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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Note

Can you imagine Chris with a fever? Trying to tell jake he doesn’t feel well, he wants to be held, but the high fever only makes it harder to talk? Everyone in the safe house crowded around, desperate to cool him down bc they can go to a hospital?

CW: Feverish, sickness, mentions of symptoms of sickness + references to past noncon/dubcon, plus fucky thought processes around that. Vague references to past torture.

Timeline: Chris’s first week at the shelter.

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump

His bones hurt, but he keeps that to himself. It's just bones, after all, and he's had way more of him hurt much worse than this.

At least, it starts with bones, just in his upper arms and in his thighs, and he thinks maybe it’s because he is always tense in this strange new place. The house seems small compared to Sir’s mansion but he is allowed to move around all of it, not just one hallway of rooms.

This makes him nervous but he does, anyway, padding silent and still as a mouse around the hallways and down the stairs at night, searching for signs that this will be a life he understands.

He finds none.

There is no basement, or if there is, they don’t show him. He doesn’t know what happened, exactly - there was a night where Sir had a party, and then he was put in a car and then another car and then there was this new place, these new people.

No, at first it’s really just his thighs, an ache buried so deep under the skin that no amount of rubbing against it seems to work it out. After that, his arms start to hurt, and then down his calves, and finally it settles in at his hips like two hands are gripped on tight. The ache is familiar, a memory of a life he doesn’t have to live any longer.

They tell him he doesn’t, anyway.

They tell him he doesn’t have to do that, here, but there are two men and three women and he thinks maybe eventually he will have to be good. He’s not trained for women but it can’t be that different, can it? He tries not to think about it very much, and hopes if he just stays quiet, and still, and holds his hands in little stone fists at his sides that no one will notice him.

If they don’t notice him, they won’t ask, and he won’t have to, even though he kind of wants to, but also he doesn’t, and he can’t remember if he ever really did or if it was always a voice inside him that someone put there on purpose to make him like this.

He wants to be held but he is scared of what it means, because it’s never just holding. It always means having to be good. Maybe not right away, but always, sooner or later.

Does he actually want to be held? Or did they do that to him, with all the time he spent alone, praying someone would open the door to the white room?

He wants someone to hold him while he feels like this, but… his bones hurt too much for what happens after the holding, and he feels so cold, like being back in the white rooms that have all blurred together.

Once all the other hurts are joined by a strange, pounding headache that won’t lift, a weight like his brain is solidifying inside his skull, the boy takes a big soft blanket right off the bed of the larger man who lives here and finds a place to hide.

They're all downstairs, the other people here.

There’s a storage room at the end of the hallway where all the bedrooms are, and the door isn’t locked - at Sir’s all the doors are locked except the rooms he’s allowed in, so that must mean he’s allowed in here.

He’s having trouble walking, there’s a dizzy lilt to his footsteps and he seems to keep bumping into the wall even though he thought he was walking straight. He trips on the blanket as it trails the floor, over and over again. Somehow it never occurs to him to pick the blanket up.

The door looks wrong, for reasons he can't explain. The boy gets briefly lost in the swirl of the woodgrain, staring at what looks like another set of wood-eyes, frozen in surprise, staring right back.

He has to blink again and again and again to get the wood-eyes to fade away.

They are laughing at something downstairs and the sound makes the boy nervous - Sir laughing usually meant things Sir thought were good, and the boy had to be good but he never thought they were good. He has to hide, or they'll see his wobbly legs and play games with him.

Sir likes games, when the boy is tired or sick from the pills or sad. The boy doesn't want to play games, here. They have said they won't hurt him but games don't always hurt the outside.

He gets the doorknob to turn after three tries, slips into the little storage room, and sees the perfect hiding spot.

There’s a huge wooden desk shoved up against one wall, stacked high with what looks like photo albums, folders stuffed until they’re bursting, loose stacks of paper, brochures and flyers, plus old books and all kinds of things.

On top of one stack of flyers, there an ancient stuffed puppydog, with floppy arms and legs and floppy ears and a strange bronze yellow no-color fur, threadbare in patches where someone loved it, once. The boy could almost see the way a child must have petted along the back, wearing it to nothing bit by bit, day by day.

Something about the sight of it makes the boy's throat want to tighten and close. He doesn't know what or why - he's never had a stuffed animal, all he remembers is the white walls and the cold and then the warmth of Sir burning him alive.

He takes a sudden breath, shivering as cold snaps through his body, his muscles contracting like aftershocks from training, chills that roll through him, bounce around inside his skin.

The desk is like Sir's and not like that at all. He doesn't want the desk - he wants the hollow spot in the center under it. It feels safe and familiar, sliding to his knees under a wooden desk, Position Two, effortless as breathing. Tip his head up, chin at rest on Sir's knee, waiting. Making his thoughts stutter-skip to a stop until all his mind is a vast and empty place he never looks too far into.

He is not empty, now.

The boy does not feel empty at all. Instead he feels too much. He feels the strangely rough carpet under his knees, hard floor through the soft fabric of the pants they gave him to wear. He thinks of the stuffed puppy alone in the room - is he lonely in here? nobody to rub his fur all to gone any longer-

"'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse." The voice in his mind is soothing and soft. It is a woman's voice but he doesn't know who it belongs to. He knows there was a book, can almost feel the texture of the cover, slippery-smooth, the shine as it caught the dim, yellowed light. He can feel the warmth of a soft arm around him, a hand ruffling into his hair as chubby fingers tap on his own legs, feet swinging off the side of a tiny toddler bed. "'It's a thing that happens to you.'"

His headache gets worse all at once, a thunderclap of pain, and the boy whimpers and pushes himself until his back is against the other side of the desk, curling knees to his chest with the blanket wrapped around himself.

The chills roll through, his fingers shaking too hard to do anything but hold onto himself and hope it will stop. Teeth chatter, clattering together like someone is playing dice inside his mouth, and his tongue feels like leaden weight in there, too large for the space.

Under the desk it is dark, no light in the room but a clouded sense of sunlight finding its way through off-white blinds, covered in dust, cutting stripes of yellow over the opposite wall.

The boy sees tiny dust particles in the air, floating. Dancing. His eyes follow them, and he almost smiles. Sir used to leave him alone for hours and hours locked in the room or the basement with nothing, but there was no such thing as nothing when your brain could follow specks of dust…

He feels no warmer, even as he sits under the blanket. The cold is too deep in him, settling into his bones alongside the pain, which has sharpened, gone from dull sawing to a sharpened blade. He whimpers, curling up even tighter.

Even now, he has hurt worse than this, and for worse reasons. He knows how to stay still, has learned to keep his palms pressed flat against his stomach to stop himself from tapping, to let the lead weights roll around inside his head to keep himself from hitting it on anything to calm down. Silence is better than screaming.

He learned his lesson. Sir may have given him up, but the boy has not forgotten.

Footsteps move in the hallway, and the boy does not look - does not try to peek out the door and see. Now that he has curled up so tightly, he's not sure he could uncurl. His legs feel locked tightly, every muscle tensed around his hurting bones.

Where is he? The woman's voice, the older one. The one he thought must be the owner of this household and all its pets. He's not in his room.

He is not in the bathroom, a male voice says, the slightest, barest hint of an accent to it.

I hope he didn't run away. A girl voice. The boy shivers.

He's not Kauri, a second girl voice says. He won't just run without saying anything. He's scared, he probably found a crawlspace or something.

A crawlspace, the first girl repeats, a little plaintively. She repeats things a lot, the boy has noticed.

We should keep looking. The man, the one he thinks must be the Sir. But he doesn't act like one.

The boy tucks himself back into the corner of the spot under the desk, closing his eyes as they just don't want to be open any longer.

He wants his Sir, suddenly, so badly it burns under all the chill, like holding a piece of ice to your skin so long that the cells forget they feel cold. Sir would hold him tightly, would wrap him up or give him lukewarm baths or just hold him, in his lap, whispering things into his ear. Reading aloud the news reports, the new poll numbers. Speaking with his friend Mr. Alexander who is like me, in a lot of ways that go beyond just our career aspirations, darlin'.

Sir would make him feel better, even if it felt awful all the same.

A different awful. He would trade that awful, now, if he could. At least Sir's did not live so far under his skin, was only in those first few layers he could scrub away if he stayed in the shower long enough. This kind wouldn’t come out, only burrowed deeper and deeper.

He falls asleep - or into something like sleep, anyway - there under the desk, like he has on many afternoons, lulled to boredom by long days where he isn’t allowed to move or feel or think. It’s not the same desk and there is no one to nudge him awake with a perfectly shining leather shoe.

The boy dreams uneasy dreams of vast bedrooms swathed in navy silk and uncertain worn-out fabric creatures with threadbare patches are peeking from behind the drapes, beckoning to him to come closer and hear what they have to say. Only he can’t move, because the sheets are wrapped too tightly around his wrists. They hold him to the bed or the wall, he can’t think of where he is, lying down and standing up all at once. He has to hear what they want to tell him.

He’s too far away, and they are whispering.

Real isn’t how you are made, said the Skin Horse. It’s a thing that happens to you.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up-

“Hey.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and the boy jerks awake with a gasp, flinching back so hard his head smacks back into the back of the desk. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh, you were talking and I thought maybe you were already up. Hey, are you okay?”

The boy stares, wide-eyed, at the man he thinks is the Sir of this house. He’s younger, but the others except for the older woman all do what he asks them to do. He has blond hair and blue eyes and he’s so tall the boy has to crane and crane his head to look up at him sometimes. He swallows, as he shivers all over again. “My… bones… hurt.”

His voice is slow, evenly paced, a little hoarse. He sounds like he’s been screaming, but he hasn’t. When he swallows, his throat hurts, like swallowing glass. He winces and puts a had up to feel at the outside. His throat feels odd on either side, just under his jaw. Sort of lumpy.

“Your bones hurt? What the fuck-... hey, come out so I can see you a little better, okay? Come on, man.” The man grips onto his hands, and the man’s fingers are big and warm and the boy moves almost helplessly towards the solidity and warmth that those hands represent.

His mind is a woozy swirl of trains, careening back and forth, his eyes drifting over dancing bits of dust and the piles of papers everywhere and old broken computer chairs, that one’s padded, should have slept there, he hears a robin call outside and fights the urge to purse his lips and whistle back.

When he is out into the dim light in the room, the man’s eyes trail over his face. The boy feels the weight of the look, and thinks he might blush, but his face felt hot before, too, even though the rest of his body feels like it’s carved from blocks of very pretty ice.

He’s much nicer-looking than Sir is, the man. Younger, too, and something about him doesn’t seem uncomfortable and strange, but instead open and genuine. The boy can almost read him, and he never knew what Sir was thinking. But in the look on the man’s face, he thinks he can read a simple concern.

“You look like shit,” The man says - he said his name was Jake, right? - and reaches out to touch the boy’s face. “Oooh, you feel like shit, too. Clammy as hell.”

Is he clammy? The boy hasn’t noticed. He feels too cold for sweat, everywhere but his forehead, his cheeks, his lips.

The man’s fingers prod just under his jaw, and the boy winces and whimpers when he hits the swollen little circles that seem to have stuck up from his skin there.

“Yep. Your lymph nodes are all fucked up. One more thing, okay? Just here. Right here, and nowhere else.” The man slowly lays a cool hand to his forehead. The boy’s eyes flutter closed at the simple, comforting, soothing touch.

I could be good for him. The thought is brief, there and then gone, carried further down the track with other thoughts he tries not to linger on.

“Well, I have a diagnosis,” Jake says, sitting back on his heels. “You’re sick as fuck. Come on, we need to get you into an actual bed. And I need to tell Nat you didn’t wander off, she’s losing her shit downstairs about it. Were you scared?” His voice dips down into something soft. It’s a voice the boy wants to fall into. It’s kind of like the voice that belonged to the warm arm around him, in his dreams.

The boy shakes his head. You’re not supposed to admit you’re scared unless they want you to, and he doesn’t think this man wants him to.

He lets the man pull him to his feet. Jake notices the boy’s hands pressed still against his stomach and asks if he needs to throw up, but he shakes his head - he doesn’t, he just doesn’t want to get in trouble. When he can’t keep his hands still, he is punished.

“Then why were you in here?”

The boy doesn’t speak. He can feel his tongue in his mouth, every one of his teeth. He might speak too quickly, stumble over himself. Silence is better than stammering. He only shrugs, a movement of thin shoulders under the heavy, soft blanket he wears.

“Okay, fair enough. Come on, let’s get you laid down and get some Tylenol in you.”

He doesn’t remember what Tylenol is, and lets himself be led, shivering and chattering teeth, laid down in the little bed in the room where the other Box Boy sleeps. There is a framed drawing of a bird above the bed he sleeps in, and he looks up at it, feeling dazed by all the colors that want to bleed right out and down the wall and maybe he could get some color in his skin if he catches the paint…

The man is gone, for a few minutes. There are talking-sounds downstairs but the boy can’t understand them. Too muffled or too loud or too something. He gets lost in the bird.

“Here we go.” Jake reappears and gives him a cup of water as he pushes himself up to his elbow and he drinks it obediently, sipping. It’s cool and clean-tasting on his tongue. Then Jake holds out a little cup with a purple liquid in it and the boy stares down, then back up at him. “It’s… not Tylenol. Nat said her contact told her you were drugged, so I figured… maybe no pills?”

The boy shakes, all at once, a full-body shudder that wracks his tensed-up muscles and makes them burn around his bones. He bends himself nearly in half, shaking his head, again and again. “No… no pill, please,” He whispers, barely able to form the words. “Please, please, please-please no, no, no no no no-”

“It’s okay,” Jake says quickly. “No pill. So this is, um, this is like a liquid fever reducer. We keep it for the rescues who can’t… can’t swallow pills. Okay? Just drink it down and you’ll feel better, I promise.”

It could be just like the pills. The boy hesitates, looking up into the man’s eyes. Something in them seems like he can be trusted to tell the truth, and after a long hesitation, the boy takes the tiny plastic cup from his hands and drinks the sticky fake-grape taste down, wrinkling his nose. It clings to his teeth and his tongue, and he washes it away with more water from the glass.

“Perfect. I had to guess on dosage, but that should be okay… Will you stay in the room, if I go?” The question is there, underneath the words - the boy can read them just fine. Are you going to hide under the desk again?

“I don’t… want to… be alone.” He has to carefully space words. He has to be good, that way. He didn’t understand yet what everyone here wanted.

“Is that how you really feel, or what you’re saying because you think it’s what I want?” The man asks, his voice still soft, and gentle. “You won’t be in trouble no matter what you say.”

The boy doesn’t know how to answer this - no one ever asks him his wants. What he wants isn’t important, it’s not relevant. He grips the blanket in his fingers and twists the fabric, quilted and so soft it feels like it will float away from him. He stares down into his lap and says nothing, only shaking his head, not quite a yes and not quite a no.

“I’m… very cold,” He offers, finally, in a small voice, when the man doesn’t say anything right away. “And my… bones hurt.”

“Right, you said, your bones-... must be something to do with the fever, maybe? Something… look, lay down and I’ll get you all covered up, there are some more blankets in that storage room you were hiding in. I’m surprised you didn’t just make a nest.”

The boy hadn’t noticed the other blankets then. If he had… he might have. He lets himself be laid on his back, looking up, watching the dust spin and move and dance, as the man leaves the room once more. He hears footsteps in the hall, lighter ones, and looks to catch a glimpse of a swinging ponytail and a heavy sweatshirt and sweatpants. The girl doesn’t look at him. She goes into her own room and shuts the door.

Jake comes back with a heap of folded blankets. “You’ll shove these off once your fever breaks, but they might make you feel a little better while we wait. Oh, and I saw this in there!”

He holds up the stuffed puppy, with beady black eyes barely hanging on from old thread, the little bare patches on the rump part, where somebody petted off all its fur.

His throat closes again. He doesn’t know why looking at the dog makes him feel that way.

“Thank… you,” He says, and holds out his hands like a child, and the man drops the puppy into his arms. The boy makes a sound and rolls onto his side, letting the man cover him in blankets, tuck them in around him, with the puppy’s head tucked securely under his chin.

He feels… better.

“There you go,” Jake says, running a hand across his forehead, pushing some hair away from his eyes. “There you go. That’s better. I’ll leave you to get some sleep. Pretty sure you haven’t slept since you got here, huh? You should think about what name you want, while you sleep.”

“Sir chooses my, my, my name,” The boy says, already starting to drift, forgetting to space out his words, his thoughts. They start to run again on their natural tracks, splitting into a thousand different focuses at once. He thinks about the birds outside and the ones in his wall and the feel of the stuffed animal in his arms, surprisingly solid for its age, heavier than he thought it’d be. He thinks about his dream and how to keep waking up.

“Not here, he doesn’t,” The man says, voice firm, almost commanding. “Your name’s all you, man. Just tell us when you decide, okay?”

“Okay,” The boy whispers, and thinks about a warm arm around him, a woman’s low voice reading him a story with a deliberate, spaced-out rhythm.

In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of the cow jumping over the moon

Maybe they read him a story in training. He can’t remember. But he thinks he was too small for that. Someone else, maybe, once.

He winces as his head starts to ache and chases the thought away, sends it rolling down its track to where all the other thoughts stay that make him hurt.

“I’ll come back to check on you in a few. Just… stay in the bed and get some rest.”

“Okay,” he says again, and his eyes have gone too heavy to open, his grip iron-tight on the stuffed puppy in his arms. He’s too old for stuffed animals - I’m eighteen, all pets are of legal consenting age - but he feels good holding it, anyway.

“Once you are real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.” Do you know what that means, T-

“Chris,” He says, without opening his eyes. He hears Jake stop in the doorway, turn to look at him. “I like Chris.”

“Chris it is, then,” Jake replies, sounding pleased. “That’s a good one. I’ll tell Nat. Get some sleep and feel better, Chris. That’s a solid name. I like that name on you.”

Chris waits until he hears the door close, and the sound of the man’s footsteps on the stairs, before he smiles.

I like that name on you.

He likes it, too.

Chris feels like a person. Chris feels real.

The boy falls asleep in the bed in a new place and with new people and for the first time since he got here, he falls asleep without feeling scared of what he’ll see behind his closed eyes. Baldur is scared, and the number boy was scared, but Chris, he decides, is going to live in a totally different way.

Chris is going to be real, and not be scared of anything.

Just as soon as he isn’t sick.

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years

Text

This Night

Summary: After the Winchesters rescue her from the clutches of some no name demon, she has trouble facing the dark alone. Dean decides to try and help her take her mind off the memories that haunt her dreams.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 5.7K+

Warnings: Language, descriptions of torture, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, post traumatic stress, angst all around

Square Filled: Road Trip

Author’s Note: Written for @spngenrebingo . This fic was inspired by Luke Bryan’s “I Don’t Want This Night To End”, it doesn’t have exactly the same feeling but it gave me the idea so...I love comforting Dean with all my soul. Also, not sorry about the another plus size reader but I can never find any when I look so this is my furthered contribution to the collection of them. xo Alex

Check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!

The tip of the angel blade poked between the buttons of her blouse and with a small flick of the demon’s wrist, it popped the seam holding them in place. Her blouse fell open further revealing her chest to the demon.

“You know, I never quite understood why the Winchester ever kept you around.” He seethed, running the blade over the swell of her left breast and breaking the skin. Warm blood trickled down her abdomen. At this point, her body had become almost numb to the pain he was inflicting on her. This had nothing on the punches to her jaw or the kicks to her ribs. Each breath she took felt like someone was shoving a hot poker in her chest. It didn’t even compare to the other cuts that littered her body between her fingers, on her neck, face and body. The one across her stomach would still trickle blood if she moved too quickly.

“You’re not a good hunter. And they certainly don’t keep you around to look at.” He gestured non committedly at her plump figure that hung from the shackles raising her arms above her head. The chains were holding up most of her weight, only her toes had contact with the ground.

“Fuck you.” She spit down at his feet, the blood mixed with her saliva splashing against the dirty concrete. Her words were weaker than she was hoping, her body too far into survival mode to care about talking.

“Oh, hit a nerve there on that one didn’t I, princess? So who is it? Which one are you holding a torch for?” The demon stepped up close to her, their chest nearly touching as he searched her face. The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to read her expression. “Maybe it’s Sammy boy and those freakishly long legs?” He paused to gauge her reaction before continuing. “Or maybe it’s the brooding and pensive martyr, Dean-o?”

She couldn’t help the way her eye averted from the demon, giving her away completely. “Ah, it is Dean. Should’ve guessed it sooner I suppose. Girls like you always want what they can never have.” She cried out when he gripped a chunk of her hair and forced her head back to open up her neck to him. He sniffed against her sweat and blood soaked skin before nuzzling his nose against her pulse. A grimace crossed her face as a chill ran up her spine.

“You’ve seen the sluts that Dean takes home from the bars and fucks in seedy motel after seedy motel. How could you ever think he would even look twice at you?” The demon’s voice was barely above a whisper as he poked the tip of the angel blade into the hollow of her cheek. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes to prepare herself.

“So why waste your time protecting those idiots. Tell me where they are and what they are up to and I’ll let you waltz right out that door.” It was a tempting offer, but she doubted that the demon would hold up his end of the bargain. No, she would die protecting the Winchesters. After all, it was like he had said, she had nothing else to offer them except to maybe give them a little more time to finish the trials. That would be her gift to the men that she called family. The two idiots that she loved.

“Yeah right, I do that and you kill me anyway. I’ll bid the Winchesters some time so your ass rots in Hell forever.” It took everything in her to muster up the false bravado now on display for this no name demon.

“Have it your way.” He growled before swiping the blade across her cheekbone. The sound of her shrieks reverberated off the solid walls.

Y/n sat up straight in her bed, her chest heaving with every breath and her sweat soaked pajamas clinging to her clammy skin. It took her a second to take in her surroundings and determine she was still in her bedroom of the bunker and not back in the hands of that demon. She closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

Why she thought tonight would be any different from the rest, she wasn’t exactly sure. The same nightmare had plagued her every night since she had been saved by the Winchesters, and every night she woke up in a cold sweat. This time she could only hope that her body was exhausted enough that she wouldn’t dream at all. She had been wrong.

Climbing out of her bed, she stripped herself of her soaked pajamas and grabbed her robe and a change of clothes. The bunker was quiet as she made her way to the showers. Sam and Dean had gone to bed before she had and even though she didn’t check her phone, she was sure that it was still the middle of the night.

She started one of the showers, turning the water as hot as she could stand it and stepped under the spray. The steam in the air and the heat of the water against her skin helped to relax her tense muscles. She took her time in washing away the sweat from her skin but didn’t bother with her hair this time. When the water began to run cold, she decided it was time to get out. Grabbing a clean towel, she patted her body dry before wrapping it around her torso. She padded over to the sinks and wiped away the steam from the mirror. Her hair was tossed over one shoulder as she leaned forward to inspect her face. The large scar on her cheek was still an angry red color. Being a hunter, scars weren't anything new, but this one was refusing to fade and only served as a constant reminder of those few days she was held captive. The demon’s words were still fresh in her mind as if he was still standing next to her and whispering them in her ear.

“How could you even think he would ever look twice at you?”

Dean appeared almost instantly at the rear door, pulling it open as it squeaked in protest. He held out his hand for her but she resisted. Instead she opted to drag herself out of the impala. The frown on his face at her refusal didn’t go unnoticed by the hunter.

“Dean, I’m fine.” She got out through her gritted teeth as she tried to hide the grimace on her face. She used the door to haul herself to her feet, but even she wasn’t strong enough to hide the whimper that fell from her mouth as she tried to stand up straight.

“Oh, yeah, you’re perfect.” He mocked. “Please quit being stubborn and let us help you to your room.” Y/n bit the inside of her cheek as she contemplated his offer. On the one hand she was exhausted and just wanted to sleep for a few days. On the other, every fiber in her being was trying to pull away from both the Winchesters. It was irrational, she knew that, because deep down she trusted these men more than anything, but the words of the demon were still too fresh in her mind. That was kind of the whole point though, was to sow the seeds of doubt in her mind. She just hated how well it had worked.

Y/n nodded, her movement slight as she threw her arm over Dean’s shoulder so he could help her inside. Careful not to put too much of her weight on him, she let him guide her to her room. It was easier for her to move with his help, though she wouldn’t admit it.

“Sammy, can you grab the first aid kit from the infirmary?” Dean looked over his shoulder at his little brother, who nodded and headed the opposite way without a word. Dean helped her sit down on the edge of her bed, his jaw ticking as he noticed her flinch again.

Y/n kicked off her shoes, letting them fall wherever in her room as she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to pull the kinks from her still stiff muscles. Her head perked up as she heard Sam coming back down the hall. She watched as he handed the kit off to Dean, who nodded ever so slightly before closing the door behind Sam as he once again retreated. Her eyebrows scrunched as Dean turned back around.

“Take your shirt off, kid.” Dean indicated as he set the kit on the bed next to her.

“Excuse me?” His words had caught her off guard and she blinked her eyes as she tried to focus herself.

“Come on, your shirt is stained in blood. I know you are covered in cuts, just let me stitch you up.” Dean didn’t even look at her as he began taking items out of the kit. Alcohol, gauze, thread and a needle. All of it screaming at her as his words sunk in.

“I’ve stiched myself up before, I’ve got this.” She tried waving him off and reached for the alcohol. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, halting her movements.

