#shit happens so now it’s just a glorified sleep mask

[heartual]

appendicitis is literally one of my worst fears but i’ve gotten a little more used to the weird abdominal pains i’ve had over the years but my GOD the random pain onset i just had was insane i’m staying the fuck off of webmd

[stingslikeabee]

He sits close, eyes on her - hands surprisingly kept to himself. Though they've spent so many nights together now, they'd not yet been intimate. Perhaps they one day would or shit, maybe never. Maybe their closeness only exists in the nights he'd gone home alone.

Tension swells regardless; the agent so near her, she'd surely feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks. The booth suddenly so hot now that it's only them, a bottle of a fine wine and solemn words to go. ❝ people come to me, but in the end they always leave. ❞ he speaks truth but he doesn't speak the part he truly wishes to whisper - a beg and a plead that she'd not be one of them.

((It's 2am I wake up to send this then go back sleep 😴))

Murakami prompts . accepting

For a place so lively during regular business hours, it was always a jarring experience to remain behind after doors were closed to the general public and experience the surprising silence of a room generally filled with laughter, clinking silverware and the sound of champagne flutes making toasts. Melissa did not formally own the place - she shouldn’t be there, but then again, neither should Chris.

The fact that these one-on-one meetings without any additional witnesses were not infrequent was a sign pointing towards something out of the ordinary. Chris Redfield was no customer of hers - no girl was ever taken on a date or to a private room, and yet he happened to be a familiar face around the place that served as a front for her network. But people did not know the reason he kept returning - Dario and the other employees just assumed it was a bad crush on the surrogate mother of all the younger ones; what they failed to understand was why Melissa tolerated it.

Her policy had always been to direct the clientele to her own ‘flowers’ - otherwise there would be no business; she didn’t get paid to listen to him and make his life a little bit less miserable. But it was too late now - the modern-day madame had been roped into whatever secret agenda he had. Melissa had been meaning to follow him, track Chris and find out what he did for a living when he wasn’t looking so upset, full of regret and incredibly kissable.

But if he hadn’t yet worked up the courage to return any of her touches - then she hadn’t yet decided to see for herself what he was about. Just as Chris was afraid of some illusion shattering, the same was true for the brunette. She had never been the kind to have lasting, genuine bonds - how could she, when she kept her own name hidden, her living address undisclosed and put such a fabricated persona forth every night?

(Then why did it feel like Chris saw through it all - and still did not feel repulsed or tempted to go away?)

His words were shared by Melissa - the former escort could have said it all herself. Honestly, as much as she had enjoyed her time on active duty (and still thought her current self-employment a necessity to society as a whole), she had never been much more than a glorified honey trap. She seduced, enticed and played with men (and the very rare, occasional women) until she pushed them away and back into their lives - she was never to be a permanent fixture for anyone; just a regular comfort for a period of time.

“It feels like a perverse cycle, doesn’t it?” she countered - and there was no artificial smile, no mischievous twinkle in her eye; all the masks were off for a little while, and even if Chris had no idea, he was speaking to the woman behind the act - the original flower instead of the gardener. “To so desperately yearn for connection and yet push anyone else who gets too close away. I hate that,” she finally said it, words burning on her tongue as if they were poisonous - but they were just, really, the bitter truth.

There were no further words - but only because the brunette couldn’t trust herself to speak anymore; these realizations were heavy, and the burden on her shoulders felt oppressive. There was a way out of it all, of course - to demolish the walls; to admit to certain feelings. But it required a courage that, perhaps for the one fueled by the wine, she didn’t yet possess.

So instead Melissa did something different - a hand reached out to the agent, covering his with hers and letting the warmth of their skin mingle. At some point he turned his palm skywards, and the digits interlocked more firmly - all the while silence reigned around them, but their eyes could speak volumes in how their gazes seemed unable to drift apart from one another.

His silent plea hadn’t gone unnoticed - she didn’t want to go away; she had, in fact, been doing everything in her power to ignore the red flags and to believe there was no need to pull back and severe that tie. Melissa was clinging to Chris as if he was a rock and she had been drowning - she wasn’t ready to give up and fully sink to the bottom of the lonely pit she had been living in.

She couldn’t bear it - not the notion of Chris leaving.

[beskarhearts]

Silence (Din Djarin x reader)

Connection series pt. 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, mention of family members passing away, nightmares

Word count: A little over 3.2K

Summary: The Mandalorian is an extremely quiet man, not saying much of anything or making any noise, which is driving his new partner crazy.

Notes:  I love these two together so I am going to write about them multiple times and am making it into a series. All the parts for this will be on my masterlist!

 Next Part

________________________________________________

The silence was killing you.

During the day, it wasn’t as bad. The child usually gurgled and rambled away, speaking words only he could understand. The sounds of his giggles filled the air and lighted the mood. You would talk to the kid constantly, having him as a new loyal companion who would listen to you with wide eyes, responding in his own little ways.

But eventually the hours would die out and the kid would finally go to sleep for the night. And that is when the complete silence would kick in. Besides the soft snores of the child and the endless whir of the Razor Crest traveling through hyperspace, there would be absolutely no noise. No speaking, humming, clearing of the throat, nada.

You were used to being alone. You didn’t really have a lot of friends or companions before you joined the Mandalorian and his child, but it wasn’t quiet like this. When you were alone, you would hum or silently sing. You’d open your window and listen to the world around you. But, the Razor Crest was void of all of that, as well as the Mandalorian.

You honestly didn’t how it was possible. It had only been a matter of a few weeks now, but you had noticed how the Mandalorian could go hours without making even the quietest of noises. No cough, no heavy breathing, no words. He would just sit in the cockpit of his ship and stare into the hyperspace, seeming to study it for hours at end with no interruptions. The only time he would make noise is when he was fixing a weapon or the ship, or the eventual noises that accompanied him when he eventually shuffled his way into bed. 

It drove you nuts. The silence was eerie and gave you too much time to think, to dwell on things you shouldn’t. But it wasn’t like you could just walk up to Mando and start a conversation with him. You knew little to nothing about the man in beskar, but you knew that he enjoyed his silence and enjoyed being left alone. When you first boarded the ship and joined him and his child, you tried to talk to him. You would crack jokes and sarcastically tease him like you did with everyone. But, he didn’t seem to be amused by that or succumb to your humor. He wouldn’t laugh and he barely even responded. He would just stare at you with his helmet until he eventually turned away to do something else. 

You thought maybe he was just shy, not used to the company of a person. Maybe he just needed time to warm up to you. So, you decided you would let him speak first. You’d keep quiet like he wanted until he was comfortable enough to spark a conversation with you. When you came up with this plan, you relied on the fact  that eventually he must speak to you. I mean you were stuck together and what was he going to do - never say anything ever? At the time, it seemed like an atrocious thought but now you had deemed it was very much possible you would spend your future days in complete silence when you were with the Mandalorian. Your plan to wait for Mando to speak now seemed ridiculous. Were you really not going to say anything and live in silence until the giant, glorified tin can decided to speak? I mean kriff, that day may never even come. 

You sat on the floor of the belly of the Razor Crest, listening to the soft little breathes of the child as he lay sleeping in his hammock that the Mandalorian had resurrected for him. The Mandalorian was sat in the cockpit as always, out of sight, and you were alone. You had tried to go to sleep, hoping that would ease the uncomfortableness of the silence but it was hard for you to sleep nowadays. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw images of your parents and grandmother and those were memories too painful to relive for you. Nightmares plagued your nights so instead you would sit there awake for many hours, eventually laying down but spending most of your time staring at the ceiling above you. 

Your mind drifted eventually, thinking of the child and how much you cared for him. You would never dare describe yourself as his mother, more like a glorified nanny at this point, but you felt a connection with the little one. He was warm and full of light and so much power. He seemed like a simple little kid but he was so much more complex. 

You sat in the same spot thinking and didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you heard the thud of the Mandalorians boots on the floor. You looked up at the man, watching as he let go of the ladder that took him to and from the cockpit. You expected him to walk to his cot and close the hatch to it as he always did but instead his modulated voice let out a single sentence: “What was that?”

It took you a minute to process the fact that he had spoken to you and you felt yourself freeze up. You had been waiting for the man to finally say something, anything to you. Anything that would interrupt the silence. But now that it was happening, it felt so uncomfortable. You guess eventually you had gotten used to the silence and Mando trying to speak to you felt so odd, for him and yourself. 

“What are you talking about?” You looked over at the child, but he was still knocked out cold. No noise came from him. Nothing knocked over or fell over. You heard nothing, as always. 

“You were humming.” 

Well, shit. You hadn’t even realized you were doing so. You probably annoyed him with it. You must have slipped into it, humming away to a tune you thought had been long forgotten but was apparently still very prevalent in your mind. You stood to your feet, looking at the Mandalorian and letting out a small “I’m sorry.”

Then you froze. Why the kriff were you apologizing? This man has made you sit in complete and utter silence for weeks and you finally hum a little because you are a damn human. And then he has the audacity to ask you what you were doing. “Actually, no. I am not sorry.” You clarified, feeling how annoyed you were with all the silence come out.

And what a surprise, the Mandalorian responded with complete silence, the only indication he was listening being a small tilt of his helmet.

“Sir, have you ever considered the possibility that you are a droid or something?” You sarcastically let out, perching a hand on your hip as you stared back.

“What?” A small scoff followed, sound distorted through his mask but you picked it up. The Mandalorian copied your movements, perching his own hand on his hip and cocking it out to the side.

“Well, I’ve just never met a human being who could sit in absolute silence and never say a word for so long. You must be a droid.” You let out a laugh. “Actually, I have met droids who have talked way more than you. I swear you vocabulary only consists of grunts, sighs, and saying ‘This is the way.’ Oh, and tonight we’ve added to your extensive list, a thrilling ‘What was that?’” 

You let out a loud sigh as you finished your rambling, staring back at the man before you. And you didn’t think you could believe your ears at the noise that followed.

“Wait...was that a...” You pause, staring at him incredulously, “Did you just laugh or did your helmet malfunction?”

“I am able to laugh.” Mando said shortly and you swore that his voice seemed a little lighter than it ever had before.

“Well, how would I ever know that? Whenever I tell a joke or say something, you just respond with silence. I thought you were incapable of human emotion because, sir, I am kriffing hilarious and you haven’t laughed at my jokes once.” 

“I laughed at you tonight.” You wanted to rip your hair out at his matter-of-fact attitude. 

“Nooo. You didn’t laugh at my joke. You laughed because your complete silence is driving me loony. The only person I ever talk to anymore is the child and I don’t know if he can even understand me!” You throw your hands in the direction of the child, who still was sleeping peacefully away. “I mean how do you do it? Just say nothing for hours?”

“Mandalorians aren’t very talkative people.”

“So, when you are in a room with people, you just sit there and don’t say a word the whole time? What about friends or other Mandalorians?”

“I don’t talk to people. I’ve always been alone.”

The statement was made very definitively, with no emotion, but it made your annoyance simmer away slightly. You considered that the life of a Mandalorian must be very lonely. Nobody to talk to. You always have to keep your name and face hidden, never able to open up to someone completely and fully. You didn’t know much about Mandalorians but you could sense that connection and feelings weren’t of much importance. It was supposed to a life that consisted of an endless cycle of catching bounties and getting credits. 

You knew that the Mandalorian that stood before you was already different, capable of connecting with a creature and caring for him. You saw it in the way he would mumble to the child, hold him against him, or even when you caught him wiggling his finger for the child to grab. The Mandalorian had been adjusting to life with one little child by his side and then you came along. And you would have to guess that a snarky, fully grown female was a bit harder to be comfortable with than the kid was.

“Well, you aren’t anymore. I know it probably kills you but you are stuck with me for a little while. And I’m not saying you have to talk to me all the time but I am here to talk to. And I think if I sit here in complete silence for another hour, I will go crazy.” You give the Mando a small smile, hoping to ease some of the tension in the room and not annoy his with your words. You didn’t want to force him to talk to you, but you also kind of did.

There was silence for a few moments and you were worried you scared off the Mando until he nodded slightly. “Okay.”

You let out a sigh of relief and quietly clapped your hands together, rocking back and forth on your heels. “Okay. Good.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

You raised your eyebrows, shocked that he was still engaging in conversation. “Sure.” 

“Where did you hear that song you were humming?” Your smile dropped a little bit at the question but you tried to cover it quickly, though you could tell Mando could sense the change in your attitude. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s... umm...” You closed your eyes for a second and let out a small breath, feeling your fists clench. “My mom used to sing it to me to get me to sleep. It is just a silly little lullaby.” You looked down at your feet, feeling burned from remembering the memory. 

“My mother used to sing that to me as well.” You felt an initial wave of confusion from his words. You had never thought about the fact that the Mandalorian had parents. I mean, you knew he didn’t just come from nothing. But, the idea of the Mandalorian as a child, with a family, seemed so bizarre. You tried to imagine a small child with a mother and father but couldn’t help but to just imagine his helmet on a smaller body. You then wondered how long he had been a Mandalorian as a child and if his parents were Mandalorians as well.

Your mind whirled with questions from the one small sentence he said, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You just let out a small, “Huh. Small universe, I guess.”

“Do your parents know where you are now?”

You wanted to tell Mando to stop asking you questions. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone but you didn’t want to shut him out right when he was finally starting to open up a little. You couldn’t slam the door in his face that you just convinced him to open. But this was the one thing you didn’t want to talk about. The one thing you were hoping was never mentioned. You looked back down at your feet, balling your fists and closing your eyes to build a dam against the tears threatening to fall. But, all you saw was your families face and that caused a bang in your chest that almost felt unbearable.

