​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to one of my other tag lists.

[prose-for-hire]

Fear Factor

Pairing: Oz x male!reader

Request: Could I request "Nah I dont get scared" for Oz and Male reader where the reader is trying to see if they can scare Oz plz 💖

Requested by: Anonymous

Warning: Violence. Use of a weapon. Blood mention. Reader gets injured.

You and Oz were lying in bed, your boyfriend had a rare weekend off around Halloween and you had decided to lounge around in bed. He was usually playing gigs all weekend or travelling to said gigs, so being able to spend this time with him was bliss.

The morning stretched out before you, the chill that had been in the air making you move closer together in bed. He enjoyed that you liked Halloween in the way you did and that subtle half smile was on his face while he attentively listened to you babble about your interests. He always listened.

You were spooning him, you arm around his torso, rubbing your hand ever so gently in hopes to bring him extra comfort. You pressed a kiss against his shoulder from your position behind him. He was always so sweet to you and you loved spending time with him like this. 

Talk had turned to your favourite game at the moment, which was trying to guess what Oz was scared of. You insisted that there had to be something and seeing as he knew all about you and your fears you were intent on finding out.

“Bats?” You questioned, to which he just shook his head as he moved to clasp his hand over yours that was still holding his torso softly, “What about skeletons?”

“Inside or outside the body?” he asked, looking upwards as if he was really thinking over his response.

“Outside” You offered, to which he shook his head no. So you rolled your eyes and pondered, “Inside then?”

“That’s a hearty no” He said which made you smile that he had bothered to specify.

“You’re telling me there’s nothing that frightens you? Not even on Halloween?”

“Negative”

“There has to be something!”

“Nah, I don’t get scared” He just shrugged and rolled over in bed to face you. He moved in to wrap his arms around you. He clutched you to him, making you feel so 

As you nestled in closer, enjoying the warmth of his body, you proclaimed, “It’s my mission, no, my Halloween wish this year to find out what you’re afraid of” as he just shook his head.

Throughout the next few days, there had been a multitude of pranks played on your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend. Although, in fairness by the end of the week the pranks were expected in the same way he expected the sun to rise in the morning. Some were good, some were bad and some were just ridiculous. 

Today was Halloween, so you had tried to step it up a notch. You dressed up in the most hideous costume you could find. With some adjustments you made yourself, to make it extra horrifying. Even Willow had helped cast a little extra horror for you. With some luck, Oz may mistake you for a real demon - making you a real threat. You just wanted to see him flinch. Just once, you wanted to test what it was he was scared of. You had jumped out of an alleyway, your scariest posturing and noises barely registered as he raised an eyebrow slowly at you.

“How do you do that? You didn’t even flinch”

“Long, arduous hours of practice... and I kinda wasn’t scared”

“Come on, there has to be something!” you squinted, “The moon! You’re so worried about your werewolf side that you fear… The moon!” You pointed as if you had caught him out but he just smiled a little and shook his head.

“It’s more the hair and the… murder” He gestured with his hands towards his face, gesturing the hair growth he still wasn’t accustomed to properly. As if that was the most horrifying part of the sentence.

You had decided to keep your costume on as you walked through the streets hand in hand. You had a back up, but decided this one was too cool to change out of. You met up with your friends, the scoobies, and you all walked through the town to get to your Halloween party together.

You had to stay behind however, half way there. You needed to double back on yourself and find something you had dropped along the way. Probably in the alleyway trying to scare your boyfriend. Oz offered to stay by your side, but you insisted he went ahead with the others and that you would catch up. He stared at you for a moment, wanting to protest. But eventually nodded and walked on.

The street was packed with families trick or treating, it was so busy and you were starting to worry about your outfit choice. Toddlers were crying. You were ducking your head as you walked, trying to shield your outfit from the youngest kids. 

You stopped abruptly, a figure in your path. The only feature you could see were his eyes. You felt a chill, which was unusual as it hadn’t been cold a minute earlier. Goosebumps raised on your skin as you stared directly into his bright red eyes. They were so luminous, you knew your own face must now be lit up in a red light. 

“Cool contacts. Excuse me” You said, hoping the compliment might end whatever this was. Your head was screaming at you to run, but you tried to stay calm.

“Don’t you want to play?” He moved his head to the side as he spoke. The voice came out harsh, emphasising the last word. The threatening nature of the exchange not allowing you to keep quiet. You just shook your head, starting to move away but you were cut off.

“Whatever. Try again next year” You muttered, gesturing at the costume. It was starting to get annoying. Your costume was clearly better anyway. But the figure stepped into your way again, this time shoving you hard. You stumbled, but regained your footing. 

You turned to look at the figure, who was too menacing to just be some demon you had run into. He dropped his arm and from his sleeve, a long knife was released that he easily caught and started swinging in your direction. He sliced into your arm as you tried to block the blow, but you managed to match him with a swift kick to the gut. He staggered back and you turned to run but there was now something blocking your way.

There was a crowd forming all around the pair of you, boxing you in. Several children were crying louder in the crowd than earlier on, so much for saving their feelings. There was now a more pressing worry: who would save yours?

You gave as good as you got, blocking the knife and trying to get your own blows in. You stumbled backwards, now managing to part the crowd. The knife swinging dangerously close to you. It was as if none of your blows even made an impact. He hadn’t blinked since you had first met him and you were starting to think this definitely wasn’t a costume. You ran at him, taking the mask and yanking it off his head, to reveal an identical replica of the mask attached to his neck. You squinted: why bother with the mask. 

But this question would never be answered. You hadn’t realised you were being backed into a corner until you were in it. An alley. Ironically, the one you had hidden in waiting to scare Oz was now going to be the site where you died of fear. If the knife didn’t take you first.

He snatched the mask out of your hands and used his palm to connect with your nose, hitting your head against the wall behind you. He repeated this as you managed to land your own punches back.

You had started to become dizzy, your head being hit so many times. A warm liquid was now running into your eye and down the side of your face. You heard a woman’s voice. A slayer’s.

He stopped, one last hard smack against the wall and you were on the ground. The demon turned, seeking out the slayer as the crowd shrunk away from him as if they could be next.

“That’s my boyfriend!” Oz muttered, trying to get past the crowd who were all stood, rooted to the ground in shock. Staring back into the alley hopelessly. The collective psyche trying to come up with the latest excuse for what they had all just witnessed. It was Halloween, after all. Perhaps it was an ultra-realistic amateur dramatics performance. Where you had method acted your way into a coma.

Oz managed to weave his way towards you, crouching by your side and gently pulling you head to rest on his lap. He wasn’t ready to check your pulse yet, just in case his fear became a reality.

“Shit” He muttered, “Y/n” Was all he said. His voice cracked and his expression broken.

However, you weren’t ready to become another number on the Sunnydale mortality rate. Not today at least. Not on Halloween.

His voice made your eyes open slightly, a dizzy and bemused grin on your face when you saw you were waking up to your boyfriend’s face. Although, tonight his face had drained of all colour.

“You found me” you wheezed slightly, trying to get up but he just shook his head once. And it was what made you notice. His face appeared to have aged a hundred years since the last you saw him and his brow was permanently furrowed. The others were stood around too, with Buffy taking care of the demon.

“Yeah. And you got your Halloween wish”

“I did?”

“You scared me” He murmured and you turned, your disbelief evident. You. Your safety, it was the one thing that scared him. And he told you this unashamedly. 

He helped you get to your feet, taking on your weight despite your insistence that you were fine. The blood was still trickling from your forehead but you couldn’t feel it so much anymore, it was more of a dull ache. He was going to walk you the short distance to your house and to safety. He told you this, in case you were confused what with the head injury. 

He kissed you on the cheek ever so lightly. He always wanted you to be safe and he insisted from this moment he wouldn’t let any harm come to you.

[western-writer]

Betrayal Beyond Forgiveness

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Warnings: cussing, descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood and death

Summary: The Whitetails conspire against Rook out of fear but things don't go the way they expected them to go.

A/n: Finally! I've been trying to produce content for the longest time but I couldn't finish anything to save my life. But here this is and I'm very happy with it. I also didn't proof read this but will be going back through as time goes on to edit things. Enjoy!

Betrayal is a funny thing. The stinging, burning sensation that pools and spreads like electricity throughout your chest and settles into a pit in your stomach. How it feels when that first jolt of Earth shattering realization leaves you reeling. Questions racing in your mind, yet somehow you’re unable to think or choke out the words caught in your throat. It’s funny because betrayal always comes from those you would least expect. That's what betrayal is. You enemies... you expect that much from them. You expect them to try to hurt you. You expect them you screw you over. But when it comes from those closest to you... it cuts deeper than you could imagine. 

Rook would’ve expected something like this from Jacob - a set up. But the Whitetails? Eli? Rook couldn’t wrap her head around it. 

It was just supposed to be a simple extraction of supplies the cult had taken. Stealth is her specialty, after all. Rook dropped the Peggies quick - almost too quick. To Eli’s dismay, this only drove his point forward and confirmed a suspicion he had for quite some time. Jacob’s trails had changed her and, the cult having been mostly under control, it was time to put her down. 

Eli and Tammy watched her on his cameras as she worked. Tammy wore a “I told you so" look as Eli ignored it. With a heavy sigh, he raised his walkie talkie to his mouth and spoke. “We proceed as planned. I’m sorry, Dep.”

Having no idea of this so-called plan, Dep went through the plan as she was told. The area is secure, now she needs to check to see if the supplies are there. 

This part felt a bit strange to Rook. Why should she check to make sure the supplies are there? If they sent her out on his mission, wouldn’t they already be sure they’re here?

Rook ignored her warnings going off in her head and she opened each container. Her heart dropped as she heard the familiar click and she knew what was coming. She had just triggered a count down to a bomb explosion. 

Thinking quickly, Rook turned and sprinted away as fast as she could, but she wasn’t quite fast enough. The explosion went off behind her, sending Rook flying through the air. 

Eli thought the plan had gone off without a hitch as a Whitetail checked her pulse and found no sighs of it. “I think she’s gone, boss. I think the plan worked.” Eli could only hope that she died a quick death. Tammy breathed a sigh of relief. 

“It’s better this way, Eli. She would’ve been a danger to us all. I’ve seen what happens to people after they go through those trails. Now it’ll look like she went down a hero. No one will know.” 

Eli sighs, getting ready to announce her death, but there’s one problem. 

Rook didn’t die in the explosion. She was knocked unconscious and came to just in time to hear about the conspiracy to kill her. She laid there for who knows how long just letting it sink in. Her head throbbed, probably due to the conclusion and she’s pretty sure she has a few broken ribs. Rook was pelted with shrapnel and is bleeding from multiple wounds all over her body. Multiple bones are horribly damaged.

Jacob, she would’ve expected to do something like this. Not the people she called family. Not after all that she’s done for them. The Whitetails are playing with fire and if she lives through these injuries, they’re gonna get burned. 

“Deputy, Deputy, Deputy...” Jacob’s disapproving voice rings in her ears. “Bet you wish you listened to me now, huh?”

Rook opens her eyes a little bit, fighting off the drowsiness threatening to take over. Her vision is blurry and her ears still ring intensely from the explosion. She'll be surprised if she doesn't have some sort of hearing loss, even despite the ear plugs she wears.

It was sad seeing the fearsome Deputy laying here in a pool of her own blood. Having been betrayed by none other than the Whitetail Militia. Pathetic, really. 

Rook, being the stubborn woman she is, struggles to sit up, only to have Jacob slowly push her back down. He cracks a smile, finding a bit of amusement in this. 

“What do you want, Jacob?” she tries to hiss, but it comes out weak. 

Jacob sighs. “I tried to warn ya. You didn’t wanna listen. Now look where you are. Alone. Dying. How does betrayal feel?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rook manages to growl. 

Jacob laughs. “I’ll hand it to ya, kid. You’ve got some real nerve. I can respect that."

Rook coughs, blood ozing from between her lips and she rolls over. Jacob watches her, almost like he's studying her as she spits out the blood. There's not a lot, but it's enough for Rook to be concerned.

"You have blood in your lungs," he tells her.

"No shit," she rasps. "Why... are you here?"

Jacob chuckles, wiping some blood from her mouth. "I hear everything, Deputy. These are my mountains, after all. I heard the whisperings. I'm honestly surprised they followed through. Their plan would've worked perfectly had someone bothered to confirm that you were dead. They just screwed themselves, didn't they?"

Rook nods slowly, beginning to wheeze. Jacob sighs.

"I guess I've screwed with you enough. C'mon." He extends his hand down and slide it under her back, lifting carefully.

"W-what're you doing?"

"I can't let them go and kill my best weapon, now can I?" He puts his other hand under her back and lifts her up. Rook doesn't bother with trying to struggle or fight him. She doesn't want to die. Not yet and certainly not because of people she would've given her life for.

Jacob picks her up, carrying her as gently as possible as to not injure her further. She rests her head on his shoulder, feeling oddly comforted.

Jacob felt oddly bad for the Deputy. It was never a feeling he expected to feel toward the young rookie. He felt her breathing against him, slow and raspy, pained. Anger burned inside him. Maybe he had a soft spot for her. He has to admit he holds a fair amount of respect for her. She's doing what most people couldn't, wouldn't, or would die trying to do. If he's being honest, he feels responsible for putting her in this situation, but at the same time, this is exactly what he wanted so why does he feel so guilty?

News of Rook's death shook the county. Everyone felt the sting of the loss all while she laid at the Vet's Center recovering and healing. Deputy Pratt stayed by her side the whole time in utter disbelief that the Resistance would do that to her. It took months for her to be well enough to stand and walk around but once she crossed that threshold when healed quickly, though, her loyalties had shifted just a bit and she would never be the same again.

Jacob tried to persuade her to forget about the Resistance. "After everything they've done to you," he said.

"It wasn't the whole Resistance, Jake," Rook defended them. "Just the Whitetails. And that still doesn't change the fact that what you and your siblings are doing is wrong."

Jacob just rolls his eyes. "If one part of the Resistance did this, the rest could easily too."

"The actions of the Whitetails don't speak for everyone, Jake. There's still parts of the Resistance that have fought beside me and some people have given their lives for me. I can't just forget that."

"Sometimes I think you're too loyal, Rook. I really do."

Now it's Rook's turn to roll her eyes. "Whatever you say, Jacob. I need answers and I intend to get them, whether you like it or not."

As Rook made her way out of the room, Jacob felt compelled to call after her, so he did. "Hey!"

Rook stop, turning to face him, seemingly annoyed. "What?"

"I just don't want them to burn you again. I don't want you to waste your energy on people that would literally murder you after all you've done for them. What if when you show up, they freak out and actually do kill you? I didn't save you just to have you be killed."

Rook would've be irritated with him if it weren't for the shock overriding her senses. This kind of vulnerability was incredibly uncharacteristic for Jacob, yet here he was. He showed her a side not many people had ever seen. His caring side. A side to him many people would argue is nonexistent.

Rook was confused at where the sudden concern came from but decided to brush it off - for now.

"It'll be okay, Jake," Rook responds, using her nickname for him to ease the tension. "They'll be too shocked to do anything."

Jacob watched her leave and sighs. At this point he feels a sort of obligation toward her and keeping her safe. The feelings confuse him greatly and he's unsure what to make of them. All he knows is that he hates it.

Rook stands in the doorway behind Eli, waiting for the perfect moment to make her presence known. She fights the angry trying to explode in her and reminds herself: you're here for answers, not to start a fight.

"Hey, Eli..." Rook says softly, making the man stop dead in his tracks and turn slowly.

"Deputy...?"

"Hey..."

With just a few strides Eli had closed to distance between them and hugged her tight. He was genuinely relieved to see her and know that he hadn't killed her. Guilt thumped in his chest like a drum as he held onto her.

"I thought you died..."

Rook had to admit, his embrace felt good. She wished she could forget the deception.

Eli pulls back and looks Rook in the eye. He notices that one has obvious damage to the cornea. Rook catches onto what he's looking at.