“Damn it Y/n, stop being so stubborn. You can barely move. I’m doing this, end of story.” His tone left her no room for argument. Normally, Dean didn’t phase her, she wasn’t one to back down from him. But now, she would do anything to keep him from raising his voice more than he already had. She knew that there was no way he could know what his words would do to her, so she couldn’t blame him for just being Dean.

“Fine.” Her voice was barely audible as her shaky fingers undid the last few buttons the demon hadn’t popped on her blouse. She pulled the ruined material from her body, pieces of the fabric sticking to her injuries where the blood had begun to dry. Now, in just her flimsy bra, whose material left little to the imagination, she felt more exposed than ever.

As she finished taking off the offending fabric, Dean grabbed a towel from the kit and wet it down in the sink that sat in her room. He squatted down in front of her, dabbing the cool towel against the wound on her breast. She flinched from his touch, her body going rigid. His gaze was set on his task as heat crept up her cheeks and she was thankful that he was refusing to make eye contact with her.

In all the times she pictured Dean getting her out of her shirt, this certainly was not one of them. Right now, she felt nothing but shame. Shame at the rolls that sat on her abdomen, shame at bruises forming under her ribs and the second gash on her flabby stomach. But mostly, shame that she ever let a demon get the jump on her in the first place. She was a poor excuse for a hunter, and now the Winchesters felt like they had to nurse her back to health.

Dean moved on to the one on her stomach, cleaning away the blood on it as well. “These two aren’t too deep. I should be able to clean them up with some alcohol and let them heal.” He set the towel down and traded it for alcohol soaked gauze. Y/n hissed when it touched her open wound.

“‘M sorry.” Dean frowned, actually looking up at her this time. She didn’t respond to him, her eyes flitting away from him as the tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. Really, she wanted to ease his guilt by telling him it wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t make her mouth form the words, not when she didn’t really believe them herself. That only made her feel guilty too.

When she first stumbled upon the Winchesters, she had heard the stories, she knew what kind of fate followed them and those associated. Beside her better judgement though, she fell for those stupid loveable boys. They became too much like family for her to walk away, and that had become her undoing this time. So while it wasn’t actually Dean’s fault, she couldn’t help thinking how she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for those damned Winchesters. And sure, as a hunter she wasn’t naive to the fact that her life would consist of nothing but blood and death, but she had never experienced anything on this scale. She couldn’t help wishing that the demon had just finished the job.

Dean stood up and grabbed the towel again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he pursed them. This time, he sat on the edge of the bed next to her, his fingers turning her head so he could see the gash on her cheek.

“This one is pretty deep though, I’m going to have to stitch it up.” He commented as he cleaned away the dried blood. Y/n closed her eyes, she had figured as much, but that didn’t make the affirmation any easier. When the demon had but the blade against her skin, she had known it was worse than the others. In his rage, he had done some real damage, and now she was going to have to live with that reminder on her face everyday for the rest of her life.

“This is gonna sting.” He added, touching the gauze to her cheek before she could react. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek as he disinfected the wound. This wouldn’t even be the worst of it.

“We don’t have anything to numb it either, unfortunately.” Dean added once he exchanged the gauze for the needle.

“Mm, on my desk.” Y/n got out, her hand waving towards the wooden piece of furniture. Dean furrowed his brow and looked over, seeing what she was insinuating sitting there in the corner. He got up to fetch the whiskey and handed it over to her. Her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and she tipped it back, taking as much as she couldn handle into her mouth and swallowing. The burn down her throat was harsh, but the instant numbness that spread through her body was welcomed. Having an empty stomach certainly helped as well. She took another long pull before offering it to Dean. He took it without word and copied her actions, handing the bottle back to her.

With one last drink from the bottle, she shook her head and let out a long breath. “Okay, I’m ready.” Dean nodded and sat back down. Y/n closed her eyes in anticipation. She tried counting in her head as she waited for Dean to start, anything to focus her mind away from what was to come.

A grunt forced its way up her throat and out her nose as the needle pierced her skin. Her tongue was caught between her teeth now as she fought everything in her to not scream. It would only serve to mess Dean up, and she would end up more mangled than she already was. Instead, her hand flew to Dean’s thigh, her fingers squeezing into the jean clad limb.

With all her strength put behind the action, she knew she had to be hurting him, but the hunter never even acknowledged that she had touched him. Dean took all that she had to give him without even a blink of his eye.

The tears in her eyes spilled over the corners and ran down the inside of her cheeks. Dean’s thumb came up and brushed away the one on the cheek he was working on.

“I’m done, kid. You can let go of me now.” There was a hint of amusement behind his soft tone as he kept her jaw cradled in his hand. Her eyes flew open, heat once more brandishing her cheeks as she let go of him like she had been electrocuted.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Dean smiled at her, their eyes locking together for a moment before he cleared his throat and began to clean up. “Uh, you’ll have to keep that dry for a few days, so uh… just be careful when you take a shower.” He rambled on as he tossed the bloody gauze before moving to rinse the towel out in the sink.

“Thanks, Dean.”

Dean turned back to her, his own eyes gleaming in the low light of her room. “Anyday, kid.”

It wasn’t news to her that Dean was out of her league and no matter the torch she held for the hunter, she had resigned to that fact a long time ago. But there was something about having her own thoughts reaffirmed out loud by a total stranger that managed to break her. Now she has this hideous thing on her face and all hope she ever had was lost in the wind.

With a sigh, she rubbed in some of her scar diminishing cream and pushed the thoughts out of her mind. Once she could get some control over these nightmares, she was out of here anyway. There was no reason for her to stick around. If she was being honest with herself, she was just scared of being picked up again for more information on the Winchester because she knew in her heart that she would do the same thing. She would defend them with her life, but she wasn’t sure that her heart could handle being rescued again. It was these moments in the quietest hours of the nights that she wishes she had never been saved at all. Though she was quick to swallow them down deep and hide them away for another night.

Y/n ran a comb through her hair and tossed it into a heap on top of her head before getting dressed. As she exited the bathroom, she ran straight into a solid form. Dean’s hands flew out to steady her.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, not meeting his eye. He frowned at her as he took in the scene in front of him. There was humid air falling from the room behind her and he caught the distinctive scent of her body wash. Her favorite old concert tee was tucked into the front of her high waisted jeans.

“It’s fine. Did you just take a shower?” He let his hands fall from her shoulders. She glanced behind her and chuckled a little.

“Oh yeah, sorry if I woke you.” the apology slipped past her lips before she could think twice about it. It was a bad habit that she had developed since she had been saved by the boys, though she wasn’t exactly sure where it had originated from.

“You didn’t, it just… it’s two am Y/n/n.” Dean’s tongue pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I was a little gross, didn’t feel like waiting ‘till morning. No biggie.” Y/n made a move to side step Dean but he put himself back in her way. Her eyes scrunched closed as her body tensed and Dean instantly felt like an asshole, he should have known his movement would have triggered her.

“Listen, I have a proposition for you. Meet me at Baby in ten?” Dean lowered his shoulders and took a step out of her personal space.

“Dean, I-”

“Please?” He interrupted her train of thought. With a sigh, she nodded her head and went for her room. She slipped on socks and a pair of shoes and grabbed her flannel. Once she was satisfied that she had what she needed for whatever it was that Dean had planned, she made her way down to the garage. To her surprise, he was already there, loading that old green cooler into the back seat.

Dean smiled when he noticed she had entered the garage. “Hop in, sweetheart.”

“Where are we going?” Her curiosity peaked as she climbed in the passenger seat.

“For a drive.” Dean shrugged his shoulders and pulled the impala out into the night. He stuck in her favorite cassette tape and turned it down to a reasonable level.

“I know that, but where to?”

“Will you just trust me?” Dean turned to her and smiled for a moment before turning his attention back to the road.

“I trust you with my life.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. She could see out of the corner of her eye the way Dean’s jaw ticked and she wished she could take it back.

These last few weeks had been hard on the Winchesters too. Both of them felt overwhelmingly guilty for her capture and she knew that. Once Dean had stitched her up, he could barely look at her. She assumed it was because of how mangled and frail she looked after a week of being in the demon’s capture. Really, it was the guilt he felt in his heart every time he saw the way she grimaced when she moved or the scar across her face. Sam wasn’t any better either. It took Y/n snapping at him to ‘shut up already’ when he had apologized to her for the thousandth time. None of it was their fault, really and she knew that, but what she wanted more than anything was to just move on and they were not making that easy for her.

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, only the purr of the impala’s engine and the soft lull of the cassette playing to keep them company. Y/n’s gaze was fixed out the window, watching the passing landscape and counting the stars. She had never taken a good look at the countryside of Kansas on their many trips away from the bunker. The plains spanned out from the two lane highway, a beautiful piece of undisturbed Earth. Right now, she could imagine herself laying down in the middle of one of the fields, the plush greenery underneath her body a perfect cushion as she closes her eyes and succumbs to the darkness.

The soft click of the song changing caught her attention. The soft melody was instantly recognizable. Dean’s eyes flickered to her as she leaned to turn the song up, a ghost of a smile passing her lips. He couldn’t help the smile that now graced his own features as she mumbled along to the lyrics. It was the first time since they had brought her home that he had noticed the tension dissipate from her shoulders.

Dean came in on the chorus, his voice only a fraction of a decibel louder than her own, but it got her attention. Her head snapped to him, her eyebrows raised on her forehead before both of them put their all into the song.

By the time the song faded, Y/n was giggling in the seat next to Dean. The sound gripped his heart in it’s fist, it was the most amazing thing he had heard in a long time. Even under its iron grip, it was like music to his ears. He wanted to spend all night just making her laugh. That’s when he got the perfect idea. Really, he had no plan other than to just drive when he shoved her into the passenger side of the impala, but now he understood where they had been headed the whole time.

It was someplace he had discovered not long after they had found the bunker. He had needed a moment to cool off and went on a drive much like tonight and stumbled upon the deserted clearing. Actually, he hadn’t been back since. Life had become hectic, leaving little time for leisure and eventually the place had slipped his mind. Now, he knew it could be exactly what Y/n needed just like it had been for him all those years ago.

As he turned down the gravel road, he noticed her interest peaked at his change of course. Her eyes were even more focused on her surroundings, darting back and forth as they passed under a canopy of trees. When the foliage cleared, the lake made its appearance, the moonlight bouncing over the soft waves on the surface.

Dean pulled the impala as close to the dock as he could and put her in park. “Come on, kid.” He leaned over with a smile and patted Y/n’s knee before climbing out of the car. The warm late summer air had a tinge of humidity. Sounds of insects and the water rolling onto the shore hit both of them as they walked towards the small wooden dock that extended into the water.

“What are we doing here?” She asked him as she followed behind him. The old wood creaked under their weight, causing the water to splash around its base.

“We,” He smirked as he began to shrug off his flannel. “Are going for a swim.” Dean toed off his boots, pushing them away with his discarded flannel.

“We’re what?” She couldn’t help the rise in her voice as she watched him continue to strip. First his t-shirt before he moved on to his belt. Y/n swallowed, the action caught in her throat as he shimmied his jeans down his thighs. He stood back up, now only in his dark briefs.

“Swimming. That’s a lake, people do that in lakes.” Sarcasm was heavy in his words as he stepped to the edge of the dock. Dean winked before turning his back to her and diving into the dark water. Running to the edge she peered into the abyss, unable to make out anything in the night. A scream of his name was on the tip of her lips just as his head broke the surface.

Dean shook the water from his head, his grin wider than a kid in a candy store. “Come on, kid. Jump in!” He hollered to her as the gentle waves around him splashed upon his face. She could tell from her vantage he was standing on the sand below, but the water was almost veiling the entire spanse of his broad shoulders and that meant that she would need to be on her toes to keep her own head above water.

“You are insane, Winchester! I am not getting in that water!”

“Chicken.” He taunted her.

“Uh yeah, you’re right. I have this thing about jumping into bodies of water that I can't see the bottom of.” She wasn’t lying to him, but she also wasn’t telling him the whole truth. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to strip down into her bra and underwear in front of Dean. And she certainly wasn’t jumping into the water in them.

“If you don’t jump, I’m just going to have to come up there and pull you in, clothes and all.” He jested.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Her smile fell, knowing full well that he would. Dean cocked an eyebrow before moving to the edge of the pier. He reached up, the muscles in his arms rippling as he began to tug himself up. “Ah! Okay, okay!” Dean halted his movements but didn’t back off.

“I hate you so much.” Her chide remark lost on a triumphant Dean. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek as she turned away from him and began to undress. Her fingers were shaky as she tossed the items aside. It was too late to go back now that she was only in her bra and panties, but for some reason the idea of taking the plunge somehow scared her even more.

“I’m waiting.” Dean sang out from below her.

“Alright, hold your horses.” She barked and moved back to the edge. Screwing her eyes shut she leapt from dock, the cool water surrounding her as she slipped under the surface. The water was just cool enough to be refreshing, but it was also able to clear some of the fuzziness in her head before she broke back above the gentle waves. She wiped the water from her face and blinked a few times, finding Dean just inches in front of her.

“Holy..” She breathed out. Somehow Dean knew exactly what she needed. It was like a light switched had been flipped in her head. Something about the way the dark water enveloped her body was comforting in a way she never remembered it ever being. Maybe it had something to do with the night sky above her, or even the solitude of the moment.

“I know.” Dean smirked, that air of arrogance once again crossing his features. As much as she loved the hunter wading in front of her, he could be such a smug man. She hated it and loved it at the same time. It was all a part of the Dean Winchester charm.

“Alright,” She rolled her eyes at him. The last thing she wanted to do was give him the satisfaction. Dean flicked the water between them at her face, surprising her. She retaliated, giving a bit more force behind her action and sending water cascading over his face. Dean threw his head back and chuckled.

“Oh, kid you do not want to start.”

“Hey! You splashed me first.” She defended as Dean pursed his lips. A smirk appeared on her lips as she figured she had won this fight, only for Dean to use both hands to splash her. The force of the wave sending her underwater for a second.

“Winchester!” She spit the water from her mouth once she breached the surface again. Dean was laughing again and she grit her teeth. He asked for this. Y/n leapt onto the tall hunter, putting all her force into dunking him under the water. Dean flailed under her for a moment before his hands found her waist and he pulled her under along with him. After a beat, he brought both of them back to surface. Dean shook the water from his hair as she wiped it from her face. Both of them bust out laughing again as they got their bearings in the water. Dean still had his hands around her waist and on instinct her arms had gone around his neck.

For a moment, Dean’s plan had worked wonders. All of the memories and worries haunting her mind had slipped away. It was just the two of them giggling like children in the cool water. That is until she realised their proximity to each other. Even in the light from the moon, she could make out the mixture of gold and emerald in his iris’ and the sheer number of freckles that adorn his cheeks and nose. Dean was gazing right back at her, taking in the barely visible flush in her cheeks and the way the water dripped from the edges of her lashes and the tip of her nose. It took her clearing her throat and glancing away to break him from his trance.

Tightening his grip around her waist, Dean’s hands slid up her back to push her body as close to his as he could. He nuzzled his nose against hers as she gasped, the noise sharp in the quiet night.

“Dean.” Her breath fanned over his face and Dean closed his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?” Dean didn’t respond with words, instead choosing to show her. He knew that she was fully aware of his intentions, but that she was more worried about why. Why he chose her, or more importantly to him, why he would keep choosing her. Dean’s lips brushed against her own, the pressure almost non existent. He still wanted to give her the option to stop him. When she didn’t, he pulled away and kissed her again with a little more force. Then again, and again, and again, until she was meeting him in the middle. Her blunt fingernails were now digging into the skin at the base of his skull as she pulled him to herself, all hesitation floating away with the waves. Y/n tilted her head back and opened her mouth to him, allowing his tongue to explore her mouth and move against her own. There was something about the way he tasted to her, there was not one thing she could pinn down, all of it intoxicatingly Dean Winchester.

As she began to slip out of his grasp, Dean’s hands flew to the back of her thighs, encouraging her to wrap them around his waist. Too drunk on his mouth against her own, her body complied of its own accord. Her whole body clung to him like he was her life line, which she supposed he was. Even with everything she went through and all the doubts in her head, she knew with all her heart that if she let go of Dean, she would drown.

Dean pulled his lips from hers, his chest heaving as he fought for air. “Damn, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Honestly?” She nodded. “After we finally found you, you were so broken. I couldn’t help but feel guilty about that. Guilty about not protecting you. And you had changed, rightfully so. You weren’t the same girl I had stupidly fallen in love with. I didn’t know how to help you, hell I can’t even help myself out of that hole half the time.”

“So what changed?”

“You did. You bouncing your head to the beat of the music in Baby. It was you trying to drown me in a lake and laughing like the world was no longer on your shoulders. I’m sorry but I couldn’t keep this feeling in any longer.” He ran his hand over her wet locks.

“Don’t be. Thank you Dean, for all of this. I don’t want this night to end.” Her words lowered into a soft whisper as she made her confession.

“It doesn’t have to, kid. I’m here now.” Dean’s lips were soft but demanding as he stole her breath away one last time, pouring all his emotions and promises into his movements. He would be damned (again) if he ever let her go again.

Forevers: @spn-impala @22sarah08 @turtlepad @callmekda @chaldei @hobby27 @cowboysnwinchesters @tranquility-or-chaos @pikabootoyouchu @dawnie1988 @grease222 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @polina-93 @clarinette07 @moonlight-babeh @suckerforfanfics @witandnargles @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @geeksareunique @akshi8278

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years

Text

Library #1 (12/31/2020)

Click here if you’re like “what the heck is this about?”

Alastor a.k.a. Rhedd @sackreligion hangs out in the library, and invites Alastor a.k.a. The Engineer @it-only-hurts-when-i-smile over to the party. (They also teleported a chunk of kitchen into the library. Radio Demons are a menace to your home.)

Rhedd

You know, this place probably shouldn't be quite so *messy.* Under usual circumstances, it was probably kept rather spotless!

But Rhedd was here and that meant he couldn't keep things spotless. He was rummaging, rummaging around for stuff to play with, to eat, and to generally occupy his time.

And as he did, he was singing *It's All Over But the Crying* by The Ink Spots to himself, occasionally caressing the microphone hooked to his hoodie with a finger. A wire was attached to the mic, and it seemed to slither into his shirt at the collar. His satchel bag still hung from his shoulder, and the radio inside joined in on the singing of the chorus.

Engineer

The microphone chuckled, an ominous upward-ascending click. It was sudden, jarring; up until now the thing had been dark and silent but for the occasional whistle of feedback, as though it had been placed in a desert to catch nothing but the sound of wind. It hadn't been clear if the connection was even viable, but it was obvious now that the Presence was Here.

Red light blasted through the teardrop-shaped vents encircling the carbon center, illuminating the contents of a cabinet that sat slightly ajar. The laugh replayed itself, but backward, and then the smooth voice with its cultivated accent harmonized in triplicate.

"ᴘᴏᴏʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ..."

Rhedd

Oohh-HO! Look at THAT cabinet! Rhedd's ears lift up--his expression was indiscernible, as he was wearing that paper bag over it, but when his ears moved, the tag jingled.

Because he forgot to take off the bell! Or maybe he liked the sound. Who could tell with Rhedd.

He throws open the cabinet, grabbing a can of beans, and he starts looking around for an opener.

"BEANS and RICE--OH, that's not how THAT number goes!"

Engineer

The lights converged into a single beam to make it easier to read the labels, and a chime vibrated from the mic to mimic the bell's jingle.

"ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇᴀɴꜱ... ᴘʟᴀɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴɪᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɪɴꜱ ɪ'ᴍ ʜᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟʟ? ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ꜱᴄᴀᴛᴍᴇɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ! ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ʜᴀ--"

The grating laugh rang off the ceiling tiles and converged into a sibilant crackle.

Rhedd

"OHHH HO HO HO!" Rhedd joined in on the cackling, pulling books off of shelves, opening them up until he pulled a can opener from one of the larger glossaries.

"Why, THAT dirty joke simply REEKS!"

Engineer

The searchlight aimed itself at something metallic that glinted for a few seconds, a *pile* of somethings, before it trucked away quickly as though it had thought better of drawing attention to what it had illuminated. The the thudding snicker from the voicebox shifted, and then it was Rhedd's own laugh exiting the thing for a few seconds before it dropped an octave or two lower again.

"ʜᴇʜ ʜᴇʜ, ꜱᴏ ꜰᴏᴜʟ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴜꜱɪɴ' ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ--ᴏɴʟʏ ᴊᴏᴋᴇꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴᴡɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ--ꜱᴀʏ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀɴʏ ʟɪᴍʙᴜʀɢᴇʀ--"The searchlight aimed itself at something metallic that glinted for a few seconds, a *pile* of somethings, before it trucked away quickly as though it had thought better of drawing attention to what it had illuminated. The the thudding snicker from the voicebox shifted, and then it was Rhedd's own laugh exiting the thing for a few seconds before it dropped an octave or two lower again.

Rhedd

*GLINTING HAS BEEN NOTICED,* Rhedd literally drops everything (his shadow catches both the can of beans and the opener), and he YANKS open the drawer.

8) knifes.

Engineer

The clatter echoes down the hall. A laugh track marred by an effect that's the aural equivalent of thick liquid dripping downward issues from the two-way speaker. It turns to dismayed screams, and the next sound is a real laugh again.

A quick mental image pops into Rhedd's head. It's a decaying metal carnival feature; the front of a little monorail trolley in the form of a massive clown's face with blacked eyes, rust-streaked cheeks, overgrown and surrounded by grass. It blips away as quickly as it came.

"ʜᴀʜ! ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴜʟᴛ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ--"

Rhedd

Oh-- he was in the middle of pilfering the knives when he'd been given SUCH A SIGHT! Radio dials behind the bag, Rhedd begins juggling the blades.

"Always PRUDENT to keep the mind SHARP! HAHA! *Knife* night for it!!"

<<Why, these jokes were BLADE for you!>>

Engineer

The little microphone *thumped* with vibration. Oh, it had never done *that* before. It buzzed against Rhedd's collarbone and radiated down his chest, and he felt the words in his head, a special delivery sent straight through his skeleton.

"ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴋɪʟʟ! ᴏʜ ɪ ꜱᴡᴏᴏɴ, ᴏʜ ɪ'ᴅ *ᴋɪʟʟ*--ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴀᴜᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇ;

ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ, ɪ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ AREN'T ᴄᴀʀᴇꜰᴜʟ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ... ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀʀᴇ, ʜᴇʜ--

ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ *ɢʟᴀᴅɪᴜꜱ* ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴍʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴏʀᴄᴜᴘɪɴᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ *ꜱᴛᴀʙ* ᴛᴏ *ᴄᴜᴛ* ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ, ᴏʀ ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛʏ *ꜱᴡᴏʀᴅ!* ʜᴀ *ʜᴀʜ*!"

Rhedd

Oh-- *oh.* OH! The *buzz* was mind numbing, and quite effectively so. Rhedd's shadow catches the blades as he just drops them altogether, his fixed grin hidden under the bag but the dials have swapped back to his regular eyes. Right, right, always gets a little too manic on an empty stomach.

The blades are returned to the proper drawer, though his ears have *drooped* considerably........... Goodbye..................

"Why, YES, my dear, too true.... You are RIGHT, I should cut it out, I always get a bit STABBY before DINNER! HAHA!......" :(

Engineer

The concentrated red light follows the little slender hands while they put the cutlery away, and then the light disperses a bit so it's softer. It feels like something is dripping from the ceiling onto Rhedd's head, but there's nothing up there.

The light's gone, suddenly. All of it. There's a flash of a single bulb overhead, buzzing, and the backdrop to the room is changed. There's ice everywhere; the swinging illumination glances off the stained interior of a meat locker hung with gently swaying wrapped bundles of a *particular* shape.

One of them shudders and breaks from clear plastic; unfurls into a familiar form in a red suit, red hair dripping redder and sticking to its face, and the hollow-eyed figure with the spidery hands drops to all fours and clicks just close enough to reach out, stretch the terrible spindly fingers, *nearly* touch Rhedd's little face before it's gone in a detuned crackle of voices.

The lights are off and then on again. The backdrop glitches away, the surroundings still consistent with the palace, the search for food, and the dear lad's silly rummaging. The drawer is now closed. It was just a dream, just a little high-frequency tickle to the posterior cortical hot zone, but Rhedd can still see his breath for a second.

The "laugh track" chortles warmly from the speaker again, and the teardrop-shaped red lights dance on the wall.

"ɴᴏᴡ, ɴᴏᴡ, ɪ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ *ʟɪᴋᴇ* ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴅᴀɢᴇꜱ... ᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ... ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏ ꜰʟᴀᴛ ᴛɪʀᴇ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴇꜰʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴅᴀʏ, ʜᴀʜ!

ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɴɪᴄᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʟᴀɪɴ ʙᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ, ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜱᴀɪʟᴏʀ? ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀꜱ ᴘᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄʀᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ, ʜᴀʜ, ᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅᴇᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴛᴄʜᴇɴ--

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏ--ᴘᴇᴄᴜʟɪᴀʀ--ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴜʀᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ-ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ɪɴᴠɪᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱʜɪɴᴅɪɢ? ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ *ɪᴍᴘᴏꜱᴇ*, ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ..."

Rhedd

Oh what a sight-- a sight that might drive anyone *else* to madness. Tears run down Rhedd's cheeks--this always happened when he experienced any of hallucinations gifted to him by The Engineer. His way of his mind decompressing after being so wonderfully overloaded by the display. Not afraid, but oh so feeling of every sensation within him after such a vision. His breath still cold to the room that was now not cold at all, Rhedd's hand moved to his throat which he stroked absently.