Mando knew instantly what the twist of pain in your face meant, for he had done it himself for years and years at the mention of family. It had been so long since he lost his family but it still burned and caused an aching feeling in his chest he didn’t know if he would ever be able to get rid of. He saw all of that in your eyes and felt dumb for asking the question. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

You let out a shakey sigh and look back up at the Mandalorian. You imagined he was probably judging you and your weakened state. He probably saw you as fragile and wrecked, something he didn’t want to handle. Damaged goods might as well have been stamped on your forehead. “It’s fine.”

You turned around, wiping at your eyes and starting to trail back to your small bed on the floor when you heard four words that simultaneously made you feel less alone but also broke your heart. “Mine are gone too.” 

You turned to look back at the Mandalorian and looked him up and down. To the average person, he’d look like he always did: strong and bold. But, you saw the slight sag of his shoulders and the way his helmet slightly tilted down to the floor. You couldn’t see the pain that was on his face, but you could sense what he was feeling. A layer to the Mandalorian suddenly opened up to you that wasn’t there before. He wasn’t just a set of armor. He was a man, one who had been broken and scarred by the horror of the world. And even though he was covered head to toe in beskar, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel emotions. It just meant he couldn’t show them. Feeling emotions like these were bad enough but having no one to see it or confide in made it feel impossible to deal with somedays.

“I’m so sorry, Mando.”

“It’s okay. It was a really long time ago.” The words were said gruffly, as if they were bricks being built in a wall to push back the emotions he was feeling.

You wanted to hug him or grab his hand. Do something to console him and show him he wasn’t alone, that his pain could be your pain even though your own was so raw. You barely knew this man, having had your first real conversation with him only tonight. But, you felt like you understood him a lot better than before and in a way others might not be able to. And you wanted to hand your strength over to him and you didn’t want to admit it, but you wouldn’t have minded if he had handed his own over to you.

Instead of physically reaching out, you hoped to ease his pain with your words. “I don’t know your parents but I imagine they’d have to be proud of you. The way you care for the kid... you are a good father, Mando. And I know you insist you aren’t the kids father, but he sees you that way. I can tell. And he cares about you and I can tell that you care for him. And you took me in even though you didn’t have to.” You sniffled but brought a small smile to your face, hoping to lighten the mood with a joke. “And I know I am a pain and you’ve let me stay, so you must be a good person.”

“Thank you.” You couldn’t tell if your words helped at all but you still smiled in response. 

“Well, we went from not talking to me almost crying in front of you, so I would say this is going spectacularly well.” You let out a chuckle, once again rubbing at your eyes. It was bizarre to you how one conversation seemed to open up so much between you two but it also created so many other questions you wanted to ask but they were ones that would have to wait for future conversations you hoped to have. Space and life was hard enough, but with someone to talk to, it made it bearable. 

“I also added to my vocabulary.” The words were said in the same monotone way all his words were said, but you felt a real smile brighten up your face. The Mandalorian just made a joke with you. You had simply hoped for him to say anything to you to end the silence and here he was making a joke with you. 

“Look at you, making jokes. In no time, you will be talking more than I do.”

“That is unlikely.” An exasperated tone was expressed with the words, along with what could be seen as a sarcastic shake of the head. His humor was dry, but it was something you could decipher and appreciate.

“I don’t know if I should be insulted or not by the way you said that.” You teased and you swear you heard another laugh until a piercing cry interrupted it. You looked over at the child who was throwing his hands in the air and wailing, with big tears filling his eyes that looked up at you and his father. “Oh, you wanted to join in on the pity party too?”

You started making your way to the child when Mando strolled past you and grab him, holding him in his arms and rocking him lightly. “I got him. You go to sleep.”

You smiled warmly at the Mando, wondering if he was doing the same under his helmet. “Okay. Night, Mando.”

You wandered to your bed on the floor and listened as the Mandalorian spoke to the child. He whispered as best as he could with the modulator on and you couldn’t hear much through his low whisper, but it brought peace to you. You liked the way he talked to the kid and how the kid slowly sank back into a peaceful sleep with the comfort of the Mandalorian.

Eventually, the lights turned out and you heard the Mandalorian shuffle into his bed, closing the hatch to it. Instead of dwelling on the past or feeling the pain of your loss, you smiled into the darkness, reflecting on your conversation. Eventually, your eyes drifted close and you fell into sleep.

That was the first night in a long time that you didn’t have a nightmare.

[diredove]

Curious Fool

My first time attempting to write anything longer than headcanons, please note I’m going off of this AU! I’m in love with Crowley so I see this as an x reader story, but it can easily be interpreted as something else!

Warnings: Very Mild cursing, Crowley being scary (as in, threatening and a hand squeezing a throat), Me grasping at straws to make Potentially Evil!Dire make sense! Gender Neutral Reader as well!

You wondered about Dire Crowley more than you would like to admit. He was an enigma that your brain for some reason was terribly invested in solving. It started small, maybe because you were holding back your suspicion out of guilt, the man had given you a roof over your head and food to eat in this strange new world, surely he deserved better than you concocting conspiracy theories about him? But gratitude should not inspire stupidity in someone, and it didn't inspire in you.

Why exactly was he being so gracious? For all the pretty words he spoke to you, he certainly didn't act guilty. Every sympathy he offered to your plight felt like it was meant to silence you, "Shush, no more of that." he seemed to whisper between the lines. Yes, it was all too bad you were stuck in a world not your own and that poor, poor Crowley was working himself to the bone to find a way back for you to no avail, but what would you have him do? He's already being so kind.

And that was another thing, wasn't it? He wasn't all that kind at all, or if he was it was only in a backhanded way. Wasn't he just the sweetest thing alive for giving you a place to stay? As if you weren't breaking your damn back every single night sleeping on the couch of the teacher's lounge and waking to the racket of your dearest headmaster starting up that monstrous coffee maker at the crack of dawn each morning! Well, what about the food you were provided every single meal time? Quite generous, he'd say. And you would beg to differ because you had a diet of convenience store sandwiches and children's snacks and sodas! Everything you ate was from Sam's shop and didn't cost that old crow a dime!

And maybe, just maybe, you would have been more understanding and grateful for it given your circumstances, if Dire Crowley wasn't absolutely loaded. He could easily afford to buy you actual meals, put you up some place that wasn't a glorified common room, pay you! But for all his guilt and graciousness, he didn't. It felt like he was trying to trick into being grateful to him when he hadn't actually done anything for you to be grateful for, in the grand scheme of things.

But that's not all. If that had been it then you could have convinced yourself you were being dramatic and gone on with your topsy turvy little life. But no, Dire Crowley simply would not let you rest (on a proper bed or otherwise).

Why did he act like that? You were not someone to turn your nose up at an odd personality, considering how well you were handling being in a potential alternate universe, one might say you have one yourself. But there was just something... off about him. He always seemed a bit too happy, he laughed just a tad too hard, his stares were too intense, he went silent after whatever spiel he'd been on so quick you'd think he had a switch inside him. Alone, those were just the quirks of being human (though you didn't even know enough to call him that either), but they stacked up quickly.

And you had really fought with yourself on this, worried you were being prejudice against him out of paranoia, but then you saw him get angry.

Everyone gets angry, everyone yells sometimes, it's a fact of life and you're an adult who can accept that. But seeing the headmaster shift from harmless eccentric man to inflicting backbreaking labor on teenagers who didn't get to explain themselves at all was rather... jarring to say the least. He yelled in his oddly charming accent and his mask hid whatever anger would have shown on his face, and maybe you were being overprotective of the young ones and forgetting that that type of punishment was far more manageable in a world of magic. But you couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding back, like he was seconds away from sounding like a different person beneath the quirky act. Like a parent putting on a goofy voice to scold their child to keep themselves from letting their frustration show.

But, and maybe you're just dense from here on, all that did was make you squint a little. There was just as much of a chance of him putting up a front as there was of you misunderstanding things and reaching too far. But the seed had been planted, and now you were curious.

So, instead of coming up with crazy ideas you had no backing for, you thought: "Let's just ask."

Not Dire, of course, as if he would tell you the truth or appreciate you prodding him. Thankfully though, there were people close to him that you could interrogate instead.

And then you started hitting walls, thick ones.

"What's Dire's deal?" Seemed like a pretty clear question, so why was every single answer you got so convoluted?

Sam had tried to act unbothered, but you saw how his hand froze as he stocked the shelves of the Mystery Shop. He looked at you with his bright smile and waved his free had dismissively.

"He's something alright, I'll give him that! He's an odd one, I guess you could say! What's with the interest, Starlight?" He answered, though a question for a question hardly satisfied you.

Crewel had outright ignored you, even after you had repeated your question several times he kept maneuvering around you and acting like he was busy. He absolutely wasn't, he had moved the same four beakers back and forth between lab tables three times. Once he realized you weren't going to take his hint and scram, he looked down his nose at you as if you had ruined his entire week.

"You know, puppies that never stop yapping are troublesome. But do you know what's even more troublesome, Little Scamp? Puppies that sniff around where they don't belong. You'd do well to train yourself out of that habit, and quickly." He'd told you coldly, which shocked you into a stupor because you had thought him overzealous but friendly just moments before.

You had hoped Trein, with his unflappability and no nonsense policy, wouldn't beat around the bush and would be the one to change your luck so far. Instead, he averted his eyes and cleared his throat uncomfortably. He seemed to be taking extra care to choose his words, as though they were fragile as glass slippers. Even Lucius looked still in his arms.

"He is a man, as am I, nothing more and nothing less. It is best to leave it at that, My Dear." He implored you gently, you couldn't help but feel this was as close to a plea as the stoic man would ever get. Lucius stared at you unblinkingly, as if trying to determine your answer through your eyes alone.

You hoped the cat couldn't actually tell, because your answer was no.

You still had one more shot. Vargas was loud and a bit much at times, but his love of his own voice would work in your favor. However, you had learned from your mistakes and decided getting straight to the point wasn't in your best interest. If everyone wanted to play with you, it was only right to join the game.

"Please, tell me more about your school days, Ashton! Were you really the star of the Magic Shift team?" You asked in an awed tone, eyes wide.

The coach was eating it up like it was his last meal, you had been stroking the man's ego for over two hours already and if he tells you about the goal that turned the playoffs around one more time you think you'll snap. But his defenses are down, and his lips are loose, so you'll grin and bare just a little longer.

"That's right! I was king of NRC, undisputed! There wasn't a soul on campus who didn't want to be mine!" The man boasted, "Well, except for Beth. She wasn't all there though, not that I cared! She wasn't all that, I'm not bitter about it!"

He's definitely bitter about it, but you don't have time to unpack that when your opening is right in front of you.

"Right right, I totally get it. Hey, speaking of the past, when did you meet Crowley?"

Okay, you lied. There wasn't an opening at all, you burst in with a sledgehammer. But your cutesy act was getting hard to keep up!

Vargas takes the sloppy bait though, " Oh, that guy? He just kinda popped up and offered me a job to be honest. The pays good, so I deal with the old coot being a weirdo."

You have to stop yourself from lighting up, "Weirdo?" You question dumbly, finger on your chin and all.

Vargas looks both ways and then gestures for you to come closer, you can't tell if he's being playful or not with that glint in his eyes.

"Look, don't tell anyone I told you this, okay Dolly? Crowley's got some crazy going on around here, I swear. I don't know details but I've got suspicions." The coach whispers, you nod eagerly for him to continue.

"There's this... room. I don't know what's in it, it's always locked and not even the staff master key opens it. He goes in there every Friday, and I don't see him come out, he just appears again Monday morning. There's this bright light that shines under the door whenever he goes in, and after a few seconds, it stops." Ashton explains, and it's more than you had hoped for.

Creepy locked room, disappearing act, unexplained happenings? This is exactly the dirt you've been looking for!

"He thinks he's being sneaky about it, but I caught on, see? I was following him to ask about a some paperwork and I saw it. I know somethings up, Crowley is up to no good and I don't care how crazy I sound." Ashton stresses, as he goes on he seems more serious, you can't take time to be happy about your findings because he looks so pale.

"Vargas, are you oka-"

"Listen Dolly, I know you're curious, but you don't want nothing to do with this and neither do I. Freaky shit is going down, and if you're smart like me you'll act like you don't know a thing."

You stare at him. H-Had he been on to you the whole time?

"I'm trying to help you, stay away from the west wing and don't-" He stops. His eyes are on something behind you.

"V-Vargas?" You call, shakily.

"I've said enough. Stay outta the west wing, Doll. For your own good."

You don't stay out of the west wing.

In fact, you deliberately seek it out. Ace gives you a funny look when you ask him, but he points you in the right direction anyway. You wish you were more embarrassed about being a member of staff asking students for directions, but you've got bigger fish to fry.

You know this isn't smart, no matter how harmless the headmaster may seem, no one likes being found out. But your life is in his golden-clawed hands and you'd feel even less smart following him blindly and hoping you're safe with him.

The west wing isn't what you expected (though to be fair you had been expecting a torture chamber), it's an entirely normal hall like all the others in school. It's so mundane your face falls. There's also no way to tell if anything is amiss from a glance alone, so you'll have to use less tact than you were hoping to. Making your way down the hall you turn each knob one by one to see which won't turn.