"Some, uh, some metal shaving managed to find their way into my eye during the explosion. Don't worry, it only took about 30% of my sight in that eye. My hearing though... I have about half of what I had."

"Dep - I am - I am so sorry."

"I also lost about 25% of my breathing capacity. Major concussion that will effect my cognitive function for the rest if my life. Broken skull and major brain bleeding. My left knee cap basically had to be rebuilt because of how shattered it was when I landed on it after the explosion threw me. My right ankle was broken, both wrists, my left femur, and both my radius and ulnar were pretty well mangled. Did I tell you that not only were multiple organs bruised, but my kidney had ruptured just a little bit? Oh and I had a ton of tissue damage, but I pulled through."

"If anyone could've done it, Dep, it was you."

"Yeah, it was me," Rook chuckles humorlessly. "After being left for dead on the ground... left to bleed out or die of organ failure... you'd never guess who found me but that doesn't matter right now." Rook takes a few steps into the Wolf's Den and looked around. The place was seemingly empty. "What matters is..." she trails off, turning to face Eli. "why'd you do it, Eli?"

A look of shock is plastered of Eli's face as he takes a step back. "D-do what?"

"Set me up, Eli. Why did you set me up? Why did you try to kill me? After everything I've done for you and this fucking county."

"I-I'm sorry, Dep. I really am. You were dangerous, or at least that's what they told me."

"You're smarter than that, Eli. Or at least I thought you were. Letting someone manipulate your thoughts like that... Who was it, hm? Was it Tammy? You know she never liked me."

"After the trials Jacob put you through-! She was terrified that he would use you against us. And I saw it Dep. How you took all those cultists down... it was unnatural."

"Are you fucking kidding me!? Seriously!? I have been fighting for my life, Eli! I've had to change to adapt my methods to fucking survive and you wanna say I'm dangerous because I had to get better? You really don't understand what I was up against. While you got to sit in here I was out there doing anything and everything you wanted me to do." She points to the door. "I was being kidnapped and shot and beaten. I killed for you and I wpildve DIED for you but THIS is how you repay me!? Fuck you, Eli. I thought you were family. I THOUGHT I could FUCKING TRUST YOU."

Rook steps forward, shoving Eli hard and he stumbles, falling to the ground. Rook stalks over, kneeling down next to him.

"You thought I was dangerous before? Get a load of this. Jacob saved me. That's right. Jacob. You know how much damage I could do if I wanted to? All I'd have to do is tell him where this precious hideout is and he'd come down on all of you so fast and so hard that you would never know what hit. You all would be dead before you could get your radio out. The Whitetails would be extinct and all it'd take is just a few words."

"You wouldn't dare," Eli hisses, glaring at her.

"Wouldn't I, though?" Rook answers dangerously. "All it'd take is a few words and your life would be snuffed out much like you tried to do to me. You involuntarily gave me so much power, Eli. Guess next time you'll check my pulse yourself, huh?"

"Dep... please."

Rook sighs, standing up and turning away from him. "And even though you'd fucking deserve it, I won't do that. But I will tell the rest of the Resistance what all of you did and let them decide what to do with you."

A crushing weight falls onto Eli. "I'm sorry, Dep. I really am. I never wanted any of this to happen."

Rook sighs and places her hands on the table in the main room. "You know I can never forgive you or any of the Whitetails for this, right Eli? I would've given my life for you guys... How am I supposed to forgive this? No. I can't. I just can't."

"I understand, Dep... I don't blame you."

Rook takes a deep breath and turns to him again, seeing that he has gotten to his feet. "I've been doing some talking and I've managed to talk Joseph down. They're not leaving but they'll stop targeting and recruiting unwilling participants as long as the Resistance leaves them alone."

"What does that mean for you, Dep?"

She smiles a bit. "I don't know... I mean I just experienced life altering trauma, both physical and mental. I have permanent brain damage. Another bad hit to the head could kill me. So I guess... early retirement. I'm partially blind, can't bear for shit anymore and get winded by walking for extended amounts of time so it's really my only option."

He wanted to say it again. He wanted to apologize until he lost his voice. He couldn't believe he had been so dumb. She will never forgive the Whitetails and neither will he. He will never forgive himself.

"Goodbye, Eli," Rook muttered as she left the bunker. All Eli could do is watch her leave and prepare for the chaos that is about to erupt. The Resistance will be furious with them. They'll be luckily if the rest of them don't kill them.

Rook found herself back at the Vet's Center and questioned herself for a moment before going inside. She could've gone anywhere but she chose here. She chose to come back.

Jacob is waiting for her as she enters his office.

"They thought I was a danger to them..." she mutters.

"Why?"

"Your trials... they thought you'd use me against them."

Just as Jacob feared, they had caught onto his plan. But she would never know that.

Surprisingly, Jacob walked over to Rook and hugged her.

She was stunned and almsot pushed him away before accepting the affection. God knows she needed it after the last few months she had. She never thought she'd find comfort in Jacob Seed but here she is.

And as for Jacob, feeling the younger woman in his arms did something to him. He didn't want to let go. He didn't want her to go. And he would do anything to make sure she didn't.

Some things are better left unsaid and Jacob is sure that this is one of them.

[rae-arts777]

Who are you?

Summary: welcome, meet ultimate despair Dorothy and Makoto

Notes: what’s this? Rae wrote her Danganronpa X GrePre crossover that’s not as dark as the last one that will never see the light of day? :000