Just a dream. None of that happened--none of the juggling, none of the ice. He turns on a heel...ie, and hums as he begins scooting across the floor, "I was THINKING of something more FLESHY! MEATY, you KNOW! I had the most PECULIAR DREAM, just now, MY! DEAR! And OH! How HUNGRY I am just THINKING ABOUT IT!" He draws the shape of hanging carcasses in a butcher's freezer, "Something to SINK my TEETH! INTO! Beans are MERELY an APPETIZER!"

At the notion that Engi wouldn't be naturally invited, Rhedd pulled the mic from his lapel just so, the cable straining just a touch, cradling it in both hands. "WhatEVER do you MEAN? Why, you're with ME! My PLUS ONE! If you want to COME OUT, why, NO CLOSET could ever HOLD YOU! HAHA!"

Engineer

The mic buzzed softly, and the back of it slowly began to warm. It was a little metal disc that was smooth on the other side, and it felt nice in Rhedd's palms, both for warmth and heft.

The red lights dragged their little teardrops down Rhedd's sack-face in a display that would have been lost on the recipient if this were anyone else, but The Engineer provided a point-of-view vision of it, a gentle nudge to that hypersensitive mind's eye. The laugh that blasted from the mic produced a quick burst of air that made the bag crackle, and Rhedd's nose nearly poked a hole in the paper.

"ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴇᴠᴏᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ, ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴜɢꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢꜱ--

ᴀʜ, ʜᴍ, ʜᴀ ʜᴀ, ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀꜱᴇ, ᴏʜ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ! ʜᴍᴍ, ʜᴇʜ-ʜᴀʜ, ʏᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ'ʟʟ ʙʀɪɴɢ--ᴍʏ ᴇᴛɪQᴜᴇᴛᴛᴇ'ꜱ ᴇʀᴏᴅᴇᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴛ, ʜᴀʜ! ᴏʜ, ᴍʏ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇɴɢᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ᴘɪʟᴏᴛ, ʜᴀ! ʜᴍᴍ... ᴡᴇ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ɪᴛ'ᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀɴ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ--

ɪ'ʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ, ꜱᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴘʀᴇ-ᴄɪꜱᴇ-ʟʏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ--"

A curl of fragrant red vapor like burning autumn leaves rose from the carbon interior of the little microphone and burst into the shape of a blocky flower, which disintegrated tidily into fluttering pixels, and then it was cold and silent, but there was still a little pinpoint dot of red light deep inside the thing. Of course... he would never be *completely* gone.

It was like some infernal game of hide and seek... where would he materialize, and what would happen when Rhedd found him? *Or when he found Rhedd...*

Rhedd

How OMINOUS! Rhedd beamed behind the crinkled bag, enjoying the excited voice of his cosmic boyf.

Well! Then! Hide and seek was it? The canideer replaced the mic on his lapel, pulled the bag from his head (in order to fold it into his pocket) and touched his palms to the floor.

Sniff, sniff. Radio dial eyes barely hidden behind shutter shades, he stands back mostly upright and begins sliding out into another corridor, a horrible ***shunk*** of a sound as the piece of the kitchen he'd teleported in... Relocated itself.

#extermination party palace #sackreligion #itonlyhurtswhenismile #chat log #((‘hey you posted this a day late’ listen it’s not past midnight in some time zones))

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stevenuniversallyreviews · 5 years

Text

Episode 131: Off Colors

“And this is Lars. He’s all human.”

Forty-seven seconds is an eternity in an eleven-minute episode. Steven and the Stevens (the song) is forty-one. The final scene of Winter Forecast, my favorite in the series, is an even thirty. And when Pearl first poofs in Steven the Sword Fighter, it may take her several weeks in-universe to come back, but it’s only seventeen seconds until Amethyst and Garnet reveal that she’s okay.

Off Colors ends with Lars at his finest, bouncing around from friend to friend to save their lives from an alien drone, culminating in a brave, goofy rodeo show on the robotic menace. He comically yelps as the machine bucks and sprays lasers everywhere, then the baker who was once terrified of letting people try his food yells “Eat this!” as he deals the final blow, solidifying the cartoonish victory we’ve seen time and time again in action shows for kids. But then the drone explodes, and it kills him.

Laramie Barriga, the first person we ever see Steven speak with, the first human who’s ever named on the show, a depressed grouch that has resisted every opportunity to grow but can’t help growing anyway, who after countless false starts has finally seen his inner hero emerge, dies a sudden, violent death. And he remains dead for forty-seven seconds.

False deaths abound in Steven Universe, from Pearl’s aforementioned poofing to the Pink Diamond faking her own shattering. But none feel as visceral as Lars’s, because it isn’t false. He not only dies, but we see his lifeless body tumble to the ground like a rag doll, and must linger with him as the weight of his death settles in. The Off Colors are jubilant at their victory, and their cheers create the discordant atmosphere that so often accompanies death, the shock and confusion as life goes on even as another life ends. Steven is the only person on the planet who understands that humans don’t die the same way Gems do, and he doesn’t need to say a word as he grasps for signs of life and finds none.

According to interviews with the crew, there was some question over when the episode would end, and whether this death would be a cliffhanger. I’m so glad they went with this approach, and not because I think it would be too brutal for young viewers (I was raised on Don Bluth and The Lion King, kids can handle it); reviving him in the next episode would be a pacing nightmare, but reviving him here forces that uninterrupted wait, a moment that can’t be escaped by the episode ending and focusing on something else until the next one comes on. Plus, I’d imagine it helped with the censors to have him come back in the same scene, because I’ve never seen a children’s show portray death with this much physical realism; in the rare instance of a character dying on-screen, it’s always a dramatic affair with a final speech and a last gasp, but Lars is dead before he hits the floor.

The other reason Lars’s death stands out is that even if it’s temporary, it’s permanent. The rules of Steven’s inherited revival powers aren’t examined too deeply, but it’s clear that Lars is no longer mortal in the way he once was. He’s pink, with white hair. He barely has a heartbeat. If he’s anything like Lion, there’s a chance he’ll never age. This and more will be covered in Lars’s Head, but even now, it’s clear that the Lars we knew died on a cold and foreign world, and it’s another Lars that wakes up.

There’s obviously more to Off Colors than Lars’s death, considering the episode is named for the new set of characters that we spend most of our runtime meeting. But its very first line, after another stylish pan down from the title card, is “Lars, are you okay?” Much like The Good Lars appears to be a Lars episode but ends up being about Sadie, Off Colors appears to be an Off Colors episode but ends up being about Lars. Every moment he’s on screen is a reminder that he’s an alien on Homeworld, from his earthly need for food to his battle plans adopted from Jurassic Park to his vital lack of a gem. Even before he literally changes color, he fits right in with the misfits.

But let’s not cut the Off Colors short. It isn’t easy to introduce four distinct characters at once, so each gets a quirk to make them stand out fast. The Rutile Twins have two heads that paraphrase each other. Rhodonite fuses the nervousness we’ve seen from rubies and Pearl into a whole new level of perpetual fear. Fluorite speaks in the deep, slow voice of a six-Gem fusion. And, of course, Padparadscha has visions of the recent past, a running gag that I don’t predict I’ll ever get tired of.

Still, even in this first appearance, there’s more to this little family than their quirks. We meet the Rutiles first, voiced by Ashly Burch (one of the 2010s’ best new talents and the co-writer of my favorite latter-day Adventure Time episode, Hall of Egress), and despite a lifetime on the run their instinct is to help instead of hide. Rhodonite, voiced by Enuka Okuma (who like Padparadscha/Sapphire’s Erica Luttrell is a Canadian actress who started young and has steadily built up a considerable resume), doesn’t let her anxiety or societal pressure stop her from living as a fusion, which in a way makes her braver than the more confident Garnet. Fluorite, voiced by Kathy Fisher (primarily an EDM singer for the band Fisher) is proudly polyamorous and has a lot of grace for a giant caterpillar. Padparadscha, voiced by the aforementioned Luttrell...well, she pretty much is just her quirk, but she’s still a delight.

Given how many characters we meet and the amount of time we devote to Lars’s heroism and death, Off Colors can’t do much with its new characters besides introduce them. But the episode reveals their struggles not only with their words, but the setting they hid themselves in. Rather than spend any amount of time in the high tech environment of modern Homeworld (the place that reared the likes of Peridot and terrified Lapis Lazuli) we head straight to the ancient remains of perhaps the oldest Kindergarten in the universe, a massive chamber in a hollowed world without any more room to form new life.

Like Earth’s Prime Kindergarten, it’s a perfect place for horror, this time from a drone that’s so relentless that it kills one of our characters. The drone’s theme resembles the opening of the Love Like You reprise and Holly Blue Agate’s motif, adding another layer of looming alien danger to the atmosphere, and the machine itself has the vicious efficiency of Peridot’s old robonoids. The world is old, but the technology hunting the Off Colors down is new, lending the sense of an endless struggle that must be endured rather than overcome.

Life on Homeworld is dictated by doing what you were created to do, but it’s important to show that deviating from this path doesn’t lead to instant happiness. If Gems could break away from their oppression with ease, it wouldn’t be much of an oppressive state, so the Off Colors trade lives in constant servitude for lives in constant survival mode. It isn’t as if we needed more evidence that Gem society is a mess, but there’s power in personalizing how misfits are persecuted to this day, compared to how the Crystal Gems were able to form in the past. The struggles from back then remain the struggles of the present, and the only way to fix them is with an outside push. We won’t see that push until the end of the series proper, but are primed to understand the power of external changers from Blue Zircon’s own ability to stand outside of the story and punch holes in the narrative the characters took for granted. It’s no wonder that Steven is fated to do the same thing.

It’s refreshing to see Lars and Steven get along from the start, instead of going through the usual ornery motions until they reach the sense of understanding they had in Stuck Together. It makes sense that we’d cut to the chase in an episode with this much to do, but given how often Lars forgets his lessons, it’s a nice change of pace for his growth to stick.

Even more refreshing is Steven forgetting about his martyr complex for a moment as his own survival instincts take hold: we see him instead channel the leadership lesson he learned with Peridot in the drill, assuring Lars that everything will be okay even when it’s clear that he doesn’t believe it. This time it’s Lars who must deal the barriers he sets up for himself, railing against his own cowardice and needing Steven’s positivity in the same way Steven needed his negativity on the spaceship. When Lars shows signs of an imminent panic attack, Steven gives him the same hand to the heart we’ve seen in Lars and the Cool Kids and Lion 3 and tells him that it’s okay to be afraid, a line Lars repeats to psych himself up for his last stand.

Steven also forgets about Zircon’s big reveal, which initially seems like a negative. As viewers, we’re invested in learning the truth about Pink Diamond and are made to wait even longer to get more clues. But I see this as the beginning of a major step forward, because even though Steven is hardly over his issues with Rose, this is where he starts focusing on where his priorities should be: his life in the present, rather than his mother’s ancient past. In Off Colors and Lars’s Head it’s all about escaping Homeworld and helping Lars and his new friends, then it’s straight to the Breakup Arc, and both journeys recenter Steven in a way that lets him grow enough to reexamine Zircon’s information through fresher eyes.

And as complicated as his relationship with Rose has become, let’s not forget that this episode ends with the first instance of her healing tears emerging from her son. He’s had healing spit for ages, his own Steven-y take on his mom’s power, but he evokes her far more directly as he revives Lars with a method that solves a mystery we weren’t even thinking about as we entered Homeworld: the origin of Lion. But more on that next time.

For now, it’s enough to have a full-to-the-brim episode of new friends and tense drama, written and animated to punch you in the gut with a surprise death that feels no less powerful when it’s half-reversed. The Off Colors show us problems unique to Gems (Homeworld society, fusion stuff, malfunctioning psychic powers), and Lars shows us problems unique to humans (general physical frailty, from hunger to the inability to shrug off explosions), but both reach an understanding that makes their imminent team-up feel as natural as can be. Each of them lives in fear, and each of them learns that the only way to work past this fear is to accept it and work together to overcome it. I know that they can be strong in the real way, and they’re about to prove it.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

The streak of Love ‘em episodes holds strong. What seems to be a pure set-up episode is blown up by its shocker of an ending, and while it may lead to yet another cliffhanger, there’s a sense of completion as Lars goes from cowering mess to genuine hero.

Top Twenty-Five

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

When It Rains

The Good Lars

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

I Am My Mom

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Room for Ruby

Lion 4: Alternate Ending

Doug Out

Are You My Dad?

Stuck Together

The Trial

Off Colors

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Rocknaldo

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

Tiger Philanthropist

No Thanks!

6. Horror Club 5. Fusion Cuisine 4. House Guest 3. Onion Gang 2. Sadie’s Song 1. Island Adventure

(Despite the header image looking very Sugary, there’s no official promo art; that lovely picture is actually from the wonderful ferryperson.)

#off colors #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

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glow-worm · 5 years

Text

How Many Times?

Lup died again and Taako's had enough. The cycle resets; the twins have an argument.

-----------------

When Lup opened her eyes, she was back on the Starblaster—in the same seat she always returned to, with the same scrapes and bruises she had gotten on a day so long ago but needed to tend to every year.

She looked around at the familiar scene, more confused than anything else because she could not remember dying.

Everyone seemed pretty sure of themselves, with the exception of Lucretia who also seemed a little out of place.

“Welcome back, ladies." Magnus said gruffly as the Starblaster wove through debris towards the next plane.

Lucretia and Lup exchanged glances, then shrugged.

Lup had died a few times already. If she wasn’t mistaken, this was probably the ninth. The IPRE crew had been at this for many years now. Considering the situation, nine times wasn’t too bad.

However, Lup seemed to be having a hard time staying alive lately. Nine deaths total so far, but the last three cycles in a row added to that count. And for all three, she had died very early on in the year.

Usually in a cycle where Lup died but Taako survived, he would greet her immediately once she reappeared on the ship at the start of a new cycle. He would stare expectantly at her chair and wait for her to come back. Most of the time he looked relieved and gave her a big smile, or a pat on the shoulder. One time he had broken down, and just grabbed her hand and held on for a while as he hid his tears behind his hat.

This time, nothing.

She looked to her right, where like clockwork her brother would always be on the reset day.

He was facing forward, expressionless. His eyes were directed towards her, but they showed no semblance of emotion. When he saw her looking at him, he gave her a small nod of acknowledgement and turned his gaze away to stare off into space.

Lup wondered what was wrong, but did not speak. Any post-death cycle recaps always had to wait until Davenport safely landed the Starblaster and the crew did at least minimal investigation of the new plane to make sure they were not in danger.

Taako was very aloof once the discussions began. Davenport and Barry led the recap, though Magnus and Merle chimed in with a joke a few times. Lup learned that she and Lucretia both kicked the bucket just five days into the cycle, leaving the guys alone for the rest of the year.

“We missed that female energy,” Merle jibed.

“Gross,” Lup said.

As Lucretia furiously took notes on Davenport’s account of the previous cycle, Lup noticed that Taako was gone.

She looked to Barry, who subtly gestured with his head to the stairs that led to the upper deck. He gave her a pat on the shoulder as she walked past him to climb up.

When Lup got to the deck, she found Taako leaning over a rail looking out at the sunset over the new planet.

The sky was full of stars which shone in spite of the last dregs of daylight. The horizon was painted teal and yellow. It was beautiful.

Taako’s ears perked slightly when he heard Lup’s footsteps, but he did not turn around.

Lup sat on a metal box that housed some of the ship’s machinery and stretched her arms. They were always sore on the reset day, and would stay stiff until she tranced that night. It was one part of the reset-routine that she had come to accept.

“So,” she prompted. “What’s up?”

Taako stood up a little straighter and looked over his shoulder at her. He turned back to the horizon, shaking his head slowly as a gentle breeze swept through his hair.

Lup sat on her hands to avoid fidgeting, and stared him down. She knew he probably wanted her to pry some more, but was not going to play that game. So she waited in silence, taking in the sunset and the landscape of the strange new plane.

It took a while, but Taako finally turned to face his sister. Although his face and body looked the same as they did every year, the expression is his eyes were different. He seemed cold and lifeless.

He let out a quiet huff and folded his arms across his chest before speaking.

“How many times am I going to have to bury you, Lup?”

She was taken aback. Lup stood up, bemused.

“Is that what this is about?” She asked. “Taako. We’ve been at this for so long. You know we always come ba—“

“Yeah, we have been at this for so long,” Taako interrupted. “But you’ve been MIA for three years in a row.”

Lup held her hands up, an eyebrow raised. She nearly laughed, “I’m sorry—are you mad at me for dying?”

He pressed a palm to his face. “No, Lup, but—”

“Because you realize there have been plenty of cycles where I’ve watched you die, right?”

“I know that, but that’s not what I—”

“What the hell happened to you last year that has you so bitter?”

Taako took a step back, his eyes defiant.

“Last year?” He repeated. “Well while we’re on the subject, how’s about I fill you in on the year before that? And the year before that? Spoiler alert! It was shitty.”

Lup balled her hands into fists, irritated, but didn’t say anything. She was ready to argue, but tried to hear him out since he apparently needed to blow off some steam.

“You realize in the last three years we’ve only been together for maybe four weeks, tops?”

She leaned over a railing, bewildered, adrenaline rising. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she thought about Taako going through daily life, cooking for the crew, and fighting off the Hunger without her for three straight years. On the few occasions she survived something that Taako did not, the nights were immeasurably lonely. With the rest of the crew needing sleep, her brother’s absence was unbearable once the others went to bed. She relaxed a little bit.

“I know how hard it can be,” she said softly. “I’m sure you had some really long nights. But it’s unfair to be mad at me when, again—you have also died a bunch of times.”

“It’s not the same,” Taako snapped.

Lup retorted with derision: “Oh, sure, it’s not the same.”

“It’s not,” he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tight. “Lup, when I die it’s because shit went south. When you die it’s because you pulled some ridiculous stunt!”

Taako took off his hat and set it down on a table, gathering his thoughts.

“That’s—” Lup stumbled. “That’s not—”

“I’ve seen you ripped apart by the Hunger,” Taako griped. “I’ve seen you impaled, burned, bitten, and blown up.”

He went on, “I lost you twice in a row and I just got you back and what do you do? Dive off a cliff to save some little brat who, by the way, got his shit absolutely wrecked by the Hunger at the end of the cycle.”

Lup tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She couldn’t really remember the details of her most recent death, but knew she had tried hard to save a young boy. “I—I couldn’t just let him—what, Taako, you want me to just ignore everyone we meet like you do?”

“I want you to stop throwing your lives away just because you can!” Taako exclaimed, raising his voice.

He sat down and continued, returning to a normal volume. “Lup. You’re your own individual. You know I’ve always supported the decisions you make. I’m never gonna tell you what to do. But sometimes you don’t think things through. And yeah, we always come back. For now. But...I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I just have this feeling that one day you’re gonna go somewhere I can’t follow, and you’re gonna do something stupid and get yourself in a shit situation and no one is gonna be around to get you out of it.”

Lup stood awkwardly holding her arm, feeling a little guilty.

“We’re a family, Lup. I don’t just mean you and me. I mean all seven of us,” Taako said, struggling to admit it. “Don’t you think we should try to stick together?”

“I—” She put her hands in her pockets and cut herself off, at a loss for words. Lup looked up at the sky, which was fairly dark now. The sun had set quickly. “I’m going back inside.”

Lup looked back over her shoulder as she descended the stairs. Taako was watching her with indifference, his eyes completely hollow.

She rejoined the others for a while, hearing more stories of the previous year. She cooked, but Taako did not come down to eat.

“What’s going on with Taako?” Lucretia asked.

Magnus rubbed his head. “He got attached to someone in the last cycle. We...we all did. That kid that Lup saved.” He pushed his food around on his plate. “That’s a story for another time. Just give him some space, he’ll bounce back in no time.”

Lup cocked an eyebrow, but did not press anyone for details until later on when she had some time alone with Barry.

“We all really missed you,” Barry said. “And Lucretia. It’s been weird without you two.”

“Taako’s pissed at me,” Lup grumbled.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I am too.”

Lup’s head snapped up, and she looked at him with surprise.

Barry shrugged, though his demeanor was cheerful and not confrontational.

“Your last couple of deaths have been pretty pointless,” Barry explained. “Lucretia’s was an accident, but you were reckless. You know it starts getting really difficult when we drop down to five.”

“I—was I supposed to just let him die?”

“No! But there were plenty of ways to save him that didn’t involve you plummeting to your death.”

“I was out of spell slots!”

“I wasn’t!” Barry countered. “And neither was Taako, and neither was Davenport!”

Lup shut up, a little embarrassed.

“I’m just glad to have you back,” Barry said. “Taako is, too. I know it maybe doesn’t seem like it. He’s just become a lot more independent lately. Plus with that kid following him around all year, it was a rough cycle for him.”

“What happened with that?” Lup prompted, keeping her voice low.

Barry took a breath and let it out slowly, trying to figure out how to begin. “You saved that little boy, and he—he got super depressed, actually, he felt really guilty that you died. And we told him not to worry about it, but—how could we possibly begin to explain that you were gonna just come back? So anyway, he started following Taako around. I guess cause he looks like you.”

Lup pictured a tiny human trailing after her brother and couldn’t help but laugh a little, even though she knew the story would not have a happy ending.

“Yeah—it was a sight for sure.”

“I have to say,” Lup interrupted. “That’s adorable. Was Taako good with him?”

“No,” Barry responded instantly. “Taako was kind of an asshole to him, honestly. Well, definitely an asshole.” Barry laughed a little, but his smile faded. “He tried not to get attached but how could he not? The kid wouldn’t leave him alone. And you died trying to save him. So Taako stayed with him until the end.”

Lup’s brow furrowed and she brushed a hand through her hair.

“But, hey,” Barry said. “Don’t worry about it. Like Magnus said, he just needs some time. He’ll come around. As long as you don’t get yourself killed again.”

Lup stood up, and went to go find her brother.

She knocked on his door.

“Taako?” She called softly.

She tried the door; it was unlocked. She cautiously pushed it open.

Taako was sitting on his bed, his arm draped over one knee, staring off into space. His gaze lolled to the side to see his sister.

Lup sat down next to him and, to his surprise, pulled him into a hug.

He didn’t do anything for a minute, unsure, but eventually gave in. He placed a hand on his sister’s arm and leaned in to her embrace, resting his head on hers.

“I promise,” she began, breaking the silence after a while. “I will make every effort to stay alive this entire cycle, and I will be more careful from now on.”

Taako did not respond, for he knew that was likely an empty promise.

----

Come read this on A03!

#taz #taz balance #taako #lup #balance #the adventure zone #barry bluejeans

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dustlnds · 4 years

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part three of rylan’s many idiots, meet your resident manic pixie dream girl natalie cassadaga! + more info, wanted connections. / @redridgeimp

name: natalie jennifer valentine cassadaga nicknames: nat, nati, tiger (mostly reserved for damien) age: 29 ethnicity: white gender/pronouns: cis female, she/her sexual/romantic orientation: pansexual/panromantic been in red ridge for: seven years occupation: tattoo artist (at home), waitress (blue hill diner) affiliation: valencia, despite her unwillingness to admit it. as they helped her get a life in red ridge after fleeing las vegas through the person of damien kingsley, they’ve been holding this unspoken contract over her head for quite a while, demanding her help in the form of tattoos (she’s responsible for most of the v’s tattooed on the bodies of valencia members), nursing care (often dropping people who need to be stitched up / nursed at her place, since it’s so off the map), or carrying merch/goods across town. (might be, also, that the day after damien told her hey, you’re clean now, she felt the shadow self in her latch onto her vices, her filth, and when she asked someone in valencia for a dose she knew they’d hold it over her head, but she did it anyway. now a small brown bag containing her shame is hidden in a box beneath her bed: and that, like the way valencia shows up at her step every other week, is a reminder that perhaps she can’t ever be free). positive traits: spontaneous, empathic, selfless, good spirited, kind, protective, creative, resourceful, spiritual. negative traits: impulsive, naive, resentful, cowardly, self-destructive, insecure, frightened, weak.