After about twenty or so doors, curse the long hallways in this college, you see one that's quite out of place. It's at the very end of the hall, how cliché, and while it is the same size and color as all the others, it's surrounded with a ridiculous number of portraits. There are big ones above the doorframe and little ones squeezed into the narrow spaces along the sides of it, and if that wasn't enough, the ones that wouldn't fit in either spot were enchanted to float nearby. And the portraits themselves are nothing like the silly but sweet ones that gossip as they watch over everyone who passes in the main building, these are painted with snarls and angered eyes. Both human and nonhuman beings are depicted, each one staring straight at whomever would stand in front of the door. Their eyes seem to be looking in every direction at once even though their pupils are painted straight ahead, it feels like they can see everything without shifting their gaze. You can't even tell if they're alive like the others, they're so... cold.

You take a deep breath, that must be it. You've come to this far, and you'd planned everything so carefully there was no reason to be afraid. The students were having Magift practice today, so that meant Vargas was busy, but it also meant that Crowley was doing his rounds and would stop to "give the players some good old fashioned encouragement ". He would go on forever, there was plenty of time for you to investigate and cover your tracks before he ever even wondered where you were.

You could admit the only person you were convincing was yourself, but it helped you forced your legs to move toward the end of the hall. Even as you walked closer, you knew you shouldn't, the air around you seemed like it was trying to force you back, oppressively pushing you with every step you took towards that door. You wouldn't be able to open it, Ashton had told you already, what exactly were you gaining, being stared down by the lifelike yet lifeless portraits as you neared the door? Nothing, and yet your hand grabbed the knob impulsively, you hadn't realized you'd been holding your breath until it left your lungs in a rush at the touch of icy cold iron in your clammy grip.

You shouldn't have touched it, you shouldn't have, now what? Your plan was to turn back after your curiosity was sated, but you couldn't. The force that was pushing back against you before was now pulling you forward, beckoning you. The portraits no longer looked like a warning, but an invitation. You've come so far, now come a little closer, something that wasn't a voice nor a thought breathed around you.

You twist the doorknob, like a fool.

It turns.

Your heart leaps with excitement and fear, and you feel a surge of adrenaline run through your body. You can go in, you can go farther!

You feel yourself smiling widely even though you're sure you're not happy, you go to push the door open just a little further.

You stop as four pinpricks upon your throat flare with pain, your eyes go wide like a deer and you freeze.

"Crewel was right, you're truly nothing but trouble."

The voice sounds familiar, and yet nothing like the person it belongs to. But you'd know those gold-tipped fingers anywhere.

"I really am getting on in years, to make such a mistake." Dire sighs, his voice does not lilt and his tone is low. He sounds like an actor who's given up on staying in character.

You catch a whimper in your throat when the hand upon it slides up the front of your neck to grip under your chin and rear you head back at a terrible angle. You meet the dead-eyed gaze of Crowley's mask as he looks straight down at you.

"But you've made an even bigger mistake, Youngling, by testing me."

You want to apologize, or plead for your safety, because the man looming over you is not the one you've grown reluctantly fond of. But because we have established that you are a fool, you say instead:

"Your vest is a mistake. There's sequins on it." You snark weakly, you sound pathetic, half because of the grade school insult and half because you're gasping for breath.

Dire stares down at you blankly. Then he grins, not his usual one full of jolly cheer, but a wide toothy one that is just a few degrees off from a sneer.

"Oh, you really think you're just the cutest little thing under the sun, don't you?" He asks, he chuckles halfway through but it's dry and dark.

Why are you so foolish, why do you speak?

Abruptly, the pressure points on your neck are released and you fall to your knees, gulping sweet sweet air.

"Well you're right! You're just adorable, thinking you could catch me out!" Dire shouts cheerfully, hands on his hips and accent back in full swing. His façade is back in place like it was never gone.

You stare in disbelief.

"You know, anyone else would have to be put under a curse of eternal silence for snooping around like you did." He continues, "But I am so very kind, I'm going to let you walk out of here without laying a finger on you."

You shakily get to your feet, leaning against the wall for support and as something to curl in on to cower from the overly happy man before you.

He stares at you smiling for many moments too long, you know he's trying to scare you and you're angry at yourself for being so. Abruptly, he nods.

"I'll be off then, I'm sure you get the message? Of course you do! Make your way back to your room then, off you get! Goodbye!"

The man walks away quickly, waving his hand in farewell.

He left you without a fight, with the door left unlocked and you still in position to reveal what was on the other side. You balk at the obvious show of his power over you.

He knew you were too terrified now, he knew you would obey him like a dog told to stay, the smug bastard.

You bite your lip in frustration and confused tears fill your eyes. You just want to know what's going on, you just want to go home! Nothing makes sense.

You look at the door that's slightly ajar.

Then at the exit of the west wing across the long hall.

You can no longer hear Crowley's footsteps.

And because you are a fool, and because you are defiant, and because you want some semblance of control, you make a mad dash through the door before you can change your mind.

[woodchoc-magnum]

9-1-1 4x04 Reaction

Spoilers under the cut

Buddie for comfort:

Saving the parents for last because jesus fucking christ that’s a rant, and also, I’m functioning on very little sleep so this may be completely disjointed and rambly:

I am in love with Buck and Eddie trying to solve the crime together and I wish they would re-film that scene without face masks

Because they so would be into true crime, like Eddie pretends to be cool but he’s a secret nerd, and he loves to nerd out with Buck, so it makes total sense that they watch crime documentaries together like COME ON

I’m incorporating this into a fic somehow

May Grant the 911 operator 🔥🔥🔥

Gratuitous shirtlessness in the form of Albert and Chimney, thank you very much 911

Albert fucking RUNNING AWAY FROM CHIMNEY 10/10 comedy

And then Chimney RUNNING AWAY FROM THE REST OF THE TEAM 10/10 comedy as well

Albert throwing a whole wheel of brie into the oven? Like just throwing it in there? Literally just throwing it in there

I don’t know why they added that in but I’m not mad at it

Chimney making friends with the mad bomber after the preview was like “IS CHIMNEY GONNA DIE????” no he’s gonna make a new friend and then brain him with an oxygen tank duh

Well, I guess it’s about that time to talk about the worst parents in the show, so here we go:

Some of this is gonna be speculation because obviously we don’t know how this all played out, but we can make some guesses. My theory is that Daniel the dead brother died... perhaps saving Buck when he was only very little, hence Buck not remembering it, and his parents... asking Maddie not to tell him?

What even the FUCK though

Why would you ask your NINE YEAR OLD DAUGHTER TO LIE TO HER LITTLE BROTHER ABOUT THEIR OTHER BROTHER WHO DIED

And how the hell do you cover something like that up? Did they simply move away from friends and family so no one would ever talk about it? Did they box up all the pictures and memories and everything and just... fucking... MOVE ON? Or not move on, because they have obviously never forgiven Buck for whatever the hell happened.

Okay, this is my speculation:

The parents are somehow responsible - for example, an accidental drowning (I don’t think this is what happened, this is just an example). So hypothetically, they’re at the beach, and Buck is a toddler, and the parents aren’t paying attention and he wanders into the sea and gets swept out; Daniel comes to his rescue and dies in the act of saving him (this thing happens in Australia all the time, hence why I’m using it as an example - swim between the flags, gang!).

So then you have the parents who are ultimately responsible for not paying attention, you have the unavoidable tragedy of one of the children dying, and the way they coped with this terrible tragedy was to place the blame on Buck (even though it wasn’t his fault, at all) and pretend that Daniel had simply never existed.

This means that Buck spends his life living in the shadow of the older brother who was glorified, who died saving him, and Buck has no idea why he can never please his parents and why they don’t love him. This is why they’re checked out as parents, because one of their kids died, and instead of seeking therapy, they decided to live a lie and blame their son for something he had no fucking control over.

So setting all that aside, let’s talk about these two absolute fucking pieces of shit.

They’ve alienated their children so much that both of them are absolutely terrified when they turn up. Buck is petrified. He’s spent his whole life never living up to their expectations, never feeling good enough, or worthy enough, constantly being put down - no wonder he ran away to California to put some distance between them. And he’s finally in a good place, going through therapy, dealing with his issues, and now bam - his parents are back in town to screw up all of his hard work.

And Maddie’s just as freaked out, because she’s trying to protect Buck from them. I feel like she has good intentions but her mistake is wanting Buck to have a relationship with people who don’t necessarily want to have a relationship with him, and for telling them about him being in therapy (which I still don’t understand, but I guess maybe the next episode will reveal the answer). To be clear, I don’t think Maddie is wrong for having kept this secret. She was manipulated into it by her parents when she was only a child, and that is not her fault, at all. She’s been told she’s doing the right thing and she hasn’t questioned it, but now, she is.

And, importantly - if her parents were checked out mentally and emotionally, she had to do a lot of the heavy-lifting and parenting when it came to Buck, when she was just a little girl herself. Maddie is the reason Buck is as wonderful as he is - she raised him.

Now, back to the pieces of shit:

They didn’t like Doug, so they washed their hands of Maddie, even though they lived in the same fucking town. So she was getting beaten up by her absolute monster of a husband, and ending up in hospital, and they were doing fucking nothing to intervene or help her.

THEY DIDN’T EVEN GO TO HER WEDDING. THEY SHOWED HER NO SUPPORT AT ALL. LIKE I CANNOT. All because they DISAGREED? SHE’S STILL YOUR DAUGHTER, like oh my god, I can’t even.

She had to flee across the country to Buck in California to finally escape him, because their parents didn’t care enough to help. Motherfuckers.

And then the whole “we don’t do hospitals” - bitch, they are your fucking CHILDREN. If your CHILDREN are in hospital, you are supposed to CARE. Buck got crushed by a ladder truck, he had an embolism and nearly died, he went through a tsunami and NOTHING? Nada? Maddie had to kill her husband after he nearly killed her, and NOTHING? Buck had to call to tell them what had happened!

And then to start crying and asking "I don’t know what you expected us to do?” - like, bitch, FUCKING ANYTHING?

I mean

I cannot with these people

What kind of white WASP-y nonsense is this

Let me tell the story of when I had appendicitis - I was taken to the hospital by my friend at night, my mum lives two hours away - when she found out that it was appendicitis and I’d be going in for surgery, she jumped in the car in the middle of the night and drove two hours to be with me, and I was a grown-ass woman at the time. It is not normal for parents not to care when their children are sick/injured/being beaten almost to death by their abusive husbands/getting crushed by a ladder truck. You mean to tell me that the footage of the crowd lifting the truck off their son didn’t go viral? That they didn’t see that?

Fuckers.

You don’t like something so you just bury your head in the sand and pretend it doesn’t exist? Your kids aren’t perfect so you just wash your hands of them? Their problems don’t matter, not when it’s all about you?

Narcissists.

Blaming the kids for everything, manipulating Maddie into doing their bidding - and still manipulating her as an adult, by bringing her gifts and driving across the country and being all, “we want to be grandparents!” after everything? After letting her husband nearly kill her and blaming her for having bad taste in men? FUCKKKKKK

And the fucking BABY BOX. Do not even get me started on how ANGRY I WAS.

Like, I have friends with kids (I have cats, personally) so I know that they’re busy, but to not have anything, as if he’s just not worth it.

Like I can’t

It breaks my heart to think about his face, and the realisation setting in... to know that your parents don’t love you? To have lived with that your whole life? It’s so fucking gutting.

Like, obviously I am extra emotional because I’m running on empty today, but god damn this episode just came along and punched me right in the face.

Also, I’m making a BIG CALL, they’re going to use the song ‘Daniel’ by Elton John in the next episode:

Daniel my brother you are older than me Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal? Your eyes have died, but you see more than I Daniel you're a star in the face of the sky

100% they’re using that song, I’m calling it now, and if they don’t, it is a wasted opportunity.

Okay, let’s end on a good note, because this has been a rant:

Eddie’s open concern for Buck; the fact that Buck tells Eddie about his therapy, that he feels comfortable opening up to him - that Eddie was there, watching Buck beat the shit out of the boxing bag and listening to him, and taking his side and reassuring him... that is next level shit and I am here for it.

I am not here for the return of Ana in the next few episodes but that’s a future rant

Hopes for Buck Begins:

That the firefam - his real family - will rally around him, and that Buck and Maddie will take a united stand against their parents and tell them to get the fuck out of their lives.

Also I kinda want Bobby to meet the Buckley’s? Just... for him to be horrified, I guess? I don’t know, but I want Bobby to meet them and understand how awful they are and offer Buck some comfort as his surrogate father.

I would like Buck to be hugged by someone who loves him, please, because he needs it.

And selfishly, I want some kind of Buck, Eddie and Christopher scene, because they are also his family. Everyone in this show has their little family unit, and Eddie and Christopher are Buck’s.

Ana be damned

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Red Well (Part 3) Hearts and Minds

This is it folks! The MC is EMPOWERED! @rurifangirl

The smoke of liquid nitrogen was gone and people finally saw the true appearance of the holy skeleton. It looked like a crippled embryo. Its swollen head had a large single eye. What looked like a tail was actually a flesh-wrapped spine. Its ribs protrude outside the flesh layer, so it must have used these sharp ribs to insert into the host's spine and manipulate the body when it was parasitic. The holy skeleton did not die under the blade of Gathering Clouds. It twisted and made a "hissing" sound. The golden eyes flash at you, but in the glass capture chamber it could not touch any host that could be parasitized. Without the power of a body it was so weak it couldn’t escape through glass.

King General used a strong flashlight and peered through the outer layer of flesh of the skeleton. Inside the half-developed organs were faintly visible.

You could still feel yourself shaking, not only in fear of this thing and its hunger for you, but in fear of Ruri Kazama who was even stronger. Now you finally understood why Ruri Kazama offered to take you here, rob Herzog of the fetal blood and give it to you. It wasn’t just about saving your life. When you stared into his swirling pupils of red and gold, you finally grasped that this was about more than just survival. He wouldn’t stop at Herzog and Chisei. 