TW: death/blood/world destruction

Again it’s Danganronpa inspire.

~~~~~~~~

Makoto stop mid monologue about how TC were hypocrites. His expression went from a face full of anger, to boredom.

Lowering the sword he yawned and looked up at the ceiling, “Jesus Christ I told you this be boring. Let’s just get on with it already. Their expressions are so plain.”

Everyone in the room looked confused. Akemi looked at Laurent thinking this was part of TC’s plan, Laurent looking at the director thinking it was some act she made Makoto do.

“Hey, bitch I know you can hear me” Makoto continued “Get on with it, or I might just throw myself out the window from boredom”

Familiar laugh to half of TC echo through the room. Laurent’s eye widen, scanning the area fractionally looking. It wasn’t in his head, everyone heard it, even Oz was looking.

The doors swung open and out she step. Flipping her white hair over her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkling, her iconic pink lip stick vibrante as ever. But something was off. The way she smiled didnt set off any brightness or joy, it sent a chilling feeling down everyone’s spine.

“Gheez Makoto! Did you have to stop half way? I was actually enjoying your performance!!” Dorothy walked to him and threw her arms around the Japanese man smiling “ah! I could just tell every word you spoke plunge even more despair into all their hearts!! You’re such a good actor! Oh you’ve come such a long way from that kid I found on the streets!” She pulled at his cheeks cooing him.

Annoyed, Makoto pushed her off “It was boring. Their reactions were so predictable.”

Everyone stared in confusion. No one knew what was going on, how did they know each other? Dorothy was alive?

Laurent took a step towards her “Dorothy.? Is it really you?”

“Yup! In the flesh Laurie!” She smiled and grabbed Makoto’s shoulder “and you’ve all meet my little successor Makoto Edamura. Such a talented young man, is he not?”

Oz looked at his son “so this whole time...you-“

“Yes I knew.” Makoto cut him off “I’ve worked under her since you left”

“That long?!” Oz spoke in shock

“Better to teach them when they’re young right?” Dorothy laughed “again, such a talented young man. You have to admit, his performance was phenomenal!!”

Akemi spoke up “I do not understand. Who are you? What is going on?”

The one thing Laurent could agree on with this woman “what is going on.? How do you two know each other.?”

“Right I should probably reintroduce myself” Dorothy pulled out little hair pin, it was the head of a cartoon bear, the left white and the right black. She pinned it in her hair and took a bow

“Dorothy, I’m the ultimate despair. And this!” She gestured to Makoto “it’s Makoto Edmaura, my partner, and the second ultimate despair.” She patted his cheek smiling proudly.

Makoto’s expression remain blank. Everyone looking at the two like they’ve lost their minds.

Abby growled “ok virgin, enough with the games. Did you hit your head or something? Stop this.”

“You’re annoying.” Makoto snapped at her “when you were a suicidal manic you didn’t fear death. So boring. You couldn’t even appreciate the despair that came with death. People like you annoy me”

“I’m going to knock the sense into you!” Abby tried to get up was was still restrain.

However someone did take action.

“ENOUGH OF THIS.” Yao grabbed Makoto by the collar raising his fist “I don’t know what game you’re playing but I have enough.”

Makoto remained unpashed, sighing “shame, you would have been a good blacken for the game”

Dorothy nodded in agreement “well, looks like nothing can be done now.” She pulled out a remote and pressed a button.

A loud buzz was heard through the room. Before anyone knew it, spears came flying, shooting into Yao. He let go of Makoto who step back, a slight smile dancing upon his face.

Everyone looked in horror, as blood ran down the spears, Yao’s body twitching.

“T-the hell...?” He muttered “I don’t....how did you even....? You....damn....bastards...” The spears retracted, and Yao fell to the floor dead.

Ishigami let out of blood curling scream and threw an arm up to shield Akemi, who had her mouth covered in horror.

Laurent knelt down and checked for a pulse, praying this was some elaborate con Makoto set up to get even. There was no pulse. Yao was dead.

Laurent looked up at Dorothy with a pain expression “but...we don’t-“

“We don’t kill people? Old news. Old life. I can’t believe I stuck to those morals, how boring, death is so wonderful” an insane smile danced upon her lips “did you see it Laurie? That expression before he died? Such despair...ahhh!” She hugged herself laughing “such a wonderful feeling! I remember how amazing it felt when I thought I was going to die! The thrill! The excitement! Despair is truly such a wonderful thing!”

Liu step forward, his face stonecold “tell me what is your motivate here? What do you two so call ultimate despairs want?”

“It’s simple really” Makoto explained “as we speak right now, the whole world is falling apart.” He took the remote Dorothy had, making a TV appear. Switching on the channel, everyone’s face snuck into deeper despair.

The world was literally burning. People were rioting, there was death on every corner.

“No that’s not real...” Cythina spoke “there’s no way that’s real.”

“But it is.” Makoto said. “Of course we didn’t do it alone. We had some help.” He switch the board cast again.

Salazar walked away from Casano’s burning mansion, the sounds of gunfire behind him, people of LA rushing to kill each other for the name of despair.

Clark stood in front of his people giving a speech. The crowd erupted of cheers, as everyone took to the city. Fire roar, soaring as high as the planes that flew overhead dropping bombs. Clark watched with a smile as his kingdom fell into despair.

Thomas walked through an art gallery, covered in blood. He walked over to a painting, and smeared the blood on him onto the painting. He smiled recreating the painting in his image. Smiling at his proud work, he took the painting down, and walked out of the gallery. He sat on the bench waiting, and watch as the gallery exploded. People on fire running screaming. He pulled out his paintbrush and started to paint the beautiful despair that London had caught.

Cythina cried and shook her head “no! That can’t be real! Thomas would never do that! Never!”

“But Cythina” Dorothy grabbed her chin smiling “he did. Everything you see is live.”

“We almost forgot” makoto switched the channel “are special little warriors of hope”

Cohen along with the others who were sold the trading company, sat on top of piled of rumble, smiling and watching the adults demise. From their safe haven, they threw water balloons full of gasoline to spread fire below.

“If it was true why hasn’t someone come up to warn us?” Akemi said “I think we hear everything going on, and-“

“That’s cause you’re on an island.” Makoto pulled back the shades to reveal the ocean “that’s a whole other thing but it’s too boring to explain”

Akemi’s face dropped again. She covered her mouth thinking of her son back in Japan. Was he alive?

Oz growled, snatching the sword from Makoto; and pointed it to Dorothy.

“Enough! I don’t know what you’re playing but this is enough!”

“Careful Ozzy” Dorothy’s voice dropped “you don’t want to end up like Yao do you?” She gestured to his dead body.

Oz shook at the venom that dropped from her lips. Slowly lowering the sword he tried to keep a stonecold face.

“Please this isn’t real..” Laurent said stepping towards Makoto “edamame please. You got me ok? We’re even. You can drop the act.”

“If only it was an act” Makoto said “I assure you, this is all true, Laurie.” Makoto pulled out a picture and showed Laurent.

Dorothy with one hand upon a teen Makoto shoulder, and another on Miki Edmaura’s back, they were in the hospital. All of them smiling. There was a get well soon ballon along with flowers by Miki’s bedside.

Laurent wanted to believe it was photoshopped, but, something told him it was very much real.

“She was so nice” Makoto said “the one person I really cared for. But I knew in order for thing to move along, she had to go”

Everyone felt another harsh chill run through their bodies.

“Makoto....” Oz spoke “did you.....kill your mother...?”

“In a way I guess I did. The despair finished the job really. When you’re only child gets taken away to prison while you’re bedridden, it must leave a big empty hole in your heart. I think the despair killed her, not the sickness”

Abby felt herself shaking, in fear, this was not their Makoto.

“Who are you?!” Abby yelled “who the hell are you?!”

Makoto looked at her “My name is Makoto Edmaura, ultimate despair, successor of ultimate despair Dorothy.” A big smile spread across his face.

The first time they seen a smile on this despair Makoto. Makoto’s smile use to bring such brightness, and now...such darkness.

“Welcome contests!!!!” Dorothy spread out her arms smiling “to the very first killing game!!!! Broadcast live across the world!!”

Makoto laughed smiling “will you find that shining hope you think still exist? Or shall you plunge into the claws of despair?”

Anguished filled the room. Everyone stared hopelessly, their lives at the mercy of the ultimate despairs.

[in-class-daydreams]

Parlay (Kuroo x Reader)| Ch. 1

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~1,600

Genres: Fluff, angst if you squint, general buffoonery

CW: Maybe some baby swearing, but otherwise none!

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kenma Kozume. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma's volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay's stakes only get higher each time. 

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

“Bonnie left her spot!” the girl’s voice was bursting with sheer panic as her roommate and close friend frantically flipped between security screens to avoid what seemed to be an inevitable death. Even though she was practically draped over him, he barely registered her full weight on him.

He couldn’t play Five Nights at Freddy’s on his channel now. Everyone had already played it a long time ago and he was sure to get some backlash for ‘copying’ other streamers. Still, any self-respecting gamer should have at least played the game at some point. Unfortunately, he’d had to drag his poor roommate into it, and it turned out that together they had the combined courage of a sugar-free gummy bear.

Kenma elbowed his friend in the side. “Shh! I know!” he hissed at her. (Y/N)’s clammy hands were clamped tightly around his shoulders as she half-leaned over him to get a good look at the screen. Both of their eyes flitted around the screen, focused on scrutinizing each and every visual detail. The screens were dark and his power level was getting dangerously low. He exited out of the security screens to slam the left door on one of the animatronics. As the metal door slammed down, they caught a glimpse of the animal’s unnaturally large teeth and the murderous look in its eyes. Quickly clicking through the security screens once more, the female’s eyes landed on something disturbing. She jumped and slapped his shoulder frantically.

“Close the doors! Close the doors!” she squealed. Kenma quickly checked on the door. The duck was still at the left door and it was eating up his power supply. He was only at 3 a.m., and he was determined not to waste any more power.

The in-game clock struck 4 a.m. and his eyes flitted down to his power level. He paled at the ‘2%’ staring back at him.

“Freddie left his--!”

Suddenly the security screens went blank and game’s lights shut off abruptly. The whole game went quiet as the two roommates stared in horror. The doors raised. Luckily, the animatronic was gone from the left door, but they were sitting ducks in that powerless room surrounded by robots with murderous intent. They sat in petrified terror as mere seconds dragged on.

Just then, the animatronic bear leapt and roared right at the two players, its shrill screaming causing their toes to curl. They clung to each other fearfully at the sudden sight. Soon, the ‘game over’ screen appeared and the room went quiet once again. The pair sat in blank silence for a long moment. After a pregnant pause, (Y/N), slow and unsure, stood up off the floor and carded her fingers through her hair.

“I guess I should get to class,” she murmured barely above a whisper. 

Kenma stared blankly at her. “Okay. Be safe,” he said robotically. 

She tiptoed around the house gathering her school supplies and made for the door a bit quicker than would be considered normal.

“I’ll be back in about two hours!” she called over her shoulder as she tried to hasten away from the apartment as quickly as possible. 

~~

‘Went for groceries. Be back soon. 

030’ 

    She had to laugh. Kenma had started drawing those faces to be ironic and poke fun at her, but now he couldn’t stop. Oh how the turns have tabled.

Even for someone as academically-inclined as her, (Y/N) was exhausted from her advanced calculus lecture. It was a class for second-years and older, but when she’d thought she could handle it. 

“Everyone thinks they’re ‘that bitch’ that can handle it early, but trust me, very few people are ‘that bitch,’ (Y/N),” her cousin had advised. Against her cousin’s advice, she’d signed up for the class anyway, thinking it’d be easy peasy lemon squeezy for someone who did so well in math in high school. Oh how wrong she was! Now she was stressed depressed lemon zest. After dragging herself through the door of her shared third-floor apartment, she was grateful to see Kenma’s cute note upon her return.

Five Nights was still running on Kenma’s laptop on the living room floor. That stupid bear’s freaky metal face grinned back at her. Rather than be stared down by an animated murder bear, she toed the laptop closed and decided that if Kenma didn’t know she’d touched his precious laptop with her “sweaty, unsanitary feet,” he couldn’t be mad at her (truth be told, he had a very hard time being mad at her at all). The damage was done, though, and the teen felt those unblinking eyes on her still.

She thought she’d heard some odd rustling down the hall where the bedrooms were.

‘Come on, (Y/N), it was just a stupid game,’ she thought.

Rather than sprint back out the front door, she decided to go to the kitchen and start on dinner. ‘Lasagna, grilled chicken, noodles.’’ She mentally ran through all the recipes she knew. They had Chinese food the night before, and fried chicken the night before that, but it had been a while since pasta night. Hopefully Kenma would come home with the ingredients she needed. She reached into her jeans pocket to text her roommate, but before she could, the rustling down the hallway happened again. This time, it was unmistakable.

 Her pulse quickened and she fumbled around for the nearest weapon-like object. She wrapped her fingers around a small metal water bottle. Sure it was only about 12-oz., but it would do. She steeled her nerves and crept down the hallway pressed up against the wall like 007. The noise seemed to be coming from Kenma’s room.

“They must have known we’d both be out of the apartment! They could have been stalking us for weeks, oh my god, we don’t even have any valuables, though! What would burglars want with us anyway? We’re in college and our entire budget goes to rent and food! I can’t die over this, I’ve already paid my tuition for this semesterohgodohgodohgodohgod,” (Y/N)’s inner monologue began spiraling into hysterics as she trembled outside her friend’s door. Her legs felt like lead and her arms were frozen up close to her chest. The girl was petrified as Kenma’s bedroom door swung open and before her was a massive silhouette.

Pause. Then she screamed a seemingly impossible sound to achieve with human vocal cords and started sprinting for the door. After nearly knocking a newly-arrived Kenma to the floor, she squeezed him in a vice-like bear hug.

“Geh--you’re crushing me,” Kenma wheezed. In her rapid rambling, he could make out the words “burglar,” “murderer,” and “tuition.”

The first-year patted his friend’s back gently to get her to release him from her crushing grip. She had an unnaturally tight grip for someone of her stature. Behind her, a tall, muscular man with unkempt black hair and piercing eyes strolled confusedly down the hallway.

The Not-Burglar raised an eyebrow. Turning to Kenma he asked, “You didn’t tell her I was here?”

“I did. She’s a bad texter,” Kenma replied while peeling (Y/N)’s arms from their spot stuck to his body.

“Huh? O-oh...my bad,” she supposed she hadn’t checked her phone since before her class started. She held up a finger and reached into her pocket, “But wait! I have this for you instead!” 

From her pocket, she held up a finger heart for her friend to see. The latter rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the smirking male before him.

“Well, (Y/N), this is Kuroo Tetsurou. Kuroo, this is (L/N) (Y/N).”

(Y/N)  seemed to have calmed down, because she replied, “It’s nice to meet you Kuroo-san! I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Kuroo noted the radiant grin she gave him and shook her hand.

“Same here. But I didn’t realize Kenma was hiding such a cutie from me,” he smiled that smile that made all sorts of people weak in the knees.

Desperate to avoid eye contact, the smaller girl’s gaze shifted around the room nervously before finding a target, “Ah Ken-ken! Lemme help you with the groceries!”

‘K-ken-ken..? Never heard that before...’ Kuroo thought.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Kenma continued putting away groceries and ignored the pout she threw his way.

“Kuroo-san, since you’re already here, do you want to stay for dinner? I’d like to apologize for jumping to conclusions earlier,” she bowed deeply.

“I could never decline a special request from such a--”

He shut his mouth at the truly frightening look his best friend shot him before interrupting, “Don’t be a pervert, Kuroo.”

“Ken-ken, you cooked dinner yesterday. I can do it today,” (Y/N) insisted, unable to successfully nudge him out of the way. Kenma was surprisingly strong.

“It’s fine, I got it,” he stopped his preparations just long enough to give her a genuine smile that Kuroo himself had only seen a handful of times.

‘Why is this girl so special to you, Kenma?’ Kuroo wondered.

“Come on! At least let me help! Kenma~  Don’t ignore me!”

‘Now this is definitely a sight I’ve never seen before.’

~~

After dinner, as he was saying his goodbyes and gathering his things to leave, Kuroo concluded that his best friend really had found another person that complimented him as well as Kuroo did himself. This was definitely a welcome surprise. He was happy for his friend, of course, though at first, he was puzzled as to how a simple roommate could have embedded herself so deeply into Kenma’s heart. He pondered that thought for a bit before having an epiphany just as he was on his way out the door.

“Thanks for the dinner (L/N)-san, I really enjoyed it. Treat Kenma well! He’s never had me meet a girlfriend before.”

Halfway out the door, he shot them a cocky, conspiratory grin and strolled out into the night.

~~

A/N: And that’s the first chapter of Parlay! It’s our first fic on this blog and honestly the first fic I’ve ever been even slightly confident in, so I hope you enjoyed. We’ll be updating regularly, so feel free to shoot us a message or an ask if you want to be added to our tag-list. Thanks! <3

- Admin Mango-Chan

 Hello everybody! Thank you so much for clicking and reading this story! There will be plenty of chapters with a lot more action and drama on your way! See you soon! :)

- Admin Kiwi-chan

[astyle-alex]

[FANFIC - Destiel & JayTim] 

Multiverse Mishap | DCU Bat Family x Supernatural

Fandom: DCU Bat Family x Supernatrual Pairings: Destiel, Jay x Tim Rating: Teen Warnings: Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Heavy Angst (with a happy ending), Implied Underage Prostitution Total Word Count: ~156k | SPN vers = 76k / Bat vers = 80k

Summary:

One slip up in the lab has Tim Drake careening into a new world where things are rather dramatically different from the world he’s used to. Fortunately, this is not his first rodeo. He knows how to handle this nonsense, more or less at least. Unfortunately, the people of the world he’s wound up in see things a little differently. And when Dick Grayson and Jason Todd mount an ill-conceived rescue mission, things get complicated very quickly.