BIOGRAPHY —

(WARNINGS for substance abuse, drug abuse, overdosing).

las vegas, nv, 2001. at ten she’s a spark begging to be ignited. a kid with a bright imagination, but her parents aren’t happy. school is hard for the girl who’ll spend hours covering textbooks in flowers — why should two plus two matter, she thinks, when i can make the paper bloom into whole gardens, full of creatures staring back at me, when i can create my own world? her parents have never been the kind to waste their days daydreaming. they look at their youngest daughter and think: where does she take it? all this carefree passion of hers, where does it come from? she lacks her father’s disposition for numbers, how clinically pristine they look when lined up one after the other, and how satisfying they feel when preceded by a plus sign on a bank invoice. she has none of her mother’s backbone, the way she carries herself as if pure, molten gold flew into her veins — staring everyone down, making herself taller. she seems to only have eyes for fleeting things, mundane passions: for her colors, for the music of a guitar, for the way the desert sand blows into her hair at sundown. come a couple years, all she has eyes of is the boy playing his guitar among the wrecks of a car parts graveyard — says his name is elvis and she knows that isn’t true, but in las vegas, somehow, you can make yourself be whoever you want to be. she smiles, and says her name is tiger instead: in another life, perhaps, she was fierce and with a bite.

las vegas, nv, 2008. at seventeen she’s golden spotlights on the vegas strip. atomic bomb waiting to explode, all summer glare and midnight rides into nowhere: it’s her and elvis in his daddy’s car and it feels like they could conquer the world, if they wanted. he sings to her, she dances for him, characters straight out of a ‘50s song, loaded with a naivety that tastes like the american dream. no time for overbearing parents, no attention paid in school: it’s just them, skin on skin, flowers blooming from her fingers in spray paint over abandoned buildings. this could last forever, she thinks, she begs, she prays: a life like this could last forever. (a life like this drains the best of her). elvis was born to be a king like his namesake, and he’s got dreams of fame and glory that don’t contemplate her presence. street artists never become rockstars, and she has time for nothing more than the creatures lunging out of her fingers, onto the paper. she’s skin and bones, ink and notes, like she could live off of music and drawings alone — and him, always him, a golden god, a forbidden hymn. the night he signs his first record deal she grabs her inks and her needles — tattoes a present on his skin, a crown for the king to be. and as she draws, she prays: that their dreams can be true, that this is not a happy chorus in a ballad, but a rock opera, a discography for the ages to come. she prays for him like a beggar at an altar: and maybe there’s magic in that crown she tattoos, there’s truth in the prayer she pours into it. he wins his dreams and leaves her behind: prayers always require sacrifices.

somewhere in nevada, 2013. at twenty-two she’s broken lightbulbs under strangers’ feet. she’s shards of glass she could cut people with, but it’s herself she harms; see, elvis’ gone but there’s tons of friends in his place. there’s mary jane, addy, crystal, lucy and all her diamonds. vegas is a wonderland, a new high hidden ‘round every corner, and kind people willing to hand ‘em out like candy to an hazy, improvised alice — the drawings grow darker now, shadows with caved-in eyes and hollow chests. the colors don’t come the way they used to, and when they do they all look like a shade of nightmares — blood red, nausea green, despair blue. she looks for answers in his songs: on the radio, in her mind, she swears he still sings about her. has to follow him to the middle of the desert, to a festival where he stands on a stage and people swear he looks just like the real thing, the king himself. she doesn’t see him, though, but a hole where all her strength used to be, the us against the world turned into the open jaws of a ravenous monster: us against the world, and then the world collapses. wonderland turns to the land of nightmares, and the needle, it is her salvation — down the rabbit hole, she thinks, and someone must come out on the other side. either her, or the ghost of her. either her, or her evil turned to flesh. there is no rabbit hole but a town called red ridge. there is no white rabbit but a man — a good man, a honest man, with an inclination to fixing broken things. he helps her up to her fit, treats her alike his daughter and his sister, and when he begins asking her to help fix the remains of a broken car, she begins to wonder whether he isn’t trying to fix her, too. sometimes he calls her tiger and she remembers when she fancied herself a wild and untamed thing, escaping cages, just following her instincts. under the heat of the south-west sun, she smiles. maybe all tigers were lost creatures at first.

red ridge, nv, 2020. at twenty-nine she’s neon gas begging to be lit up. there’s a tiger on her forearm, hides the scars of a previous life. there’s always ink under her fingernails, sometimes it seems it shines in the dark. red ridge has become her home; damien, lyla, rowan: her familt. the car she’d begun to fix with the man who helped her now has been colored bright pink and bears the name of flamingo, and she rides it out in the desert letting it add to the spirit in her heart — wild, untamed, free. her family becomes red ridge, becomes the darkenss of it too. she’s made herself a home in the sand: an old garage, turned inside out, now overflowing with flowers and colors, sparkling gems and drawings hanging at every corner — and a canary, otis, that sings her to sleep every night. she’s called it dustland, a sort of mythical place at the edge of red ridge, into the nothing, willing to welcome all the broken, all the wounded and the lost. but she loses herself too, now and then. at times she looks past the profiles of houses and buildings, and knows there’s a den of coyotes hiding among the ranks of valencia, which hold the key to that rabbit hole she once lost herself in. at night, when the desert gets cold and her bones don’t feel anything like a tiger’s — she swears she can hear the coyotes howl, beckoning. one night she caves in, asks them for a dose: she keeps it under her bed, lets it become her shame, and to avoid that secret getting out she helps the coyotes out anytime they ask. sometimes she feels she’s falling apart again. when she does, she turns to the ink to remind herself of how life was drained out of all shades, because of the needles in her arm. sometimes it’s enough to keep her breathing to the night. sometimes.

#devil's water ain't so deep — file.#intro.#redridgeintro

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beckzorz · 5 years

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Out of Nowhere (15/21)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC Summary: An offhand comment at work draws Jesse Kaplan into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s excited at the prospect of normalcy, but there’s nothing normal about falling in love with the Winter Soldier. Words: 3718 A/N: The song for this chapter is “Ain’t Misbehavin’ - 2016 Mono Remaster” by Ray Charles on The Atlantic Studio Albums in Mono (Remastered).

PART 15: “AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’”

The two-hour drive north to the safehouse passed in silence. Natasha spent the bulk of the time frowning at her smartphone. Jesse pressed her forehead against the tinted window and dozed straight through sunrise.

Only once they pulled off the freeway did Natasha slide her phone back in her pocket with a sigh.

“Jesse.”

Jesse rubbed her sore neck. “Hm?”

“Once we get to the house, I’ll want to talk to you about what happened with Current Relief,” Natasha said. Her eyes were wide, mouth serious. “Is that okay?”

“About what happened last night?”

“That too. But I really wanted to hear what you went through.”

Jesse flinched. She pulled up her feet and wrapped an arm around her knees. “I told Bucky…”

“I know,” Natasha said soothingly. “He told me some of it when he first found out. I just want to hear it straight from you. Things can get lost in translation.”

“What, were you speaking in Russian?” Jesse pursed her lips. Natasha blinked; a smirk ghosted over her features.

“No,” she said. “But still. You had some time to rest. Think you’re good to talk? It’ll help us make sense of all the data. And talking things over can help.” She sighed. “To a degree, anyway. It’s better than not talking.”

Jesse turned to stare back out of the window, her cheek pressed against her knee. She hadn’t been able to talk about any of it with Bucky. She hadn’t wanted him to see her at her worst. Better to have written it out.

Jesse bit her tongue to keep from swearing. She should’ve brought the notebook with her.

But Natasha wasn’t Bucky. Maybe with a stranger, it wouldn’t be so hard to keep her cool. And if she did get all panicked, at least it wasn’t Bucky seeing her fall apart.

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

“Thank you, Jesse,” Natasha murmured. She reached out and gently squeezed Jesse’s shoulder.

Wherever they were, it was disgustingly suburban—exurban, even. This was the sort of place people went when they had a flock of kids and a flock of dogs. They turned off onto an even more remote road. Sparse woods grew thicker as they wound along, reaching up into the dull blue sky.

“I don’t know how people live out here,” Jesse muttered.

“They have cars and they enjoy open space,” Natasha answered. “This is nothing. I know someone who lives on a farm. With a tractor.”

Jesse’s lips twitched. “How quaint.”

The car pulled up to a house at the end of the paved part of a narrow road in sparse woods. The road continued on into the trees as just gravel and dirt. Jesse stared at the two-story house. Big yard, shuttered windows. Dilapidated detached garage. The place looked semi-abandoned. There was no sign of life. Natasha opened her door, but Jesse paused.

“How is this place safer, exactly?” Jesse asked. “It looks like anyone could just… waltz on over.”

“It’s more secure than it looks,” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. “Come on.”

Jesse sighed. “At least Bucky’s place had a doorman,” she grumbled, but she clambered out with her backpack and trailed after Natasha the weedy path to the front door. Behind them, the car peeled away.

Natasha didn’t put a key in the front door. She didn’t even ring the doorbell. Instead, she lifted the whole doorbell up off the wall and pressed her fingers in rapid succession over a tiny electronic pad. Jesse stared as a red light turned green and the door whirred, clicked, and swung open.

“Welcome to your safehouse, Jesse,” Natasha intoned. She led the way inside; Jesse shut her gaping mouth and followed.

Despite the unlived-in exterior, the inside was neat. Painfully neat, to Jesse’s eye. There was a garland of fake flowers hanging in the front hall, but without any hint of dust among the leaves or on the floor.

It all reminded her of the freaky neatness of her own room when she’d been brainwashed. Did the beds in here have hospital corners? She wouldn’t be surprised.

“That’s the way up,” Natasha said, pointing towards a staircase. “Don’t open this door. It’s locked, anyway.” She patted on what Jesse assumed was the basement door.

“What’s down there?” Jesse asked.

Natasha raised her eyebrows and looked Jesse over from head to toe. “Skeletons,” she deadpanned.

“Er—right.” Jesse bared her teeth in a makeshift smile and didn’t press the issue. She could just imagine a creepy SHIELD control center, with a hidden prison and a swivel chair in a dark room, surrounded by hissing monitors…

Jesse hurried after Natasha, who circled through the ground-level rooms at a sharp clip.

“Kitchen, pantry, living room,” Natasha rattled off. “Bathroom down here is off the kitchen. There’s an enclosed porch you can use through here. The hammock is nice. Just don’t open the blinds.”

“What can I do?”

“I’ll show you to your room, and you can put your stuff away.” Natasha paused on the bottom stair and caught Jesse’s eye. “You can keep yourself busy, right?”

“Of course,” Jesse said, eyebrows raised.

“Good.” Natasha climbed up the stairs two at a time, but her steps were almost silent. Jesse felt like an elephant in comparison, but then again, did she need to step lightly here? This wasn’t Current Relief.

“And here’s your room.” Natasha pushed open a door right by the top of the stairs. “Make yourself at home. Bathroom’s right there. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.” She disappeared downstairs, leaving Jesse alone.

Jesse rubbed the back of her neck and inched into the bedroom. It was small, smaller than most bedrooms she’d seen even in the city, with just one narrow dresser and a nightstand by the full bed. She glanced to the hallway with raised eyebrows. Even her bed was bigger than that. Like at Bucky’s place, both windows were covered. In a way, the soft lighting and red bedspread felt familiar. Safe. Maybe the same person decorated both places.

But there was no art on the walls. No Cyrillic poetry, not posters. No trace of Bucky, nor anyone else.

Jesse dumped her backpack on the bed and rummaged through her clothes. Everything was wrinkled, even the jeans. She spread them across the bedspread. Her fingers lingered on the smooth pillow.

How many people had been here? Was she the first in a while, or just the latest in a long line of helpless civilians caught up in something too big for them?

She climbed onto the bed and fell on her side, exhaustion seeping over her like a wet blanket. Was this the price for knowing Bucky?

Bucky.

Jesse curled up and hugged her hollow chest. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky—she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Everything circled back to him. The bedspread, the blank walls, her own damn aching heart. How long was she going to be caught in this spiral?

She wished she’d had the guts to just tell him before Natasha had dragged her off to the middle of nowhere. This would have been a great place to sob herself to sleep over a predictable rejection. Secluded, surrounded by strangers who didn’t give a shit about her… No chance of seeing Bucky by accident.

I’m such a coward.

Jesse’s heart wrenched a muffled cry from her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth and took quick breaths to stifle her sobs. He’d never denied her a thing, yet here she was, drowning in misery. Sure, she could dream up a scenario that ended with him holding her, smiling, his lips on hers… But that would only ever be a dream. Add in even a drop of logic, and that dream was fool’s gold.

Bucky Barnes had better things to do than be with her, and she needed to get used to it.

Jesse dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Well, she looked like shit. Bloodshot eyes, red nose, pale mouth. The lingering bloodstain on her blue dress made her wince; was there a laundry here somewhere? She’d have to ask.

Cold water helped with her face, but she was sure Natasha would see right through it. And she was right—as soon as she made it downstairs to the kitchen, Natasha looked up from her laptop and frowned.

“Were you crying?” Natasha asked.

Jesse looked away and nodded. She slid into the seat across from Natasha and knotted her fingers together in her lap where Natasha couldn’t see. “Sorry.”

“For christ’s—” Natasha cut herself off and stilled with effort. “Jesse. You do not need to apologize. This is not a fun spot to be in. You are allowed to have feelings about that.”

Am I, though?

Feelings, sure. Today, Jesse felt like a slave to her feelings. But expressing them? With Bucky off-limits and out of reach plus her own detestation of making a fool of herself, Jesse really didn’t think she wanted to. She screwed her mouth into as much of a smile as she could muster and finally met Natasha’s eye. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Good. Anyway,” Natasha continued, clearly glad to have gotten that out of the way and already back to typing, “I want you to know what’s going to happen here. We have people contacting your place of work and the local police, and we’ll keep you posted as needed. You’ll need to stay inside at all times. Once a week, someone will do a grocery run for the house, so write down what you’ll need for yourself. And there will always be an agent on-duty here. For now, that’s me.”

“How long are you going to be here?” Jesse asked, heart sinking.

“Another agent will be coming to relieve me tomorrow.” Natasha finished typing and glanced up. Something of Jesse’s feelings must have shown on her face, because Natasha sighed and closed her laptop. “You’ll be in good hands, no need to worry.”

Jesse bit her lip. How could she help but worry? This morning, she’d been safe at Bucky’s, safe with Bucky. Then Natasha had whisked her out to the middle of nowhere, and now she was going to be stuck here with a total stranger? Not that Natasha was a friend, but at least Jesse had met her before. She had Bucky’s approval. But Jesse wasn’t sure that the associative property applied here. Sure, Bucky trusted Natasha… but that didn’t mean he’d automatically trust anyone Natasha did.

“Do you know who’s coming next?” she asked.

“Richard Rensselaer. He’s worked with SHIELD for six years. He’s competent. Not particularly sociable, but very competent,” Natasha rattled off.

“So… a guy,” Jesse said.

Natasha raised her eyebrows and folded her hands together. “We can’t just reassign people at the drop of a hat. Besides, you stayed with Bucky.”

“Yeah…” Jesse squirmed in her seat as Natasha stared her down with the intensity of a thousand suns. “But I know him!” Jesse blurted.

“Hm,” Natasha said. She opened her computer, eyes still fixed on Jesse’s, and only after some stuttered typing did she glance down. “Not for very long. He told me all this started when you met—or because of it, anyway. Tell me.”

“Well, I don’t know when it all started,” Jesse said slowly. “We met at the Stark Foundation benefit… I guess three Sundays ago?”

Natasha nodded.

“I had to cover my coworker, who broke her ankle, and Bucky asked me to dance.” The sudden memory of being caught up in his arms brought warmth to Jesse’s cheeks. She hurried on. “And then I told him where Marilyn—my coworker—was staying. I ran into him there, and, um, I told him he should come dancing. And he did.”

“Seriously? You told the Winter Soldier he should go dancing?”

“Erm, yes?”

“You have some guts,” Natasha said, impressed.

“Well,” Jesse said, cheeks hotter than ever, “I think everyone should go dancing. It beats a whole lot of other things.”

“Still,” Natasha said. “James Barnes isn’t just anyone.” A sudden grin spread on her face. “He must be good, huh?”

Jesse bit her lip and nodded. Natasha looked back to her computer, but Jesse still had the sense she was being observed.

“Then what?” Natasha asked, fingers poised on the keyboard.

“Um, he came dancing.” Jesse tucked a leg under her and waited for Natasha to glance up from her typing before she continued. “And he asked if I’d be interested in teaching with him. For my work.”

“The Brooklyn Children’s Education Initiative.”

“Yeah, although we just call it BCEI,” Jesse said. “Multisyllabic words and all.”

All in all, this was an awful lot like a meeting at work, except that for once it wasn’t Jesse taking notes. That was a relief. If she had to talk and type and eventually try not to cry… That would be too much.

“And that proposal went through, as I understand.” Natasha was typing again, her nails clicking gently against the keys in a streaming rhythm.

Jesse nodded, but didn’t elaborate. How much did Natasha already know? Her blushes had been a blunder, she realized—Natasha could read people, couldn’t she? She was a spy. That was her job. There was no taking back what she’d said, but she’d gotten distracted by pleasant memories. No more. Let Natasha take what she could get, at least as far as her relationship with Bucky was concerned.

Besides, that relationship was already established. There was no need to get into details, and Natasha surely had no interest in Jesse’s feelings. Her chief concern was information about Current Relief.

“Tell me about the first break-in.”

Jesse took a steadying breath and launched into as neutral a narrative as she could manage of the morning she’d plunged her hand in the toilet and detailed the other little clues she’d half-ignored.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows when Jesse finished telling how her day had gone after that. “You say you ignored it, but that’s not quite true,” she said. “Bucky said you weren’t sleeping well…”

“I’m a millennial; bad sleep schedules are practically a requirement,” Jesse said snidely, but her eyes stung. If she didn’t make jokes, she knew she’d cry, and she had as much pride as any Avenger. She rubbed at her pulsing temple. Natasha shook back her red hair and pursed her lips.

“Well, that’s not true, but go on. What next?”

Jesse talked, and talked, and talked. All the while, Natasha probed for more, more—more details, more emotion, more background.

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me about this Mike Fuller.”

“If they bugged your apartment, why didn’t they recognize Bucky when he came over a few days later?”

That, at last, gave Jesse pause. “I don’t know.”

“Bucky says he found multiple listening devices in your apartment. Didn’t you say hi? ‘Hi, Bucky, come in’ or something?”

“No-o,” Jesse said slowly. She bent her legs up and wound her arms around them. “I didn’t call him by name.”

Natasha stared. “Why not?”

“I don’t know!” Jesse cried. She pressed her forehead to her knee and stared cross-eyed at the crosshatched fabric of her leggings, willing her tears to stay tucked behind her eyes. Why couldn’t Natasha leave her alone? Sure, Bucky’s name rolled of her tongue like honey now, but back then it had felt like an imposition. She thought back to their first meeting. Had he even introduced himself?

No. He hadn’t.

“Moving on,” Natasha said. “Talk me through the rest.”

Jesse sighed.

—

“Bucky said you were smart,” Natasha said later, once Jesse had reached Natasha’s arrival at Bucky’s place. They were still at the kitchen table, but Natasha had gotten them both glasses of water, and the light slanted more and more through the curtains. “He was right.”

Jesse’s face burned. She couldn’t meet Natasha’s eye. “If I was smart, I probably wouldn’t have gone through all that. I would have—”

“Cut the crap,” Natasha interrupted, but she was smiling gently. “Even smart people get screwed over. All things considered, you did damn good. You saved that girl Liz, you realized something was wrong… Hell, you even got Bucky out of his comfort zone after what, meeting him twice?”

Jesse bit her lip to keep from snorting. The sniff she couldn’t help. “Alright, alright. Thank you.”

“If you don’t trust my judgment, you might as well trust his.”

Jesse’s breath caught in her throat; her eyes snapped to Natasha’s.

Natasha tilted her glass in a circle; the water sparkled from the evening sun streaming through the lace curtain over the western window. “Last week, he had some good things to say.”

Jesse bit her tongue hard to keep from asking more, but Natasha glanced up at her and nearly smirked.

“He was excited to be working on a normal project. With you,” Natasha clarified.

“Huh.” Jesse smiled ruefully and stifled a yawn. “Well, god willing we’ll be able to get back to it. Someday.”

“I’m sure,” Natasha said. She went back to typing. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” Jesse’s stomach did feel hollow, but the sudden heaviness in her limbs was more pressing. “I think I’m going to lie down.” She tried to stand, but her knees buckled. She fell heavily back into her chair and stared dimly at Natasha. This feeling… she’d felt it before. This was the same terrifying exhaustion that had come over her during her abduction! Jesse’s hand shook as she tried to push herself back up; tears sprang to her eyes as her tongue turned to ash in her mouth.

“No, no… Wha—”

“Woah, calm down,” Natasha said. She hurried over and slipped Jesse’s arm over her shoulders, guiding her to her feet. Natasha was slender and not even as tall as Jesse, but her arms were all muscle. “The sedative I gave you must be wearing off. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

Jesse had just enough energy to roll her eyes. “Shoulda told me,” she muttered. “Shoulda.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda,” Natasha parrotted back. She led Jesse up the stairs one step at a time. “Almost there. And hey, look on the bright side. You’ll sleep really well.”

“Hmph,” Jesse said, but the moment Natasha guided her onto the bed, she was out cold.

—

Jesse woke to a pounding on her door.

“Get up and come downstairs,” Natasha called. “I’m about to leave.”

Jesse buried her face in the pillow with a groan. Natasha leaving? Already? Jesse propped herself up on her elbow, blinking blearily. The curtains weren’t thick enough to block out all the light. The brightness peeping around their edges made Jesse blink. She stumbled to the window and peeked around the edge; her eyes stung from the bright midday sun. The curtain fell back in place the second she stepped back, blinking furiously. How long had she been asleep?

Her blue dress was more wrinkled than ever. She was growing to hate the sight of it. The bloodstain, the wrinkles, the memories… This was the dress she’d been wearing when Current Relief came after her. When she’d been stuck in the hospital, afraid of every footstep. When she’d been sitting on Bucky’s bed, his forehead against hers and his breath on her lips.

No, dammit, none of that.

Jesse shoved the thought of Bucky aside as she yanked her dress over her head and tossed it aside. Would it be wrong to just ball the damn thing up and throw it away?

Maybe not, but she had no idea when she’d get replacement clothes. For now, all she had apart from a few changes of underwear was the blue dress, the leggings she was peeling off, a single maroon shirt, and a pair of jeans.

Jeans and maroon shirt it was.

In another minute, she was heading downstairs with a hand pressed tight against the wall for support. Natasha was in the living room, talking with a man with dark hair graying at the temples. Despite his hair, he looked no older than forty.

As soon as Jesse came into view, Natasha stopped talking to the stranger and turned to Jesse. “Jesse, this is Agent Rensselaer. Richard. He’ll be here for the next week.”

“Um, hi.” Jesse’s hand twitched forward, but Richard’s hands were buried in his pockets. He regarded her with a tilted head and a serious expression.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he said. “Hopefully we can get you home before too long.”

“Thanks.” Jesse stuffed her own hands in her back pockets.

Richard nodded once and turned back to Natasha. “Anything else, Agent Romanoff?”

“No, thank you.” Natasha zipped up her jacket and pulled her hair free from the collar. “Well, Jesse, it’s been grand. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Jesse smiled tightly. Natasha grabbed a black duffel bag from the couch and swung it over her shoulder as she headed towards Jesse and the door. Jesse opened her mouth, but she couldn’t think of anything worth saying. Natasha didn’t want to hear please stay, that much was obvious. Everything else seemed unnecessary.

But Natasha stopped inches away and wrapped her free arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “Chin up, Jesse,” she murmured.

A tear eked its way out of Jesse’s eye. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Natasha let go and stalked away, the rustling of her clothes and the sound of the door opening and closing the only indication of her progress. Once the door shut, Jesse let out a huff and turned to Richard, who took one look at Jesse’s face and gave a smile that bordered on a grimace.

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said. He turned on his heel and took up residence in the kitchen.

Jesse stood alone in the living room. She spun on her heel and ran upstairs. Not until her door was closed and locked did she fling herself back onto her bed and let her tears overwhelm her. This was punishment, she was sure of it. Alone with a man she didn’t know, a stranger who had no interest in getting to know her…

Oh, why couldn’t she have just stayed with Bucky?

Jesse buried her head in her pillow and let herself cry. In the solitude of her room, no one was going to stop her.

A/N: Welp, there you have it... Sorry for an utter lack of Bucky, but he’ll be back soon. Everything circles back to him, after all... And yes, Natasha’s ‘someone who lives on a farm with a tractor’ is everyone’s favorite archer <3 Gotta love Clint!

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought :3

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x oc #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes fic #winter soldier x oc #winter soldier x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #becca writes #the not for profit fic

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jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years

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Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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QUEST 09: OUR SPIRITS, KINDRED

QUEST SUMMARY:

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske’s obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske’s games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind…

CHAPTER 3: METHOD OF MADNESS

Leaving the wight-turned-dragonkin staring blankly into the distance behind him, Jahaan walked through into the next chamber. There, it wasn’t just Ozan and Ariane who he saw. No, alongside the huddled up couple were Major Mary Rancour, Sir Tendeth, and Idria - one of the Guardians of Armadyl.

“Sliske got you all too, huh?” Jahaan drawled, exchanging a small nod of greeting to the Major, who looked just as worldweary as Jahaan sounded. “Is everyone alright?”

Nodding, Idria assured, “Yes, the Brothers have been guarding us, but we’re okay. Do you know what this is about?”

“I can shed some light on that,” Sliske faded into view, looming over the gathered group.

Mary Rancour snapped around, heatedly demanding, “Sliske! Release us all at once!”

“No! I will release you gradually!”

The Major blinked. “...what?”

“While you’re trying to figure that one out, this is how this is going to go,” Sliske started wringing his hands, his voice developing a wicked overtone. “As you may have realised, we are no longer in Daemonheim. I welcome you all to my new humble abode, after the Zamorakians made a mess of my last one. Jahaan here is our guest of honour, and you’re all going to help him through these little trials of mine. You’ll find out the details as we go, but I’ve put a lot of thought into them, so I do hope you have fun!”

Utterly baffled, Jahaan shook his head and replied, “Why do you think I'll do this, Sliske? This is madness! Worse, this is nonsense! What is the point of all this? Just to get me to jump through hoops?”

“In reverse order: not exactly, it's a secret, no it isn't, it kind of is… and because I'll kill more of the hostages if you don't.”

Jahaan faltered. “M-More of...?”