World Domination.

With you.

You have a nightmare vision of this unstoppable hybrid, killing everyone you know, piling them up like hay. Z understood his true nature. He warned you several times and each time you felt you had a reason to ignore him. His last words were “This one’s on you.”

You thought you were smart, strong, and quick enough to change and control your situation. But you were nothing compared to Ruri Kazama. Nothing!

There was only one way to free yourself...

"Look at it, how beautiful it is! What a perfect way to evolve! Before it was executed by the Black King, it actively evolved to live in parasitic form! It perpetuated its existence in this way!" The king pressed his hands on the capture pod and glorified the ugly parasite.

"Ah Excuse me!.” A voice from somewhere in this massive cave spoke up.  “..if the god is a parasite ...... then how does it help us evolve?'' 

 "It's not enough to find a parasite, you also have to find a host and food for it." The King smiled, "Only a very few hosts in this world can be parasitized by the god, such as Izanagi and Susanoo, but unfortunately the ancient descendants did not understand the great meaning of this parasitism and killed the god before it completely evolved into the new white king. It is not the god in this form that can give us the path of evolution, but the White King after the evolution is complete! We will see the new king ascend the throne and open a new chapter in the world!''

Pillars of light descended from the sky, enveloping you, the King General and Ruri Kazama in them. The helicopter's rotor blades cut through the rain curtain, a loud roar echoing through the well. It was a black helicopter with the cabin door open, and Gen Chisei sitting in the cabin, his long black trench coat whipping and flying.

At the last moment, Hydra arrived on the scene.

 Ruri Kazama, who had been silent, seemed to wake up from a deep sleep. His eyes lit up, and golden mandala-like patterns seemed to turn under them. He slowly lifted his head and looked up at the black shadow that had fallen from the sky, the gale blowing away the fringes of his Kimono to reveal his ribbed chest.

"Brother! Brother! You've come to see me? Are you here for my graduation?" He laughed wildly in the wind.

"Or have you come for my enthronement ceremony?" His smile tightened into a malicious grimace, leaving only biting ferocity, "With your blood to stain my vestments with your sacrificial red?"

Just like that, Ruri seemed to have forgotten about you. But he already told you what to do. 

Hide.

The ancient and stern language descended from the sky, just like the language of God echoing in the sky. The field of “Majesty" enveloped the Red Well, and tens of thousands of stainless steel wall panels fell off the well walls, pressing the king's wrath on everyone's head. The rules of gravity were forcibly changed. Everyone felt ten times their weight on their bones. 

You flee. You flee like you fled the soldiers in Black Swan Bay. The huge metal plates smashed down on the helpless Devil Clan elites. But you were not affected and you had the Sword of the Gathering Clouds to aid you. The super sharp master blade cut through the thick steal plates like paper as you headed for the safety cabins. You didn’t understand why you were spared Majesty’s influence. Was this payback for rescuing Sakura on the Tokyo Tower? Or did Chisei understand that you weren't exactly a willing participant in all this?

All around you the moans of the members of the Devil Clan were echoing. They were like souls trapped in hell.  You pause in your flight.

A young man had managed to grab your heel. His tears were pooling under his eyes. They were tears mixed with blood. His jaw looked distorted and broken. His chest was whistling with blood. He couldn’t have been older than you were, but he struggled.  “Help… me…”

Before you could answer a massive shadow loomed over you and a steel plate came down and smashed through his neck like a guillotine, sending his head flying clear off the platform into the well below.

This wasn’t fair. These were people. They didn’t know Herzog was bad any more than you did as a Black Swan Bay orphan. Again, your mind superimposes Black Swan Bay onto the Red Well. If Herzog had taken you to the capitol as promised, wouldn’t he still be your beloved father? Would he not have infected you with his distorted visions of evolution? These people were just trying to survive! They were all that was left of the Devil Clan. Everyone else was in prison!

What was the difference between them and you? They were just like you! They were being slaughtered like animals and they were just like you!

The Red Well suddenly echoed with a mighty roar that came from your wide open throat. It was plaintive and piercing like the cry of a lonely wolf or a mourning mother over her fallen child. It was full of sorrow but also fierce frustration that this shit keeps happening and you want it to fucking stop! Your throat stretched and rattled painfully. If you could stop the world with your voice, you would roar until your voice gave out!

Your eyes explode into a kaleidoscope pattern of black red and gold as the blood in your body finally takes full hold. Ruri’s blood has replaced your own. That blood was yours now and all the power that came with it!

Ruri was laughing wildly from somewhere in the cave. “Do you hear that brother! It’s just as it’s written! A rib was taken from a man and from it was formed into a woman! See! I can quote fairy tales too!”

Your hands seize a firm hold of Gathering Clouds and you spin and a dazzling horizontal arc! The secret of this mighty sword is that it could control the wind. One of the first emperor hybrids wielded it to push a wildfire set by his enemies back into them, burning them to ash. In this case, the sword produced a wind so powerful it knocked back all the massive steel plates. Even though they were heavy in normal gravity and ten times heavier under the influence of Majesty, this dragon-tail sword blew those plates away like they weighed no more than feathers! They scattered like dandelion tufts blown by a child!

There was nothing in your mind other than stopping this mindless slaughter. You didn’t care about the Devil Clan versus Hydra. In this matter, you had to agree with Ruri Kazama. There were no good guys versus bad guys. There were good guys in Hydra like Sakura Yabuki and there were good people in the Devil Clan, like Chime and Chance. The only evil that led both astray were Herzog and Bondarev. They should be turning those weapons on them! 

Chisei did not come alone. The heavily armed Hydra members followed Gen Chisei out of the cabin of the helicopters. They fired at the shaft wall with grapple guns and hung high from them, but Chisei Gen fell straight down. Kazama Ruri stretched the fuchsia-red sword in the air, Chisei’s twin blades made a dazzling ray of more than ten meters long, and the three blades fought against each other. The violent sparks illuminate the faces of the estranged brothers. Chisei’s  face is indifferent like a stone carving, but Kazama Ruri’s is like a bloodthirsty evil spirit.

Around them, gunfire and explosions continued. The Hydra Elites hung in the air by their grapple guns and pulled the trigger before they had even completed their fall. A hailstorm of bullets fell from the sky. The moment Chisei jumped out of the cabin, “Majesty” was lifted, but the engineering team and gunmen of the Devil Clan were cut down and suppressed by gunfire before they could get up and dodge. The Hydra elites were not going to spare anyone in the well. They were thugs among thugs, and now, even though they dangled from ropes, they hold their weapons as still and stable as professional assassins. 

A hurricane of violence had erupted in the Well of Bones. Ruri and Chisei’s blades were like lightning, the gun battles were like thunder, and you were howling like the wind.

You ran straight towards the wall, and then straight up the wall. Your face is like the mask of Medusa and your hair quivered like black snakes. You didn’t care how fast you were running, it wasn’t fast enough! People were still dying! If this were just up to you and just about you, you probably could have killed everyone in this well much more easily. That was how you were taught in Black Swan Bay. But now you’d been infected with a new philosophy.

The righteous philosophy of Caesar Gattuso! What was right mattered more than what was efficient. Human lives were worth more than the blood of gods! Your whole body felt like it was on fire as you cut through all the weapons of the Hydra members hanging on the walls. You were just as fast as Ruri was. Hydra leaders took aim at the Devil clan only for the muzzles of their guns to fall off and a strong breeze to shake them from the wall. You were able to easily outrun the bullets that strafed after you as you cut heavy weapons to pieces and cut them from their wires so that they would fall to the maintenance platform.

The surviving Devil clan members cheered as they crawled out from cover and picked up weapons to counterattack, and they aimed at the vital parts of the Hydra assassins, giving them fatal injuries while they were hanging in the air. But then those cheers changed to fearful confusion as this whirlwind of a woman descended on them and their weapons split in half even though they never saw you cut them.. “Stop fighting! Don’t you realize who the real enemy is?!” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It sounds like a mix of Ruri Kazama’s voice and yours, speaking double toned, like someone possessed.

“Traitor! She’s a traitor!” Someone yelled among the Devil Clan ranks

“Kill that Devil woman!” Came shouts from the Hydra elites on the wall.

Yelling erupted from every side of the well from both the Devil Clan and the Hydra elites. You’re suddenly enveloped by a hail of bullets from both sides who now viewed you as a dangerous enemy and united to fight against you. A rueful bitter voice echoed in your head. “Well, at least they answered your question. Their real enemy is you… apparently.” A strong wind burst out and the bullets of the Hydra and the Devil Clan shot back into their faces. Dozens of men on both sides on the conflict fell dead or seriously wounded in an instant.

You put one hand over your eyes. You cackled at your own despair. You couldn’t stop yourself laughing uproariously. Your laugh rose to an insane screaming pitch as you rose above the floor of the maintenance platform on a gale of wind like some sort of evil witch. “Fine… Fine! Have it your way. Tear each other’s throats and die here with no one to mourn you!” While you felt the evil of Herzog and the justice of Gattuso, you still had little patience for idiots.

“Leave her to me! I’ll take care of the rest!” A man darted forward. You could tell by his speed and the ferociousness in his eyes that this one was different. The sword he carried glow brilliantly as though it had been superheated. But to you he was just running like a child with a toy light saber. What mattered more was that he was a leader. He had influence.

You met him, but not blade for blade so as not to smash his weapon by accident. Instead you dodged while he struck at you again and again but you were like a ghost in the air. “Tell your men to stop fighting!” You say.

“I will not let you resurrect the god!” His blade suddenly burst into flames, extending its reach and sending a wave of fire at you. The fire ignites your dress, turning the white fabric to soot and exposing your midriff. Delicate white scales sparkled on your abdomen in the rain as though you were made of diamond. The man’s eyes widened in horror as you just absorbed what should have been a devastating blow.

“The god is already resurrected.” You tell him, your voice is shaking, pleading. The rain drops run down your face in a torrent. “You don’t understand its nature. I don’t think you can control it. If you don’t work together with the Devil Clan, you’ll never-”

Now it was the senior member’s turn to laugh. “Ha! Work together? Work with the greedy people who got us into this mess in the first place?!” He pointed the sword at you. His eyes blazing gold. “You’re just a child. We’ve been fighting this war for all our lives. Our sides were determined on the day we were born and I have sworn to follow my righteous path until I die!”

“These people are your family!” You scream desperately. “Chance’s real name was Ichirou Inuyama! He was Inuyama!”

You suddenly see his whole body glow like fire and his clothes burned away. Under his combat suit he was strapped head to toe in layers of plastic explosive! He’d prepared to meet a super-Devil like you or Ruri.

He howled against the wind. “DIE! DEVIL SCUM!”

Time seemed to slow as the raging ball of flame burned his body to ash and came towards you, and the roaring gale of Gathering Clouds bubbled outward to meet it. The force of the suicide vest was so powerful, the flames licked around your body, surrounding you in fire. But eventually, just as in the legend, the wind won out. The full force of the suicide blast flew away from you. Not only that, the blast was fed and accelerated by your ferocious wind until that fire  expanded into a fireball a hundred meters wide and heated up to nearly 2,000 degrees. It engulfed men and women who had thrown away their broken guns and pulled out knives and swords. If they didn’t have knives and swords, they fought with fists, feet, and bits of debris. They didn’t even look up when the ball of fire took them over and snuffed out their lives. The massive fireball left corpses and flames and devastation in its wake. 

But you didn’t mean it. You were just defending yourself.

A loud crash interrupted you before you could panic.  You jerked your head around and saw Chisei Gen standing under a shower of burning wreckage from a helicopter that was rolling down the wall. Gen Chisei did not dodge and it was too late to warn him.

 You run forward a few steps but the whirling blade that had broken off from the wreckage already chopped into Chisei’s shoulder, crushing the man flat to the ground as the rest of the blades cut in turn. Immediately afterwards, the crumpled black fuselage hit him and slid across the ground before finally crashing into the tall steel liquid nitrogen tank. Huge amounts of liquid nitrogen poured over the wreckage of the helicopter, frost spreading along the surface of the wreckage and rising up as a thick mist.

 The fuel tanks ruptured and the fallen wreckage was ignited. Electric sparks flashed and buzzed as if a thousand suns were burning at the bottom of the well, a wave of gas forcing everyone still alive apart.  Columns of light swept across the bottom of the storage well with columns of dust, fiery air currents and flying debris blew across the area.

The Hydra and engineering teams  of the Devil Clan were still fighting. They didn't even realize that the leader of the Hydra group had been killed in action. All of them were immersed in a great sense of mission and anger. No matter what the outcome of this fight was, no one could stop anymore. Even though you had the blood, the power, and the faith in justice, you felt lost and without any hope of victory.

You’re not even sure you wanted Chime to come back any more. Maybe this is for the best that he sleeps forever with his brother.

This was not Black Swan Bay. These weren’t little children running from explosions or cold-blooded men. These were adults. These people were choosing to kill each other. Even if they were deceived, they truly believed the deception. Even if you took all their weapons and tied them all up, they would still move and crawl on the ground in an attempt to tear at each other with their teeth.

The trap that Herzog had set was not this well. The burning man was right. The trap had been set and carefully laid in their minds and cultivated from the day of their birth. Just like the trap of the suicide pills. These people had to, not only choose to live and not seek death, but also choose to let others live and not seek the death of other people.

"So sad the end, ah... the family line that stretched for thousands of years, the guardian of Japan, just ended its mission.'' Herzog stands by the burning wreckage and laments in a poetic voice, "From now on in the world, there will no longer be any such thing as Emperor.”