When Team Free Will is at their lowest (well, their lowest as of YET, at least) with Castiel missing (and probably human), they get thrown a lifeline. Charlie calls with a lead on a strange young-man who bears a stunning resemblance to their MIA angel. Even with the world on a precipice around them, Sam and Dean won’t leave their angel out to dry—Dean especially has a few missteps he’d like to make up for… If only he could find some way to get through to one hella conked out Angel of the Lord.

This project started as a distraction and got WAY out of hand, but I’m actually really excited about it. I’ll be posting it as two separate stories on Ao3 (one form the Bat Family PoV and one from the SPN family PoV, both of which will be updating HERE...) with new chapters going up weekly, but only one chapter from each version.

As excited as I am about it, my schedule is currently in shambles because I got an opportunity to get the COVID Vaccine and it’s thrown my whole schedule into utter chaos. I’m hopeful that I’ll get back on track soon, but I can’t guarantee when I’ll be able to post here or on Ao3.

Since I can schedule posts on Patreon, that updating schedule will be much more definitively regular. The second chapters of each version are already available to Patrons and should open up to all viewers by Monday!

- Multiverse Mishap | SPN Vers - Chapter 2 

- Multiverse Mishap | SPN Vers - Chapter 3

&

- Multiverse Mishap | Bat Vers - Chapter 2

Read the first chapter of the SPN version below (with Charlie playing a super spy and getting Sam & Dean a lead on a maybe-Castiel / maybe-alien-infiltrator) and I hope you all have a fabulous Easter Weekend (whether or not you celebrate religiously, you gotta admit the season-exclusive candy is pretty dang great!)! ^_~

           A bit of fiddling, that’s all it was.

           Well, that’s all it was supposed to be.

           A device that plays with space-time and the very weave of whatever it was that spanned the gap between dimensions?

           How could anyone just let something like that gather dust in an archive?

           It functioned how it was meant to, it was only that what it was meant to do was cause harm… If they just tweaked it a bit, just a little, gave it an anchor point and limited the scale of possibilities… If they yanked down the juice that kept it powered to a more moderated level…

           It could save lives.

           So… fiddling.

           Just a bit, here and there and on weekends when there wasn’t anything big going on.

           The stupid thing wasn’t even turned on most of the time.

           It was inert and dead as fricken paperweight (which honestly is what the fiddler in question had mostly been using it for)…

           And then… it wasn’t.

           One button, a loose screw, the slip of a paperclip…

           A big flash of blinding light.

           Silence, like the absolute nothing right before the tidal wave hits.

           And in that silence, a tiny, over-caffeinated little voice:

“… Oops…”

_     _     _

Chapter 1 – MIA Angel or Alien Infiltrator?

           Charlie Bradbury knows she’s awesome.

           But there’s the standard awesome that any Queen of Moondoor is simply by nature of being epic enough to have achieved the throne to start with...

           And then there’s the awesome that is having created a automated dark web trawling  program to track the world’s Big Weirds (and only the very BIGGEST of the Big Weirds) and having that super secret extra level deep vault program actually work.

           Well, of course it worked, but it like worked.

           It found an Angel.

           Sorta.

           It found a something.

           And an MIA angel, who was not exactly an angel anymore, but also couldn’t really pass as truly human, and who was still on like every watchlist ever (magical, criminal, meme-spirational, etc), but is somehow still entirely off the fricken radar?

           Yeah. BIG Weird.

           Said angel-not-angel popping up at a Biggerson’s in Ohio with no shoes, more money than god, an insane caffeine tolerance and absolutely no idea how to function inside a Walmart?

           HELLA Big Weird.

           So Charlie, being the awesome Queen that she is (and being acutely aware of what false hope here could do to the people in particular question with this) went to check it out herself.

           Personally.

           And, personally, she can say that this kid is the weirdest thing she’s ever seen, and after having day-tripped out to the literal Land of Oz a few times over… well, that’s sayin’ something.

           Charlie’s met Castiel.

           Not exactly her type, but she could see how that divine slice of puppy in a trench coat could be seen as something of a serious snack.

           Though… If he weren’t an angel, she’d swear he was an alien.

           But, like, a cool alien.

           Much less spy-trained infiltrator than innocent human-admirer who wants to experience the local flavor on his little vacation out to the Milky Way’s most interesting backwater, Sol-3.

           And the kid she finds in Ohio… is not that guy.

           Not really.

           For starters, she’s not entirely sure he’s old enough to drink alcohol.

           And he’s… not looking for Sam and Dean ( which is seriously a BIG red flag for deciding whether this particular angel-not-angel is the right angel-not-angel).

           He is looking for something, though.

           Something he seems to think is in Kansas, near-ish enough to the Bunker’s coordinates to make her question the ‘not looking for Sam and Dean thing’ (but the absolute dinosaur of a smartphone he’s working on to pull up maps could totally just call the bunker, if he wanted to… or any of the plethora of emergency numbers the Boys have set up…).

           Charlie’s looking on from a Very Inconspicuous post in the booth two tables away from the kid in the red hoodie and she can feel his frustration with the device radiating off him like physical Force pulses. Fortunately, proto-Sith this kid is not, and all the tables remain table-y.

           She’s watching him fight with the internet to find something and his device’s crappy security means she didn’t even have to work hard to get her own screen to show what’s happening on his. He’s definitely looking at Kansas, at going to Kansas— Lebanon in particular.

           Messy black hair, big blue eyes, grumpy face to rival any Netscape feline…

           Looking for Lebanon and totally out of sync with humanity…

           And… his oversized red hoodie just happens to have the 2-D rendering of a big black pair of wings stitched into its backside— stemming right from where they should on the kid’s shoulder blades if the wings were real.

           Charlie’s not really gullible enough to believe in signs from God anymore…

           But if she were… well, that would be pretty convincingly Divine Sign-like.

           So, she makes the call.

           Sam picks up on the third ring.

           “So, you know how like the main character always has dramatically weird colored hair and sits in the second to last desk by the window?”

           With a heavy sigh filled with enough affection to make Charlie’s insides feel all squiggly and warm, Sam says, “No, Charlie, I have absolutely no idea.”

           “Well, they do.”

           “Okay. And?”

           “They are Narrative Significant, they stick out from the background in like a big way, but not just in like a ‘doing main character things’ kinda way,” Charlie rambles, trying to find her point buried under the spiraling metaphor.

           “Charlie, do you know what time it is?”

           “Uh, 2, maybe, 3am. I think. But that may have been like three coffees ago,” Charlie prattles off automatically before veering back on track, “Anyway. The point is that I think I found a main character. He’s not the character I thought he should be, though. He doesn’t look right. He’s too young. And no trench coat. But he is hella out of sync… and the blue eyes and black hair and everything else…”

           There’s a pause as Sam’s non-caffeinated brain tries to keep up with Charlie’s infodump.

           “Trench coat?”

           “I think I found him, Sam,” Charlie whispers. “I think I found Castiel. Well, I found someone weird enough to maybe be Castiel, in the Castiel kind of way, and he’s looking for a way to get to Lebanon, so…”

           Much more alert, Sam asks, “Where are you?”

           “Ohio. Quaint little place called Granville,” Charlie reports. “It’s a pretty straight shot to the Bunker, but it’s like 14 hours on the road and I’m not sure the gods of caffeine consumption will really be cool with me pushing their bounty that hard…”

           “Don’t try too hard to get him to go anywhere with you, see if you can just offer to pay for a motel room for the night,” Sam instructs, the sounds of a pack being prepped with one hand clanging about in the background. “We’ll be in Granville before noon.”

           “What if he really wants to head out?”

           “Take it slow and text us when you get gas, we’ll meet you in Indianapolis.”

           He’s using ‘Serious Sam’ voice.

           It’s the voice that makes panicking bunny rabbits being chased by wendigos settle down for half a second so Dean can frickin torch those ghost-y cannibal creepers.

           Only, in this case, the wendigos aren’t cannibal forest ghosts chomping down on campers. This time, the Big Bad that Dean is unequivocally about to destroy is approximately 909 miles of US Highway 36.

           It makes Charlie feel a little bit better about nearly everything that’s wrong.

           She hangs up with Sam after promising to keep the updates coming, and looks back at the kid who could be Castiel.

           Only to find him looking back.

           For a minute, she’s worried that he heard her talking to Sam about him.

           But he seems kinda zonked.

           And he doesn’t look upset or embarrassed or angry, so…

           She is the only other person on this side of the Biggerson’s, (and really she’s the only non-staff member in this Biggerson’s all told besides the kid himself), so it’s really not that strange for her to be the dust mote in motion that’s wound up drawing the kid’s eye.

           He’s not really expressing anything.

           He’s just looking.

           It’s weird.

           Whelp, he’s got that creepy unblinking stare down pat, bird-like head-tip and all.

           The kind of stare that’s not angry or judgmental but feels more clinical than anything else, like he’s seeing through the bones and skin and sinew to the soul that’s underneath.

           Dissecting it and diagnosing it…

           It makes her shiver.

           But she plasters on a smile and says, “Hey. You wanna refill?”

           The kid looks down at his empty coffee cup.

           He blinks, real slow like.

           Then he nods.

           Relief floods Charlie.

           Step One, making with the contact with the Target. Check.

           In her experience that’s usually been the hardest part of these things.

           Not that she really has much experience in ‘these things’…

           But still, Score 1 for the Queen, yeah?

           She signals to a waitress for two more cups of coffee, shots of espresso boosting both of them. It’s like a weird AU of a sleezy bar beat, a remixed mark meets con-woman kinda thing.

           “So, kid, what’s your name?”

           “Shouldn’t you tell me yours first?”

           Charlie shrugs. “Well, generally yeah, that is the convention. But I like being unconventional, I guess.”

           Really, it’s that she hasn’t quite decided what name to give him.

           He blinks expectantly, head tipping over again.

           Realizing that she’s already giving up ground in this pseudo-battle of wills and whatnot, Charlie sighs heavily and says, “I’m Charlie, Charlie Bradbury. Geek extraordinaire.”

           The kid nods, visibly internalizing the information.

           Trying really hard not to be perturbed by that, Charlie barrels on to say, “I see that tablet of yours is gone a bit wonky. You looking for something in Kansas? I might be able to fix your tech or find what you’re looking for with mine.”

           “My tablet…” With big owl eyes, the kid glances down at the piece of crap barely smart enough to call a screen and gives a plaintive little huff. “It is… insufficient.”

           Charlie gives a laugh that only sounds two-thirds forced and says, “Understatement, buddy. You’re grand at it.”

           The kid simply frowns.

           “So,” she says, drum-rolling her fingers on the plastic tabletop as she leans into the leading questions. “Tell me what’s your name and what you’re looking for in Kansas and we’ll see if I can work my magic, huh?”

           The kid’s eyes narrow suspiciously on the word ‘magic’, but he gives no other reaction.

           For a solid minute, easy, they just kinda sit there.

           And then the kid downs a full cup of espresso-boosted coffee like it’s a bottle of watered down Gatorade and flashes Charlie the stiffest stretch of smile she’s ever seen on any face that still looks mostly-human.

           “My name’s Alvin,” he tells her with all the bland panache of a used car salesman. “Alvin Draper. And honestly? I’m looking for a hole in the universe.”

           Charlie almost bursts out laughing.

           The kid— Alvin— spots the reaction. He glowers, quite impressively, to be honest.

           “Well, Alvin, that’s the fakest fake-name I’ve ever heard, but I think I can help with the ‘hole in the universe’ thing,” she tells him.

           Alvin’s frowning again, it’s adorable and endearing in ways it really shouldn’t be.

           “One problem, though,” she lays out. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific about which hole in the universe or tear in the fabric of reality your talking about.”

           Taken entirely aback, Alvin huffs, “Is it a commonplace occurrence to have your universe ripped open, then?”

           “Well, not exactly. It’s more like our universe is the knit-scarf version of a life-raft,” Charlie explains, wheezing a bit as the metaphor sinks perfectly into a crack she didn’t quite realize she still needed to find a way to fill. “Things here aren’t… Well, uh, how many apocalypses have you fended off this week?”

           “You’re really just gonna roll with the implicit declaration that I’m from another universe and you’re not going to question my sanity?”

           Alvin looks like he’s suddenly questioning her sanity.

           For a beat, Charlie feels insulted.

           But really, his reaction is the more logical one.

           Maybe Charlie should start trying to talk to more normies here soon, she’s totally lost touch with what constitutes a ‘reasonable reaction to weird shit’.

           “Whelp, I’m not a Time Lord or anything,” she confesses, “but I’ve had enough contact with the Supernatural to know how to spot someone who’s brushed up against something ugly in the dark and is kinda freaking out about it. You fit the bill, Alvin.”

           The kid rolls his eyes.

           It could be an angel-learned-it-from-Dean thing, it really could be.

           The weight of the sarcasm is just that strong.

           “Fine, yes. ‘Alvin’ is not my real name,” he admits.

           Then he casts a wicked smile her way that almost makes her rethink the ‘learned it from Dean’ idea, because this is… creepy in an almost Demon kinda way… in an almost Leviathan way. The grin is so unnerving that Charlie almost misses his next words:

           “But you know, I’m pretty damn sure that ‘Charlie’ isn’t yours.”

           “Yeah? Well, darn. Ya got me,” she breathes, trying to make herself remember that the Leviathan are gone, that she didn’t even see Cas when he was one of them.

           In any other circumstance, Charlie would be reaching for the Borax.

           But this angel-not-angel (and maybe-but-probably-not-demon-or-leviathan) kid whose name is definitely not Alvin, notices her sudden stiffness.

           Immediately, he softens.

           “Hey, what happened? You okay?”

           Charlie shrugs. “You wouldn’t happen to be allergic to a certain 19th century boron-containing sodium compound, would ya?”

           “Sodium borate? Like Borax? Can’t say I am,” the kid assures. “Any particular reason?”

           “Uh, the word ‘Leviathan’ mean anything to you? Like specific, human-livestock-eating, double-tongued with lots of teeth lizard-men people-imitators specific? ‘Cause you just really reminded me of one there. And like I had a friend go Darkside… well, a lotta my friends have actually gone Darkside, but there was one and he… he’s missing still and well, bad things happen to my friends when they go missing.”

           “Like apocalypses?”

           “Yeah, kinda.”

           “Really? Literal apocalypses? How exactly literal?”

           “Um, pick a holy book at random? We’ve probably hit most of them by now,” Charlie admits, with a discomfited shrug as she vaguely wonders how she ended up on this side of the metaphorical interrogation table. “I think the first one was the Judeo-Christian one, they took things pretty literal. Michael-Lucifer prize fight and all…”

           “Okay…” the kid says, finally sounding a little thrown, “but you stopped that one?”

           “Yeah,” she tells him.

           “So where are you now?”

           “Somewhere between God’s little sister throwing a world-ending temper tantrum and you know a Luci-spawn antichrist accidentally poof-ing up new laws of physics?”

           “Sounds plausible,” the kid tells her, his tone both entirely accepting of it as the gospel truth and sounding like he thinks she’s totally bonkers.

           “No, it really doesn’t,” Charlie sighs. “Doesn’t change the fact it’s true. But enough about me and my world-ending escapades. How about your hole in the universe?”

           “That’s the thing… See, I don’t remember.”

           “What?”

           “I don’t remember how I got here, I just remember that I don’t belong,” the kid confesses, sounding a lot more like he’s being honest than before. “I’m not supposed to be here, but I can’t explain what might be able to bring me back.”

           “So, Lebanon, Kansas?”

           “Has a safehouse I remember, or I think I do,” he lays out. “And it has a power source I think I need. And…”

           “And..?”

           Charlie’s hoping for something about the people waiting for him there, something about the ‘profound bond’ doing something to clue him in.

           She can’t tell if this is just a spell or something, or if it’s a consequence of having Fallen, regained Angel status, and then seemingly kicked it again in the fastest repeat of the cycle yet.

           “I dunno,” he sighs. “I just have to be there.”

           Well, it’s not what she was hoping for.

           But it’s still closer than she thought she’d get…

           So, she’s still not 100% certain this kid is a whammied Castiel.

           But she’s definitely like 85% certain, maybe 87%.

           And in Winchester World? That there’s some pretty damn good lookin’ odds. So, Charlie will take what she can get and will roll with the rest.

           Sam and Dean will be here in a few more hours. All she has to do ‘till then is keep this kid in arm’s reach and keep them both from being buckled up for the looney bin.

           Sounds totally doable, right?

           In retrospect, Charlie may have to adjust her definition of ‘doable’…

_     _     _

Keep up with everything I’m getting up to HERE!

Have a great week!

[katcadecascade]

Storybook for the Gods

Fair Game Week: AU/Freeday

God AU

Ao3

They say the gods left to become the stars in the sky.

They say the gods obeyed the Brothers Grimm, agreeing that humanity was a failure.

They say the gods died and their children are doing a horrible job.

Qrow says that everyone should just shut up.

It’s one thing for the world to contain monsters and magic but no. Humanity loves, hates, fears, and respects the new religions the left over gods have made.

The Remnant Gods as they’ve been titled.