Sliske raised an arm; the cowering Sir Tendeth screamed as he was lifted into the air, surrounded by a purple aura. After a couple of seconds of being held up, he dropped dead.

“By the gods!” Mary Racour gasped, stumbling backwards. Even Idria, normally courageous to the point of being foolhardy, had to reconsider intervention. She was powerless without her rune stones, after all.

Jahaan watched the corpse fall to the ground with a dull thump, and a thick lump rose in his throat. "Sliske..."

Unphased by the horror he’d just inflicted, Sliske continued, “You see, there is a reason for all this, Jahaan. Two, in fact. The one you'll get now is that I'll present the Staff of Armadyl to you when you are done.”

Idria’s head shot up, fully alert. “You’ll what?!”

“I’ll give him the Staff of Armadyl,” Sliske reiterated, smiling innocently at Jahaan. “You see, soon the Staff of Armadyl would have outlived its usefulness for me. So, here’s the deal: play along with my games, and it’s yours, to go all stabby-stabby on the gods if you so wish. You might liven up this dull period of my contest, after all. Plus, your little friends can go free, as an added bonus. What do you say?”

Jahaan’s eyes examined all the hostages carefully, apprehensively awaiting his response. He didn’t trust Sliske to be true to his word on this, naturally. He didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. However, he also realised that there was no choice but to play along for now in the hopes that an escape opportunity would arise later down the line.

Sighing, Jahaan answered, “I have no choice. I'll play your stupid game.”

“My game isn't stupid, Jahaan. You'll see that very quickly. Now, there’s the door, so let's get moving!”

Sliske teleported away. After he did, Ozan rushed up to Jahaan and, in a hushed tone, asked, “Are you sure about this, Jahaan?”

“Not even slightly,” Jahaan gravely responded. “But we don't have much of a choice right now.”

To the group, he ushered them to come closer before he quietly said, “Everyone, keep your eyes out for a way to escape as we progress. The sooner we can get out of here, the better.”

When the group entered the large expanse Sliske had directed them to, they saw what looked like an arena. A fighting pit, more like. Desolate and unmaintained from centuries of abandonment.

Where the fuck are we? Jahaan wondered to himself, gazing at the ancient architecture. However, his curiosity was cut short like a bullet to the chest when he saw the other residents Sliske had summoned down in the pit.

They were six figures he recognised all too well, faces that were etched into his mind like carvings on a tree, determined to stand the test of time, to outlive him and all his other memories.

The ragged and torn clothing, along with the tangled mess of brunette hair that covered his blue eyes. He was exactly how Jahaan had found him that day in the cave. Cyrius.

Short and with an expression of perpetual annoyance, the grey haired gnome stood with his chest out and proud, defiant to the end. Hazelmere.

Covered in grey robes, he looked empty without the cocoon of steel armour protecting him, but his stoic expression was stronger than any shield. Turael.

Sporting a pompously flamboyant green hat that only someone like him could pull off, coupled with a perfectly trimmed moustache. Harrallak.

Dark red skin protruded from the slashes in his shirt, exposing the scaly flesh below. He looked completely unphased by the unfamiliar surroundings, ready to take on the world all over again. Mazchna.

Her beige robes covered her from head to toe, strands of ginger hair poking out from the sides of the hood, a fringe covering one of her steely green eyes. Lassyai.

Yes, Jahaan recognised them instantly, but they were all paler than normal, and they looked slightly… hollow.

“Lassyai!” Idria cried out, beginning to rush towards her fellow Guardian of Armadyl, until the blade of Dharok’s greataxe barred her journey.

Like he’d seen a ghost, Jahaan stumbled backwards, knocking into Ozan, who sported a similar expression of confused horror. “H-How are you all here?!”

“I can answer that,” Sliske’s self-satisfied voice echoed around them. “You see, I ‘borrowed’ these souls for today’s proceedings. Iccy’s going to be FURIOUS - I wish I could see the look on his face!”

“Jahaan!” Cyrius called out, a heart-melting smile on his battered-looking face. “Ozan! I’m so glad you’re both still alive.”

Jahaan felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. “Cyrius… all of you… I thought I’d never see you again...”

“Death is a great uniter,” Harrallack commented, dryly. “Then again, it seems ‘undeath’ is as well…”

Always straight to the point, Mazchna asked, “Do you know why we are here? Or how?”

“Yes, I was rather enjoying the afterlife,” Hazelmere cut in, irritably. “Then in a blink, I’m here. And it’s cold.”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be back in the afterlife before you know it,” Sliske assured, a darkness in the edges of his voice. “How you get there, however, will be up to Jahaan. Which brings me to why I brought you all here. You see, Jahaan, you always blamed yourself for the death of these fine warriors. It was never your fault, you know. Well, until now, that is.”

Jahaan gulped. “What do you mean?”

“It’s simple, really,” Sliske continued, a wicked grin slashed onto his face. “These lovely men and women want to return to the afterlife. You’re going to help them get there. To do that, all you have to do is put them back to rest…”

Fear crept into Jahaan’s tone. “What do you mean by ‘put them back to rest’?”

Sighing, Sliske rolled his eyes. “Honestly, do I have to spell everything out to you? You’re going to have to kill them, Janny. One by one.”

Jahaan’s face was a picture of disgust. “I’m not doing that!”

“Oh I think you will, for if you don’t kill them, the Brothers will. Trust me, they’ll make it much more painful than you ever would. Whether they get a quick and merciful re-death is entirely up to you."

The shock subsided once Sliske’s words sunk in, replaced instead by something much more tangible, much more familiar: anger.

Rounding to where Sliske was perched, Jahaan gripped his fists into tight balls, teeth clenched so tightly they felt like they could shatter at any moment. “SLISKE!” he roared, saliva spitting uncontrollably, like venom from a rabid animal. “RELEASE THEM BACK TO THE AFTERLIFE NOW!”

Sliske’s response was deadly, bone-chillingly calm. “I already told you how to return them to the afterlife. There’s no need to yell.”

Before Sliske could even get the last syllable out, Jahaan had already began storming towards the stand inhabited by the Mahjarrat, fully intending to scale the brick work with his bare hands if he had to. However, the sudden shriek from behind him stopped him dead. Spinning around, Jahaan saw Guthan had the razor-edge of his spear tight against Ariane’s jugular, who flinched away in terror. In a flash, the six warriors had charged forwards, but a conjuring of shadow binds kept them in their places.

“Leave her alone!” Ozan cried, charging towards Guthan, but Torag knocked him to the ground, shattering his left ankle with one of his hammers.

The sickening crunch of the bone and Ozan’s subsequent scream made Jahaan quiver. Holding his hands up slightly, Jahaan tried to ease his shaking as he turned back to Sliske and stuttered, “O-Okay… okay I-I’m calm. P-Please don’t hurt him again.”

Smugly, Sliske replied, “I thought you would have figured this out by now: whoever gets hurt is entirely up to you. Understand?”

Nodding feverously, Jahaan agreed. “Yes, yes I understand. Please, don’t hurt them anymore. Please.”

Satisfied, Sliske nodded his head towards Guthan. The Brother released Ariane, and she immediately rushed to Ozan’s side.

Fighting his restraints, Tureal roared, “Sorcerer! Release us or pay the price!”

With a grin slashed into his face like it was carved by a crude blade, Sliske retorted, “I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats, Tureal. After all, you couldn’t even stop poor little Lucien, and I’m rather certain I’ve far surpassed his power by now.”

Huffing, Hazelmere loudly grumbled, “Can someone PLEASE tell me what is going on here?”

Lassyai blew a stray clump of ginger hair out from her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? He,” she jerked her head towards Sliske’s perch. “Is one of those Mahjarrat bastards, like Lucien. Sadistic, all of them. And he’s stolen the Staff of Armadyl!”

“But why?!” Hazelmere persisted, “What is going on?!”

“ENOUGH!” Sliske fiercely cut in, hushing the room to silence. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he rounded on the six warriors. “By the gods, I’m surprised you didn’t bicker Lucien to death. And here you were supposed to be Gielinor’s best and brightest. But the World Guardian knows what’s going on, don’t you, Janny?”

Through it all, however, Cyrius’ eyes had never left Jahaan. The World Guardian had been staring numbly into space until a broken murmur from Cyrius broke him out of his stupor. “Jahaan…?”

Gulping, Jahaan’s voice was fractured as he quietly explained. “This is Sliske. He wants to hurt me by getting me to hurt you. I don’t know why.”

Betrayed… the notion danced around in Jahaan’s mind, conjuring nausea in his stomach and bile in his throat. He wasn’t angry now - he was too tired for that. Instead, he was more… heartbroken.

Seeing his old friends. Seeing Ozan hurt and scared. Knowing what he had to do. Not knowing what else was to come. Not being in control of a damn thing.

And, above all, not knowing why.

“Just do it Jahaan,” Mary Rancour urged, anger biting into her frustration. “They’re already dead - it’s not like you’re actually killing them or anything. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can leave.”

“Yes, do it, World Guardian,” Sliske malevolently echoed, waving away the restraints of the warriors as he did so. He motioned to Verac and Karil; the former handed Jahaan a blade, thin like a kitchen knife, while the latter aimed his crossbow at Idria. “Or do you need further encouragement?”

Weighing up the blade in his hand, he turned towards the warriors, all regarding him with a cocktail of confusion and apprehension.

Unsurprisingly, Hazelmere was the first to speak. “Well, get on with it then! What do I care if you kill me again? I just want to go back to the peace and quiet.”

Sniffing a laugh, Turael turned a challenging glance to Sliske as he added, “Yeah, means nothing to me. Have at it, Jahaan.”

The others cut in with similar resistant barbs, focused on either trying to rattle Sliske, calm Jahaan’s nerves, or perhaps both.

Jahaan knew they didn’t fully comprehend what was going on, or why, or even how. But he recognised the main thing, and that was they were doing in death what they always did in life - they were supporting their comrade.

Despite everything, he forced a weak, defiant smile. “Your plan backfired, Sliske. You’ve given me the chance to do something I’ve wanted to do for years. You’ve allowed me to say goodbye.”

But as the blade bit down on Hazelmere’s thin skin and he looked deep into those blue eyes, the fear and nerves and sickness all came flooding back. Defiance had crumbled, but that was internally. Externally, he tried his damn best to keep his resolve steady. Then again, the hesitation no doubt gave it away.

He didn’t want to give Sliske the satisfaction of watching him break.

“Hurry up,” Hazelmere grumbled; Jahaan knew it was for his sake, not out of genuine annoyance. This was the only way Hazelmere knew how to be supportive. “My feet are aching, and I had tea brewing.”

Sniffing a faint chuckle, Jahaan whispered, “Goodbye, Hazelmere.”

In one swift motion, the first deed was done. There wasn’t much in the way of blood, but the way his body crumpled to the ground, a dull and lifeless thud, brought back the painful vision of the first time he saw Hazelmere fall.

Mustn’t give Sliske the satisfaction, Jahaan reminded himself, swallowing hard and blinking back the salty tears threatening the edges of his eyes as he moved onto Turael, then Harrallak, then Mazchna, then Lassyai.

The last was Cyrius.

He looks just as beautiful as he always did, Jahaan found himself ruminating, gazing into his warm blue eyes through blurred vision. Blinking himself back into clarity, a few stray tears escaped down his cheek, and he didn’t have the will to brush them away. Cyrius didn’t give him a look of pity, though. His serene smile encapsulated his contentment as he said, “Do you remember that trip we took to Baxtorian Falls? We camped out there for days, watching the leaping salmon and trout dancing through the air.”

This thought broke Jahaan; he choked back a sob, trying to mask it inside a laugh. “How could I forget? You burnt everything we caught.”

Cyrius chuckled now, a full-bodied chuckle filled with warmth and comfort. “Do you remember how we got back down the waterfall?”

Jahaan felt like his heart momentarily stopped. “I-I do…” he stammered out, swallowing down the large lump in his throat.

Cyrius looked on the brink of tears now. “I was so scared of jumping in that whirlpool. You told me people did it all the time and lived to tell the tale, but still. Remember how you took my hand, and you led me to the bridge,” Cyrius reached out and lightly took Jahaan’s hand in his, the one with the knife. “If you hadn’t held onto me I swear I would have chickened out. Tell me, honestly, were you sure we were going to make it?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jahaan confessed, “Honestly? I guess not.”

“Me neither,” Cyrius replied. Jahaan could see his own reflection through the water in Cyrius’ eyes. “But you know what? I didn’t care. If we hadn’t made it out, I wouldn’t have cared, because right there and then, everything was perfect.”

Cyrius wrapped Jahaan’s fingers around his own. “Because you are perfect.”

Suddenly, Cyrius leant forward and planted a deep kiss on Jahaan’s lips. But before Jahaan could even register what was happening, Cyrius pulled away, and he had taken the dagger with him.

Jahaan barely opened his mouth before Cyrius slit his own throat with the blade.

When Jahaan climbed the ramp out of the pit, Sliske was there to greet him, clapping slowly. “Good show, Janny. Good show indeed!”

Jahaan didn’t stop, he just stormed right past Sliske and towards the entrance to the next chamber.

The doors creaked open slowly, allowing Jahaan to enter. When they closed behind him again, he leant back against the door and tried to steady his breathing. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so he clenched them into balled fists, squeezing so hard his fingers started to turn purple. Chattering teeth thrummed in time with his rapid heartbeat, while waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

Calm down, Jahaan hissed internally, There’s no time for this now. You have to focus. Pull yourself together

Trying to swallow his feelings like bile in his throat, Jahaan prepared to embrace Sliske’s latest torture chamber. In front of him he saw two incredibly large god statues - one of Saradomin and one of Zamorak - with an eerily familiar looking gentleman attached to them. Blue and red chains held him taut in a crucifix position. Upon closer inspection, it appeared as if they were actually pulling him in both directions, agonisingly stretching his limbs. Above him towered a tall statue of a very sadistic looking Mahjarrat.

Hurrying over, Jahaan could only look on in abject horror as the man’s body shook against the tension, quivering in pain. But when he got close enough to see his face, Jahaan felt like throwing up. “You!”

Blonde hair, parted at the side, but messy, like a comb-over had gone wrong. Dark eyes, empty and lifeless. The man was an animated corpse.

And a long, thin scar across his throat.

“Sir Tenly,” Jahaan could actually feel the bile forming in his throat as he uttered the name. The former White Knight’s eyes fell on Jahaan, a flash of panic, desperation and anger all in one nanosecond.

“You! You’re the- ARGG!” the pain of the chains cut him off, but he was determined to finish, teeth gritted as he spat, “you’re the bastard that murdered me!”

Jahaan flinched backwards, eyes wide and bloodshot. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by another scream of pain from Sir Tenly.

Desperately, with a face creased and a brow strained, Sir Tenly hissed, “You have to help me - these things are tearing me apart!”

“Yes, they are, aren’t they, Sir Tenly?” Sliske taunted, his disembodied voice echoing around them. “Jahaan, this one is very simple: Sir Tenly is being torn between two gods, Saradomin and Zamorak. You have to figure out which one doesn't have a claim on his soul and make them let go.”

Sir Tenly’s arms struggled against the chains. “Saradomin is my lord and light! Aaaargh!”

“Then that's simple, isn't it? All you need is a key to Zamorak's chains. There is a machine for making them over in the other room where your friends are. They just need to put a hand into that little box to power the machine.”

Already feeling like he knew the answer, Jahaan warily inquired, “And what happens when they do?”

The Mahjarrat replied, “Ah. Well, if I told you, that’d ruin the surprise now, wouldn’t it?”

Jahaan could practically feel Sliske’s smirk.

“Hurry! Do it! Free me!” Sir Tenly beseeched, “My vitals feel like they are being sliced apart!”

“Well, that might be because I hid the Saradomin key in there…”

Jahaan choked on the lump in his throat. “What?!”

“If you think maybe Saradomin has less of a claim on Sir Tenly than he declares, all you have to do is dig it out. I’ll let the two of you have a nice reunion. Have fun!”

Hesitantly, Jahaan edged closer to Sir Tenly, his eyes stinging with tears in them. The man whose life he cut short, all over a stupid insult.

Jahaan gulped. Now he’s here, suffering again, thanks to me...

He didn’t know what to do; his mouth hung open like a dumbstruck animal, his feet nailed to the floor. It wasn’t until another cry of pain from Sir Tenly snapped him out of his trance.

“Why is this happening to me?!” Sir Tenly wailed, face contorted with agony. “I was a good Saradominist! Who is this- ARG! This MONSTER?!”

Gulping, Jahaan tried to straighten his thoughts out enough to tentatively reply. “It’s not you. He’s… he’s doing this to get to me. It’s one of his sick games.”

"You're putting an unfair amount of the blame on me, don’t you think, Janny?” Sliske cackled, menacingly. “After all, you were the one who sent this man to an early grave. How can you call me ‘sick’ or ‘twisted’ or evil’ when you’re nothing but a cold-blooded murderer yourself, hm?”

Sliske’s words cut through Jahaan like a knife through raw chicken, chilling his very core. It was Sir Tenly who pulled him out of his own mind.

“Who even is this monster?!” Sir Tenly exclaimed, but after another sharp hiss of pain, he corrected, “Nevermind, I don’t care - just get the Zamorak key and get me out of here!”

The Zamorak keys can only be forged from pain, while the ‘light’ of Saradomin tears Sir Tenly up inside, Jahaan darkly realised, watching the corpse in front of him writhe in pain. His head was still reeling from Sliske’s previous truth. What poetic irony, Sliske.

“What are you still standing there for?!” Sir Tenly strained against his chains. “Get the key, NOW!”

Exhaling a shuddering breath, Jahaan declared, “O-Okay, I’ll get the Zamorak key.”

“Hurry! I don’t know how much more I can take!”

Resolving himself, Jahaan rushed over to the doorway separating himself from his comrades, who had been ushered into a small box-like room that extended into his chamber. He knew exactly what he was about to ask of his friends, but there was little choice in the matter. Pressing up against the door, he shouted through, “I need a Zamorak key.”

“A what key?” a puzzled Ozan called back.

“Long story short, Sir Tenly is strung between two statues,” Jahaan hurried to explain. "I need to unlock the statue of the god who does not have a claim on his soul. So, I need a Zamorak key.”

“Who’s Sir Tenly?” Major Mary Rancour inquired.

“Not important,” Ozan cut in, sparing Jahaan from having to explain himself, for which Jahaan was incredibly grateful. Small mercies, after all.

Back on track, Ariane asked, “How do we give you that key?”

Jahaan hesitated, the guilt setting in. “Is… is there a machine in there with you?”

Idria confirmed that there was.

“One of you needs to put your hand inside it. It’s… it’s going to hurt, but Sliske said that’s the only way to get the key.”

Hands on her hips, Idria protested, “Why do we need to get hurt over this Sir Tenly’s sake?”

“Because Sliske will hurt us all if you don’t.”

Idria countered, “But how do we know he won’t just hurt us anyway?”

Echoing around them, Sliske cheerily conceded, “She has a good point. I am a terrible person.”

Idria waved her hands to the sky, satisfied at being proven right yet again.

“The thing is, my dear, if you don’t play along, well…” Sliske warned, “Remember dear old Sir Tendeth? Lived up to his name, didn’t he…”

Biting his lip, Jahaan said, “I’m sorry guys. I need that key.”

Exhaling deeply, Ozan was the first to declare, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Ariane gave his hand a light, reassuring tug before he limped over to the machine. There was a little box that opened as he approached. A metal grill was on the bottom inside it.

Wincing, Ozan cautiously edged his hand inside, and the box clamped down to secure him there.

The scream was earth-shattering as blue fire rose from the grill and engulfed Ozan’s hand.

When he was released, he fell to the ground clutching his scorched palm.

The sound made Jahaan feel sick, but he steeled himself through the waves of nausea. “Ozan, I’m so sorry…” he mumbled, but he doubted anyone could hear.

The next thing he knew, a key was placed through the letterbox-sized flap to his right.

The sounds of Sir Tenly’s wailing snapped Jahaan back into focus; scrabbling to grab the key, he hurried over to the Zamorak statue and tried to unlock it.

Tragically, the key broke in the lock.

“What’s happening?!” Sir Tenly demanded.

Jahaan heavy-heartedly called back, “The key broke!”

“Useless sandboy!” Sir Tenly hissed. “Do it right this time!”

The hairs on the back of Jahaan’s neck stood up and he froze, utterly, clenching the broken end of the key tightly into his fist. He couldn’t quite tell if it was in his imagination or not, but he swore he heard Sliske laughing.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he ignored Sir Tenly and went back over to the large door, shouting through, “Guys, the key broke in the lock. I’m so sorry, but I need another.”

Sighing, Mary Rancour volunteered, “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Despite telling herself she didn’t want to give Sliske the satisfaction of hearing her scream, her shriek was incredibly high pitched.

Taking the key, Jahaan went to unlock the Zamorak statue again. Alas…

“It broke again!” Jahaan exclaimed, his shoulders sagging.

“Are you kidding me?!” Sir Tenly replied. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I’m not!” Jahaan snapped back, indignantly. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but out of anyone, he was glad it was someone like Sir Tenly up there and not one of his friends.

He walked significantly slower this time over to the door. “Hey guys, I need another key…”

Idria did not look impressed. “Of course you do.”

Shaking his head, Jahaan said, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Grumbling, Idria replied, “I guess I’ll do it then.”

A hand, a box, a flame, a scream, a key.

And again, it broke in the lock.

Sliske’s voice floated tauntingly around them. “Hmm it broke again… I wonder why that is, Sir Tenly…”

The realisation Jahaan had been fighting back since the second key broke crawled across Jahaan’s skin. Walking up the steps to Sir Tenly, he somberly announced, “I need the Saradomin key, Sir Tenly. There’s no other way.”

“What are you talking about?” Sir Tenly gruffly protested. “The Saradomin key won't unlock the chains. All you'd be doing is symbolically removing my love for him, just like that monster wants!”

“I’m sorry… I have to…”

“NO!” Sir Tenly bellowed. “I am a White Knight of Saradomin! Get a Zamorak key and release me!”

Gulping, Jahaan stepped closer. “I’m sorry.”

“No! I follow my lord willingly!” Sir Tenly desperately resisted, his fearful eyes quivering.

Having to force his hand closer to Sir Tenly’s soft, undead stomach, Jahaan whispered, “I’m so sorry…”

With a sickening squelch, Jahaan’s fingers stabbed into Sir Tenly’s belly. As the knight writhed in torment, he felt his fingertips knock against something metallic.

“Mercy! Please, stop this torture!” Sir Tenly desperately begged, his head shooting around in all directions as his body convulsed with agony.

Jahaan was shaking, his heart breaking at the pained sobs of a proud knight, no matter how ignorant or rude that knight could be. Reaching in further, he felt his hand brush against dusty organs. The sensation made Jahaan gag.

“Please stop! You’re tearing me in half! ARRRRGGGG!”

Finally, Jahaan managed to hook two fingers onto the teeth of the key, but it didn’t budge easily. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he woefully declared, “Sir Tenly, I have to pull harder. I’m sorry.”

As he began to pull, Sir Tenly unleashed a blood-curdling scream. “ARRRRGGGG! Please stop the pain! My god, why are you letting this happen?!”

Jahaan felt the key catch on Sir Tenly’s ghostly insides as he pulled harder.

“Will the truth make it end?!“ Sir Tenly was in tears at this point, head hung low as he cried out, “ALRIGHT! I'm a Zamorakian! Now please, LET THIS END!”

Finally, the key came free with a ‘slurp’, covered in whatever juices were left of Sir Tenly’s insides.

Refusing to give into his nausea at this second, Jahaan raced towards the Saradomin statue. Unsurprisingly, the key fit perfectly, unlocking Sir Tenly’s chains. As Sir Tenly swung loosely towards the Zamorak statue, the Saradomin statue toppled over backwards at the loss of contact, knocking a large hole in the wall behind it.

Satisfied that Sir Tenly was free, Jahaan realised nothing was holding him back now, and thus he threw up. A lot.

Once that was out of his system, and most of the goo had been wiped off his hand, Jahaan staggered back over to Sir Tenly, who had become free from all his chains now. “Are you alright?”

Clutching his stomach, Sir Tenly shot him a deadly glare. “You ripped a key from my chest and revealed my true Zamorakian faith, proving I’m a heretic. Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

Jahaan forced a hollow smile. “Sarcasm - that means you’re good to go.”

As quickly as he could, he rushed back over to his friends and hissed through the door, “Guys, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, we’re holding up,” Ozan assured, but the shivering laced in his voice betrayed him. “What about you?”

“Sir Tenly’s free,” Jahaan dodged the question. “The fallen statue knocked out a part of the wall. I’m going to see if it leads to a way out. Can you guys keep Sliske busy while I do that?”

“We’ll try,” Idria replied, biting her lip. “Don’t be long though. If you get outside, bring reinforcements back with you. I don’t trust Sliske to keep his word about the Staff, but as long as we can corner him here, we have a chance of getting it back.”

Mary Rancour concurred, “Indeed. We have to use this situation to our advantage. Good luck out there, Jahaan.”

“Same to you, everyone,” Jahaan replied, but he hesitated before leaving. He wanted to say something else, something reassuring and confident to try and keep everyone’s head above water. But knowing he’d no doubt sound as scared as he felt, he held back.