"But no matter," he smiled faintly again, "Emperors were outdated anyway."

Ruri was strangely silent. With his brother gone, shouldn’t he be attacking Herzog?

Herzog hoisted the carrying case in his hand, the glass capture capsule is contained in that case. He has got what he dreamed of all his life. It is time to leave this well. You huff. What a magnificent bastard. He didn’t have to do anything to kill anyone here. Everyone was happy to do it for him, yourself included.

You stare at the sword in your hand. What a poisoned pill that sword turned out to be!

At that moment, a loud heartbeat came from behind him, like a sudden booming death knell, like something returning from hell! Hands covered in white scales pierced the metal skin of the wreckage of the helicopter, and crystal clear claws snapped around the head of the King General!

The flames in the wreckage sucked in and out, getting more and more fiery, as though something huge was breathing in the cockpit. Each time it inhaled a huge amount of air from within the wreck, it exhaled a gushing fire from it.

The suitcase fell to the ground. The King kicked and struggled. Not only is the pressure on that sharp claw increasing, but the sound of breathing was taking on a threatening aura. Kazama Ruri didn't move. Those dull, soulless eyes lit up again, and he watched with interest as the claw slowly tightened. The king's mask was crumbling, blood dripping down from the cracks.

The wreckage suddenly burst apart! The few people who approached the wreckage were immediately killed by the flying flames and debris.

Out of the firelight came the dazzling white shadow, someone who could no longer be called human. He was such a beautiful and hideous creature. He possessed gnarled muscles and rippling sinews that proclaimed what power was in this incredible body. The surface of the scales of his skin were like golden-red brocade in the firelight. The skin on his back split open. Slender bones opened up. Bloody wings stretched themselves out for the first time He was drenched in blood from this wing beat but the wounds on his back healed at a speed visible to the naked eye, after which the fierce and savage back muscles bulged.

The exoskeleton-encircled face could no longer smile or frown, and the newborn Chisei breathed up into the sky with a windy roar in his throat.

He was something between an angel and a devil, a mistake that should not have been made in this world.

 "Dragon's blood! You ...... you used dragon's blood?!" The General exclaimed.

Chisei’s voice was deep and echoing. "Yes, as an emperor, I can't kill you, but as a ghost, I can surpass the limits of an emperor." He said softly, "I've been a ghost slayer all my life, yet I didn't understand until this moment why those ghosts crave for power.''

He looked up at the dark night sky, rain pattering on that hard face: "When there is already boundless darkness where you are, how can you not fly to the flame?"

You gasp. Those words. Not those words! Those are Herzog’s words! Why was Chisei quoting the words of the dying Devil Clan? You reach out your hand. And then stop.  With a slight popping sound, the skull of Herzog broke like a water pipe. He threw the King's body on the ground and lowered his emperor-like golden eyes to observe. The corpse never moved a single bit.

The King surprisingly just died. And suddenly everything made sense. You were too occupied to think about it before. Didn’t Chisei fall helplessly before Ruri Kazama just hours ago? Didn’t Chisei always save Majesty to the end of the battle as an escape plan because it rendered him as helpless as a newborn kitten? In this instance, he’d thrown it out at the beginning! But he suffered no side effects. He wanted to kill Ruri Kazama so badly that he went against his own morals and principles.

Morals and principals were so troublesome. You think to yourself bitterly. They get in the way of efficiency. 

After what you’d seen of Ruri Kazama and after what you’d seen of the god. You didn’t believe you could survive here much longer and you didn’t think Chisei would win. It was best to escape while these two musclebound idiots solved their differences. Knowing them… they’d kill each other and you never got in the way of that before, and bitterly decide not to get in the way of that again.

Since Chisei didn’t suffer any from using his Soul Skill you decide to use your own Soul Skill. You press your foot to the ground and let the spiritual roots take hold without reservation. Mental filaments spread like vines and touch every part of the Red Well until you feel like you wear it as a second skin. You needed a way out. Then you could bury this place in magma. The magma wasn’t far from here. After all, it fed the god that caused all this. You would simply return it to its place.

A strange signature, like three footsteps, catches your attention. Someone had walked up near the rim of the well close to the machinery lift platform. You can’t see anyone, but they’re there. Who could be up there?

Your heart suddenly leaps into your throat and your memory throws up the scene on Tokyo Tower of Ruri beheading and then severing the body of the King in two only for it to pop up again in a second place! The person standing up on the platform was likely the real King! This body is a fake!

“Ha!” You snarl and take the Heavenly Cloud blade and strike the ground. It summons a huge tornado that lifts you off like a rocket. You really did have wings and you were going to  pounce on this King creature like and eagle and kill him for real. 

But this man was always prepared. What would he have for you? Bombs? Hah. Deadpool? Hah! There was nothing that could save him!

When you approach the rim of the well, it’s too late that you see the fine nano-fiber mesh that surrounds it. It wraps around you like a spiderweb, and clings tight as you collide with it and push with forward momentum. The Sword of Gathering Clouds slips from your grasp and goes falling back towards the well. Immediately your upward momentum comes crashing down onto the flat land that surrounds the Red Well and you roll several feet before coming to a stop next to an armored boot. Your hands are bound, your legs are bound. The nanofibers are crushing into your skin.

You stare up into the sky and a pistol is pointed right at your forehead. Herzog’s masked face comes into view. He waggles his fingers in greeting. “Hello.”

[sonicthecringehog]

you think me saying someone doesn't care about you is really abusive? yeah i see you posting about me in your discord.

TW: ABUSE; R*PE, SUICIDE, GASLIGHTING. Alrighty gather 'round children - I think I know exactly who you are now so I'm going to lay it down for you, maybe this is me being a sociopath with a victim complex as ableist as that sounds to my followers. Allow me to educate you, even if you think this is manipulation too~ Now, I may have grown up very privileged - considering my mother had escaped literal poverty, and my father escaping a cycle of intergenerational trauma from actual abuse. I will never deny that and I am grateful for all of the things I have and have worked hard for myself. But dude I have clinically diagnosed PTSD that I only just found out about last week after spending a few days in an actual psych ward - they genuinely thought I possibly had either bipolar disorder or schizophrenia because of how bad of a state I was in, I couldn't eat or sleep for days. I learned that when I rushed into a convenience store crying and shaking, and just apologizing constantly because I didn't even have a mask and my phone was dead, so I had no idea how to get to the hospital. I did not want to be turned away yet again out of looking like a walking stereotype (looking at you, Karens). And just before that, confession I broke into a friend’s house because I took his word literally that the door is always open, and someone convinced me I was gaslighting the both of them which is exactly what sent me spiralling to begin with. But anyway, the people at the store were really understanding even if it was just a liability thing, and they called the police for me, and the police contacted a social worker for me to get my story out and they all reassured me that I was doing the right thing - and eventually, I got the help I needed and I realized it's time to take back my life once and for all.

Not even strong antipsychotics like olanzapine, what I'm currently prescribed with, helps me in those times. I wake up with cold sweats, I have constant nightmares I don't tell people about because I don't want to fuck them up the way I got this way. And now I understand why my aunt from my dad's side of the family who was apparently schizophrenic took her own life, and never told anyone her struggles either. And why my dad was so overprotective of me for so long. You see, I live in constant fear for my life because I have dealt with actually violent, clinical psychopaths who only think for themselves and will instead lie through their teeth to make it seem like they'd changed. And they stalk you or just cling onto you, to try and find every little detail about you to use as ammo against you because they know they can, and will manipulate people into thinking you're the one abusing them and manipulating everyone around you until they have no use for you anymore. Lots of shit happened but honestly if I just accepted that "no one cares" and I just learned to "shut the fuck up and think before I speak," like my actual abusers would say... I'd be a single mother living in poverty right now, and I would probably have lost custody of that child to my one abuser at that time because he is exactly like this. I don't like talking about it because I know how triggering it is for some and this might blow up again like a lot of my "controversial" posts, but if I didn't accidentally stress and overwork myself into having a miscarriage in the bathroom at my work, I would have become the walking stereotype my other abusers would try to implant in people's minds. And I feel horrible and responsible for all the shit I'm causing now, because I know of people with diagnosed NPD or ASPD and they're trying to better themselves, and do their part in the world without hurting people. You really can't win no matter what side you're on. Hell, I developed a saviour complex over the course of a few years because I've seen some vulnerable people get taken advantage of like this, too without ever understanding why so they constantly find themselves being abused without realizing it, it's heartbreaking to me. I was r*ped at 7, not from the stereotypical creepy uncle. But a girl my own age who I'm pretty sure was abused herself, which is why I never held anything against her. Maybe it's my Stockholm Syndrome talking again. Regardless, I learned that you can't change a person. The only person you can change is yourself. However, sometimes those strangers who show basic human decency knowing one's past, are that ultimate kick in the ass to motivate people to save themselves.

So let this ask post be a lesson to all of you. These kinds of abusers I had also knew exactly how to dogwhistle me to try and get a reaction, exactly what to say and how to act in front of authority figures - to manipulate them into thinking I was the abuser or whatever ableist walking stereotype they wanted people to think. Hence, I was gaslighted into thinking I was on the autism spectrum my whole life by the people around me growing up, and that my close family and friends were the “real” abusers even though they were trying to help but didn’t know how... without these people even realizing who the real culprits were. Growing up being The Girl Who Cried Wolf even when you did nothing you were aware of, fucks you up for life, my friend. And that's exactly what they wanted. Maybe I do need a break from social media as even my family doctor says, maybe I do need to let myself be "cancelled" again to grow stronger from this. Because I'm not saying you specifically are abusive or a bad person per se, because I don’t even know who you are, I could have easily deleted and ignored this. But just let people live and stop trying to take away what little innocence they have left that they lost at a very early age... out of being too comfortable in your own magical fantasy world of self-pity to get your own shit together. Because shit like this is exactly why I overwork myself and get these "manic" episodes as my abusers called it, as live in fear that I might actually get shot one day when things seem to finally be stable and peaceful. Hell, I might never be able to get a real job because of shit like this. But if you want to report my posts again on my Instagram which I'm pretty sure was you at this point, go right ahead. Because you need to grow the fuck up... and to the other people reading this, don't ever let anyone tell you that no one cares or your feelings aren't valid, because there are people who do understand and will help you, even if to them you're just a passerby on the street. Because people do care.

This kind of cancel culture and bullying people out of getting help without giving them a chance to explain themselves, while doxxing and overanalyzing every post one says to use against them... has been so normalized in our society that we often do glorify the people who show basic human decency. When it should have been the standard all along. On to the point, I wish you all a wonderful journey to a beautiful recovery too - I might not be active for a bit because I think I need a break ^_^'

TL;DR: Don't feed the trolls, kiddies, but don't let them win out of fear that no one will believe you even with concrete proof. To make a bad Sonic reference - if you see someone abusing their power over you and doesn't want you to thrive because they think you're nothing more than some welfare queen attention whore... THATS NO GOOD~

(Also excuse all the edits, I’ve been spiralling mentally because holy shit I don’t appreciate being stalked and doxxed y’all regardless of who is doing this... so I’m keeping this post up as a reminder to all of you to just not feed the trolls and keep moving forward. Hell, someone on Snapchat kept stupidly adding me by my number for a few months on and off, so this is why I get in these situations where I’m kiiiinda scared for my life. I admitted myself to the hospital but ended up leaving after asking for resources for these kinds of situational crises. Oof. ^_^”)

Anyways, toodle-oo fuck you too bitch. ;)

~ Serena

[luminescentlyricist]

⚙️ Whirlwinds ༄

( Meat timeline w/ Candy elements )

( CW: Depression )

John was feeling lonely. Ever since the the session had begun, he had steadily become quieter and quieter. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, but he wasn't talking to any of his friends as much, and found himself taking comfort in any silence he could. Not even Casey was cheering him up, regardless of how many bright blue bubbles she blew or adorable noises she teased him with. So, strangely, he sought comfort in Dave.

His keyboard had begun gathering dust, as he'd returned to his old house with the intent to actually talk to people face-to-face and maybe invite them over. But now, after what felt like years of isolation, he blew off the grey motes. Coughing, John placed his fingers on the keys as it began to boot up. This bought a soft sort of half-smile to his face. Pesterchum seemed like ancient technology, but they - all of his friends from both sessions, as well as the trolls with Trollian - insisted on keeping the chat clients alive.

There were a few moments of inescapable lag as his desktop exploded with notifications. His friends loved him that much. Scrolling through his contact list, he noted that 'CarcinoGeneticist' had been the source of a lot of the notifications. Karkat and Dave shared one thing in common: they never shut up, and that was exactly what John liked about them.

Well, he normally did.

Due to their mostly well-meaning spam of messages, the two collectively succeeded in causing his screen to freeze for a solid ten minutes, during which time John lamented not having the grist at hand to alchemise a new one. Regardless, he sat in front of it, mostly unmoving apart from the habitual tapping of his feet against the floor. The wind moved against him so tightly it felt as if it were trying to crush him into an anxious mess.

Everything became a few shades brighter when the screen finally decided to work, and the Heir himself seemed to brighten, if only for a moment. He sat up a little straighter, fixing his glasses that had been knocked askew. The wind also began to disperse, leaving a gentle breeze that helped to melt the ever-mounting tension in his shoulders. Dave had messaged him a moment earlier.

The message - of a picture - was also attached to a link, an audio clip. John missed Dave and his voice. He hadn't left the house in a long time, not since he came back to it. His friends used to try and visit, but they stopped trying three months ago when he didn't respond. Perplexed, John fumbled for his earbuds and plugged them into his laptop. The cool kid's warm tone graced his ears, bringing with it a sense of comfort.