Technically demigods as good old Oz would describe but that doesn’t change the fact that the chain of godhood falls onto their shoulders.

Qrow can only speak for Vale’s side of the story, the dominion of the great and powerful Odin where he bestowed powers to his own children as he goes on his own journey for research and wisdom.  

But nowadays he goes by Ozpin, the only old god that didn’t abandon the new gods of Remnant.

Qrow can understand why the god changed his name. No one would think a scholarly dressed old man is secretly the god of Vale, wielding a cane and not a spear. Disguises are necessary now that civilizations are slowly rioting against the Remnant Gods.

Tensions are as high as ever what with mortal heroes rising and fighting in the name of their people and not in the name of any of the gods. Qrow can’t blame them, Hell, he was once one of them.

Not anymore ever since Oz saved his life.

If Qrow had to pick a god to owe a life debt with, Odin had to be the best pick of the batch. No way was Qrow going end up in servitude for Horus, that war god has been raging Vacuo’s deserts for centuries. He did hear rumors that Fuji was still a beloved god, distance as she was ever since she chosen a mountain as her vessel.

Another elder god is from the north but no one has heard a peep from him in nearly a millennium.

That is until today.

Qrow is a relatively a new asset of dear old Oz, just shy of having a decade’s worth of experience under his belt as Odin’s black bird. So he wasn’t expecting much when he was flying through a winter coated forest.

The mission for the year is to find this rouge Valkyrie, rumored to be harboring souls away from their designated afterlife. As the crow flew above the dark trees, looking for any sign of the whisky sparkles of souls detaching from their bodies, a sudden cold breeze hit his face and along with it, a scroll.

It’s not often paper mail is delivered this way, nature spirits keep to their selves or to nature gods. Somehow a winter spirit by the chill of it knew who Qrow worked for and on the edge of the rolled paper was a cursive address of ‘To Odin’

Ominous, not quite, suspicious, only to his birdbrain but curious, oh he definitively is.

Flying back to the cottage, miles away from the rest of the forest and small towns still growing, Qrow keeps the letter in his peak, its edges flapping wilding in the cold winds.

As if already aware, Oz is waiting at the doorstep. His arm up as Qrow took his landing with ease.

It took two attempts for the god to nab the paper from the bird having fun playing keep away.

“Very funny Qrow,” Ozpin chided, finally getting the scroll.

As he unrolls it, Qrow hops off and wills his feathers back into skin, a rush of shivers getting his bones into its original shape. He dusts off stray feathers out of his hair, “Got it from the northern winds. Do you know what that means?”

“Nicholas,” he answers, his eyebrows knitting together, “he needs us in Atlas immediately.”

“Wait us?” Qrow peeks over the god’s shoulder and sure enough the letter is asking for Qrow by his title, Muninn.

Now that’s pretty curious. Gods don’t often seek help from other gods of a different dominion. Usually they get it through their own pantheon and even that is a hassle.

Just look at what happened between Thor and Loki.

“A magical shapeshifter isn’t exactly a secret among gods,” Oz explained. “Making two in this new world is even more of a gossip.”

Oh yeah, he didn’t take in account of Huginn’s rogue status. Raven is probably making waves in Mistral right now.

Still though, there are only a handful of people Qrow introduced himself as Muninn. A few of them were Oz’ old friends but also two humans he and Raven befriended.

Last he checked, Taiyang and Summer are on a sea expedition in the Burning Ocean.

Yeah, Qrow decided not to go with them for obvious flaming reasons.

So now he’s pondering over on why the son of Atlas is asking for him and his patron god for a visit.

“We’re taking the express trip right?”

“You’re always so eager for a fast travel.”

“What, do you expect me to flap all the way to Atlas?” Qrow flaps his human limps.

“As amusing as that is, no,” Oz chuckled. He pockets the letter and holds up his cane, “Nicholas needs us now.”

The intricate clockwork mechanism in the cane’s handle winds up and it ticks loudly as a green light pulses between the weapon and its creator’s hands.

As rune circles appeared below their feet, Qrow giddily bounces on his feet.

This was always his favorite part.

A rainbow of colors consumes the god and the shapeshifter and all they can feel is pulsating brightness as their entire beings are flying through the sky.

In a matter of seconds, Qrow and Ozpin find their selves at the foot of a temple built upon the highest mountain of the northern lands.

Only the oldest of gods know of this place ever since the real Olympus was tarnished when their namesakes left. The ruins of Olympus only had one resident, a power older than most gods.

The last son of Atlas has the power of a titian but its strength is a mere tale since the old man rarely leaves the mountain peak. Qrow may not know the reasons but it must be similar to Oz’ own lifestyle.

Elder gods have increasingly become isolated from the world, leaving the Remnant gods with all the pleasures and pains of warding over humans. It’s a hassle really, getting devoted to or smiting usurpers or whatever. Again, Qrow can’t relate since his god chose to live in a cottage in the middle of nowhere.

This lonely damaged temple is Nicholas’ choice and honestly it is a nice view.

Ignoring the Olympians’ rumble, there is a grand stone staircase that curves into the mountainside, covered in chilly fog as it dives down. Beyond that is the view of the tundra of Mantle, a white slate with dots of cities.

Qrow is very tempted to go free falling into the clouds, feel the wind rush at him as his heart races. He can picture it now, falling as a human only to shift into feathers right as the world is nearing.

“It’s not the time for that Muninn,” Oz lectured, lightly whacking his cane at Qrow’s leg.

Muninn, he’s only referred to that title when they have company.

Tearing his gaze away from the clouds, the thrill of flying, Qrow looks at the only temple left standing.  

Walking out of the temple of Atlas’ son are two men.

The tall one of black hair is easily recognized by his lighting blue eyes. James, the son of Zeus and is also a major stick in the ass according to Qrow.

“It’s good to see you, Odin,” James greeted but his tone is always so grim and serious. His eyes narrow at Qrow, “Why did you bring your pet?”

“Hey, I got invited by name,” Qrow huffed, straightening his back to have some sense of pride. It still doesn’t compare to James’ height but it’s the intention that counts.

Qrow doesn’t care if James is a demigod turned Remnant God, he can still match his speed no matter the wind pressure. Hell, James is not the only god to question Qrow’s power as a former mortal.

Speaking of mortals, Qrow notices the second guy, someone he distinctly recalls meeting at the piers of Midpass, “Wait, hold up, you’re that boat guy.”

A chuck passes through pink lips, lightening up his teal eyes, “That’s not my official title but yeah, that’s me.” The brunet holds his hand out, “I’m Clover, son of Poseidon.”

“Yep,” Qrow shakes his hand, “boat guy for sure.”

From the humble smile and adorable cheeks, Qrow innocently mistook this guy as mortal. He didn’t elude power like James or Oz and instead just came off as a regular fisherman.

A cute one at that since Qrow, day drinking with his friends, threw a bunch of flirts at Clover.

That’s probably why he didn’t clue in the fact that Clover suddenly appeared before them right as Summer and Tai were boat shopping for their expedition.

“I knew you were a pretty bird but I didn’t think you’d be the Muninn as well,” Clover winked.

“I’m just full of surprises,” Qrow shrugged off, “something Jimmy here can attest to.”

James grumbles, “Let’s go inside already, Nicholas has waited enough.”

Due to pride alone, James walks ahead with Ozpin at his side.

Clover follows with Qrow, as if he’s more interesting than an ancient Greek temple, “So you’re really Muninn? That’s amazing, there are so many stories about you and you’ve only been a god for a decade or so.”

“Technically I’m not a god,” he corrected before James could but in, “I just serve under Odin.”

“Not all the time right? I thought you’d be traveling with your friends.”

“Nope,” he popped, looking around the temple’s interior.

It’s all white pillars and high ceilings. The place has typical fancy architecture that scholars would die for even if there are some dust and dirt here or there.

Qrow continues, “If I went with them then their ride would definitely fall off the ends of the world or fall into the river Styx.”

“What does that mean?”

He ignores the concern from Clover as they enter the last room. It’s set up as an altar room where a stage is under a skylight. On the stage is Nicholas, the son of Atlas, and a pale woman with white, shimmering hair.

“Welcome all of you,” Nicholas nods with a sad smile, “I and Fria thank you all for coming.”

“Nicholas, is something wrong?” James immediately asks, the room dipping a few degrees colder, “This is about the storms in the west yes? I knew there is something coming from the horizon, I can feel it and-“

A heavy laugh stops the lightning god. Nicholas’ smile grows just a bit, “You focus too much on bad news, James.”

“Someone has to,” James side glances at Clover.

He shrugs, grinning innocently, “I just think you purposely give yourself dark clouds.”

“That was one time, Clover.”

“Yeah and it nearly flooded Athens.”

Qrow has twin instincts to laugh at James but also be terrified at the casual mention of how he almost flooded a populated city. These gods and their temper tantrums really are ridiculous, even more so if humanity suffers from it.

Oz taps down his cane, gaining everyone’s attention, “So why are we here, Nicholas?” His eyes shifted to Fria, “Although I’m starting to understand.”

The woman beams and suddenly a veil of frost coat her hair as she grasps Nicholas’ big hands. Her own hands are small and decorated with frostbite but their held hands brings a warm feeling to the room.

“We’re getting married,” Fria announces, a loving gaze on her fiancé as they nudge closer together, “but we want something more than that.”

“We plan to start a family,” Nicholas explains and now the tension in the room is back as the guests realized just who these parents-to-be are.

A child between these two would have the lineage of a titan, a being far superior to a god, and, from the looks of it, a winter spirit.

Qrow recognizes Fria now, her winter powers eluding off of her effortlessly. It is that same breeze that found him and that coldness still clung to him as he stares at the faery.

“That’s too dangerous,” James warns with a thunder in his core.

Clover grounds his cousin with a steady hand on his arm, “They know that and,” teal eyes trace over to Oz, “you asked for Odin to do something about this right?”

The wise god of Vale steps onto the stage, looking wearier than Qrow has ever seen him.

“You’re both giving up your godhood,” the old man said.

“We want to be human,” Nicholas corrects.

Qrow blinks, “Oh.”

That’s something he has never expected to hear. A titan and a faery want to become human to protect their future child from infinite power and consequences.

For Qrow he gave up his humanity to protect himself, well that’s what he claimed after Raven left him. He believed that working for Ozpin would further help humanity or so he hopes.

Muninn built up a name as an omen to malice but Qrow recently sees he’s a harbinger as well. Maybe it was the powers or some part of Qrow that amplified the moment he swore oath to Odin. There has been a trail of bad luck following him.

His only solution is to stray away from humanity, protect them from a distance as Oz has done.

Now before him are two ancient beings deciding to give up their powers and live in a world where humans are slowly thinking for their selves, where the gods are no longer their priority. Instead their priorities are their families.

That is what Nicholas and Fria want.

Oz nods gravely, “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Wait what?” Clover questioned.

“Of course,” James bitterly concludes, “If Odin can grant power to mortals,” he gestures to Qrow and then James nervously gulps, “then he could do the reverse for his fellow gods.”

Okay, from that perspective that sounds terrifying, Qrow thinks, but this is Ozpin they’re talking about. The old man has spent eons making mistakes with humans and gods and other magical beings but has chosen to repeat for it all.

For some reason Qrow is one of the first things Ozpin saves and for that Qrow trusts him forever.

“I’m not that great and powerful,” Oz assures, smiling kindly at James.

James does the quietest relieved sighs.

“Or am I?” Oz notes humorously.

An angry noise comes out of James, his shocked and fearful face making Qrow laugh out loud.

Ozpin returns the conversation back to the couple, “I can do it but your powers will have to go somewhere because I for sure won’t take it for my own.”

“We thought of that,” Fria nods. “The sky is a fitting place to place winter and strength into it. I’m going ahead and naming it an aurora, after my mother.”

“It’ll be lovely,” Nicholas agrees and then the couple turns to Qrow, “and there’s one last thing too.”

With everyone’s attention on Qrow, he has the sudden need to fly away before something awkward or unfortunate happens, “Um, hi?”

“You’re Muninn, the Bird of Memory,” he announces and since Qrow blinks and points at himself, still confused, the son of Atlas clarifies, “We want to forget our godhood. You can take them away.”

“What?” He, Clover, and James practically yell.

“He can do that?” James baulks.

“You can do that?” Clover awes.

“I can do that?” Qrow nearly chokes on his spit.

Oz, helpful as he is, only shrugged, “Well that is a theory now.”

“Please,” Fria begs, walking over to the shapeshifter. Snowflakes trail behind her as she reaches Qrow and takes his hands into her cold ones, “We’re tired of this eternity we wait in and once we become humans we can actually start living.”

Her eyes look just like that tundra their temple views over, cold and clean and goes on for miles filled with emptiness. Fria barely reaches Qrow’s shoulders but there is an ancient power in her being that makes Qrow shiver.

It would be a mistake to think of her as human with the snow on top of her robes and how her hair is literally a mist of frost. Yet the gentle slope of her face reminds Qrow so much of his tribal Chief. Both lived a long life and now they want rest.

“I’ll do my best,” Qrow says, his voice barely trembling at this promise.

The winter spirit’s smile warms up the room, “Thank you, Muninn.”

The ceremony gets started immediately because gods can be impatient like that.

At the stage area, Ozpin stands as the holy figure before the couple, their hands held together. James and Clover stand on the side of Atlas’ son. The two were chosen to be here today because Nicholas trusts them to take care of their people.

Qrow is on Fria’s side of the stage and he still feels out of place. They only need him for his powers which aren’t news to him. Nearly everyone Qrow meets wants to use him for one purpose or another. But this is for a good cause, he remembers himself as he watches the couple share tender looks and words.

Their vows are of the typical stuff that happens in weddings, promises to love each other and all that jazz. Qrow quietly chokes up when they promise to die in each other’s arms.

The concept of death is different between gods and humans. If a god dies… well actually Qrow doesn’t know. Gods just become nothing, absolutely nothing but dust.

For humans, Qrow once wondered where he’ll go because the gods of death had different rules and jurisdictions and he doesn’t want to learn any of that since he’s pretty immortal at this point.

Nicholas and Fria finish their vows and Ozpin wraps it up.

With a tap of his cane, a brilliant light captures the room and if Qrow squints his eyes he can barely see how the colors are moving around Nicholas and Fria.

The light dims and with it, the chill of the temple disappears from the temple. Fria has pinkness in her cheeks and she buries her warm hands into her husband’s white hair. Nicholas himself looks almost bigger now that there is no more weight on his shoulders, a cursed pain that haunts his bloodline.

Human, Qrow realizes and accepts.

All of the colors are swirling above their heads, blues and pinks and purples dancing together until Oz sends it up high, passing through the open ceiling and to the dark sky above. The colors blanket the night and its stars.

They all stand witness to the first ever aurora borealis.

“Muninn,” Oz commands and waves him over to stand in his place.

Right, moment of truth, he thinks as he is presented to the newly wedded and human couple. Even without their magic, their eyes are still old and weary.

Not thinking, Qrow carefully presses the tips of his fingers on their foreheads.

As far as Qrow knows, Muninn can do two things: turn into a bird and kick ass.

He doesn’t quite know where the memory association came from but then again other gods can say the same thing with their gimmicks.

It can be through sheer luck or coincidence or fate that led Qrow to this moment.

Memory is not a title Qrow thought he would bare and yet here he stands, feeling something tingle into his bones as a light glows from Nicholas’ and Fria’s foreheads. Energy flows from them and into Qrow and it starts to do more than buzz his bones.

He can’t breathe as images are passing behind his eyes.

It’s the old world full of magic that no human could ever imagine where nearly everyone is a demigod and nature spirits thrived without fear of pollution. The world has colors Qrow didn’t think existed and now it lives on through his head, an honor and a chain.

Qrow blinks away new tears as the two ancient beings give up their lives to finally get some peace in their souls.

It is all over before he knows it. They wanted to forget everything from their godhood so Qrow tries his best as promised. He leaves things in there, the knowledge of old friends and the joys and grief shared.

Fria will know how she felt when she first felt summer, how Nicholas brought her a literal ball of heat. Nicholas will know how light he felt the first time Fria made him laugh, a rusty thing in his lifetime. They will both know how they fell in love, when the sun kissed the sky as they held each other in their arms as eternity passed them by.

Lastly it is this moment, the details of the other gods will be vague but their hope and relief that this is finally happening will stay with them until their dying day.

Qrow lets go, his face wet and heart beating achingly slow. While his eyes are blurry he sees how young Fria’s and Nicholas’ eyes are.

The couple blinks slowly but their smiles are wide, like they know what happened but he doubts that, he just took away their memories.

Ozpin and James handle their retirement plans, something about sending them to Athens where Pietro, the son of Athena, will smooth out the details.

“Are you okay?” Oz asks and steads a hand on Qrow’s trembling arm.

He tries to speak but his tongue is heavy. His whole body shivers with the weight of winter’s rage. Qrow bites his lip harshly, snapping himself back into stillness. He manages to get out, “I’m good.”

Oz frowns at the lie but doesn’t argue. Instead he walks over to Nicholas, Fria, and James where he readies his spell and a rainbow flies them away.

“Qrow,” Clover warns with great concern but he waves him off.

“I feel fine,” Qrow says before he collapses.

The son of Poseidon catches him easily, his muscles proving its worth.

Muninn is known for his elegance and raw power. Black wings hold the winds of old and can cut through the toughest of stones. Right now that warrior is a twitching, gasping mess who’s clinging tightly to the only person grounding him.

“Qrow, hey, look at me,” Clover carefully guides a hand through black hair, making their eyes meet. He rearranges their bodies, complexly supporting Qrow’s weight to cradle the shapeshifter in his arms.