With that, Jahaan hurried over to the hole in the wall, slipping behind cover wherever he could, and entered the caved in tunnel. From the lack of protest on Sliske’s part, he seemed to get away with it.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#sliske #kindred spirits

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hennessystevens-udaku · 6 years

Text

For Everybody

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Summary: This story is what happens when @eriknutinthispoosy wants a fic of Erik cheating and @allhailnjadaka wants some ratchet shit to take place. The First Lady is all type of outta character in this one.

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“Aww hell nah, this nigga got me 50 shades of fucked up,” Hennessy exclaimed as she watched the surveillance camera set up in Erik’s room. She never saw the point of them, but he and Charlie insisted, for security purposes. Just when she thought her idiot husband couldn’t get any stupider, he proved her wrong yet again.

“So 9 vaginas ain’t enough for him? His Braille-backed ass had to go get some random bitch from off the street? And his stupid ass brought her in our house?!” The Princess was fuming.

Her eyes widened when the mystery woman, standing at 5’10 with lean sun kissed legs and a face just as gorgeous as any of the other women in the house, walked to the middle of the room and looked directly in the camera. As if she knew it was there...as if she knew someone would be watching.

The time stamp on the recording read last Wednesday, 12:43 pm. That sneaky bastard. Wednesday was the day that all nine wives plus Little Bee wenr to brunch, catching up and bonding in sisterly fellowship. It was few and far between that they were all free at the same time and when those rare moments came they took advantage. Erik was filled in on this brunch at a few of the ladies favorite French bistro a day prior and he took advantage as well.

“Guess this nigga didn’t think we’d catch him.” Ryley’s long matte black nails tapped against the vast mahogany oak desk. She sat beside Henny as her eyes bore into the pretty face on the screen. “Bold one, she is.”

“Very bold.” Henny folded her arms and fell back into her seat. Her brows stitched together and her pouty lips were set in a thin line, emotions etched all over her face. To say she was hurt was an understatement. It hurt her so much she couldn’t produce a single tear.

“Am I not enough? Are we not enough?” her voice was soft and shaky.

“Nah, don’t even think like that sis. That nigga stupid and he gone get what’s coming to him.” A few moments later, Charlie sauntered into Henny’s office looking almost as upset as the other two women. Her usual Charming demeanor had switched to something more cold and devious.

“Henny, I love you, but y’all need to come with me.” Without question, the three women made the short trek to Ryley’s G Wagon and sped towards their shared abode. When they were a safe distance from the greenhouse, Charlie pulled up the surveillance footage on her iPhone X.

“THIS BITCH IS STILL IN MY HOUSE?!”

“I didn’t wanna tell you in your office for the sake of the plants, but yeah she’s still there and is making herself real comfortable.” They both watched as the mystery woman sauntered from room to room, touching and trying on their precious jewels and clothes. Hennessy began to see red. It had been a while since she’d gotten this upset and of course it would be Mr. Stevens-Udaku to bring her inner beast out of retirement.

“Hennessy?” Ryley questioned when she noticed the head brat had become a little too quiet for comfort. She remained silent.

“Henny?” she tried again. Silence.

“Kitana?” Charlie tried. Suddenly, the small woman turned and flashed a sly smile, her rose gold fronts gleaming in the twilight. Her usually happy, doe eyes and turned an eerie black and her whole face was turned into an evil grimace.

“Aww shit!” Ryley and Charlie exclaimed in unison.

“N’Jadaka! Bring your crusty ass out here!” Kitana screamed as she, Ryley, and Charlie walked back into The Kompound.

“Wait, what we miss?” Angel questioned, confusion etched all over her face. She and Little Bee were seated on the couch, Princess Nya bouncing happily between them. Kimora and Josephine were in the kitchen baking, while Homie sat comfortably on the counter acting as taste tester. Per usual, Aly’Sha was in her room, probably tired from football practice.

“Mr. Stevens-Udaku isn’t available right now,” the mystery woman called from the grand staircase. “However, I’ll be more than happy to answer whatever questions you may have.”

Everything was silent as all eyes fell on her.

“Ericka,” Kitana snarled.

“Nice to meet you in person, Kitana, I’ve heard so much about you.”

As the two exchanged looks, Kimora emerged from the kitchen.

“I’m glad y’all know of each other and whatnot, but who are you and why you in our house?”

“I’m the woman who just fucked y’all husband. Now since there’s so many of you I’m not sure whose room it was but it was real nice. I was thinking of doing some wandering since Daddy is asleep.”

“Bitch I swear to Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Bast herself, I will drag yo rusty, dusty, crusty, broke back, uneven frontal headass down this entire gahdamn hallway. And trust me, there's a lot of fucking hallway in this big ass house.” Josephine perked up at her tone.

“Aww shit, Demon Henny, yeee!” As the rest of the harem attempted to understand what was going on downstairs, Aly’Sha had heard just enough to take matters into her own hands in regards to the punishment of their husband.

“Aye Nigga! Wake the fuck up!” Aly’sha growled as she shot a hollow point 9mm bullet on the headboard above their husband, who she affectionately referred to as a beginners tutorial for the blind. Her voice echoed from the enormous room. Guess she wasn't too tired from practice.

“Aly'sha…” The beast growled, sitting up slowly. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“NAH WHAT THE ABSOLUTE DUMB NIGGA FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” Another bullet whizzed past Erik's head and for the first time in a long while, he flinched.

“ALY’SHA I GOT IT!” the small woman screamed upstairs. “I just gotta take care of this bitch first.”

Grumbling to herself, Aly’sha exited the room, putting the gun back in the waist of her shorts. This nigga was really about to die die.

“That must be your little errand girl, hmm?” Erika hissed a giggled as she watched the rage in Kitana’s eyes grow.

Upon hearing all the commotion from her studio, Bastion emerges in her Moschino sweatsuit and fluffy mink slides.

“What in the Christian Louboutin is going on in here?”

“Don’t worry about it babygirl, go back to work. Mama’s just gotta take out some trash.”

“Oh well that means I must stay. That’s one of my specialities. Now who is this woman, why is she in my house and why are there gunshots being fired? I thought we weren't doing firearms in the house after the last time I got too drunk.”

“Because your husband is an idiotic dipshit.” Aly'sha growled, standing behind Kitana as if she was one of Charlie's angels.

“Well I knew that when I married him, but Harpo who dis woman?”

“A dead bitch,” Kitana hissed as she wielded the katana blade that was hidden in the intricately carved bracelet on her wrist. A birthday present from Shuri.

“Has she always had that?” Homie inquired.

“I don’t think I wanna find out,” Kristina said as she carried little Nya away from all of the commotion.

“Care to give me the information on her astronomical indiscretion?” Bastion inquires with a perfectly orchestrated eyebrow raised.

“It’s simple really,” Ericka began to explain. “While the cats were away, Daddy Jaguar decided to play. And who am I to deny the Prince of Wakanda?”

“As I said before, A dead bitch.” Kitana twirling the blade between her nimble fingers as she stared Erika down.

“I’m sorry let me see if I can comprehend this simpleton’s language. So you’re telling me that my husband, who has a plethora of pussy to use and abuse at his discretion, was intimate with you? Of his own free will? As though he wasn’t just shot at for not giving his last wife enough attention? He fucked you freely? Ha! Ok my darling please have yourself admitted to the nearest psychiatric ward. I’ll even recommend a wonderful therapist and even better medication. My mother knows them well.”

Ericka stared her, grin wide as ever but not quite making it to her eyes. They were steely, dark and deep. She’d seen and experienced a lot. It was in the way she moved…spoke. “You’re so entertaining, no wonder he stopped at you. You were the icing on the spoiled ass cake, huh?” She let out a chuckle. “Pipe down, little bitch, before I make you. I’m here to speak with the real wife, the first lady. All you other hoes sit down and watch me defeat your beloved head Princess Hennessy Chiron.”

Her eyes moved back to Kitana, looking over her frame before she met her fiery gaze.

“Let me give you the play by play. First, I took a seat on my new throne, you know those lips you love? Made him hit it from the back then from the side. Asked him what’s your favorite position and then made him look in my eyes while I took all that dick. He promised to make me wifey number twelve.”

Slice. The blade moved so fast no one could process the action. Ericka’s pink peplum blouse was now in shreds at her feet and blood oozed from the long cut across her chest. Before she could react, Kitana had the blade above her head and was bringing it down again, this time digging it into the flesh of her abdomen.

“I’m glad you enjoyed that dick because that’s the last one you’ll ever hop on,” Kitana snarled as she threw her blade down and went straight for Ericka’s neck. What she lacked in height, the small woman definitely made up for in brute strength and speed.

“Damn, she really is the female Erik,” Kimora noted as the two women wrestled in the foyer. Though Henny was much shorter than Ericka, she easily overpowered the outsider.

“No one can dethrone me, bitch,” Hennessy snarled with a sharp jab to Ericka’s face.

Ericka growled, her whole body throbbing. First it was the wound to her chest, causing pain to spread through her body like wildfire. Her tolerance was higher than many. She should’ve been on the floor begging for mercy. Her mission, however, was not done.

“I-I did you one better.” She spoke softly, low but audible enough for Kitana to hear. The venom in her bite had disappeared. “There’s a crack in your foundation. You’re relationship isn’t as perfect as you thought it was. N’Jadaka found ten wives after you and still can’t be loyal. I can’t take your spot but my actions will make you want to give it up.”

Just then the blade appeared from the small of Erika’s back, piercing a few vital organs and killing her instantly. The princess removed her blade and headed for the staircase. The wrath of Hennessy Monaé Chiron Stevens-Udaku had only just begun.

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TAG LIST: @vibranium-soul @imagine-mbaku @mareethequeen @greennightspider @hearteyes-for-killmonger @blackpantherismyish @muse-of-mbaku @thehomierobbstark @wifeyofnjadaka @youreadthatright @tgigoldie @killmongersgurl @dameshaemonique @princessstevens @princesskillmonger @amethyst1993 @iamrheaspeaks @laketaj24 @bidibidibombaclaat @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @forbeautyandlife @yaachtynoboat711 @panthergoddessbast @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @dacreskars @thadelightfulone @drsunshine97 @wakanda-inspired @wawakanda-btch @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @ayellepea @awkwardlyabstract @madamslayyy @blowmymbackout @vikkidc @champagnesugamama @sociallyawkward18 @chasingsunlight @dabluestsky @trevantesbrat @itsangeludaku

#hennessy chiron #my shit #the kompound #erik x henny #erik killmonger #erik stevens #the household #poly!erik

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gguksgalaxy · 6 years

Text

IX. Greed | BTS | Horror!Au

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›› Au: Horror / Gore (non canon) ›› Genre: Angst ›› Rating: 18+ explicit (sexual content + violence) ›› Characters: BTS + Reader x PJM ›› Word Count: 2k Warnings Include: Psychological distress and manipulation, blood, character death, mild and severe injuries, vomiting, poison, asphyxiation, drowning, darkness, burns, acid, pain.

It was at the third breath, that Hoseok shot up, head almost knocking into his friends as he coughed loudly. He turned over, water leaving his mouth from where he’d probably inhaled it. Yoongi helped him cough it up, and caught him when he slumped down again. “Hoseok? Can you hear me.”

You all rolled him onto his back, and he nodded softly, licking his lips. His lips were blue, and his skin was ice cold. It was then that you noticed the welts on his hands, probably from how cold the floor had gotten. “We need to get him through the door.”

“How?” Yoongi said.

“Carry him.” Jimin opted, moving towards Hoseok’s feet. “She goes first, then I’ll go, hold his legs, you pass him over to us and follow. But we need to be fast we don’t have much time left.”

Yoongi looked back at Jin, lifeless, drained, face lying in whatever it was that he’d thrown up. “Jin…”

“Yoongi, we can’t.”

“I know, let’s go.” He hoisted Hoseok up by the shoulders, Jimin by his legs. It was a complicated task, since he had to pass through on his own. That’s when you noticed something on the floor. Jin’s bracelet.

The moment Yoongi passed Hoseok’s swaying form over to you and Jimin you pointed to the floor. “Jin’s bracelet, take it! Who knows what we could use it for.”

Yoongi dashed back as Jimin slung Hoseok’s arm over his shoulder and dragged him along through the narrow hallway. You were up the front, it was pitch black, you couldn’t see anything, none of the other hallways had been this long.

“Ouch!” you yelped, as you ran into a wall. “What the fuck?”

“What’s going on?!” Yoongi called from behind you. “Please don’t tell me it’s a dead end.”

You felt around, fingers skimming the cold surface as your body struggled to regain it’s warmth after just having left that freeze room. “Oh, it goes off to the left? Jimin, can you grab my hand? Yoongi, hold on to them so we don’t loose each other.”

Jimin’s hand was cold in yours, as you used your other hand to navigate the dark hallways that seemed to never come to an end. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and strangely this was the most scared you’ve been up till now. It was so dark, if you looked back you couldn’t even make out Jimin’s form behind you. It was cold, and clammy, and you felt as if any moment someone could show up in front of you with a knife to just let you walk into it. What if there’s traps?

You stopped, Jimin bumping into your back. “What?” he asked.

“What if this is a trap?”

“What do you mean?” he answered in the dark. “A trap how?”

Suddenly you were unsure of everything. “It’s all about, atoning for our sins and this whole bullshit. What if we had to wait back where the hallways veered off? What if there was a door but it was closed? What if it’s a test?”

“We can’t go back.” Yoongi said. “Keep going, this has to lead somewhere or else it wouldn’t be here. This hallways has a purpose, like everything else in this game.”

You nodded to yourself, trying not the think about the purposing being to kill you all, so you forced your feet to move and go on. For a second you wondered, how many turns you’d taken. One left, another left, and then…one right, one left? You weren’t sure, for all you knew you might be going in circles.

Then you literally felt the floor stop underneath you and it took all your body strength to make yourself fall backwards onto the floor. “Fuck.”

“What happened, y/n?!” Jimin called, unaware that you were still like, 1 foot away from him.

“I’m on the floor, I think, wait.” You came up on hands and knees, feeling the floor and how it dipped…into steps? “It’s a staircase what the fuck. Are we going down into like the basement or something?”

Hoseok mumbled something and for a second everyone’s attention was focused on him. “Hoseok, what’s wrong?” Yoongi asked. “Do you need something?”

“Tired.” He whispered, and your heart sank. You knew, that it was possible that he’d suffered brain damage from the lack of oxygen. It wasn’t certain, but it was definitely possible. You wouldn’t know for sure until you got out of here.

“We keep going, this has to lead somewhere. It has to. Just be careful!”

Everyone carefully descended, and you wondered whether you were underneath a room, or underneath one of the hallways that you’d previously went through. Because you hadn’t seen any doors anywhere. Until now, all the rooms were in a straight row. Maybe you were crossing back to one of them? “Okay,” you stubbed your toe against something almost as soon as you took two steps on levelled ground. “I think we’re going up again.”

The stairs were short, maybe only 10 steps until the floor went level again. You had to just have passed underneath something. There was a quick turn to the right, and then to the left until you were certain you hid a dead end. You knocked on the walls, the iron sounding…hollow? “Hello?!” you called. “Guys it’s a dead end, I’m not sure if this is a door or not. But I can’t find a handle, and I don’t know what to do. We’re stuck here.”

“Let’s go back.” Jimin offered. “Maybe you were right after all.”

A sudden sound scared you, like the scraping of a chair, or a table. There was a muffled sound on the other side, like a voice.

“Hello?!” you called out, pressing your ear to the metal. “Is anybody there?” You pounded your fist against the wall, in hope the person would hear you.

“Help!” the voice was broken and sounded helpless but indiscernible through the metal walls. “Please!”

“Who’s in there?” Yoongi asked, joining you. “Hello?! Can you hear us?!”

The other person weakly knocked on the wall. “Help, please.” It was almost as if they couldn’t hear your voice.

There was the known sound of the intercom in the dark, crackling and buzzing. “WELCOME WELCOME!” the little girl called. “Welcome to the last game. My apologies for the inconvenient space, but in due time, everything will become clear. You did well y/n, figuring out my plans, and how I think of things. You are smart, I didn’t expect that. But thanks to you, Hoseok lived. I’ll let you know that he’s okay, but he’s unconscious. I can see his vitals, right, on my little screen here, all through your bracelets.” She chuckled, and you shivered.

“Welcome guys, to the - lets say - hallway of Avaritia. The sin of greed is common these days, materialism is on the rise, and people are greedier than ever. But greed is an ancient old sin as well, it has caused much destruction upon the world we know today. Charitable people are uncommon, everything has a price. Everyone has a price.”

“In hell, people who committed the sin of greed are boiled alive in oil. As you know I want to give aallll of you a fair chance. So lets get this one started.”

“Yoongi, please look down at your bracelet.”

You couldn’t see him, you couldn’t see anything, and that’s when you realised each and every one of your bracelets had been turned off to shroud you in darkness. Yoongi’s lit up, casting light over his features that looked absolutely terrified. The colour was bright yellow, almost hurting your eyes, before it flickered off again. “Just tell me what to do!” Yoongi yelled, making you flinch.

“Calm down Yoongi, calm down. It’s easy though, isn’t it? That you’d come this far. That greed is saved for the last person who’d never tried to sacrifice themselves before. The one person who hasn’t done anything yet? Oh, I know, you let Jimin beat you up, you even offered to die. But I know you wanted it to be the girl. At the start. Because you knew as well as I did, and everyone else in the room, that she was the reason that one of you had to die.”

“So here we are, with what might be the easiest task yet, or the hardest, depending on how you look at it.” She chuckled, and laughed, and just wouldn’t stop, as if this was the funniest thing in the world. “You see, that bracelet that you wear has a special heating technology equipped to it. Once I press this button, it will slowly start to heat up further and further until it will sear into your flesh and you’ll eventually loose your hand or bleed out if your arteries don’t get cauterised properly. See this as your…timer. Because if you do not do as I ask. Each and every one of you, will die the same way poor Seokjin did. Painful, fully aware, and slowly.”

The images of Jin’s convulsing body passed before your eyes, and you were suddenly terrified that Yoongi was not going to be able to do what he had to.

“I have one simple task for you Yoongi. Pick 3 people that you think should leave this place. Yourself included as an option. Remember, don’t be greedy.”

The intercom cut out, and Yoongi swore under his breath. There was 4 of you, only 3 could leave. And he had to pick, it had to be him. He swore again, punching his probably already broken hand against the iron wall. “FUCK!”

“Yoongi.” Jimin said softly. “Let me stay.”

“No!” you called. “Jimin, I’m not going without you!” Never, you’d never leave this place without Jimin. You’d never leave him behind, not in a million years. Even if he hated you, you would not let him die alone.

Jimin sighed, and you heard shuffling from where he probably sat down with Hoseok. “One of us has to stay, and Yoongi might be right. This could all be related to my father, maybe an upset client, or someone he got into jail or whatever. I don’t know, but it could be. I wouldn’t be able to live with the idea that this was my fault. Plus, I’ve lost everything. My two best friends are dead, my girlfriend cheated on me and humiliated me. What would I do when I leave this place, be on my own? Die to insanity and fear? I’d rather die here.”

You cried silently, not knowing what to tell him, unable to form words because in a way you knew he was right.

Yoongi suddenly cried out in pain, thrashing around and pushing you towards the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, NO!” he called, crying out in pain, wailing almost. The bracelet, it must’ve started heating up, there was no other scenario. “NO, make it stop, fuck. MAKE IT STOP!” The smell of burning flesh filled the narrow hallways quickly, and you could hear Jimin gag 2 feet away from you.

With one hand over your mouth you tried to locate him in the dark, trying to calm him down. “Yoongi you have to make a decision!” you said when he accidentally slapped your hand away. “You have to choose!”

“FINE!” he yelled, tears so clear in his voice, high pitched with pain. “I choose, Hoseok, myself, and-“ He cut himself off by screaming again, body banging against the wall. “Shit.”

You waited, an agonising few seconds that would decide your faith for the rest of your life. It was you or Jimin, and you were practically certain that he would go for your boyfriend, Yoongi and you never truly got along, and he barely knew you. You were certain, until he called the last name. “And Jungkook!”

You were silent, baffled at the fact that he’d chosen Jungkook’s name. Both you and Jimin, both of you, were staying behind. To die.

#atonement #bts scenario #bts reaction #bts fic #bts au #mywriting #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #yoongi #seokjin #namjoon #hoseok #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts series #bts story #gore #au #horror

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fairytales-magic · 6 years

Text

Finally posting the gift for my amazingly talented, funny, dorky, mutual fawning-over-hot-men friend @goldwerewolf!! It’s awkwardly late but Happy Birthday Golden Gal!! (idk where the name came from but it’s stuck now :P)

An angsty Hakyona fanfic is my belated gift to you! I hope you enjoy it! *she laughs maliciously, knowing full well the contents of her story* Plus shoutout to my Beta reader @dillislazii for helping me work out the bugs. Many thanks to you!!

{Based off the saddest scene in Mulan 2. Y'all know which one.}

Also posted on my AO3!

Love Me But Do Not Leave Me ~Chapter 1: Sacrifice Is a Four Letter Word

There once was an ancient tale, that long ago man and woman were once one sole being. Together with four legs and hands plus two heads they lived as one. But the gods feared they were too powerful and as a result split them in two. It is said that though torn apart man and woman would spend their entire lives searching for their opposite half, desperate to reunite once more. When found there was no greater joy, and when death separated them there was no greater sorrow.

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

Sheets of rain descended upon the countryside, the four dragon warriors and Yoon taking shelter under the protection of the mountains side, mournful expressions upon each face.

“We should get the princess out of the rain. She might catch cold.” The somber reluctance Yoon spoke with held no real persuasion. The five companions merely gazed aways off at the redheaded figure on her knees. No one stepped forth. None had the heart to. Thunder rumbled in the near distance, as though agreeing to leave her be.

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

Mere hours before Yona and company had been traveling within the mountains dividing the countries of Kouka and Zing, all in high spirits despite the blanket of dark clouds looming above. Zeno was counting on water falling before long, joyfully exclaiming nothing made a landscape shimmer better than a hearty rainstorm. The journey was long and treacherous, though no worse then past trips their group had been on. They’d expected to make it to the mountain’s pass by nightfall, but fate chose to be unkind to them. Bandits praying on passing travelers tried setting their sights on the Happy Hungry Bunch.

Three of the dragons and lightning beast took the large group head-on, the others hanging back in the event they needed long distance aid. Yona hadn’t sensed the figures approaching from behind until Zeno had fallen, being struck on the head and felt arms hoist her up and over a shoulder. A frantic glance around showed the boy genius had been similarly captured as well.

“We got lucky.” The bandit with an ear piercing holding Yona grinned to his partners, the four dashing off with their stolen prizes. “These beauties are bound to fetch us a high price.”

“Hak!!”

The bodyguard finally caught sight of the kidnappers splitting off in different directions.

“Damn it!” Hak grunted, turning towards the other fighting Dragons. “Jaeha, lend me your help!”

The Green Dragon and Lightning Beast took off in different directions, Jaeha leaping right for Yoon while Hak ran forward for the Princess. The bodyguard caught sight of three men as they began crossing the rickety bridge connecting Fuuga to Kuuto. Using his glaive to vault himself onto the bridge, Hak landed smack in the middle next to his target; the unfortunate fool who dared touch his princess.

With a swift kick to the bandit’s leg Hak snatched Princess Yona from his hold, placing her on her feet. Jabbing the bandit straight in the face, the Lightning Beast sent him careening over the bridges side and plummeting down the cliffs deep ridge. The remaining two who’d managed to escape stood at the bridge’s end.

“Screw this.” The bandit with an ear piercing turned to his partner. “Just cut it!”

“Go. Run!” Seizing Yona’s wrist Hak tugged her in front of him and they made a mad dash for the opposite end. They’d managed to make it three-fourths of the way before the bridge’s strength gave way beneath the princess and ex-general’s feet.

Yona reached out in vain for the ledge but grasped only air. A breathless scream ripped from her lips as she felt herself go weightless, squeezing Hak’s hand still holding tight to hers. This is it she thought helplessly. This is how i die. As gravity took hold Yona momentarily felt time slow to a halt. In it she saw Kija, Jaeha, and Shin-ah sprinting towards them, panic etched in their every feature. But she knew they were too far off to make it in time. Squeezing her eyes shut Yona braced herself for the inevitable.

Suddenly, something brushed against her. A thin, rough material. Yona didn’t have time to process what exactly. In a split-second decision, she blindly snatched at whatever it was in the hopes for something good.

Rope! It was rope! Adrenaline raced through her body, the course braid burning the skin of her palm but Yona refused to let go. Gripping tight to Hak they jolted to a halt.

“Princess!” He called below her, both their breaths coming in short, heavy pants. “Are you alright?!”

“I’m fi-ugh!!” Yona grunted, her slim arms under immense strain trying to hold herself and Hak’s combined weight. “Nyghuh…”

Voices up above shouted frantically, the four dragons and boy genius scrambling for a way to reach the pairs only tether to land before it was no more. This is okay. We’re gonna be okay Yona forced herself to repeat, not daring to look down where her dangling feet hung. It’s gonna be alright…

As if on cue there was a sudden jerk, the frail rope holding the princess and lightning beast began to slowly fray, string by string coming undone from the excessive weight. Not good. Not good at all!

“Princess, listen to me.” Yona dared a glance down at her bodyguard, catching a look of resignation in his face that made her stomach clench. “It won’t hold us both…

I need you to let me go.”