"Hey, John. I know you probably won't hear this, but I just wanted to let you know that you're the coolest kid I've ever met. We're talking smuppet levels of cool."

John paused the video. Was that supposed to be a compliment? He couldn't tell.

"You're so cool you put arctic freezes to shame. Anyway, I know you're all down in the dumps right now, and that's a completely valid response. We've been through some mad shit lately. But you can come and talk to me whenever you need me, okay? Point is, I want you to come and hang when you're finished being a hermit. Come outta your shell, dude. Find a new home, 'cause this one's all up in the clouds."

When the clip ended, John's smile fell and the giddy warmth faded from his body. It was suddenly very cold in the house. As much as he liked Dave, his energy had begun to wane. Soon, though, another ping sounded from his laptop. There was the photo that he'd forgotten. Clicking on that file, he realised it was akin to a new face reveal. He'd not seen Dave in so long. Too long. He could barely remember the faces of his friends.

Even though Rose was a Seer of Light, dealing with knowledge and such, John couldn't help but feel that she wasn't the one to help him with his terrible memory. There were some problems that even God Tier couldn't fix, which was one of the things he realised when he returned home after so long. Sometimes, John didn't even get out of bed in the morning.

Usually, Casey would meet him at his bedside at nine in the morning - though she often got the simplistic schedule confused, and John had to get her instead - so that they could go check on the Salamander Village in the Consort Kingdom together. But, that morning, she went alone. John enjoyed the little task that he did with his daughter above all else, and it had simply become *draining*. He never wanted it to be.

His eyelids drooped as he stared at the screen in front of him, the display having dimmed in preparation to go to sleep. John dragged his finger across the trackpad, squinting against the bright lights. There he was: Dave, in all his coolness. The teen was lying on his back, faking sleep, and his crocodile consorts had laid a blanket over him, photo-bombing the picture he had attempted to take due to the unusually endearing scene.

It was a soft moment, perfectly captured in time.

Things like those were exactly what John missed about hanging out with his friends. Shutting the lid to his laptop with a small sigh, the heir wondered if he'd ever go out to see them all. He hadn't even responded to any of Karkat's messages.

"Gee, John. You're really slipping today."

He murmured this to the empty house, voice seeming too quiet compared to the otherwise vast space that was his. John was so tired. He had no energy whatsoever, but the sun remained high in the sky. The day was certainly dragging on regardless of the fact that he'd only been awake for a few hours. Taking off the iconic blue-rimmed glasses that he wore and setting them on the desk, John waited for something - anything - to rouse him.

Around him, the naturally warm breezes that he seemed to generate had stilled, causing a gentle shudder to ripple down his spine. John stood, picking up his glasses and perching them on the end of his nose. It wasn't that he needed the lenses to see; he was fairly sure going God Tier had given him 20-20 vision, but they were as important to him as Dave's shades were to the other.

Glancing towards a dusty photograph on the mantle, he directed a swift breeze to wipe the dust away. It was an old picture of he and his dad, with John himself only about five. Walking to pick it up, he studied it in a silence that had since become comfortable. Sure, he missed his dad, but memories were more than enough, even though his vision blurred with tears. Unlike a Strider, he had never been good at masking his emotions.

As a droplet ran down the glass, the boy traced around his face in the picture. As far back as he could remember,  he'd always had the same style of glasses. The first time his dad let him pick the rims he wanted, he'd simply chosen the same ones as his dad had picked for him. Dark blue and obnoxiously rectangular, just as he'd worn before and since.

They helped him remember how much he was loved, in a way,  so he didn't want to forget them. That was why it had hurt so much the time they were sucked mercilessly into the void. Just as soon as the first had transpired, another shudder ran through him. Bad memories were threatening to resurface, memories of what had happened before. He groaned aloud, trying to block them out with the noise.

He had been tempted to talk to Rose for another reason: despite the fact that there weren't exactly any functioning universities in Earth C to give her the appropriate qualifications, everyone considered her a good therapist. She'd seen and experienced her fair share of horrors since her stint in Grimdarkness. Maybe she would understand how... depressed he felt. John felt awful for always burdening Dave with the information, even though the group's resident coolkid always seemed so open to it all, even in the times he was sure no one would listen.

After so long in the house, alone, John had acquired a lot of time to think. Some of it was a negative thing, but he'd recently come to terms with a big part of himself that he'd buried around everyone. Since Kanaya and Rose had established that they were together, he'd been ruminating about his own sexuality. It felt a little safer.

There was a more inclusive crowd in Earth C than he and his friends had ever anticipated, so that nobody felt left out. Alienated. There were so many different choices he was able to make, and no legislations in place would exclude him. Being a god had its perks, though that hardly mattered. He had a truth to consider.

He was a homosexual, and he'd caught feelings for his best friend.  

Even though it was a lot to process, he was working through it slowly. Dave had once felt like someone so above him, to put on a pedestal and almost glorify. But through the session, and their chilling times on Earth C together, that had dissolved. They had a lot more in common than he had previously thought, but that did nothing to calm the jitters enveloping his entire body at the mere prospect of meeting with the other boy after so long.

At that moment, the doorbell rang out with a discordant attempt at a tune. John mentally reminded himself to fix that later. He was jolted away from his thoughts, and called out to his visitor tiredly.

"Hold on a minute..."

Dragging his feet, the boy headed to his old room. He'd since relocated some of his dad's ties to the cupboard there, unwilling to part with that aspect of himself and move into the other, bigger space. He discovered that his fingers were shaking despite his prior lethargy, which meant he couldn't tie the knot on the one he'd picked out properly. He was still only 23, but wearing them made him feel a little more mature.

Draping it over one of his shoulders like a dish-towel, the boy headed out to open the door. He was relieved to see that his daughter hadn't completely abandoned him, but the small yellow salamander had someone else in tow, dragging them inside the house while bubbling excitedly.

"Sup?"

Dave's greeting was relaxed, almost to the point of nonchalance, but the other knew him well enough that he wasn't offended by it. The cooler of the two's lips twitched up into a smile upon seeing his friend's shocked expression, and he laughed quietly.

"What's up, Egbert? Have you been rendered speechless by the Strider Charm emanating from my every pore?"

The man noted, clearly recognising that he needed to stay something familiar to relax John.

Still silent, John nodded sheepishly before posing his own greeting.

"Hi, Dave! I haven't seen you in ages. Whatcha been up to?"

He asked only when he'd cleared his head, but it didn't do much to prevent his voice from squeaking. He wasn't sure how to answer his buddy's question, so he'd swung it back to Dave, whose brows crinkled thoughtfully beneath his shades.

"Not much, really. Chillin', helpin' my bro with his projects. He told me he wanted to dismantle Sawtooth and Squarewave to do something new."

John's face brightened slightly to match the Strider's smile, but it was all he could do to ignore the lethargy that had crept back into his body.

"Woah... That must be hard work. I'm glad you're getting along with him, though!"

Instead of rising in tandem with his excited statement, the young man's voice fell flat. It wasn't that he meant to sound unenthusiastic, he'd just completely zoned out. Standing in dazed silence for a moment, he was only snapped back to reality by Dave's worried questioning.

"Hey, bro, you alright?"

John had no idea how to reply, instead shrugging dumbly. Sure, he wasn't going to die because he hadn't slept for the past few nights, but his limbs felt weighed down by lead. He stared blankly towards the wall behind his friend,  whole body beginning to lightly tremble.

"I think I'm fine, yeah... Don't worry about me, 'kay?"

The man's words slurred, and he laughed shakily. He braced himself against the near doorframe, exhaling as the world spun and lurched around his head. Thanks to the ever-increasing list of God Tier benefits, there was no need for him to sleep. Evidently, he should have. He'd not let himself have any relief from his steadily darkening thoughts for weeks.

Dave's hand lightly brushed John's shoulder, causing him to flinch and nearly fall over. He'd retrieved the tie, and was going to ask about whether or not John wanted help tying it, but did something else entirely when he felt the young man sway beneath his touch. While Casey freaked out a little, scampering away from the two to hide, Dave wrapped his arms securely around John's torso to steady him.

"I hate to tell you this, John, but what you're feeling right now is the exact opposite of fine. C'mon, dude. I can take care of you for a bit. Think of it as bro-to-bro bonding."

Dave held his position there, not speaking, until he felt the other's shaking slow down. He kept a hand on John's shoulder to steady him after the awkward embrace, slowly walking with the trembling man beside him until they reached a little further into the house. Gently, Dave guided his friend to sit down, and then called for Casey.

"C'mere, Case. Your dad needs some serious salamander love."

He never called the yellow salamander 'Casey', preferring 'Case'. She still responded to it, so he didn't see the point in changing his ways. John's adopted daughter peeked her head out from where she was hidden, blowing a bright blue bubble towards the coolkid. She made her way towards him, although she was obviously more concerned about reaching her dad.

Dave lifted Casey up into his arms and carried her to where John was on the couch. Before placing her down, he whistled and made an explosion noise upon 'impact'. She immediately hugged John's chest, walking across his legs and torso to get to that part of him. He smiled tiredly down at her.

John's eyes were drooping again, and that caused Dave - who was watching over the scene carefully - to frown.

"I can take Casey out of the room if you need some privacy, dude. You seem pretty tired."

His voice was softer than usual, but still held that certain suave that the other regarded as oddly calming. Casey bubbled in protest - or so Dave thought, since salamanders were pretty dim most of the time - and made an indignant noise.

"I think I just... I need to sleep, 'cause I've been awake for a while. But it's nice having you two here."

The man wearily smiled a little more, as if to reassure the two that nothing was wrong. It never reached his eyes.

Nodding, Dave walked to the kitchen. He retrieved a glass of water for his best friend, making sure it was cold to the touch but not icy enough to cause a headache. He returned to the living room to find John softly humming a familiar tune to Casey. It was 'Pipeorgankind', the same dramatic melody that he had once used to clear the skies of his land. A grin split Dave's features moments after.

"Aw, man... Didn't you invite me to the party? Cold."

As always, the Strider's voice held a lilt, nuanced enough that those who knew him well enough could tell whether or not he was joking around. He set the water down, clearing his throat.

"If you need a DJ, I can assure you that my beats are fresher than a cake straight outta the oven."

John stopped humming for a minute, looking towards Dave, who had fallen otherwise silent. He wasn't sure how to respond, but Dave never really expected a response in the first place.

He sat on the couch next to the other, hoisting Casey into his lap with a lop-sided grin. The salamander bubbled again, and he reached out a tentative finger. Ever since he started visiting LOWAS, Dave had never been sure whether or not the large blue objects in the salamander's mouths were their tongues. To his surprise, Casey stayed there. As soon as Dave's finger made contact, however,  the salamander licked him, bright blue liquid coating his entire hand.

This pulled a soft laugh from the boy next to him, due to the fact that the Strider's otherwise perfect hair was sticking up at the front, and he never seemed to notice. Reaching out with his powers, John directed his natural drafts - weaker than usual - to dry and swiftly redirect his hairdo.

Even though he was still incredibly tired, the blue boy was glad for the company. It didn't matter as much that Dave was obnoxious sometimes; he'd always had a keen sense of how others were feeling regardless of his own emotional confusion. As such, the Strider kept his arm around John, the small gesture providing a modicum of comfort more than his natural presence could.

The simple action was enough for the first tear to spill down John's cheek. He had adjusted himself to the feeling of crying alone, and there was a degree of embarrassment associated with anyone seeing him. But the Knight had always made him feel safer, and made it known that he'd always have a shoulder to cry on if he needed one.

Casey had situated herself on the other cushion, having moved from Dave's lap. She was keeping herself as close to her dad as possible.

Sometimes, John felt.... numb. In a way, he was jealous of the Striders' unique ability to lock away emotions, to not feel at all. He was shaken away from this mindset when Dave began gently wiping his tears away with a tissue. This particular Strider was one of the most empathetic people he knew.

Although doubts were racing through the man's mind, he was doing his best to make John feel safer.

"Let it out, man. It's... It's good for you to cry. You've bottled up so much shit I'm glad you're finding release. Just keep fighting, 'kay? I'm proud of you, John. You're one of the strongest people I know, but..."

Dave broke off as his normally suave, constrained tone wobbled, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"It's okay to break sometimes."

Dave's voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was all he could do not to start crying himself. Feeling John's panicked, shaking gasps slowing down gradually - With the other man pressed firmly against his chest in an awkward embrace - was a relief. It allowed him to let out the breath he had no idea he was holding.

He knew that his friend was sleeping, the soft breezes he emanated having tightened to curl almost protectively around his body. Gently, he eased his way out of John's lax arms. He stood, walking to the man's old bedroom and retrieving a blanket. He frowned when he saw how thin it was, though.

Taking off his thick hoodie, he draped it over John's body and scrawled something onto a sticky note: "Keep it. ~D." After attaching the note to the jacket, he bent over and pressed a soft - clearly hesitant - kiss on the other's forehead. Taking off his shades to look at John properly, his expression lifted into a smile.

Even though he knew John wouldn't hear him, Dave spoke as he left.

"I love you, dude. Good luck."

[passable-talent]

Power Hungry [1]

“I’m writing a vampire short story but in the most homoerotic way possible “ -🦌 Roe 2k20

warnings: lots n lots of blood, a little bit of self destructive behavior in the beginning, death of an unnamed character, angst out the ass, please and thx

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | 

The way in which the world had ended didn’t particularly matter. 