Two lifetimes are running around in the bird’s head, too much energy with no outlet and they are literally squeezing Qrow’s own memories into a peanut shell.

Wow, Qrow really should have thought this plan through but he didn’t want to ruin two gods’ wedding day. He’s not that much of an asshole. That and he didn’t want to be smited.

Too bad his brain is occupied with tearing itself apart to even think of a resolution. He has two brain cells and they don’t belong here.

Literally, Qrow sees nothing but never melting snow that is casted upon men and beasts alike simply because they wandered into territory of the winter faeries.

Another memory takes the reins, this time Qrow is crushed with the weight of the sky as Nicholas attempts to save his father from eternal punishment.

It didn’t work. Nicholas stood numbly as Atlas’ body dispersed into atoms at the moment the moon shattered, thus starting a territory war between the sky gods.

Now that’s a story Qrow never thought he’d learn, it would be really cool if he learned this in a less painful, mind aching, way.

“Hey breathe with me,” a warm hand is pressed to his collarbone, heating the skin as Qrow’s heartbeat flutters.

With lungs on fire, Qrow barely registers the rawness in his throat.

Has he been screaming? The wails of agony from the grieving son of Atlas rings between Qrow’s eardrums.

It hurts so much, an intense drumbeat in not only his brain but the rest of his flesh and blood and he just wants it to stop.

But gods don’t get that luxury do they?

Humans can live and die and rest while gods just keep on going and going until infinity yells at them to catch up already.

Somewhere in the raptures, Qrow questions why exactly he gave up his own mortality.  

“Qrow, I need you to focus on me,” a blurry figure begs and closes the inches between them.

Their foreheads meet and despite the bright light returning, all Qrow can see are teal eyes.

Burning sea salt takes over all sense of smell as well as the sudden loud crash of waves at the portside. The little sea village in Midpass suffers from near endless heat due to the enchanting fire that rides the seafoam.

Qrow’s sight of that ocean is torn away as a familiar, gruff laughter catches his attention.

On the wooden pier are other fisherman but three visitors are out of place. It is mind boggling and an out of body experience to see Summer and Tai walk around with a Qrow joking with them.

This was a month ago and yet this version of Qrow appears years younger, cracking a wirily smile at Tai as Summer throws a mock punch his way.

He can’t recall what he teased them about because this isn’t Qrow’s memory, it’s Clover’s.

When the trio is passing by, Summer voices her desire to on a sea voyage. Tai, being logical for once, points out that they don’t have a ship.

That’s when the son of Poseidon heeds this call, friendly introducing himself as an expert boatman or seller or whatever because Qrow, both present and past, is not paying attention to the dialogue.

Past Qrow is ogling the sheer amount of muscles the fisherman has while Muninn, the ghost of the future, feels everything Clover felt.

It starts with piqued interest in the trio, all eluding different personalities and loud friendship but the dark haired man is who really catches Clover’s eye.

As a god of the sea, water orientated powers comes to mind. So it feels kind of out of place to sense a person’s luck scale.

Maybe Clover got the luck thing from his other parent, that’s not uncommon considering a lot of Remnant Gods have multiple heritages.

Anyway, only a god with this type of power can see how bad luck just reeks off of Qrow and finding this out is really ticking Qrow off.

He knew it. He knew that he’s nothing but a bad luck charm. Qrow was right in his argument with Summer that he shouldn’t tag along. He didn’t to be the reason his friends drowned or burned to death.

A new feeling takes over. Its strong warmth pushes aside the misery inside the black bird. This fast heartbeat, breath leaving lungs, it all happened when teal eyes met red.

“So you’re an expert boat guy, huh?” Qrow had said with a bit of slur. The drinks in this town were rumored to be a High John favorite and he wanted to taste. The results ended up being this flirt and wink, “I just so happen to love seamen.”

“Oh my fucking gods, Qrow,” Tai seethed.

Summer and Clover are busy laughing, a breathless energy making Clover feel lighter than air as he blushes furiously. With each laugh, the ocean rumbles, something Qrow did not notice before.

“I am so honored to hear that,” Clover returned a blinding smile once the urge to barrel over laughing is settled.

“He’s better at this I swear,” Summer giggled, “Well actually no, he can be terrible at this too.”

“Brat,” hissed Qrow.

“No, no,” Clover shook his head with a grin, “I think you’re doing just fine.”

“You sir are one in a million,” Tai rolls his eyes.

“Huh, in that case, lucky you,” Clover winked to Qrow.

In that tipsy state of mind, Qrow beamed, practically preening at being called the opposite of what usual mocks him day in and day out.

That’s when Clover’s emotions shift a bit. There is flustered wonderment at seeing Qrow just simply smiling like this is the happiest moment in his life.

A sudden need to see more of that smile bursts in Clover, a selfless urge to be the reason Qrow smiles or at least keep this man in the world a little longer than death will plan.

Clover’s bundle of positively is conflicting with Qrow’s confusion on the matter. It’s a bit flattering to witness this but it is also a bombardment of sensations he doesn’t know how to unpack.

The fleeting images of Qrow and Clover in that perfect sunlight fades away. The world returns to the nightlight temple, the aurora coloring the sky.

Qrow ever so slowly leans away from Clover just enough to have their noses brush up.

“What was that?” He asks.

With the couple’s memories, he felt drained but with Clover, he honestly feels better.

“I don’t know,” Clover admits, a blush setting on his cheeks, “I just wanted to stop your pain.”

Well it worked as his head feels less heavy. It’s somewhere in him still, the knowledge he took away from Nicholas and Fria. As for Clover’s memory, it probably wasn’t stolen at least that’s what he guesses.

“I didn’t,” a sudden horror is in his head, Qrow needs to check, “do you still remember how we met?”

“Of course,” Clover assures and he rubs his hands up and down Qrow’s arms.

“Cool, um what was all of that?” He swallows down the saliva building up in his mouth, “All of those feelings and stuff?”

Teal eyes go wide and his cheeks equally turn red, “Oh you would feel that too, um. It’s just my first impression of you.”

“…If this is about the seaman thing, I really could’ve said something better.”

A laugh surprises him as Clover’s chest shakes with each rumble, “It was one of the best pickup lines I have ever heard.”

“Okay that has to be a lie.”

“No really,” he shook his head, “You really impressed me.”

Scoffing, Qrow shifts out of Clover’s arm despite liking how it felt to be encircled by them, “Now I know you’re a liar.” He scuffles over to sit at the edge of the stage. Leaning back, Qrow rolls his neck to stare straight up at the skylight, “So that’s an aurora.”

The demigod takes a seat next to him, “It’s their last gift to the world.”

“Is it for the gods or humans?” Qrow asks. The memories of the gods have lulled itself to sleep in his head but flickers of a beautiful world with a full moon catches his breath.

Maybe they missed their old world and they wanted to put a bit of it back into reality.

“Well, why did you become a power?”

He snapped his head to the demigod, not at all seeing the connection.

Clover actually lays his back down, his arm crossed behind his head to watch the sky. He continues, “Was it for Odin or for something else?”

Only close friends of his know the reason. He and Raven were considered heirs for their Chieftain but after a tragic monster attack they lost most of their tribe. Ozpin was there to save those who remained and as their tradition, the twins owed him a life dept.

They unknowingly pled servitude to a hidden elder god, just their luck.

All Oz wanted was some company so Qrow easily agreed and traveled with him while Raven took care of their tribe. Along the way the god later revealed his true power and granted the twins immortality for their loyalties.

They became Muninn and Huginn, the Black Birds of Odin.

But Raven saw it all differently, not at first but gradually she grew to despise how Oz just isolated himself from the world. He could’ve saved the tribe before disaster struck.

Qrow had many disagreements with his sister but this was the pinnacle fight that changed everything. He picked Ozpin over the tribe that forced him to kill another kid to have a place in their brutal community.

To him, both gods and humans are alike through bloodshed and harshness and bitterness.

It didn’t matter to Qrow if he just ended up living a hundred years longer than fate planned. He wanted to get away from everyone, something he believed Ozpin once felt until they started taking initiative on saving other towns from monsters and chaotic magic.

“I used to think it was all for humanity, the good parts of it,” Qrow answered, “but seeing Fria and Nicholas, well, I didn’t think gods needed saving.”

He looks down at Clover, still gazing at the stars. Just like the first time they met, Qrow doesn’t see anything god-like in him, aside from the arms but his point still stands.

Curiosity takes over as Qrow asks, “Clover, would you ever do what they did?”

“I never thought to consider it until today,” he said, his voice soft and yet Qrow’s complete focus is on it. “Maybe if I met the right person,” Clover trails off and then teal eyes meet red again.

The memory of the ocean is at the edges of Qrow’s vision, enrapturing how stunning Clover looked in simple fisherman grab. That’s not something he’ll admit out loud, the amount of pockets are ridiculous.

Clover is undeniably handsome but he looks so human too, something that Qrow once was. The echoes of the demigod’s feelings mix in with his own, that sense of amazement at how utter goodness radiates off of him.

They may have met only twice so far and yet what is time compared to the immortals?

That and the single memories starts to bleed more than Qrow imaged. He felt Clover’s love for the ocean, its smell and feeling in his soul. How Clover was so charmed by Summer and Tai, instantly admiring their tenacity and enthusiasm for exploring.

The world looked different in Clover’s eyes. The same thing is said about Qrow.

In the memory, Qrow looked almost enchanting and not sleep deprived as he is normally. It’s weird to see himself look so human when he never appeared as joyful until he left the tribe.

Clover sits back up, “Qrow, I think you’re lovely.” He blinks at the sudden compliment and usually he won’t believe it but the glimpse in Clover’s head is convincing. “Meeting you just feels right to me, like it wasn’t just fate or luck that gave me the chance to see you again.”

His teal eyes are searching desperately for a reaction, any indication that risking his heart out will have a good outcome.

Qrow doesn’t know where this will lead, not at all as he drops a hand over Clover’s.

Not a lot can be said about the son of Poseidon, just lore and sea stories, but when he met the not-quite mortal Qrow was equally intrigued and wanting to get more of this fisherman.

He denied Summer’s teasing that it was a crush but now that he suddenly got invited to a wedding with Clover, finding out there’s more to his godhood and how kind he is, Qrow finds himself feeling very human.

Too long he spent his immortality alone, abandoned by Raven and Ozpin still keeping secrets. Summer and Tai were a drastic improvement in his life and now here he is, presented with something new and raw.

“Well,” Qrow settles, weaving their fingers together, “we have the rest of eternity to figure this thing out between us.”

[swanqueeneverafter]

The Once & Future Queen Pt.11

Land Without Magic. Past. October 24th, 2011. 8:15 A.M. Phuket. (August is in bed with a girl, sound asleep. He suddenly wakes as if in pain, sits up and sees his leg turning into wood. He turns around.) August: (Speaking Thai to his bed-mate:) “Wake up. Wake up!” Isra: (Looks at the clock, then reluctantly at him:) “It's only 8:15, go back to bed...” August: (Pointing at his leg:) “Look at this. Right here. Isra, wake up! Help me!” Isra: (Gets up half way and looks at him:) “August, it's early. I'm sleeping.” August: (Reaching out and touching his knee:) “Look, don't you see it?” Isra: (Looking up:) “I see your leg! Now please, be quiet...” August: “I need to go to a hospital...” Isra: “What the hell is wrong with you?” August: (Speaking English:) “I'm turning into wood.” Storybrooke. Present. (Henry lays beneath the food truck covered in grease and engine oil.) Tiana: “Is there a person attached to those legs under there? (Henry slides out from under the truck:) Hmm. Writer boy. What the hell are you doing here?” Henry: “Operation Food Truck.” Tiana: “Am I supposed to know what that means?” Henry: “It means that as soon as I get the engine running, I'm gonna install the fryers, and then I'm gonna go in the back, and I'm gonna get the -” Tiana: “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Does this newfound industriousness have anything to do with a certain date you have with Ella later. Cause you know, she’s feeling pretty nervous about it too.” Henry: “No. I just thought that you two might appreciate an actual working vehicle.”

Tiana: “Oh. Hey, shouldn’t you be getting ready for that date? What time is it anyway? (Henry ignores this and climbs into the truck. Switching on the engine, the truck roars to life. Tiana chuckles in surprise as Henry also turns on the lights. Smiling:) Huh. You actually fixed it.” Henry: (Switching off the engine, climbs down to join her:) “Well, your confidence in me is astounding, Tiana.” Ella: (Entering:) “Wow! This is fantastic. Now I get why you stood me up. You must’ve lost track of time while you were doing all this?” Henry: “Yeah, it's, uh, good as new. And I didn’t forget our date.” Ella: “Then why-” Henry: “Consider it a parting gift. (At Ella’s blank stare:) Will told me what happened between you two. In Wonderland?” Tiana: “Uh, say what now?” Henry: (Grimaces:) “Ah, sorry Tiana. I didn’t mean to break it to you like this.” Ella: “Henry what are you talking about?” Henry: (To Tiana:) “It appears that Will and Ella didn’t quite spend all their time searching for answers, but rather finding other ways to entertain themselves in each other’s arms. (Tosses the keys to Ella who catches them:) It's all yours.” (Henry walks away dejectedly while Ella looks to Tiana in disbelief.)

Granny's Diner. (A small group has gathered while the Red Queen stands frozen like an ice sculpture in the middle of the diner.) Regina: "I just don't understand it. Even when she was the Red Queen, Anastasia was never known to be violent." Xena: (Dryly:) "Must be beginners luck." Regina: "I'm serious. By all accounts, the people of Wonderland were more afraid of the Queen of Hearts than Anastasia." Gabrielle: "Who's the Queen of Hearts?" Regina: (Coughs, then mutters:) "My mother." David: (While playing with his granddaughter's foot:) "Well, prior instances of violence or not, Anastasia was in the midst of terrorising the town before Elsa stopped her.” Regina: (To Xena and Gabrielle:) "Do either of you know why Anastasia might have been targeting you?" Xena: (Shakes her head:) "I've never met her before." Gabrielle: "She kept referring to herself as the Red Queen. In between using her magic against us I mean." Regina: "Well clearly there's something going on. Need I remind you that this is Ella's step-sister we're talking about here? That makes her family." Ruby: (Scoffs:) "Like that's a big deal. Everyone's related around here. (At Regina's look:) What? They are." David: "Family member or not, I think the best thing to do right now is keep the Red Queen on ice. At least until we find some answers." Ruby: "Will she be safe staying frozen like that?" Regina: "Ana's not the first person to have been frozen solid around here. (Circling the frozen woman:) I left Marian like this in my vault for weeks."

(Sitting at the counter, Lily tries to reassure Elsa.) Elsa: "I just feel so guilty freezing her that way." Lily: "Don't. You saw how out of control she was. If you ask me, Anastasia's lucky you were here to turn her into a block of ice." Elsa: "Really?" Lily: "Yeah, absolutely. I mean if it were down to me, I'd have turned her into a pile of ashes. Your way is much less messy." (Elsa smiles, then steals a french fry from Lily's plate.) Storybrooke. Past. The Final Battle. Main Street. (The family rushes to Emma’s side as she lays, unmoving, on the ground.) Henry: (Crying:) “I love you.” (Henry leans down and kisses Emma’s forehead, causing a pulse of magic from True Love’s Kiss.) Emma: (Opening her eyes, softly:) “I love you, too. (They hug:) I love you, too!” (David helps Emma to her feet and the family share a group hug. Catching a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye, Snow White looks over and spots the storybook laying in the road.) Snow White: (Picking it up:) “Henry! I think this belongs to you.” Henry: (Taking the book and reading the last chapter:) "When Good and Evil both did the right thing, faith was restored. The final battle was won. (Closes the book:) That’s it.” A Short Distance Away. (Running up the street towards the Sorcerer’s door, Emma chances a glance behind her to see her family all gathered together before pulling the door open and dashing through it.)

The Sorcerer's Mansion. (Arriving back at the mansion, Emma finds the Apprentice waiting for her with another storybook.) Emma: "So you're telling me that I'm the reason the storybook appeared at that exact moment?" Apprentice: (Smiles:) "That moment, and others. Come, we've still much to do." Storybrooke. Present. Main Street. (Ella catches up to Henry.) Ella: “Henry! Wait. (She blocks his path:) I don’t know what Will told you, but it was a lie.” Henry: “Yeah? Well he sounded pretty convincing.” Ella: “You really think I’m capable of such a thing?” Henry: “Well I don’t know, Ella, you tell me. You were pretty gung-ho about accusing my mother based on somebody’s word. So what am I supposed to think?” Ella: “I don't have feelings for Will. How could I? I love you!” Henry: “And I love you! It’s just... I don’t know what to believe anymore! Things haven’t been right between us for a long time.” Ella: “I know, we’ve both been so busy, we’ve hardly had time to be together. That’s why I asked you to come with me to Wonderland in the first place.” Henry: (Nods:) “Yeah, and I should have been there. I was just so wrapped up in making enough money so we could get our own place that I lost sight of what was really important. You and me, side by side facing things together, head on.” Ella: “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Henry: (Pulling her in for a hug:) “I’m so sorry, about everything.” Ella: (Wrapping her arms around him:) “Me too.” Elsewhere In Storybrooke... (Staggering towards the library, Will tries the doors but they are locked.) Tiana: "Opening hours till 10:00." Will: (Bows his head:) "Very generous. (Turns to face her:) Tiana, I can explain." Tiana: "I didn't ask." (Tiana punches Will square in the face, causing him to fall back against the library doors and slide, unconscious, onto the ground.)