“No!!” Yona shook her head furiously, refusing to even acknowledge the idea. “It will! I know it will! It has to!” Tears pricked her eyes at the absurdity of his suggestion, but also from pain creeping up her arms with all the weight she was enduring. Surely Yoon would find a way to save them before…

Another jolt, more violent this time, showed the rope holding them was dangerously close to snapping. Something had to be done and soon.

“Princess…” Hak gently called, looking up to gaze directly into her eyes. His princess, his dearest friend, his only love. “I’m sorry…”

“Stop it! No!!” Face now shrouded in hair Hak released his grip. Yona tried desperately to hold on but his massive hand slipped through her fingers in seconds, his body plummeting downward and swallowed up by the thick mist swirling underneath.

“HAK!!” Yona’s horrified shriek reverberated off the cliff’s sides, tears cascading down her face as she reached out to where he’d just been.

“HAAAAAAAKKKKKK!”

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

Water dripped off the red-headed princess’s skin, the rain soaking her to the bone yet she felt none of it’s chill.

Yona had not wept when they hoisted her from the frail rope, nor had she screamed once on solid land. She simply sat there, tears pouring down her cheeks, face a mask of shock.

Motionlessly she stayed knelt beside the cliffs edge where the bridge remains hung, staring at the lightning beast’s glaive in her hands.

Yona remembered when he’d first got it, the immense strength he possessed when wielding it gave him great pride. He had used it when training her, had taught her to fight and protect not only herself but others as well. And yet what good had that done her? Skill had not saved Hak when he needed help most. The knot within Yona’s chest tightened at the thought. Once more she’d been too weak to save anyone, and this time Hak paid the ultimate price.

She saw her violet eyes in the reflection of the blade’s surface, drained of any emotion save a hollow sadness gazing back at her.

Hak.

A flash of lightning and thunder boomed overhead, replacing the reflection of mournful eyes with ones of sky blue. A steely gaze surrounded by tanned skin and hair of deepest black. Within those eyes she saw silent admiration and a love so intense gazing back at her. Eyes that did not regret their decision.

Yona felt something within her snap, taking the pieces of her already broken heart and shattering them to dust. Her hands gripped tightly the hilt of his weapon.

“HAK!!!“

With a strength she did not know she possessed, Yona raised his glaive high, bringing it down with force enough to bury the blade in the ground before her. Her shoulders shook heavily as she sobbed anew, certain the ache she felt within her heart could never heal. He was gone. Gone in the blink of an eye. Gone…because she couldn’t hold on.

There she stayed till dawn broke through the sky, it’s radiant light painting the scattered clouds intense shades of crimson. And yet none could enjoy the beautiful sight, the only color seen above was that of sky blue.

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

{*cough and sniffs* Yeah i’m all good, this is fine we’re fine.

If it’s any consolation, Shang DOES live in the end, soooo who’s to say Hak doesn’t also? Eh? Eh? ;D }

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imagineaworlds · 7 years

Text

Caught In Your Eyes(Part Five)--Billy Hargrove

Written By @rune-of-a-writer / @hellimagines

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Original Request: “Hi. I love your work. I was wondering if you could do a billy imagine where the female reader is new to town and she’s a bad girl and billy instantly falls for her and tries to get with her. Thank you!!”

Warning: cursing, mentions of abuse and neglect

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

Summary: You find Billy at Gunther’s, and the two of you bond over shakes and a cold night spent in the back of his car.

Word Count: 4,053

Listen To: Stay Alive by Jose Gonzalez

A/N: So I had no intention of bringing a song into this (because I’m horrible with them). BUT THEN! I had my Pandora station on shuffle and this song came on while I was writing and I was like !!!!!!!!! that is literally (Y/N) and Billy’s theme song?? Like?? The hell. Perfection.

As you walked up to the illuminated lights of Gunther Tooty’s, you noticed a familiar blue Camaro recklessly parked out front. You couldn’t understand what Billy was doing here, after all, you had never known him to come here unless he was with the group. Pushing your (h/c) hair out of your face, you headed inside. The double doors opened, and you looked around for the familiar curly blond hair. You spotted him in the very back of the restaurant, his back facing the door. You could see his fingers mindlessly playing with the small jukebox on the booth’s table, his denim jacket tight around his shoulders. Giving Gunther a quick wave, you signaled your usual shake and headed over to Billy.

“Hey there, asshole,” you grinned, ruffling his hair as you passed to sit across from him. Billy’s entire body jolted when your hand landed in his hair, his head snapping up to look at you. Underneath his eye was bright red and slightly swollen, a scabbed cut on the bridge of his nose, and a dark bruise on the hollow of his cheek.

“Shit,” he breathed out, realizing it was only you. “Hey, princess,” you raised an eyebrow at how restless he was. “What are you doing out here so late dressed like that?”

“Nothing much,” you sighed, pulling your knee onto the booth’s bench and wrapping your arms around it, “just decided to go for a stroll. How about you, Hargrove? Didn’t know you were into the solo act anymore,” you smirked, flashing him a wink. Billy laughed, leaning back into the booth.

“Got me there. You and the Goon Squad managed to rope me in,” Billy joked, “But I just had a rough night, I suppose,” he admitted, casting his eyes back to the tiny juke box. You nodded in understanding, tracing one of the skulls on your pajama pants.

Gunther walked over, two shakes in his hand. He handed you your chocolate shake, no cherry, and Billy his vanilla shake with two cherries. Billy’s hand reached into his pocket to pull out the 3$, but Gunther stopped him.

“It’s on the house, son. You five kids have given this place it’s revenue. Two shakes won’t put me in the ground,” Gunther spoke, flashing the two of you a soft smile before walking back to the diner bar.

“That man is too good for Hawkins,” you complained, shoving your straw around in your shake, staring down into it. “Thanks for trying to pay for mine by the way. I just realized I don’t have any money on me.”

“Yeah, no problem. I kind of figured you weren’t hiding a wallet in those pants of yours,” Billy laughed, motioning his knuckle towards your knee.

“Yeah, didn’t have time to grab much, let alone a wallet,” you chuckled, a puff of air leaving your nose. Billy looked up at what you said, and so did you, your eyes widening.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Billy probed, biting his straw and taking a sip. Staring at him, you eyed him slowly.

“Alright, let’s make a deal,” you proposed, taking your straw out of your shake and sucking the whip cream off. “If I tell you about my ‘rough night’, you’re gonna tell me why your face is beat up while your knuckles aren’t bruised. If you had gotten jumped, you would’ve fought back. That is a damn fact, Hargrove.”

“Fine,” Billy sighed after a minute, crossing his arms and leaning away from you and his shake. He had one of the candy cherries in his mouth now, rolling it around. Nodding, you let out a jagged breath.

“For starters, my uncle’s a dick. Let’s just get that straight,” you began, “I had to move here with him because my dad couldn’t handle me anymore, not after what happened at my old school. I used to bounce living between him and my uncle, neither one being ideal. My uncle is a sex addict and my dad a drug addict. Run’s in the family, guess that’s why I’m addicted to fighting,” you laughed, trying to lighten the conversation a little. “But anyways, my uncle kicks me out a lot so that his girls can have places to stay if tricks go bad, or their rent is past due, or he’s lonely. Those things. He hasn’t done it since we moved here, I figured he wouldn’t since he still has his own place back home. But I was wrong,” you growled, flicking the glass of your shake, “While I was sleeping at the apartment, he barged in and pretty much shoved me out. Didn’t give me a chance to put on shoes or my jacket. Didn’t give me my keys, nothing. Survival of the fittest I suppose,” you finished, finally taking a sip of your chocolate shake to clear your dry throat, and avoid Billy’s stare.

Billy’s tongue pressed along the inside of his cheek, rolling his cherry underneath. He watched you carefully and silently for a while, not wanting to say anything yet. Your (e/c) eyes were cast out the window, the blue luminescent lighting of Gunther’s shop clashing with their natural color. You had whip cream on your bottom lip from rolling your straw along it, and your hair was down for once. Billy hadn’t really seen your hair down before, you usually had it in a ponytail with strands in your face. It was nice, he had to admit, subtle waves going through it and little pieces sticking out; most likely from being rushed out of your apartment. You were still wearing your Mickey Mouse shirt from this morning, and Billy knew you weren’t wearing a bra-he’d seen enough tits to know. He didn’t say anything of course, but god did he know. The only thing that took him by total shock, were your mismatched socks. One was bright pink, and the other was bright green.

“Ya gonna say something, Hargrove, or keep givin’ that cherry a good time?” you finally spoke up, moving your eyes to look at him. Billy grinned, showing off the cherry between his teeth and making a show of rolling it along the top of his mouth before finally eating it.

“I’ve got a lot to say, (Y/L/N),” he spoke up, after swallowing, “First of all, your uncle is indeed a dick. Throwing a teenage girl out at the end of winter without a jacket or pair of shoes is fucked up. You deserve better than that, princess,” Billy murmured, leaning forward.

“Thanks, asshole,” you said sincerely, no malice attached to the nickname. “Now, what about your face?” Billy sighed, now taking his turn to look at his shake.

“Coach ended up telling my dad about everything that’s happened between Tim and I when we almost went at it again today. We didn’t get in a fight, but we screamed and cussed each other out. My dad got really pissed off when I came home. He’s been losing his temper a lot more easily now, ever since my mom died I’ve noticed. There’s not a whole lot I can do to please him anymore. This didn’t help,” Billy explained simply, sparing you of the details. You nodded, resting your chin on your knee.

“Yeah… I sort of figured something was going on. When you came in after the game Hawkins lost with that busted lip and bruise on your shoulder and clear knuckles? Something wasn’t up. You can’t just confront someone about that shit though. It’s not easy to deal with, let alone talk about. Plus, we’re basically always with the other three,” you huffed, fishing out more whipped cream with your straw. Billy’s face paled at your analysis, looking up at you with his mouth around his straw.

“I-I… I uh…” Billy spluttered, not knowing how to react to being caught in his various lies.

“It’s fine, Billy, I get it. Some of the fights I pick at school are just because I get bruises from my uncle. Do you really think I actually wanted to get in a fight with Jacob when he tipped over my water bottle in Environmental class? I’m not that psycho, but I had to find some way to cover up the bruises,” you passed, waving your hand in the air. Billy let out the panicked breath he was holding in, relaxing again. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes.

“So where are you gonna go tonight? Gunther’s closes in an hour,” Billy questioned, after a while, tilting his head in the vague direction of where he thought the old man would be. You shrugged, having no idea. You didn’t know it was already 2 a.m, you thought it was only midnight, possibly 1 a.m.

“Not sure. I’ll most likely head to a park again, the tunnel slides are oddly comfortable,” you snickered, winking at him. “What about you? Does your dad cool down quick?”

“Yeah, he’s asleep. I can sneak back in if I need to, but I most likely won’t. I let him cool down until the next day. You can sleep in my car with me if you want? That’s what I usually do. I park it down at Golden Ponds and then head to school whenever I wake up.”

“I’ll have to hit you up on that offer. But I need you to drop me off at my house in the morning so I can change. Gotta keep up that reputation,” you smirked, pulling at your pajama pants.

“I don’t know, princess. Skull pajamas? Pretty badass if you ask me,” Billy retorted, flashing a wink back at you and you shook your head.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, scooting out of the booth. Billy followed after you, your finished shakes abandoned on the table. “Thanks for the shakes, Gunther. We’ll probably see you tomorrow!” you called out to the back of the diner, hearing a ‘have a good night, kids!’ before the two of you left the store.

Billy unlocked the car for you guys, ducking into the driver’s side, you following into the passenger side. You shivered at the temperature drop, Gunther’s diner having been much warmer than the inside of Billy’s car. Starting the car, Billy was quick to get the heater going as he drove off.

“Sorry, it usually takes a minute or two for it to get going,” Billy apologized.

“It’s fine, it’s better than being outside,” you assured, grinning up at him. He gave you a soft smile before turning on the radio, his rock music instantly streaming through. He kept the music quiet, so that it was more of a buzz than anything. When the car came to a stop at a red light, Billy began taking off the denim jacket he was wearing.

“Here, I’m wearing a long sleeve under this,” Billy said, handing the jacket over to you as the light turned green.

“You sure?” you questioned, hesitantly taking it from him. The last time you had worn the jacket was when you were high, out in the middle of a road. It didn’t bring back great memories, but the jacket was still warm from him wearing it, and it was comfortable.

“Yeah, don’t make me change my mind, princess,” he warned, but his tone was teasing. Huffing, you pulled the jacket on, relishing in the way your freezing arms were finally able to escape the bitter cold.

A comfortable silence fell over the car, Billy’s music barely being heard over the car’s engine. He was driving slow, taking his time to get to the ponds. Your eyes were starting to close, your head leaning against the cold window. The occasional bump or turn would jolt you awake, and you’d rub your eyes, trying not to fall asleep. In about 20 minutes, you guys had made it to Golden Ponds, and the area was completely vacant. Billy parked the car under a large tree, it’s bare branches brushing against the hood. His headlights shined over one of the ponds, illuminating the ice.

“It’s nice,” you murmured, looking at the ice intently.

“Yeah, it’s even better in the morning. Nobody comes here in the winter I’ve found out. In the fall this place was swarmed with people all the time. I always had to make sure I was gone before 6,” he said, “But now, I can sleep in as late as I need to, and nobody is ever here. The ice is way too thin, and the ponds too small, to ice skate, so there’s not too many reasons to come out here.”

“Except for people like us,” you joked, giving him a toothy grin, which he returned.

“Yeah, except for our kind,” he said. Our kind. Billy hadn’t found someone to relate to before, mainly because he never opened up. It was a strange feeling, but it wasn’t one he wanted to go away. Not this time. Billy shut the car off, the pond losing it’s light and the car it’s heat. “I can’t keep it running. But there’s a blanket in the back.”

“Alright, that’ll work. Come on, I know you’re tired as hell,” you ordered, beginning to climb into the back. Billy watched you, biting his lip as you squeezed yourself between the seats and finally into the back. “Fuck, that was harder than I thought. Why is your car so small, Hargrove? You trying to match your dick or something?” you asked, barely able to duck in time as his hand came flying to hit your shoulder. Once you were settled in the back, Billy climbed over.

“It’s not that small,” he grunted, falling into the corner of the car, letting out a huff. He kicked his shoes off, tossing them into the front and began unbuckling his belt.

“The car or your dick? Because the answer is ‘yes, it is’ to both,” you grinned, but stopped when he started unbuckling his belt. “Alright, asshole. Just because you’re hot and I’m sleeping in your car, doesn’t mean we’re sleeping together,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. Billy stopped, giving you an incredulous look.

“In your dreams, princess. Who the hell sleeps in a belt? I know your cute ass isn’t wearing a bra right now, your nipples are ripe as day. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start fondling them,” he scoffed and continued pulling the belt out of its loops.

“Wha- how did you?” it was now your turn to be shocked, looking down at your chest to see that he was right. “Why the hell were you lookin’, Hargrove?” you yelled, trying to hide your chest.

“It’s hard not to. When a hot girl is in front of me and her boobs are right there? My eyes are gonna go down for a second,” Billy said, rolling his eyes and tossing the belt in the front of the car as well. “Now would you quit arguing about your nipples and lay down? It’s cold, I’m tired, and I’m gonna get angry really quick.”

“Really? My bad, I thought you were already angry,” you snapped, but did as you were told, laying your head down and spreading your legs out. They hit Billy’s thighs, and he reached over you, grabbing the blanket from under the seats. It was a giant, dark blue fleece blanket that would be sure to keep the both of you warm. After throwing the blanket over you, Billy moved behind you and laid down, covering himself as well.

“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s better than freezing to death,” he said, his voice coming from above your ear. The warmth of his breath was nice compared to the cold air, and it relaxed your neck.

“Yeah, it’s alright. But if I wake up with your boner against my back, you’re walking into school with two black eyes,” you informed him, turning your head to give him a glare. Your faces came eerily close, but you kept the glare, wanting him to get the message.

“I’ll try my hardest,” he smirked, licking his lips. Your eyes rolled so far back, you thought you were going to see your IQ level.

“I swear to god…” you grumbled, turning forward again, and pulling the blanket up to your nose, trying to get warm. Billy’s arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you from falling off the back seat. Both of your hips were digging into the seat belt clicks, and it was not comfortable, but you would most definitely take this over your usual slide tunnel any day.

“Thanks, Billy,” you sighed out, beginning to drift off.

“‘Course, (Y/N/N). You’re here forever and you’re by my side,” was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, your head rested between his elbow and his leg thrown over your hip.

I will stay with you tonight

Hold you close ‘til the morning light

In the morning watch a new day rise

We’ll do whatever just to stay alive

Light had been streaming in through the windows for the past few hours, bringing you in and out of consciousness. Your body was warm, and even though it was cramped and incredibly uncomfortable, each time you felt yourself beginning to wake up, you’d force yourself to fall back asleep. But when fingertips began gliding along your cheekbones, over your lips and into your hair, you couldn’t push it off any longer. Your head was no longer in the crook of Billy’s arm, but on the seat, and your legs were sandwiched between is, keeping them warm. He had his own head propped up on his hand, the other one running along your face and through your hair. Letting out a soft groan, you scrunched your eyes open, Billy ceasing his movements immediately.

“You don’t have to stop playing with my hair,” you couldn’t help but whine, admitting that the feeling was nice. “But I can’t feel my arm,” you groaned, slowly pushing yourself up from the seat so you wouldn’t knock your head against his. Once you had successfully sat up, you stretched your arms and your neck, working the kinks out of them.

“You sleep okay? At least better than in a plastic slide?” Billy questioned, sitting up and cracking his neck as well, leaning his back against the door.

“Yeah, decently. Kept waking up, but that’s to be expected. Do you know what time it is?”

“9:24,” Billy answered, propping his foot on the divider, leaning his knee against the driver’s seat. “Do you wanna stop and get something to eat, or head straight to your place?” you yawned, and gave him a shrug. You were never all that hungry in the mornings, and you knew James was gonna pissed at you for not being at school that morning.

“If you’re hungry we can stop, but I’m not really. So it’s up to you,” you told him, stretching your feet out along his on the divider. Looking through the window, you could see the ponds vividly. The morning light was shining over the ice, making you understand why the area was called Golden Ponds.

“Nice, huh?” Billy asked, noticing what you were looking at. You simply nodded, not wanting to look away. It was beautiful compared to the majority of Hawkins, and you didn’t want to stop staring. “I don’t want to leave just yet. I’m not awake enough to drive,” Billy informed you, trying to use his fatigue as a justifiable excuse.

“That’s fine. Third period doesn’t start until 11:15 anyways,” you hummed. Looking over at Billy, you saw him looking through the gap of the driver’s seat and the window to look at the ponds as well. His eye was bruised now, and the cut was a red irritation mark. The bruise on the hollow of his cheek was more prominent, but despite all the marks, he looked at peace. With the light bouncing off the ice and through the Camaro’s windows, his blond hair looked shinier, and his blue eyes brighter-almost like the ocean he was always talking about. The feather earring he wore dangled just above his shoulder, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to flick at it.

“It was my mom’s,” he said, not even flinching from your touch. The feather was soft, the small beads on it bumping together. You dragged your nail through the fibers, tilting your head to see how it looked in the sun. The reds and oranges resembled a fire, or a phoenix even, the way it moved so peacefully along your finger.

“It’s pretty. It matches the thing on the back of your door. I noticed it when you brought me back after the party… Was that hers too?” you asked lightly, knowing he usually became guarded and angry whenever anyone’s mom was brought up, let alone his. He nodded quietly, the earring moving with him and out of your grasp. “Bet she liked you a lot.”

“Yeah… we were close,” he smiled softly, and so did you. Billy rarely smiled without his teeth or tongue, and when he did it was nice. It was hard not to do it yourself. “This was her car. She’d take me down to the beach all the time, we’d get seashells, all of that. One time I found a starfish, it was the best day of my damn life, princess. Let me tell you,” he laughed, tilting his head back and looking up at the roof of his car. “It was a dark grey, I almost thought it was fake. I didn’t think they came in colors other than pink. My mom was real happy too, but she made me keep it against the rock. Taught me how to touch it with the back of my knuckle. The whole deal,” he explained to you, his fingers twitching against the denim of his jeans. The story came so easily, unlike all his others. It flowed so smoothly, as if it happened yesterday. This had to be something he thought about a lot. “That was the day I decided starfishes were gonna be my favorite animal, my favorite thing. Whenever we would go back, I’d spend the whole time looking for them. Fuck the shells, I wanted to see another starfish.”

“Did you?” you asked, pulling your knee to your chest and looking up at him.

“Yeah, quite a bit. I never noticed how many there were until that day. But each time I found a new one, it was like the first day all over again. She was the only one who understood that feeling…” he trailed off, casting his eyes towards his jeans before looking back at you.

“Starfish are fucking awesome,” you agreed, giving him the best grin you could after just waking up, “I’ve never seen one in person. I haven’t been to an aquarium or a beach before, but from what I’ve seen in the books, they look cool as hell,” you said, and Billy gave you a look of pure horror.

“You’ve never been to a beach? An aquarium?” he asked in astonishment. You shook your head, rolling your eyes slightly.

“Not all of us are blessed with California genes, Hargrove,” you laughed, shoving his shoulder.

“Tell you what,” he began, mocking you from earlier.

“Oh my god, another deal?”

“You bet your ass. If you go as my crash-date to the dance, I’ll take you to the aquarium. If they don’t have any starfish, we can sue them. Sound like a deal?” he offered, running his tongue along his lips. Even though it was an offer, you knew he wasn’t planning on taking a ‘no’.

“Yeah, alright, asshole. You’re paying though,” you snickered and Billy grinned.

“Fine by me, princess. Looks like it’s just James and Vance who have to find a date now,” he sighed, looking back out the window. Your eyes widened, not realizing that none of you had told Billy yet. You leaned against him, resting your head against chest and your arm on top of his knee.

“Won’t be necessary. They’ve been eye-fucking each other for years, and now they’re gonna be actually fucking each other for the rest of time.”

“What the fuck.”

Tag List: @assholeheartthrob @selenedarkbloom @hailhydrabarnes @hellboundblogger @rad-rad-rain @cheneyq @between-shades-of-winchester @tamara-stalenhoef @fangirlinganditswonders @myblackwings5 @themangledjessie @strangerswiftie @madhatterweasley @-episkey- @high-heels-and-demon-deals @princess-chocolate-drop @warsintothestars @yikeonbike @faes0personal @lilo-1398 (taglist is still open!)

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #rune-of-a-writer #dacre montgomery

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causticaelum-blog · 7 years

Text

The Chocobros React: You’re Unwell

Hi hello I’ve been gone for months and months and months so I hope that it’s okay for me to like,,,..,,., blow the cobwebs off of this blog and get it going again.

NOCTIS

With all the pressures that accompany being part of the Lucian bloodline, you end up thinking that it isn’t really worth telling Noctis about the fact that you’re a bit sick; dreary headaches had been plaguing you for at least a day, along with panging stomach cramps that eventually meant you had to call in sick at work. You’re thinking that a day of rest would completely sort out this illness.

The evening has fallen upon you when Noctis calls you, you’re half asleep when you pick up the phone, murmuring into the receiver in a groggy tone. “Hm? Noctis?”

“Iggy just told me that you’d called in sick at work today—why didn’t you tell me you were ill?” There’s a certain smear of sorrow coating the prince’s voice as he gets straight to the point, and you spend a smattering of a second cursing the boy’s advisor for keeping track of you.

You tug at the covers enveloping your body, shuffling up into a seated position. “I didn’t want to worry you, Noct. You’ve been so stressed lately that I thought—”

He cuts you off. “Y/N... I care about you, so much.” It’s in this moment that you realise that perhaps not letting him in on the fact that you’re unwell has most likely contributed to his stress even more, and guilt begins to press itself against your temples with vigour. “Please don’t keep something like that from me again, okay?”

“I won’t.” You affirm quietly.

“Good.” Comes his soft murmur from the other line, “I’m coming over, then, if that’s okay, with, you know, soup and stuff and video games?”

A smile lights up your face at his words, “I’d like that.”

GLADIOLUS

You had been out on a camping trip with Gladio when you get caught in a heavy downpour of rain, getting soaked through to the bone. Unfortunately for the two of you, you’d been out exploring when the rain had started, so the journey back to the campsite inevitably resulted in water-logged everything. Not only that, but you had somehow forgotten to bring any form of coat, and had insisted that Gladio keep his one (1) layer on when he’d offered his jacket to you.

“Come on, Y/N, you need to warm up or you’ll get sick.” He’d piped up the moment you’d arrived back to camp. Of course, you’d failed to completely listen to him, mostly dismissing his worries. So, when you have to cut your trip short because you’d caught a mild cold (Gladio would argue that it’s really, really bad, though), he’s very much on the verge of constantly uttering ‘told you so’ every time you sneeze.

Despite everything, however, he makes a conscious effort not to, driving you back to your apartment and immediately insisting that you get into bed and cover yourself in blankets and a duvet (plus also have him by your side as a living, breathing hot water bottle sort of equivalent)

IGNIS

It almost seemed as if Ignis knew that you’d fallen sick before you did. Because the day you start to develop a fever, Ignis decides that he’s spending a few nights at your apartment so he can take care of you, and brings along with him a slew of knowledge pertaining to the scarily accurate symptoms he’d worked out that you’d be likely to experience of your illness.

The third day into getting over your sickness has you bundled up in bed with a mass of blankets and a hot-water bottle, with Ignis sat next to you reading a book (despite his duties, he’d insisted on taking time off to care for you). You’re grumbling a bit, a sharp headache coinciding with a stomach ache that makes you want to keel over.