Lucas Clark had spent many nights following the one that changed the world trying to figure it out, how it had all gone to shit so fast, to no avail. And what did it matter, anyway? Regardless of how it had happened, his life had changed, and it wasn’t going back. 

If he could call it a life, anymore. 

Six months ago, he’d returned from a store trip to find two vampires on the necks of his mother and father. He’d chased them off- and then received the last words of his parents before they both died in front of him.

Six months ago, he’d run to his best friends, Ben and Anthony. Ben had already lost both of his parents to cancer in his teenage years, and the two of them had been living with Anthony’s father- who’d been bitten and turned, who was begging for death. 

Six months ago, three twenty-two year olds became orphans, all in the same day. 

Six months ago began Lucas’ hell.

He spent every day staring at ceilings, at walls. The power grid was still working, but he never wanted to turn on the television- everywhere he’d see sit-coms and news reports being paid to glorify the creatures who’d destroyed the Earth. Plus, neck coverings were in style, and Lucas couldn't stand looking at those, either. 

Any humans left lived the way Lucas did, huddling in a home with two or three other survivors, never leaving, except to get food. Lucas didn’t even do that- Anthony was the hunter. He’d learned the skill from his dad, so he’d drag home an animal every few weeks, and Ben would help Lucas clean and preserve it, and they’d spend the next three weeks letting their tongues go numb to the taste of the meat. There was still food sold in stores- but to enter a public building was like opening your neck up to anybody. No one came out, or, no one came out human. 

Anthony was really the only reason that the three of them had survived. Lucas could fight, sure, and Ben had the skills to hunt if he needed to, but Anthony had the reaction. He kept them alert, imposed rules to keep them safe, ventured out into the fang-infested world and returned safe. 

It was thanks to him that they’d acquired some of the last bleach available in stores. 

TV shows had been way off when they thought about the apocalypse- clans of ‘anemic assholes’, as Ben called them, had an interest in keeping the world working, so stores still sold things, the power grid was untouched, television shows were still being made. These clans weren’t around the area where the three of them lived, though, so mostly they had to worry about the Lones, the vampires without a clan or family and the steady food source that such a family or clan would come with. It did make it somewhat easy to find a human- they were the ones that didn’t have those bite marks on their necks. 

Between Tony’s rules, and the semi-ease with which a human could spot a Lone, things weren’t extremely dire. There was a little bit of a rush on canned goods, back in May, when it all started, but now things were mostly back to normal, other than the fact that it was best never to leave the house. 

Bleach, though. Bleach was gone. 

Humans bought it for the same reason that Anthony had grabbed it up- to douse clothing in, masking any human scent sticking to them so that they could leave the house without attracting a Lone. Vampires bought it up to clean the stench of slaughter from their homes, and to keep it from humans, so that they could easily find their prey. 

They had two bottles of bleach, kept under lock and key, a key that only Ben, Anthony, and Lucas knew the location of. It was the most precious thing they owned, the most valuable. More valuable than the silver daggers each of them carried at every moment of every day. 

The stories of old were wrong. Silver didn’t kill vampires any more than iron, but it was about the statement. The promise that any of the three of them would murder any bitten that dared cross cross their path.

That silver dagger was how Lucas spent most of his time. There was no point to sleeping, so he’d stand in the living room, and practice throwing it. It wasn’t supposed to be a throwing knife, but Lucas did it anyway, taking joy in putting holes in the pristine white wall that still felt so suburban, as though it mocked him, mocked the loss of his nuclear family. 

He gave the knife a particularly forceful throw, hearing it thunk into the drywall. He was about to take it out again when he heard the door open. 

“Tony’s back,” Lucas called up the stairs to Ben, who was in the middle of a long shower. Lucas closed the door behind Anthony, who had a buck balanced over his shoulders, an arrow extending from between its eyes, bouncing over Anthony’s shoulder. It wasn’t even bleeding- Anthony’s white shirt, still stinking of bleach, hadn’t been touched by the buck’s blood. 

“Nice shot,” Lucas said, as he often did when Anthony came home, toting an animal who had died on impact. It was cute, six months ago. Now, it felt dry. 

“Can’t believe I found a deer,” Tony said, letting it thump onto the kitchen counter. “It was out on eighth street, like it didn’t think the town was dangerous anymore.”

“For him, it isn’t,” Lucas said, running his fingers down the ridges of the antlers. “He’s no longer the prey.” 

“Don’t get all poetic on me,” Tony said absent-mindedly, slightly teasingly, opening the fridge to see how much room they had. “Where’s Ben?”

“Taking a shower,” Lucas said, leaning on the table. “I don’t think he could stand to look at me anymore.”

“You and I both know that he could stare at you forever,” Tony said, and somehow, Lucas smiled. Ben was certainly special to him- and he to Ben. All three of them could see it, and had seen it since middle school. Still, they were friends. Nothing more. 

“Yeah, well. Even my pretty face gets boring when it’s all you ever look at.” 

“Tell me about it,” Tony said with a smirk, “I could stand to see a little less of ya.” He lifted his hand and shoved Lucas’ face back, giving both of them a bit of a laugh. The three of them had been best friends for twenty-two years, as long as they’d been alive. Lucas was lucky he still had them- without them, he’d have lost it long ago.

“Either way,” Tony said, turning back to the deer, “When he gets out, you two get to deal with that.” Lucas turned his gaze toward the buck, and his smile fell, as fast as it had appeared. 

“Joy,” Lucas said, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “So we can eat nothing but deer for the next two months.” Anthony shrugged, but there was a stiffness to the movement. 

“Hey,” he said, with all the warning of a parent about to start a lecture, “if you want something else to eat, you’re welcome to try your luck out there.” Shutting down against Anthony’s tone, Lucas looked to the floor.

“Or I could starve to death,” Lucas said, digging his teeth into the inside of his lower lip, “and not have to worry about it.” 

“That’s not the kind of shit you should be saying,” Anthony told him, jaw working to manage his annoyance.

“Like you can tell me what to say?” Lucas accused, pushing back against the controlling nature that Anthony took on, sometimes too often.

“Apparently I have to, to keep you safe!”

“God, who are you, your dad?” Lucas saw it when the words hit Anthony- his dad was a sore spot, and every mention of him took Tony right back to the moment he’d had to kill his own father. 

“Sorry,” Lucas breathed, and he left the room.

He hated whenever something like this happened- and it was happening too much, recently. He was getting sick of this ‘life’, Anthony was sick of him being snappy. The only one who seemed fine was Ben, but who knows what he’s thinking about in those hour-long showers. 

The house had three bedrooms. Anthony still had the one he’d had as a child, since it felt like home. Ben had what was once the guest bedroom, which he’d taken up at sixteen after Anthony’s dad took him in. That left just the master bedroom, to Lucas- which had never been a blessing, always a curse. At first, because it just felt like Anthony’s dad. And now, because the size of it made it feel so empty, its black king-sized sheets, and high ceiling that felt so far away. 

He laid on his back on top of the sheets, looking up, dagger rolling around his fingers. He knew it was a bad idea, he shouldn’t- but the frustration got too much, and he hurled the dagger upward, into the ceiling. It stuck for just a moment, before falling back down. 

Lucas’ immediate reaction was to roll over, out of the way, before he realized he also wanted to protect the sheets from the blade. He reached out, to try to catch the knife, and got his fingers around the blade just beneath its hilt, slipping just a bit, but enough to slice open his palm, and a line through each of his fingers.

“Fuck!” He roared, blood already rolling down his palm. He jumped to his feet, his uninjured left hand shoving the dagger into its sheath on his thigh, and ran into the bathroom, Ben’s shower be damned. He rustled through the cabinet, looking for their bandages. 

“What happened?” Tony called, appearing at the doorway just a moment later. 

“I did something dumb,” Lucas hissed through gritted teeth, even the touch of the bandage to his raw flesh stinging, “Don’t worry about it.” Once he’d pulled the bandage around his palm, Lucas shoved past Anthony to close the door, letting Ben have his privacy again. 

“What the hell did you do?” Anthony asked, grabbing Lucas’ hand and yanking it in front of him so he could get a good look. Lucas hadn’t dressed the slits along his fingers. 

“It’s nothing,” Lucas said, angry at himself, not wanting to bother Tony so soon after he’d hurt him. 

“That’s not nothing, Lucas, what if it gets infected?” 

“So what if it does?” Lucas snarled, ripping his hand from Anthony’s grasp. “It’s not like it fucking matters.” 

“Lucas, what are you talking about?” Anthony said, anger and concern swirling in his tone. “We want to keep you healthy!” Lucas turned his head to the side, scrunching up his nose, slightly, trying to keep his anger at bay. But every passing day was another blow to the dam, and there wasn’t much left keeping the floodwaters at bay. 

“Why?” he shouted, clenching his hands into fists, fingernails forcing his bandages into the wound. “So I can live in this fucking house for the rest of my life? Staring at white walls, pretending that everything’s fine, hoping that someday, something will change, but knowing that nothing ever fucking will?” Lucas heard the shower shut off, and if he hadn’t regretted the outburst before, he did now- he couldn’t face Ben, not knowing that Ben had heard every word. So he shoved Anthony out of the way, and charged down the stairs. At the front door, he ignored his shoes, ignored the white scarf that stunk of bleach, and charged outside.

“Lucas!” Anthony yelled after him, but Lucas didn’t turn back. 

He kept his fist tight, knowing that it was bleeding, and to expose it to the air would be to attract every Lone in the surrounding four blocks. Thanks to the Lones, there were so few humans with blood to give left, that even existing as one was dangerous. But he needed to take a walk. 

He loved Anthony. He loved Ben. They didn’t deserve to have to deal with him- to keep him alive when he was so stupid, rash, angry. They’d be better off if he was somewhere else, but he had nowhere else to go, so he could at least give them this break, let them get along for two hours while he walked the neighborhood. 

He’d long stopped trying to keep track of the humans in the homes. He’d once been able to tell you who had been turned, and who hadn’t, but there was no way to know, anymore. He just kept his chin down, eyes on the blacktop, ignoring the freezing, November cold. His dark grey hoodie didn’t even have a pocket he could shove his hands into. 

When he looked up, he stopped dead. Standing thirty feet in front of him was a woman, her eyes deadset on him. Her cheeks were sunken in against her face, her skin deathly pale, her bones poking out against her skin.

She wasn’t just a Lone, she was starving. Which meant Lucas was in grave danger. 

He pivoted hard, taking off across the street, and with a glance over his shoulder he was terrified to realize she’d taken chase. She was faster than him, they always were, but she’d tire out faster than he would. If he could make it past this house, and into the woods behind it, he could escape into the shrubs, and she’d be too exhausted to force through them. 

She was too close for his comfort by the time he broke into the woods, but exactly as he expected, she had much more trouble pivoting around thorn bushes and jumping over fallen logs. He planned to outrun her until he could throw her trail, but suddenly he’d reached a clearing, and he looked up to a massive mansion. 

His momentum lost, he tried to pivot his direction, but she’d caught up, and he wouldn’t even make it into the woods before she caught him. So he reached to his sheath and grabbed his dagger, ignoring the sting as the metal slipped over the wounds on his fingers, and turned around to plunge it into her chest with a battle cry. 

And that’d kill anybody. 

She fell forward, and took Lucas down with her, shoving the dagger further into her chest when they impacted the ground. She didn’t move. 

Lucas took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his heartbeat, and a moment later, threw the woman off of him. There was blood coating the hilt of his dagger, protruding from her chest, but he realized quickly that it was his own, from his fingers. She’d been so starved, she didn’t even bleed when she died. 

He’d hit the ground hard, and groaned against a bruised shoulder as he stood, yanking his weapon out of her. He felt just a little bit of sorrow for her, like he always did- a Lone vampire didn’t have a clan, which always meant that they were bitten, once human. It wasn’t her fault. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

-🦌 Roe

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 |

[crawgluvr4]

(ao3)

They suspend the injections after three weeks. 

Jack insists that it’s just because they want to see what happens, and Reyes calls him an idiot, with what he hopes is a hint of affection.

“You mean they suddenly care?” Jack pushes. “They didn’t stop them after the first guys got sick. Why now?”

Reyes just looks at him over whatever magazine he’s reading, like a disapproving grandfather. “Man, I thought I was supposed to be the paranoid one.”

Jack pouts, but it makes Reyes grin, so he takes it on the chin.

--

Jack likes Reyes, as a roommate and a person, and much to the surprise of the other soldiers. Everyone else thinks Reyes is grumpy and cold, and Jack would concede that it took a solid two weeks of work to get him to open up a bit. But it had been worth it, because the guy had a wicked sense of humour despite the miserable atmosphere the soldier enhancement program carried like a plague. When the injections started a month in, Jack was glad to have Reyes as something approaching a friend, because it meant they both had someone to bitch to about the side effects.

And sure, Jack might have a bit of a crush, but that was irrelevant. They’ve known each other all of three months, and he doesn’t even know Reyes’ first name, because he’s private as hell even with the people he says he likes. All Jack knows about him for sure is he was from L.A., he was given the number 24, and that he was a vegetarian, much to his own frustration. Everything else was Jack’s educated guessing or inference from vague stories.

Jack keeps his own secrets, of course, masked by a positive attitude and deflective jokes. Out of some weird respect for Reyes, he doesn’t mention his first name either. It keeps a veneer of professionalism, making the program feel more regular army and less like some lab experiment concocted as a punishment.