Blanchard Loft. Past. (Emma, Mary Margaret, David and Regina are looking for Henry’s storybook. David and Regina search the bedroom, Mary Margaret and Emma the closet. Regina opens one suitcase and looks inside searching for the book. It’s empty. David opens a chest. Shoe boxes are stored inside.) David: (Picks one shoe box and sets it aside:) “Why do women keep their shoe boxes?” Mary Margaret: (Overhearing the remark:) “Because after true love there is no more powerful magic than footwear. It has to be protected.” Emma: “Any sign of the book?” David: (Shuts the chest:) “No. I don’t think it’s here.” Mary Margaret: “You don’t know that.” Emma: (Carrying another wooden chest, she joins David and Regina:) “Maybe it’s in this thing. (Places the chest on the bed and opens it. Clothes are stored inside:) Some winter coats. Some scarves. The book is not in here.” (Emma sighs and lays back on the bed. At that moment, a pair of hands reach up from under the bed and covertly place the storybook inside the chest.) Mary Margaret: (Exiting the closet:) “Hang on. Let me check.” (After a short search, Mary Margaret is able to find the storybook.) Emma: (Confused, sits up:) “I don’t understand.” (As all eyes turn to the book, Emma scurries out from under the bed and crawls quickly out of the room on all fours towards the door in the next room.) Regina: “Can I see that? (Mary Margaret gives the book to Regina:) I know there are chapters on Oz in here. I wanna know who’s heart Zelena crushed to enact this curse. Because if there’s something she loved, that’s her weakness. (Regina exits the room. David follows her. When they enter the living room, Regina catches a glimpse of something in the corner:) Did you see that?” David: “See what?” Regina: “I’m sure I saw something. (Shaking her head, she returns her attention to the storybook:) Never mind.”

Land Without Magic. Past, October 2011. Hong Kong. (August sits in a hospital in Hong Kong, waiting for his leg to be examined.) Orderly: “August W. Booth?” Exam Room. Doctor: (August shows his leg to the doctor. To the doctor's eyes his leg looks perfectly normal:) “I don't see anything.” August: “My leg is turning into wood.” Doctor: “I think you should go.” August: “Wait, wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I'll prove it to you.” (August puts his leg up on the table and stabs his leg with a scalpel.) Doctor: “No! Stop! Aah! (Speaking Cantonese:) Orderlies! Restrain him! Take him to psych! (The orderlies chase August through the hospital:) Wait! Get back here! Hey! Get back!” (Seemingly with no place left to run, August is grabbed from behind and taken into the stairwell. August spins around ready to fight then sees a woman standing before him.) August: “Who are you?” Mulan: “Someone who can help. I heard you yelling about your situation. And I work with a man who fixes those kinds of problems.” August: “What kind of problems?” Mulan: “The kind most people just dismiss. For the right price, he can cure anything.” August: “Who is he?” Mulan: “They call him the Dragon.”

[casshasfangs]

midnight

Cass rested his chin in his palm and put his elbow on his knee, which was bouncing anxiously. He sat like that for a second and then stood, starting to pace. He could hear everyone out in the pub- but not many people. Not many heartbeats. Cass frowned, glancing back at Piper, “Did we get the time right? There’s not many people out there.” He muttered, then went back to pacing, looking at the time on the wall.

As the time edged closer and closer to their start, and he heard no further voices, Cass folded his arms around his chest anxiously, then looked back to the three girls. Rhett would hear how few people were out there, but Shosh and Piper wouldn’t. He worried his lower lip and swallowed. “Okay. So. Smaller than we thought. It’s okay- still okay,” Cass tried to reassure himself, nodding. “Means we’ve got, uh, more to build up to.” He nodded, looking to Piper for reassurance, who gave him a very encouraging thumbs up.

Piper did a final check on their back-up batteries and generator and then ushered them towards the makeshift stage, before heading into the pub herself.

Rhett was first out. She looked badass in her get up, her look finished with a crude muzzle slapped around her mouth. When she sat behind her drumkit, there were a few stray cheers from the small gathering of people who attended. It made Cass feel a tad more hopeful.

Shosh was next, looking a vision as always. Her signature piece were the long, thigh-high heeled boots that she strutted forward towards her elaborate synth set up, running a hand through her long, dark mane that fell in tangles down her back.

He was on his own backstage. Cass hopped from foot to foot, nervous, and then leapt up the stairs and onto the tiny stage, side-stepping one of Shosh’s keyboards to get to his spot at the front. “How are you all tonight?” He asked, like they’d practiced. Even though there was no one there, even though he didn’t hear the loud cheers they were anticipating, Cass was a good actor. His eyes sparkled as he smiled, picking up his guitar and slinging it over his shoulder. “It’s our first gig tonight, so we should probably introduce ourselves, huh?” He spotted Sonder in the crowd, and gripped the mic with a smile, “That’s Rhett on the drums, Shosh on keys, I’m Cass. We are The Band Cthulu.”

Rhett burst into an elaborate introduction which settled into a good beat, which Shosh added to immediately. He turned as he usually did, watching both of them for his cue, before he started playing again. They played the songs on their EP- Register This, Uprising, Fuck Mrs Robinson, Mutt, Pulse, Werewolves of London. The second last song was an acoustic moment that they hadn’t recorded, the song Rhett had written (with Cass’s help) for Sol. Their final song was Fuck Mrs Robinson and as expected, everyone seemed to enjoy it, as empty and dark as the room was.

Cass thanked the tiny gathering of people, gave a big bow, then headed backstage again. He flopped back on the amp he’d been sitting on, immediately going for a bottle of water. By the time he opened it, Piper was somehow backstage.

“You guys did awesome!” Piper said, her smile wide, her eyes shiny with tears. She clutched her hands in front of her heart and Cass turned to look up at her, raising how brows. She seemed to sense his hesitation and shook her head, “Like you said- a small crowd means there’s more room to grow! There’s no way none of them will leave without a copy after how you guys played, then their friends will hear… This is a good thing!”

Cass wiped the sweat off his brow, tipping back his water and giving a heavy sigh. He looked back at Shosh and Rhett, pursing his lips and giving the best, most hopeful smile he could manage. They talked about it- and all three of them agreed they’d played great and the people who’d showed seemed to like it, but maybe they just needed more time and a better location next time. Disappointing, but they’d be ok. The music was still good. 

They went back into the pub to say hi to everyone. Cass, who was filled with adrenaline, gave Sonder a deep, sweaty kiss to say thanks for coming. He met Piper’s weird roommates again, Oz gave him that same weird look that set him on edge and made him want to have a long bath. Cass collected up the signatures from their petition and tucked the parchment in his back pocket, content to mail it off to his Dad later.

The pub cleared out until just the three of them were left. After packing up all of their stuff and shrinking it into their backpacks, Cass, Shosh and Rhett strolled out the side door of the Hog’s Head Pub. Shosh stood between Cass and Rhett, her arms resting over her friends’ shoulders as they strolled down the cobblestone street, moonlight illuminating them. 

[spectralscathath]

Scars Remain

Fair Game Week, Day 5: Hurt/Comfort

There was someone else standing in the darkness of Qrow’s cell.

Ao3 Link

(post ep 12, fair warning. Emphasis on the Hurt part of this prompt, Gothic Horror, please check the tags before you read)

Someone was in his cell.

Qrow blinked awake, years of training stopping his breathing from changing. It stayed how it was, long and slow and steady, barely a hitch to give away the fact that he’d woken up.

He was facing the wall, practically pressed against it, and his instincts told him that whatever presence currently occupying his cell was behind him. There wasn’t anywhere else they could be. He wouldn’t be able to get a look at them without turning over. If they were here to kill him, it was best to wait until they got closer, where he could launch his own surprise attack before they realised he wasn’t sleeping at all. Any hint that they’d been detected would put them on edge, make them wary.

Or… he could let them do it. It would be easy. No one would hear.

No, that was stupid. That was a bad idea. His nieces were still out there. Somewhere. Unless they’d been arrested like him.

“Hello, Qrow.” His head turned on instinct at that voice, that resonant baritone that not two days ago had breathed its final breath. The darkness in the cell felt almost physical, like trying to peer through thick smoke. He barely made out the shape of a man in the corner, leaning against the door. The window had been tinted black too, he realised, blotting out any light from the outside world.

“Clover?” He sat up, absolutely certain now that this was probably some sort of weird sleep paralysis. Clover was dead, and gone, all because of Qrow. The dead didn’t come back. Guilt choked at his throat. Even just a memory of the man he’d called friend, who he’d killed, that was enough to fray at what was left of him.

“The one and only,” was the reply. Cocky, self-assured, and proud. That sounded… it sounded like Clover, but there was something off about it. “You have something of mine.”

Qrow cocked his head, his instincts flaring, warning him of danger. “The pin?”

“That too.” There was a purr under that, something that bordered on possessive. Qrow tensed up, fist clenching around the bloodied pin.

“You’re not real.” It was sleep paralysis, fuck knows he’d woken up plenty of times to see weird shapes in the corner of his eye, nightmares from his scouting trips beyond the kingdoms that followed him into wakefulness.

He knew Taiyang had times when he woke up feeling cold, pressure constricting on his chest, like a hand reaching in and yanking on his heart, when he was reliving a mauling that didn’t leave scars.

Night terrors. Sleep paralysis. Stress-induced hallucinations, whatever the fuck someone wanted to call it.

It. Wasn’t. Real.

There wasn’t any danger.

Qrow forced himself to relax, because hey, it wasn’t real. If nothing else, he could apologise to a fake. He’d never get the chance to do so otherwise.

“I’m sorry I got you killed.” He didn’t mean for his voice to crack.

There was an answering chuckle, one that Qrow had gotten used to on endless missions playing cards in the back of a supply van, card tricks and banter shared between them. The figure by the door moved, still too far in the darkness for Qrow to see anything. “I’ll let you make it up to me. Close your eyes.”

“What?” He puffed up a bit in confusion. The fuck?

Another chuckle, rumbly and syrupy and sliding through Qrow’s defences like they didn’t exist. “Close your eyes.” There was a definite movement. A step forward.

Qrow scrunched his eyes shut in an instant. His subconscious was a nasty bastard. He didn’t want to see what kind of Clover it had dragged up. Probably the one bleeding out on snow, dying so fast he didn’t even have time to shiver from the cold.

Qrow didn’t want to see that. Not again.

He heard footsteps, heavy ones, come near him. A hand on the side of his head had him flinch to the side. Definitely not real. Clover’s hands were warm, Qrow knew that from the amount of casual touches the guy tossed around. All of them Qrow appreciated, especially the ones where Clover would first shuffle the deck, then slide Qrow’s cards over to him, fingers lingering long enough to brush against Qrow’s.

He felt more fingers touch his chin, tilting his head up and he nearly opened his eyes again. No. Whatever bloodied corpse his brain was throwing at him was not a mental image he needed. He was seeing it enough, if it wasn’t other people he cared about.

Something wrapped around his head, across the bridge of his nose, behind his ears, to the back of his head. He recognised the feeling. “What the fuck- is this a fucking blindfold?” Okay, now this was getting weird.

Dream Clover laughed, this time a lot less friendly than before. “Yep. So, I’m not real?”

“You’re a sleep paralysis hallucination, you’re not my first.” His pulse thudded loudly in his throat as he felt those hands tie off the blindfold and one of them cupped his chin again, tilting Qrow’s head from side to side. He had a feeling that his own hallucination was observing him.

“Not your first?” Clover’s voice took on a teasing tone. “Figured as much.” The hand on his chin tightened to hold him still before there were lips brushing against his, just a little cold, a bit rough, unfamiliar and full of lost opportunity.

Qrow froze up, eyes snapping open to a darkness even more complete than that of his cell. What the fuck? This was not standard practice for nightmares.

Clover’s other hand ran through his hair, fingers dragging through the dark strands in a soft tug, and Qrow melted into it all. He kissed him back, one hand coming up to rest on the other man’s jaw, pulling him closer as Qrow tried to pretend that this wasn’t all some messed-up dream.

Clover deepened the kiss, a soft nip at Qrow’s lower lip inviting him to do the same. He accepted and let himself fall into the sensation, trying to do anything to stop the hollow ache of loss.

The hand gripping his chin trailed down, knuckles brushing against his throat before those fingers trailed over Qrow’s collarbone, eliciting a shiver, and down to the clenched fist, clasped around a lucky pin. Clover pulled back, a small whine leaving Qrow’s throat as he did, their foreheads pressing together.

“Is that where my pin is?” Clover taunted, his grin so obvious Qrow knew he was wearing it even with the blindfold on.

“I like sparkly things, sue me,” he retorted, opening his hand and letting Clover grab the pin himself.

“Don’t play coy with me, Qrow. You got me killed and looted my body for this.” The almost-jovial tone did nothing to stop Qrow from recoiling, feeling like he wanted to be sick. He did scavenge Clover’s corpse to get that pin, or close enough to it.

Revulsion began to bubble in his stomach, his hand coming up to press over his mouth as he realised that a tragic, grief-stricken keepsake was stolen grave goods. He was such a piece of shit, as if he had any right to pilfer anything of Clover’s when he’d gotten the man killed himself.

A hand pulled on his wrist, tugging it away from his mouth before gloved palms and bare fingers were cupping his cheeks, the steadiness telling him that Clover really was looking him in the eyes. The silence felt like forever before Clover broke it. “You can make it up to me by telling me a story.”

Qrow reached up to grab Clover’s wrist. “Haven’t I already told you plenty, Shamrock?” The nickname flowed naturally. He could easily picture the twinkle in pretty green eyes that always answered it.

He got another one of those amused laughs, Clover leaning in to steal a quick kiss from him. “You haven’t told me all of them. For example,” the hand he wasn’t holding to his face moved to his right bicep, pushing his sleeve up to trace a trio of white scars, old and faded. “Where’s this from?”

Qrow couldn’t deny him. It wasn’t even that bad a memory. “First mission I ever did for Ozpin. The operative me and Raven were sent after got a lucky hit.”

“Oh yeah?” Clover prompted him to continue. “What mission?”

He felt those cold fingers trace the scars and shuddered, the touch sinking under his skin and wrapping comfortingly around his bones. “We chased her to the Western continent, the one north of Vacuo. People go there, set up settlements. They don’t come back. She’d stolen some important stuff from Vale after killing some beacon students as a message for Oz. Raven and I were recon.”

Clover moved his hands to Qrow’s hips, cool fingers teasing at the hem of his shirt. Qrow kept talking. “Turns out those settlements? They get infected. It’s always in different ways, but the end results the same. Parasite grimm, puppeting around the bodies of people who were reckless enough to go off the edge of the map.”

“Huh.” Clover’s hands stilled for a moment before they started pushing his shirt up, pausing when another scar came into view, wrapped around Qrow’s left hip. This one was jagged and torn, left by a blade but far from a clean cut. “And this one?”

“Marcus Black, an assassin who specialised in killing Huntsmen. He was sent after Summer when she was pregnant with Ruby. Tai and I barely drove him off, but we managed it.” His heart stuttered as he felt Clover’s hand trace over it, and he pulled Clover in for another kiss. No one could hear them.

It felt too real to be fake. Not even a dream could mimic the feeling of Clover’s mouth on his, before a kiss was pressed to the corner of his lips, the line of his jaw, and sharp kisses were nipping down along the line of his throat. He swallowed hard, each kiss bringing a small flare of pain that was quickly soothed by his aura, leaving warmth in their wake.

He tried to pull the other man closer, ignoring the chill coming off him as he tilted his head to give Clover more access. He didn’t deserve this, not after what he’d done, but fuck it all he wasn’t going to complain. He could have plenty of time to feel revolted with himself later and drown in guilt, but right now Clover seemed to actually still want him. He wasn’t usually so lucky.

His shirt was rucked higher as the scar from Marcus was deemed finished with, Clover shifting to knock his knee carelessly, confidently, between Qrow’s, resting it on the bunk as his bulk crowded Qrow against the wall behind them.

Qrow suddenly remembered what scar was next and reached down to grab Clover’s wrist, a moment before it uncovered the bright violet scar tissue that curved delicately along the underside of his ribs, like a promise and a threat all in one.

“Wait. That’s-” He bit back a groan as Clover pressed a kiss to one his collarbones, sharp teeth closing on it a moment later.

He never really considered Clover as being a biter, but he guessed the man had a few surprises. Still, the sting from Tyrian felt too raw now, after what had happened to Clover. Was Clover’s death his penance for surviving the killer’s venom? “Clo- stop for a sec.”

Clover ignored him with a rumbling growl and lifted the hand Qrow wasn’t holding, using it to roughly push the collar of his shirt aside to give him more access, nails scratching lines of fire along Qrow’s skin. He felt those teeth start pressing against the junction where his neck met his shoulder, right beside yet another pale scar, and a spike of horrified clarity jammed through his brain as he realised they were too sharp something was so so wrong-

“I said stop!” He snapped, pulling both feet up and kicked Clover clear across the room. He ripped the blindfold off and slammed a fist against the thick glass of the window, a chill going up his nape as he amplified his semblance. Come on, there was only so much misfortune that could happen here-

His jinx worked, the technology powering the blackout function making a robotic screech before cyan hexagons rippled the ebony screen away, the night sky tainted purple and red from Salem’s storm, light streaming into the cell and letting Qrow see.

Clover picked himself up off the ground, only it wasn’t Clover. Tanned skin had become white as bone, his nails black and sharp, more like claws. Clover’s hair had remained its usual brown, tinged red in the light from outside, his bloodied uniform switched for a plain black tank top with a deep V-cut stretching down to the middle of his chest. His death-stained pin was affixed to his left breast, where it winked at Qrow with a taunting glint.

Dark red veins crawled their way from his fingertips up his arms, more stretching out from the black scar tissue in the centre of his chest and up towards his face, where they curled over the edges of his jaw, his temples, reaching hungrily for his eyes. And his eyes…

Gone was the teal green that reminded Qrow of shallow seas and malachite, of flirty winks and open warmth. Angry, hungry red eyes glowed in the remnants of the darkness, set over pools of pitch black, deep and infinite and empty.

Qrow’s stomach rolled as he looked into those eyes, before the Grimm- monster- Clover? Gods he was so sorry - grinned at him, inhuman fangs glinting in his predatory smile. “Clo…”

“I like Clo,” Clover chuckled, the sound that had been comforting and warm now setting Qrow’s teeth on edge. “Shamrock’s cute and all, but Clo just sounds so much better, especially the way you say it now.”

Qrow pressed himself back against the wall. “You’re not Clover.”

“Sure I am,” the smile was a warped echo of Clover’s brightest grin. “Here’s proof,” he unbuttoned his vest, pulling it apart to show the rest of the scar from Harbinger. From Qrow’s own weapon.