“It hurts.” You’re pouting, drawing out your words and shifting so you’re laying on your side facing him. “Can’t I have any more pain killers?”

“Y/N..” Ignis speaks sternly, setting down his book on your bedside table before turning to face you. “We both know that you can’t have any more until the evening. Do you want something else instead? Something to distract you from it, perhaps?”

“Could you...” You trail off, smiling softly despite the continuous, aching twinge in your gut. “Could you maybe make me something to eat? Something hot?”

His expression appears to soften, “Of course, I’ll get to it right away.” And with that, he gets off of the bed with a smile, making a tremendous effort to not disturb you, before padding away in the direction of the kitchen.

(Later Ignis will come back in with a meal, to find that you’ve fallen asleep. Despite the initial noise of disapproval at the fact that the food is likely to go cold before you get a chance to eat it, a smile will melt onto his face at how peaceful you look.)

PROMPTO

The second Prompto finds out that you’re unwell, he’s pushing his way into your apartment with a suitcase and a pile of blankets and pillows in his arms. “I’m here to look after you!” He announces, swanning into your home and setting his things down. After cramming the mass of tinned soup he seems to have bought into your cupboards, he turns to you, opening his arms and offering a hug.

“Don’t get too close, Prom. You’ll get sick too...”

“Who cares?” He declares in a defiant tone, despite everything and the risk of also getting ill stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you in a comforting and warm embrace.

Obviously, he ends up getting sick.

“Okay. I take what I said before back. I care. I don’t want to be sick.” He whines, tone nasally and hollow due to a blocked nose. “I can’t believe you got me sick,” He utters, pouting at you from his blanket-swathed position on the other side of your sofa.

“It was your fault!” You respond, frowning before making an attempt to shift closer to him, the comforters currently wrapped around your body making this quite a difficult task. “Anyway... We can be sick buddies now.”

Prompto mulls that over for a second before his features brighten. “You’re right, do you want to cuddle or something now? Because that would totally make me feel a lot better, sick buddy.”

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taeinmycup · 7 years

Text

Countdown To You | Pt. 5

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Member: Park Jimin

Words: 3.5k

Your soulmate clock is actually a countdown of how long your soulmate has left to live and holy shit you have to find your soulmate soon because your clock says you have three months left.” (source.)

A/N: a question for you guys; how long are 153 days and 13 hours in months? :) [you will get this author note after reading this chapter]

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6

You woke up from your sleep, everything was a haze in your vision – and you felt unusually weird. You tried to open your eyes, but you couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried. You then did an attempt to move your sleeping body, but this turned out to be useless as well. The weirdness you felt evolved into this scariness you felt building up inside your guts. What was this? Were you in a sleep paralysis? Your mind was definitely awake, so you thought your body might be sleeping? However, this felt too different from a sleep paralysis. You tried to convince yourself that you were in a sleep paralysis, but everything felt… unreal – which actually shouldn’t be the case if you were in a sleep paralysis.

Your throat felt dry – and you felt like you needed to speak up, even if it was just one word. You tried to open up your mouth, but it felt like your jaws were glued to each other, your mouth not listening to the signals your brain sent out.

“This must be a dream, it has to be,” you thought out loud, as you could hear your own voice in your head – making this echoing sound as if the inside of your brain was totally empty, with your mind being the only thing wandering around in it. All you could see was a black void, simply because your eyes were closed tightly, refusing to open up. This was too frustrating to you – not being able to move – and it felt like you were about to go nuts at any moment.

But right then, a certain voice stopped you from going nuts. The voice that has made your heart beat multiple times faster whenever your ears picked up the sweet, velvet-like sound. It was like this particular voice made you… complete. As if you were born to hear this voice – which you technically were, actually – because this voice belonged to no other than your dear beloved soulmate.

However, as the voice kept repeating its words – the more the voice repeated the words, the more strangled it sounded, like it was deeply hurt – and as you became more aware of what these exact words were, you could feel your heart shredding into pieces. With your body somehow being paralyzed, your tears weren’t able to come out, but you were sure that you would have cried a whole deep ocean if your body would not be in this state.

“Y/N. I will always love you. Please, don’t forget me.”

Waking up to a cold sweat was something that you hated. It made you feel scared and vulnerable – but also a little bit nervous. Although you knew it was probably because of the nightmares you occasionally had, you can’t help but think that there might be something more to it. As if there might a reason lying being your nightmares. Perhaps, a foreseeing of the future?

You slowly opened your eyes – the morning sunbeams shining through the white, transparent curtains – as you tried to move your tired limbs one by one. As your conscience started to wake up as well, you started to remember last night’s events – a smile appearing on your face as your mind literally replayed every scenario. With a slight blush on your face, your right hand reached out to the spot next to you, but only to realize that the spot was empty. You furrowed your brows, getting up immediately as you scanned your eyes through Jimin’s big bedroom, hoping to lay your eyes on that one man as soon as they found him.

It was then when you started to smell the nice aroma of fresh baked eggs, and the sound of a frying pan coming from what you assumed the kitchen. You sighed as the nice smell reached your nostrils, your stomach grumbling automatically afterwards, your longing to a proper breakfast getting bigger and bigger. Your breakfast consisted of sloppy cornflakes and a dry piece of bread these days – mainly because you were just too busy to make yourself a proper breakfast – so baked eggs on a fresh piece of bread was something you considered as luxe at this very moment. In a quick pace, you picked up Jimin’s buttoned-up blouse – which was all crippled thrown on the floor, totally forgotten – and put it on, the scent of Jimin’s cologne overwhelming you as you felt the soft cotton lingering on your naked skin. You eventually decided to make his bed after getting out of it, of which you thought would be a simple thankful gesture towards Jimin for letting you sleep in his house.

Two minutes later, you found yourself strolling out of the bedroom, following the delicious scent of these fresh baked eggs. You did not even know why or how, but you had this happy feeling lingering in your guts – and you were enjoying it. It took you a while to actually get to Jimin’s kitchen – since his huge penthouse was particularly one big maze – but you managed to find it, mainly thanks to your strong smelling senses.

The first thing you did as you arrived at his kitchen was literally gawking your eyes out. Jimin’s kitchen was huge. The size was probably almost the size of your whole apartment, and for once in your life, you actually saw a neat kitchen. Even your mom’s kitchen was not this neat. As you were admiring the beautiful kitchen, you did not notice a certain man looking at you, with an amusing smirk plastered on his face.

“If you already think the kitchen is impressive, wait until you see the living room.”

You jolted up from your daze, your head snapping towards the direction of the voice – this particular voice that managed to make you feel intensely weak on the spot, and you could feel your heart already beat rapidly in your empty and hollow chest as you locked your eyes with his beautiful, dark-brown ones. You slowly came to accept the fact that Jimin would always make you feel this way, but that didn’t mean you weren’t less affected by it than you were when you laid your eyes on him for the first time.

Plus, the fact that he was not wearing a proper shirt at the moment did not help either – and it was oh so hard to prevent your eyes from going downwards.

“You look good in my clothes,” Jimin remarked – the smirk still present on his handsome face – strolling towards you before putting his arms around your waist. He then gave you a soft peck on your lips, before pinching your sides teasingly, causing you to whimper as a reflex.

“I always look good,” you sassed back at him, sticking your tongue out playfully. “With or without clothes on me.”

Jimin raised a brow at your somewhat naughty remark, and it seemed that he definitely liked what he just heard. He shook his head at you, chuckling as he patted your nose with his finger. “Don’t say such things, before things will get out of hand, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh my fucking god. You just didn’t!” you let out a gasp as you pretended to be shocked – putting your hand on your chest in an exasperated way. Jimin let out a wholehearted laugh, and you could feel the familiar butterflies swirling in your stomach – and you realized you were falling even harder for this guy.

“All guys are the same. What do you weird human beings like so much about morning sex? All I can think about is breath smells lingering everywhere in the room and soggy-like sex.” You shook your head disapprovingly in a teasing way, at which Jimin rolled his eyes quickly – so quick that you almost wouldn’t catch it.

“Well, someone here is definitely not a fan of morning sex, huh?” Jimin asked underneath his breath, followed by a lighthearted chuckle, as he walked back to the stove – only to extinguish the fire and finishing up the rest of his cooking. You watched your beloved soulmate carefully as he took two plates out of one of the kitchen cabinets, cutting the omelet in two before putting the two halves on the plates – followed by the pieces of bacon. Although it was the simplest breakfast you had known, Jimin actually managed to make it look like the plates came straight out of that restaurant the two of you ate last night.

As Jimin was done with preparing breakfast, he picked up the two plates as he gestured you to follow him into the living room – not before he gave you a small peck on your nose and a teasing wink though, and you almost rolled your eyes at his cheesiness.

You assumed Jimin had to be joking about his living room – it just couldn’t be more beautiful than his kitchen. However, as soon as you stepped into the room, you could almost feel your eyes fall out of your sockets – this time not being able to suppress the gasp that was hiding in the back of your throat. His kitchen was huge, but his living room was enormous; probably five times bigger than the kitchen and his bedroom altogether.

“I told you so,” Jimin whispered into your ear – his presence next to you making you feel weak in the knees as you felt your right wrist burning again. How he managed to make you feel so weak and vulnerable like this – you didn’t know. But you were sure of the fact that Jimin was the one and only who would be able to make you feel like this, and no other guy would be able to.

And that was why you were so afraid of losing him.

“Do you want to eat breakfast at the dinner table? Or just on the sofa?” Jimin asked you, causing you to jolt out of your thoughts. You turned your head, only to look him into his beautiful, shining and sparkly brown eyes – the most beautiful eyes that you had seen in your whole damn life – and all of a sudden you were wondering how a single person could be so perfect.

You shrugged your shoulders absentmindedly, letting him know that it didn’t matter much to you – you were in his house after all. “You can choose where to eat, it doesn’t really matter to me,” you said, giving your soulmate a soft smile to show him that you were fine with anything, really.

As long as you could eat your breakfast with him, anything would work for you.

“Okay…” Jimin muttered thoughtfully – his eyes shifting in between the dinner table and the sofa – before shrugging his shoulders as well, and gesturing you to follow him to the dinner table. You chuckled at him, thinking he was somewhat adorable this way; his dark-colored hair all messed up, his face a bit swollen – probably because he just woke up – as his lean body was covered by a pair of black shorts and an oversized shirt. This was a totally different side than the Park Jimin you were actually used to at work – strict, bossy and a perfectionist.

Right now, he was everything but these.

Jimin put down the plates on the dinner table – which was of course, huge. He pulled out one of the chairs, giving you a pure and sweet smile as he gestured for you to sit down. You couldn’t help but give him even a more pure smile back, before sitting down with your breakfast in front of you – ready to be eaten.

After Jimin settled down onto the dinner table as well, he gave you a knife and a fork – his angelic smile never disappearing. “Eat up, before it gets cold,” he ordered, although his voice sounded much softer than the one he used when he gave orders at work. And once again, you felt yourself getting weak in your knees as his honey dripping voice reached your ears.

“Oh, I will. I’m really hungry right now,” you remarked, picking up the fork – before dumping a huge piece of the omelet into your mouth. You had tasted better omelets in your life, but you were so hungry that the omelet was probably the most delicious one you had ever eaten – at least in that one very moment. Jimin looked at you with wide eyes briefly, probably shocked that you were literally devouring your breakfast, but his wide eyes towards you turned into his significant eye-smile immediately afterwards.

“Hey missy, take it slow. You don’t want to have stomach aches for the rest of the day, do you?” Jimin remarked in an amused tone, shaking his head slowly as he let out a soft chuckle. You rolled your eyes at him, as you were still chewing on your piece of omelet.

“At least I’m eating well,” you snarled back, already cutting another big piece of your omelet. “You don’t want a girlfriend who’s unhealthily thin, right?”

Jimin suddenly froze at your choice of words – his hand getting a tighter grip on his fork; so tight that his knuckles turned almost as white as the color of the plates. Your chewing stopped once you laid eyes on him – the relaxed atmosphere which was still here a few seconds ago completely gone, replaced by a suffocating one. You mentally scolded yourself and your choice of words. Girlfriend? Why did you even mention that word when it was definitely clear that you couldn’t be his girlfriend?

“I-I’m sorry. I took it too far, didn’t I?” you muttered underneath your breath, your eyes glued on the plate in front of you – ashamed of looking your soulmate into his eyes; afraid that you would get intimidated by these eyes once you looked into them.

His eyes were your biggest weakness, after all.

You could hear Jimin putting down his fork back on the table, and the next thing that you could hear was the sound of his chair shifting – the creaking noise of the chair’s wooden legs against the tiled floor making you jolt up for a split second. He was about to walk away. You closed your eyes tightly, the fear within you growing. He would probably leave you there, at least until you finished your breakfast – not saying one word to you as he would wait until you’d leave his house, only to never speak to you again. Nor at work, nor in your free time.

You messed up. Big time.

At least, those were the thoughts in your head. That’s why the next thing that happened shocked you completely, your eyes widening as you felt a strong pair of arms around your shoulders. The same strong pair of arms that held you so tightly last night – as if you would disappear if they would not hold onto you so tight. However at this moment, it felt like these arms kept you even more tight into the embrace.

“Y/N. Can I ask you something?”

When Jimin’s soft whisper reached your ears, you couldn’t help but shiver slightly – your right wrist tingling as your breathing became more irregular. You tried to calm yourself, although that was more of a hard task than an easy one, since he literally embraced you in his arms from behind. Afraid that your voice would betray your nervousness because of the sudden intimacy, you just nodded your head slowly – giving him the permission to ask you his question.

When you thought Jimin couldn’t hold onto you more tight than this, he proved you dead wrong as you felt that his embrace became stronger. You didn’t understand. The sound of his whisper, it almost sounded… sad. You were suddenly afraid of the question he would ask. Why was Jimin like this all of a sudden? What did he want to ask you all of a sudden?

“According to your soulmate clock – how long do I have precisely left until I will leave?”

Your breathing stopped as soon as you heard Jimin’s question. You slowly turned your head, only to look into his orbs – the usual lively sparkles in them replaced by a sparkle of sad reminiscence – and it seemed like your eyes reflected the same sparkle as well. Although you knew the exact answer to his question, you couldn’t help but feel hurt by it. The question reminded you of Jimin’s short-lived life – of his life threatening illness which could let him leave this world any second – and all your fears suddenly came back. The fear of seeing a weak, ill Jimin in a hospital bed – seeing him awaiting his death. As you looked into his dark-brown eyes that you learned to adore so much in such a short amount of time, you asked yourself if you would be able to handle the consequences of being with Jimin.

And that was probably why he kept his distance in the beginning – because he was aware of the consequences. The consequences of putting your thoughtless lust over your rational mind.

You kept staring into his eyes – hoping that he would retreat and take back his question. However, you knew Jimin and his decisive character – his decisive character made him the perfect CEO, after all. He wouldn’t take back his question, that you were sure of. You let out a deep – but shaky – exhale, letting your fears and thoughts leave your body with the breath you let out.

If Jimin wanted the answer, he would get it.

“From the last time I took a peek at my soulmate clock… You have three months. Maybe even less than three months since I haven’t looked at the clock for a week. It hurts me too much to look at it.”

You looked away from his eyes as soon as you answered his question, locking your own on the white plate in front of you – with the omelet and the pieces of bacon already turned cold. Jimin’s embrace was still as tight as it had been before he asked his question, which meant that the guy was not even surprised at all – let alone be affected by the news. But if he wasn’t, why did he even bother to ask you? Was it to see how you would react to the question? To see if you would answer the question or not?

The next thing that came out of Jimin’s mouth was a soft chuckle, the small breaths reaching your auricle. “The doctor predicted it right – I have to give him kudos for that.”

“He did? T-that’s impressive,” you muttered – your voice so soft that it was almost inaudible to Jimin. You could feel the familiar lump in your throat coming up, the tears already blurring your vision as you tried to suppress an ugly sob – in which you of course, failed. You absolutely did not want to cry, especially not in front of Jimin, because you would only feel like a burden to him. A crying ass burden who would make him even more sad than he already was.

If Jimin noticed your ugly sob, he didn’t mention anything of it. Instead, he kept quiet – stroking your shoulders as a form of consolation, topping it off with a soft and sincere kiss on the side of your head. Although his actions were supposed to make you stop crying, you couldn’t help but sob even louder after his kiss – and you wanted to kick your own ass for crying too much.

Jimin kept quiet the next few minutes, listening to your loud sobs as he let you cry until you would stop yourself. You were grateful that he let you cry freely and did not ask you questions – which was probably because he already knew the answers of them – but maybe it was also because he did not want to bother you with the same questions all over again.

“I have the day off today, and I confirmed that you have the day off as well after checking your schedule,” Jimin said in a soft tone, causing you to stop sobbing and raise your brows. Why would he have the day off today? Was it because of his treatments? Does he have to stay longer in the hospital as of today?

“I don’t have any treatment scheduled today as well, so today is all for ourselves,” Jimin continued – as if he could read your mind and decipher the questions lingering in your head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he actually could though, since he was your beloved soulmate after all.

“Okay… So what do you want to do then?” you asked hesitantly, wondering what Jimin was up to with that one little smirk plastered on his face – and it honestly frightened you a little bit. Your CEO was always known to be… very unpredictable.

“Let’s go to the amusement park – just you and me only, with nobody else to disturb the both of us. Sounds wonderful, right?”

Y/N’s soulmate clock;

Park Jimin’s life duration as of today:

153 days and 13 hours.

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secondstartotheright-imagines · 8 years

Text

Secrets & Betrayal - Part 3 (Requested)

Note: I had never planned to do another part to this (which had originally started off as a request) but when you guys ask you shall receive so here is Part 3! I actually think there will be 1 or 2 more parts to this before it ends. Not sure if this part is heading towards what you guys thought it would but I had fun with this so I hope you do reading it :)

Peter Pan x Reader

Words: 1957

Warnings: Some controlling behaviour, sadness, and sexual attention (not always wanted).

It has been three weeks since Killian left you here. Twenty-one long days in which you felt like your heart had been ripped from your body. You are empty, a shell of who you once were, the boys know it…..Pan knows it. But that doesn’t stop him from visiting you on a nightly basis. It’s like you have become his pet. You are no longer a person. You know it’s a punishment for what you had allowed yourself to get into with Killian but that doesn’t make any of this easier.

Your appetite was the first thing to go and after four days straight of having nothing to eat Pan started to sit with you until you did. It wasn’t a gesture of kindness though, he was incapable of such a trait, it was all down to the fact that he needed you to have some kind of energy….it took a further three days of defiance but eventually you gave him when you grew tired of him constantly being by your side. His sharp green eyes boring into yours the whole time that he was sat there.

He is looking at you even now as you place a small piece of bread into your mouth. It sickens you to your stomach but, ironically, it wasn’t him you hated. Not right now anyway. There is only one that you felt such a negative emotion towards and it was the very person who had left you here in the first place. The one you thought loved you.

The mere thought of him is enough to have a dark look flash through your tired eyes as you throw the rest of your bread down onto the floor and stand yourself up from the log you had been sitting on. Pan appears in front of you before you even take your first step, his hand wrapping itself around your arm to prevent you from going any further.

“You know you need to eat [y/n].”

With a roll of your eyes you use the majority of the strength inside of you to yank your arm out of his tight grip.

“I’m not a child. I am more than capable of eating when I want to.”

“So why are you leaving before you have finished?”

Good god! Does he realise how annoying he is being? You are half tempted to snap at him that it is none of his business but you decide better of it. Your life here in the camp is unbearable enough…you don’t want to make that any worse for yourself.

“Because I want to learn to fight. Properly. Figured I could catch Felix on his walk and ask him.”

You hate having to explain your movements to him. Like you are somehow his property and he needs to know where you are at all times. It is growing old….fast.

“I will teach you to fight. Felix is a good fighter but you will learn a lot more from me.”

Plus it means you can continue to watch me like a hawk. You thought. Although you don’t say it out loud it is clear by the subtle change in your eyes that you are thinking negatively about his offer. It doesn’t sway him though and without so much as a word to the boys in the camp he wraps his arm around your waist and you both disappear from view.

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

You have no idea of where you are when you reappear, even though you have been on Neverland for a while there’s still areas of the island you hadn’t yet visited and as your eyes scan your new surroundings you can see why you haven’t been here before.

Everything around you makes it look like it is night time when in fact it is still only the middle of the day. The vegetation that surrounds you is lifeless, the trees looking like frail skeletons of the glorious ones that are located on the rest of the island. For trees to give up as these ones seemed to have done this place really must be as horrible as you are beginning to think it is.

Why would he bring you here?

He sees the quizzical expression on your face and all it is met with is an amused chuckle before he beckons you to follow him as he wanders further into this strange place. You hesitate, just for a moment, before doing as he wants you to and following him.

“What’s with the sudden change [y/n]?”

It’s hard to hear his voice as coherently as you would like to, a strange new noise beginning to dance within the air around you, so you quicken your slightly cautious steps to be side by side with him.

“Oh, right, I forgot….the wailing kinda drowns sound out doesn’t it? I said….what is with the change all of a sudden?”

Wait…what? Wailing? That’s what that foreign sound is? Your nervousness far outweighs your curiosity right now so you don’t even bother to ask where it is coming from. Hopefully you weren’t about to find out either.

“I want to make him pay for what he has done to me.”

A smug smirk appears on Pan’s face at your revelation. This is the way of thinking that should have happened from the start.

“Good. That’s how we are supposed to treat Pirates. They don’t deserve love and you could have so much fun here with me and the boys that you don’t need Hook for anything.”

His hand travels to yours but you quickly snatch it away. Clearing your throat as you rid your voice of any trace of emotion.

“Let’s just get this started. Where are we?”

“This my dear.....” Ignoring your rejection mere moments before he places both of his hands upon your waist and uses his strength as an advantage to move you towards the nearest tree. It is only as your back hits the dying bark that he speaks again. His lips brushing against yours when he did. “....is the Dark Hollow. Ever wonder where the lost and tormented shadows go? Well this is it. Their home.”

His hands move from your waist, moving over to each of your wrists, and when his slender fingers wrap around them tight enough he repositions your arms so that your hands are now above your head. His warm breath cruising over your lips is both intoxicating and nauseating. One part of you can’t stand him touching you and yet there is another part of you, one that was fast becoming more dominant, that actually wants him to take you.

“Learn to dodge each shadow that comes for you and then I might just think you are ready to be taught by me. Unless....there is something else you want.....”

Your breath catches in your throat, an audible sound escaping you when it does, and Pan simply laughs to himself before forcing his lips onto yours. The warmth of his kiss doesn’t last long though and just as you are about to let yourself become lost in it a cold feeling hits you as Pan disappears from your view completely.

“You know what you need to do Lost Girl.”

His voice echoes out around you in a way that makes it impossible to locate exactly where it is coming from but you know he is close enough to be watching your next moves. If you really want to get back at the pirate that broke your heart then you know you need to do this. Defiantly you push back the feelings that Pan had provoked inside of you and turn to face the deep darkness of the Dark Hollows. Already you can see vast movement just metres in front of you but you are ready for this......

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

You had been doing so well. You had been in this miserable part of the island for what felt like hours and you had evaded each and every shadow that had tried to bring you down. If Peter was watching he would be impressed.....at least that’s what you wanted him to be anyway....otherwise this whole plan of yours would never plan out and Killian would get away with the ultimate betrayal.

“I don’t care if we are caught. Pan has no say in this. No control....he will never do anything to stop how much I love you [y/n]”

The wailing that you have been surrounded by all this time stops at that moment and all you can hear is the deep, husky, voice that had once sent butterflies flittering through your stomach every time you heard it. It was one of the last things he said to you before you were caught and it had been the one thing that kept you going when your own leader had violated you.

Like a solid punch to the chest you stumble back from the pain that hits you there and then. All the anguish you had kept locked deep down inside came flooding back like a dam bursting through its wall.

It had been his biggest lie......

....Which is exactly what the shadows want.

You lose all focus you’d once had on them and before you even notice that they are beginning to surround you the most excruciating pain begins to envelop your entire body. The heartbroken cry you had been crying now turns into a pained one as one of the shadows begins to tear yours away from you as though it is nothing more than a bit of tape attached to you.

This is it. You are going to die before you got to see the same pain coursing through Killian that had been running through you for weeks. You have failed yourself.

Everything after that realisation happens so quickly that your mind only catches up with it all when you see Pan’s angry face so close to yours. Your back could feel the familiar sensation of bark....it is the very same tree the two of you had been out before he’d disappeared.

“What the hell [y/n]?! You can’t.....You can’t let your emotions get the better of you like that!”

Why is he bothered? Surely he had only been waiting for you to fail anyway? His right hand cupped her chin hard, yanking her face towards his more to make her look him in the eyes, he isn’t happy.

“You think you can really beat a pirate if you just break down and cry? They will laugh in your face!”

Right now the effect of Killian’s words in your mind are still cutting you deep so Pan’s words go through one ear and out of the other. You don’t even notice it when he takes you both back to the main camp. The boys are out by this time, practising their fighting skills by sparring with one another, trails of smoke are rising from the dying embers of the fire that had recently been put out and as Pan makes his way towards his treehouse he leaves you with only six words.

“We will do this my way.....”

The words have an ominous feeling to them, making you more unsure than you had ever been, but all you can do is wonder what it is he has up his sleeve.

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