Qrow pressed his hand to his mouth again. Yep. Gonna throw up. Fuck- and he thought the hybrids on the Western continent were bad, with their bodies half-covered in Grimm. This was worse. So much worse.

This was pure. Like Salem. This was a being of life with a desire for destruction.

“What has she done to you?” This was all his fault. Salem never could have done this if it wasn’t for him. “Fuck, Clover, I’m so sorry, I never meant for any of this-”

“Don’t apologise,” he winked. “Actually, I want to thank you. I’m glad you killed me. Now I’m finally on the winning side.”

His blood turned to ice in his veins.

“Clover?” He asked in a broken little voice, eyes quickly misting up like he was some emotionally messed-up teenager. But seriously, what was Clover saying?

Clover laughed, throwing his head back as the sound rolled out of him with a fey recklessness. “Don’t sound so upset, Qrow. It’s a compliment. You shouldn’t brush those off, remember?” Those blood red eyes twinkled at him, the reminder of how Clover had actually seen through some of his bullshit turned barbed and painful.

Qrow shrank on himself a little bit, guilt and pain rolling off of him in waves, not missing the way Clover’s tongue licked at his teeth, leaning forward slightly as something visceral and greedy flickered in his eyes.

Right. Negativity.

“Clover, this isn’t you-” he started, before the Grimm man strode towards him, waving his hand like he was waving off Qrow’s words.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m more interested in you.” Desire darted across Clover’s features, the formally attractive thought turned monstrous reality.

“Back off.” Qrow flattened himself to the wall, one knee bent up in case he needed to kick the fucker again. His fist clenched around the blindfold Clover had used, realising it was the armband the man always wore. That felt way too intimate a choice and it sent weird and confusing signals spiralling through Qrow’s head.

Clover stopped for barely a moment, quirking a brow. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No, fuck off,” Qrow snarled, hurt oozing out the cracks in his shattered defences.

Clover came closer, catching the kick Qrow shot at him and shoving it to the side as he situated himself back between Qrow’s legs, bringing his hand up to softly run the backs of his knuckles over Qrow’s cheek. Qrow snapped his teeth at the offending hand, catching fingers and ripping flesh. Black smoke spilled into the air as Clover pulled his hand back, studying his fingers as the white skin knitted itself back together in a gory display. Then those eyes were back on Qrow’s own red, indulgence and gluttony filling Clover’s formerly kind eyes.

“I’m not here to hurt you, pretty bird,” he crooned, voice going down into a lower register that sent a traitorous shiver down Qrow’s spine.

“Bullshit. I felt your teeth.” Get away from him get away.

Clover ran his hand over his brown hair, messing it up a bit. “I got carried away,” he offered as an apology. “Besides, you still owe me at least two more stories.”

“Deal’s off,” he glared at him, eyes hazing over in a way he really did not want to deal with.

“Come on,” Clover grinned and reached forward, pushing the collar of Qrow’s shirt aside to reveal the thin scar that drew a line over his shoulder. “I like these scars, pretty bird. They make you look good enough to eat.”

Fear sparked along Qrow’s nerves as he looked at Clover, wondering if the man meant that as a threat. Clover waggled both brows back at him and deliberately flashed his fangs, tongue sliding over them in a way that didn’t ease Qrow’s sudden apprehension.

Clover almost purred at the feeling of Qrow’s distress and carded a hand through Qrow’s hair again, this time soft, caring, almost loving, with none of the possessive debauchery of before. It hit at something in Qrow’s core and shattered it, like when a diamond was struck in just the right way.

A tear escaped him, sliding hotly down his cheekbone before he roughly scrubbed it away. Fuck, no, he didn’t want that. Not that kind of breakdown. Not in front of this twisted mockery of the man he maybe, may have, cared for. Clover was an almost, and this monster currently sliding a hand up Qrow’s thigh was not Clover.

It couldn’t be.

Clover gave him a considering look that was too familiar for those eyes and Qrow swallowed, part of him wanting to just toss caution to the wind and take whatever he could get. Carve out some good fortune from all the calamity.

“I have a second chance, Qrow. And this time I can use it to do everything I should have done.” That feckless, amoral light was back in his smile. “Make the right choices.”

“You’re wrong. She’s going to kill everyone.” And Qrow had just handed her a member of Jimmy’s inner circle on a silver fucking platter.

“I know.” Clover’s thumb rubbed circles on the skin of Qrow’s hip, his other hand resting on the bunk beside them as he loomed over Qrow. “But not you.”

“Why not?” He hunched his shoulders defensively, wondering why he wasn’t shoving him away. He hated how under the deathly pallor and red veins he could still see Clover’s jaw, how the fangs caused the laugh lines on Clover’s face. It was too familiar and not close enough to what he wanted.

“Because I have a second chance to say everything I should have said.” Clover leaned forward so his next words were growled into Qrow’s ear. “That I want you, Qrow. That I want you to be mine. That I want to find out what we could have. I want to find out if I can love you, pretty bird.”

Clover pulled back and looked him in the eye, something regretful, almost human, flickering in the depths of endless red. “When I said you had something of mine, I meant that you have my heart. It’s yours. Are you going to tell me that after everything, you don’t feel any of that yourself?”

Qrow’s mouth felt dry, paralysed with the choice. It wasn’t right. This wasn’t Clover, this couldn’t be Clover. This had to be a Grimm taking Clover’s body for a spin.Saying the words Qrow wished he could have heard. It was a trick, a trap, a lie. It had to be.

He’d seen hybrids. They never looked like this. This was like Salem. This was as though Clover’s very essence had been changed, on a deep and irreversible level.

But it had still been Salem. Proud, arrogant, hurting Salem, who had sparked a conflict between gods that brought a world to ruin, long before she ever became what she was now.

This was still Clover. Twisted, dark, destructive, but part of him still had to be his Clover.

Maybe that part of him staring back into Qrow’s eyes, with a trace of apology and guilt swimming under the carnal desire.

He extended a hand to rest on Clover’s chest, cringing as he touched the blackened scar, and felt something thump under his fingers. Maybe it was a heart. Maybe it was still human.

Maybe Qrow was fooling himself.

But he pulled Clover close anyway, whispering something that wasn’t quite an ‘I love you’ against the monster’s lips, before Clover’s next kiss, sharp with victory, stole his breath away.

-------

And though no one's to blame, It's a crime and a shame, But it's true all the same, It's a dangerous game...

This was very fun. Gothic Horror is one of my favourite genres to play with. Poor Clover just isn’t lucky whenever I play resurrectionist, now is he?

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 25

His fucking keys have gone missing and Curly feels like an absolute twat as he darts around the lounge in search of them - ten minutes after he set himself up to storm out of the building. Jules has probably nicked them, the fucker; stole his car again to meet with his bird who Curly’s not sure is even real.

As if he wasn’t pissed off already, and now this. Now he can’t even get into his own pissing car and drive off.

“I really don’t see the fuckin’ issue,” Jules grunts, flicking through his mail as if he gives a toss about brochures and overdue dentist appointments.

“You can’t just rent out my room when I’m not here, Julian,” he snaps. “It’s my bloody room!”

“Don’t Julian me. What’s the problem if you’re never in it? I need the cash, Curly, I—”

“I need the cash! We all fucking do!”

He digs around between the couch cushions, then lifts one to check beneath it. Curls bats Oscar off the other side of the seat, who’s been sitting silently throughout the entire duration of the argument - not to keep his nose out, but because he’s been trying for the past forty-five minutes to rewire Curly’s speaker - the one Jules’ fucking tenant broke. Yeah, tenant: the bloke who’s been paying to kip in Curly’s bed when he’s been at Jordan’s. Oscar’s hands are shaking though, barely even a day and a half into ‘sobriety’ and already showing signs of failure. The speaker’s not getting mended any time soon.

“I’ll give you a cut of the money, then,” Jules barters, opening the next envelope as his dirty boots scuff the coffee table. “Not a huge deal— oh, this is yours,” he mumbles and holds out the opened mail.

He snatches the papers from Jules, swatting him over the head with them until the man gets the memo and moves off the armchair where Curly proceeds with the search for his keys.

“Fuck the money, I want my room to myself, ta.” No keys under that cushion either and he’s becoming increasingly impatient. “You know Jules, you can be such a selfish prick sometimes.”

“Me?” He finally gets a rise out of the guy, who chucks what’s left of the pile off to one side as he straightens up. “All you fuckin’ do is take my drugs and clients and I don’t get shit for it! And now I’m making honest money and you can’t even let me have that? You’re the selfish one, Curly. Not me.”

“Funny that, because you’re charging me more for your drugs this week than you ever have. So how does that work, mate? Doesn’t sounds that honest to me.” He could make a jab about Oscar, is this close to supposing the inflammation has something to do with nearly killing off their flatmate last month, but Jules’ response beats him to the punch.

“If you weren’t off with that fucking psycho all the time, maybe we’d hang out like we used to and maybe you’d get my shit for free,” Jules argues, but he doesn’t get a response because Curly’s too busy gutting the storage unit in the corner of the room to respond. He pulls the drawer off the track to get a better look inside. Jules must be dissatisfied with this, because he adds, “how does that even work? You just woke up a fag one day? What the fuck is—”

Curly lobs the drawer at his head.

He hears Oscar go “woah, woah, woah,” but it’s Jules that he’s pointing accusingly at, who’s got a hand pressed to his temple, red in the face and fuming. He points at Curly next though, calls him a fucking idiot and tells him to sit down.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Jules is paying Oscar just as much mind as Curly is: none at all.

“D’you wanna call me a fag again?” He abandons his search momentarily, in favour of pacing across the room, palms shoving Jules’ chest and having him stumble back a few steps. “‘ey?”

Jules shoves him back. Oscar says, “come on, guys. Fuck. Let’s not—”

“Fag.”

He sees red; remembers for a split second how the same word had left Jules’ mouth in that alleyway, before Curly woke up with Jordan who had blood on his shirt, on Jeff and Dean’s couch. His vision’s blurred around the edges, pulsing in time to the pressure in his fingertips as they curl around the redhead's collar, and then he’s on his back and Curly’s above him, fist drawing back from a punch he didn’t realise he’d thrown, and Oscar is pulling him back so hard that he stumbles to find his feet again.

“I put them in the fucking kitchen, Curly,” Oscar shouts as he pulls Jules up next. “Your keys. They’re under the sink.”

Oscar must know that Curls won’t go for him again; he’s got it out of his system. Jules wouldn’t bloody dare throw a punch either. They’re all just stood there, panting, like the fight had gone on for longer than it had.

“Why the fuck would you put them in there?”

“You’re high.” He’s not sure which one of them says it, but Oscar’s hand’s not on Jules anymore, but are both on Curly’s face, holding his attention until he tears himself away. He’s marching into the kitchen and they both sound the fucking same anyway.

It’s just coke. He’s off heroin – has been for as long as Oscar has. “We’ll do it together.” It was his own idea. Saturday, in Oscar’s room right before they took their last hit. This is nothing – he’s driven like this before; could do it with his eyes shut; probably has.

He finds the keys in the cupboard drawer and slams it before leaving the kitchen. Jules and Oscar are stood side-by-side, one still catching his breath and the other with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m fine.” He sniffs, chews his lip - can’t feel it. “Wind you’re fucking neck in and stay out of my room—”

“You’re aware that you’re still a junkie, right?” Oscar says. Jules has learnt his lesson now, staying quiet at his side. “Just because you’re not doing dope, doesn’t mean you’re suddenly fixed.”

He eyes his bag, dumped by the door and waiting to be swung into his passenger seat for the two nights he’s planned to spend with Jordan. He thinks about how much space is left in there and how much he needs.

“Don’t get all high and mighty because you’ve switched to painkillers, mate. You’re just as bad. You know what?” No response. “I’ve got a better idea, yeah?” He nods erratically. “I’ll stay out. You can have the shithole – tell your foreign mate he can stay. I’m going.”

“Yo, hey—” Oscar starts as Jules calls, “Curly, c’mon. I’m just worried—”

Curly grabs the bag, heads for his bedroom and slams the door behind him and neither of them follows him.

As he darts around the room, packing, Curly quickly realises that only a fraction of his belongings will fit in the bag. He rubs his face, scrunches his eyes and shuffles on his feet as he thinks.

He pulls the sheets off his bed. That'll do – if he can just wrap all of his shit—

“Curls.” He hadn’t even heard his door open – or shut, for that matter, Oscar stood with his back to it.

“Fuck off.” He can’t be arsed. Doesn’t wanna hear it – can barely hear it anyway over that pounding in his hears.

“I take a couple aspirin a day,” Oz tells him, and Curly gives up on filling his duvet with his shit, his audience making him realise just how daft of an idea it is. Oscar leans against the door stubbornly. “It’s hardly the same as the amount you’ve been snorting, you—God, can you look at me a sec?”

No, he can’t. Can barely fucking see; his vision red and black and blurred, furious. “Please, Oscar. I’m telling you.”

“You were doing well for a second – better than me. You wouldn’t be this pissed off if you thought I was wrong.”

“Don’t even—”

“Or if you were sober. You not even acting like yourse—”

Curly doesn’t know what he throws -just grabs it and chucks- until the ashtray hits the wall beside Oscar’s head; barely even breaks; chips the paint on the wall more than it does the glass. “Fucking get out!”

Oscar’s so quiet -so still- that Curly almost says he’s sorry, but then the man is opening the door again and slipping out of the room. He turns back to the job at hand, shaking as he picks out the best of everything he has -clothes, mostly; everything else at his mum’s house or in his duffel bag already- then stuffs what he can in a second bag and swings it over his shoulder. He grabs his duffel bag on his way to the door and, as he lumbers it through the living room, Jules and Oscar sit back and watch.

It’d probably be a funny sight if he hadn’t just chucked a drawer at one of them and an ashtray at the other in a semi-coked-out craze.

He tosses his key at them and slams the door behind him.

Bet they think I’m bluffing. He shakes his head at the fact as he crams everything into the boot of his car. I don’t fucking need them, you know. He doesn’t. They’ve been dragging me down this whole time. Everyone’s said it; Jeff, Dean and Jordan - even his mum said it and she only met him once in the supermarket frozen food section.

God, he doesn’t need them.

Curly’s only made it about four blocks away when he pulls over. Not to go back -absolutely fucking not- but he’s so pissed off that his hands are shaking and he’s getting one of those headaches between his eyes that usually warn him that his nose is about to bleed. That and the fact that, for a moment, he’d let himself think about what it was like back in England, illegally driving his mate’s cars on quiet nights on roads they knew would be empty. Next thing he knew, he was on the left side like he was right there in Brentwood again.

He flicks his engine off for a while and just sits.

Jordan can’t know, he’s decided. Jordan can’t know because then he’ll ask him to move in and not only will Curly have to bring his stupid bloody habits into his home, but he’ll feel daft and pathetic and like a burden when Jordan’s paying all their bills and Curly’s not even got a real job on the go. No, he’ll sort it out himself. Get some money in and get his own flat.

He’ll sort it.

Maybe Brandon will move out and live with him. Yeah, that’d be mint, actually. He—

He hasn’t heard from Brandon in ages.

Fuck it, he’ll sort it all out himself.

By the time he gets to Jordan’s, his mind is cleared up from its previous fog and his headache has eased, having narrowly escaped the nosebleed he’d been sure was coming.

“You look fucking rough, sweetheart,” Jordan observes as he grinds a fag out on the windowsill. New Order are playing from the telly, and Curly’s not sure if Jordan’s left the CD in since Curly was here last, or if he’s put the album back on just for him. The man wafts the smokey air a little before he pulls the window shut. “You on a come down or somethin’?”

Curly’s still shrugging off his jacket as he says, “or summet, yeah.” He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how honest and aloof J can be. “Had a row with the boys,” Curly then adds, deciding the Jordan can know at least the foundations of it all. “They do my head in.”

J just hums, crossing the room now and swerving around the couch to place a hand on the back of Curly’s neck. His fingers tangle in his hair as he plants a kiss on his lips before he takes Curly’s bag from his shoulder.

“Made coffee,” he tells him as he steps away and heads for the small bedroom. The catch on the door hasn’t worked properly for as long as Curly’s been coming here so Jordan just has to nudge it with his foot to open it before he chucks the bag onto his bed, all visible from where Curls stands in the doorway.

“You know you can just leave your shit here, right,” Jordan says as he heads back towards Curly again, who’s forgotten to move away from the door thus far. “I mean, you’re here enough. I’ll clear some space for it, save you cluttering my room all the fuckin’ time.”

“No,” he’s quick to say, shaking his head. Jordan looks taken aback by his haste, so he adds, “I mean, I don’t have loads of stuff - always losing shit, so.” He shrugs. No point leaving shit here when it doesn’t have anywhere of permanence anymore. Might as well keep hold of it.

Jordan hums. “Noted.”

He’s not sure where all that anger has gone. Still in his back seat with the rest of his shit, probably. He should probably apologise. Should he? To Oscar, not Jules. The ashtray was probably a step too far, now he thinks about it. Oz has been insufferably high more times than Curly can count, and never once has he had an ashtray breeze his head.

“Listen,” J grumbles, looking sorry for himself as he crowds Curly up behind the sofa. “I really wanna get out today.” The man’s lips press just below his ear as he mumbles, “can we go to iHop?”

Curly must be going soft because he feels so warm; loves that no one else sees Jordan like this. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly feeling all overwhelmed, but he is, as he takes Jordan’s wrists and mauls the blond’s arms to wind around his own shoulders before he presses his face to his neck.

“Sounds good,” he says against him with a small nod. “Can you drive?”

“Sure. You alright?”

He just hums in reply. He doesn’t want to say that, despite getting here in one piece, he’s got a feeling it’ll only take all of thirty seconds of him behind the wheel for Jordan to realise he’s in no state to drive. Instead, he just mumbles, “head’s banging.”

“We don’t have to—”

“No, I could murder a milkshake.”

He calls Oscar on the way to say sorry, but he doesn’t answer.