It was strange, that last line of thought. Everyone he’d talked to here, or overheard, had mentioned being frankly shit soldiers. Everett, down the hall, said he hadn’t even passed basic and was about to quit when he was approached by some colonel and asked to join the S.E.P. There were some who had been facing dishonourable discharges, and Reyes claimed he probably would have been facing charges of treason if the program hadn’t insisted he join. He hadn’t elaborated, and Jack was convinced he was lying, but it was possible as anything else.

Jack almost felt left out; as far as he knew his major sin was lying about being colourblind, when he was suddenly offered a place here. Nothing quite so dramatic as the others, but Reyes found it funny, so he felt at peace with it.

He didn’t read in too much to why Reyes’ approval, of sorts, made him feel better. It was irrelevant, after all.

--

What does happen is Jack starts bleeding, and doesn’t stop.

Two weeks after they stop the injections, Jack wakes up to Reyes hauling him out of bed and a nosebleed that soaks his pillow. He wants to ask what’s going on, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is more blood.

“Jesus fuck,” Reyes says, and hauls Jack’s arm over his shoulder as they leave for the med bay.

He almost wants to laugh; until now he had felt completely fine, tired sometimes, no worse than anyone else. The taste of iron is overwhelming, and his legs fail him multiple times as they go, the bleeding only intensifying. He is surprised by how much dying actually hurts.

“Had to do this just as I was starting to like you, Morrison,” Reyes grimaces, as he sweeps Jack into a fireman’s carry. He’s trying to joke, but there’s fear in his voice that Jack’s never heard before, and that makes him panic more than the trail of blood he’s leaving in their wake.

When he’s next aware of where he is, they’re in the med bay. Reyes is arguing with a disinterested doctor, who is insisting they keep him for observation. Jack would feel validated about his conspiracy theory if it hadn’t been a matter of life and death for him. Everything is clammy, and his eyes are wet with what he knows isn’t tears.

“You can’t let him die,” Reyes shouts, and Jack feels warm despite the blood loss.

The doctor’s response doesn’t quite reach him, but he does hear something about necessary sacrifice. Jack isn’t sure if his own protest happens in his mind or in reality, but he does feel a warm hand on his arm, and that is just enough.

--

Jack swims in and out of consciousness for what feels like years; when he’s awake, everything is dull and he can taste and smell nothing but his own blood. There’s some noise, medical equipment and voices pushing through the veil and coming to him garbled and unintelligible, and he gives up trying to parse it, eventually. Every moment he’s conscious feels static and unchanging. It gets boring, when he can feel boredom.

Time passes, or it doesn’t. Every moment he’s aware of reminds him of the time he mistook a penny for some chocolate as a kid, to the point his teeth start to ache. When he does consciously see things, it looks like pennies, too. 

Jack wonders if he made a mistake, coming here. Agreeing that he had cheated, and to give up his autonomy to rectify it. Something he was used to his whole life. There was some measure of a choice, here, but when the world was ending it didn’t really feel like one. 

God, he thinks at one point. I didn’t even make it to twenty-one.

You will, says the presence at his side. You’ve made it this far, you’ll be okay.

It hasn’t spoken before, the figure. He’s not sure if it was the doctors, finally conceding he was worth more alive, or something more intangible and terrifying. It follows him regardless of how awake he is, warm and soothing despite his fear of it. Whether his world is blurred with blood or darkness he can feel it, keeping constant vigil. Jack eventually calls it Death, deciding it must be protecting its quarry, waiting for the moment the doctors give up and let him go. 

A whisper cuts through his own thoughts - you’re not going to die, and I’m not Death, for fuck’s sake.

Which is something Death would say, he’s sure, although Jack had never thought about it until now. But he was fine with dying if Death was so casual in conversation. He would have hated to try to parse some grand cryptic speech.

You’re going to live, it says. You’re not going to die. Quietly; you can’t.

There’s guilt in the whisper this time. Jack feels almost apologetic at having pinned the voice as Death rather than anything else; it could be a ghost, a spirit, an angel.

I’ve heard that one before. Amused.

Jack never had been particularly invested in faith, or angels, so that comes as a surprise. He accepts the thought for a while, drifting, and either seconds or years later chances: are you at least a famous one?

The angel laughs, and it’s warm and familiar in ways he can’t pin through the haziness of where he is. Oh yeah, one of the best.

Jack has no idea why God would send an important angel to look over a dying gay kid from a corn farm, especially when there are certainly people more deserving, but he is in no place to argue. The penny-taste sharpens, and there is the loom of the angel again nearby, more present than ever.

I came here for you because I wanted to, it says, and Jack slips back into darkness.

They don’t communicate again, but the warmth is there whenever he is able to feel, even when the sensation of blood overwhelms everything else. Whenever there’s pain, there’s a soothing whisper or the memory of a touch. Jack likes this, in a way, even as he expects the inevitable end. There’s a gentleness to this other he hadn’t experienced in a long time; if his last moments were indeed his last, he was thankful there was a semblance of love in them.

Jack, in some way, smiles. 

--

Jack wakes up to penniless vision, and heavy warmth on his shoulder.

He’s aware of the amount of tubes and wires attached to him almost immediately. Every part of him hurts, and even though the only light is a dim lamp across the room his eyes sting from the brightness. The weight on his shoulder isn’t uncomfortable, though, and he lets himself absorb the heat for a while before he turns his aching head and eyes to look.

Reyes is leaning over on the bed beside him, head resting against Jack’s shoulder, dozing lightly. Jack feels himself go red immediately, and then is startled that he has any blood left to do so. He’s breathing evenly, and when he clenches his hands there is a pulse he doesn’t remember being so strong before. His heart monitor, thankfully, does not go wild, remaining steady.

Huh, he thinks. I lived. 

His movements wake Reyes, delayed slightly by sleep. They blink at each other momentarily, before Reyes jolts upright, clenching at the one part of Jack’s arm that’s free of wires. 

“Hrgh,” is all Reyes says, after a long pause. Jack thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. 

Reyes coughs, then buries his face in his free hand, rubbing his eyes and orienting himself. “Right, yeah. Okay, are you aware of where you are?”

Jack nods. His throat is too dry to speak.

Reyes peers at him through a crack in his fingers, like he can’t quite trust his own eyes. Jack nods again for emphasis.

“Okay. Good enough for me.” Reyes’ hand is still clinging to his arm, and Jack feels himself getting flustered. Reyes sits back up and presses some button on the wall. “Doctor will be here soon, assuming it’s the halfway decent one on duty. You better be lucid this time, though, or they’re going to kill me.”

Jack smiles, and nods, and tries a very shitty and weak thumbs up. Reyes watches it all with open wonder, as if he’d never seen Jack move before. As if he’s genuinely pleased that Jack is alive.

Jack is thankful the doctor comes in right as the heart monitor really does start to pick up.

--

Eternity ends up being more like three weeks, and Jack is almost embarrassed when the doctor describes his constant, violent exsanguination as if it was all some glorified overreaction. She gives him water for his throat, and says he has best be grateful that medical technology had meant he hadn’t needed feeding tubes and the like. He stares at the water and tries to be.

Jack had been lucky, apparently, that there were enough blood donors of his type at the base, as well as the problem being anticipated enough that they knew of potential treatments. A lot of jargon he doesn’t understand or really care about, he just nods along even as the doctor mentions coagulants and returning to the injection courses in the same breath, as if they hadn’t almost killed him. 

He had been lucky. Four others had died. Lucky sure didn’t feel like the right word.

Reyes glares at the doctor the entire time, mouth set in a hard line, and eventually she gets so uncomfortable she cuts her speech short and leaves with a vague promise of checkups. He softens the moment the door closes behind her, and manages a smile as Jack leans back, exhausted.

“You really had everyone worried,” he says, at last.

“Yeah--” Jack swallows, grimaces at how awful the words feel and taste. “Ugh. My many fans.”

Reyes shifts, uncomfortably. “I know I’m not exactly the most exciting face to wake up to, no need to sound so disappointed.”

Jack immediately thinks, There’s nothing else I’d rather see, then gets so profoundly embarrassed he chokes mid-sip of his water. Reyes laughs, awkwardly pats him on the back, being careful not to jostle the IV.

Reyes laughs, and it feels familiar and warm, and there’s no haze to fight through this time. Jack’s hands tense around the cup. 

“I appreciate,” Jack starts, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “you being here. Nearly dying is… scary.”

“No shit.” Reyes half smiles, amused. “Knew you’d need, well, something vaguely familiar to wake up to. And I figured none of the other idiots on this base had the patience for it.”

Jack feels caught between intrigue, and dread. “So you stayed the whole time?” A small pause, and he tries to deflect: “Couldn’t let me go ‘til I wrote you in the will, right?”

Reyes furrows his brow. “Yeah.” Then he chuckles, almost to himself. “Had to get you to leave your farm to me, or whatever.”

Jack snorts; he has absolutely no claim to his family’s farm. “You wouldn’t last a day.”

“It’s just corn, how hard can it be?”

Jack knows he’s never told Reyes that. Consciously. “Pretty hard. You don’t look like you’ve ever set foot on farmland.”

“I have,” Reyes insists, and Jack notices how warm he is, even when they’re not touching. “My mom had a friend we visited once. Somewhere out of state, don’t remember where. I got to churn butter.”

There is so much pride in the way he says it, Jack bursts into laughter despite himself. Reyes looks offended for a moment before covering his mouth to try and suppress his own laugh, and failing horribly.

He rights himself, eventually, the cup of water miraculously unspilled. “Butter, right. Don’t know why I ever doubted your farmhand capabilities.”

“Butter’s important.” Reyes smiles, pats Jack on the arm. “Hey, look. You need rest.”

“I was literally unconscious for three weeks, dude, I’m dying to move.” Jack shuffles painfully into a better sitting position, body protesting. “I totally feel like I could do laps.”

“No you don’t,” Reyes says, pushing him back into the bed. “Get some real rest, Morrison.”

Jack feels very compelled to do something stupid, weird sense of respect or no. He had nearly died, after all.

“Jack, by the way.” He tilts his head. “You don’t have to call me that, but I feel I owe you my name for nearly dying on you.”

Reyes stares at him for a minute, face blank. Jack gets increasingly nervous, like he’s crossed some sort of unspoken line, assuming that Reyes being there meant they were anything more than friends by necessity. And Reyes was very private, maybe he didn’t want to share names ‘cause it felt too personal? What if he-

“Gabriel,” Reyes says at last. There’s a pause, and then he grins, sticks out his hand like they’re meeting for the first time. Jack shakes it.

“Like the angel,” Jack says, dumbly.

“Yeah.” Gabriel’s smile is warm, and knowing. “One of the best.”

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.5

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

-

“So are you in, Jimin?”

“I’m in,” he chuckles at your little proposal. His laugh retains its charm, even through the phone. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little jealous of that charming quality of his. “But can I ask you something, Snow?”

“Go for it.”

“Why me?”

“To prove a point,” you say. “You also have something to prove, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up at my concert that night despite being well aware of how the public and media would react.”

“Right… Sorry about that, by the way.” You hear the sorrow still beating him up in his lowered voice. It makes sense that he feels the need to blame himself for all the backlash you received, but he shouldn’t have to feel guilty when all he wanted was a little freedom as a normal human being and not as the perfect idol the world makes him out to be.

“It’s fine, Jimin. We may be glorified idols at the top of the industry, but there are a lot of things we have no control over.”

“True… Sometimes it seems like the only way to escape the judgment of the public eye is to hide behind a mask, huh.” Jimin sighs. “But we can’t always live like that either.”

“Exactly.”

After hanging up, you toss your phone aside and pick up your guitar.

-

On your way to class, you’ve made a habit of checking jk.seagull’s blog for any updates on Witch Hazel, and you’re delighted when you find this new text post:

“it’s not done yet, but I’m planning on posting a new chapter this afternoon after class!”

To celebrate the occasion, you stop by your local coffee shop to pick up a special mocha with extra whipped cream. You’re already late for class after failing to hear your five alarms this morning anyway. And besides, maybe you deserve a little pick-me-up after all the writing you’d done the night before. For once, you feel pretty good about the direction you’re headed in.

Not even a scolding by your professor could ruin your mood.

“Oh, Y/N. How nice of you to join us,” your professor motions for you to take your seat as soon as you step foot into the art room. “I was just talking about how certain students have not been taking this class seriously as of late.”

She glances directly at you, along with your tablemates, Taehyung and Jungkook. “Sorry,” you mouth with a lack of sincerity, before taking a long sip of your mocha.

“And because of that,” the professor continues, “I’ve decided to move up the due date of our portrait project to tomorrow.”

A collective groan fills the room from the entire class, with the exception of those few lucky bastards who’ve already completed their project early. Once the class is dismissed, the scramble to actually get shit done begins. Even Taehyung opts to stick around as opposed to his usual obligations, and that speaks volumes.

As soon as your team relocates to one of the empty art studios nearby, however, it’s apparent that no one is really vibing with this project.

“So… what’s the assignment again?” Taehyung scratches his head. As much as you’d love to scold the boy for his lack of awareness of anything happening in art class, you haven’t been in the proper mindset to give the project any thought either.

“Something about drawing ourselves based on how others perceive us?” Jungkook yawns. “Or was it drawing each other’s portrait?”

“The first one, I think,” you say. “It doesn’t really make a difference when Jungkook’s gonna end up drawing Taehyung’s portion anyway.”

“True,” the boys say together. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from your art class shenanigans, it’s that the more you get to know someone, the easier it is to understand them and their actions—even if they’re completely different from you like Taehyung.

“If that’s the case, let’s hurry up and let each other know how we perceive one another. I have a doubleheader later on that I’d really hate to miss,” Taehyung nods in satisfaction at his clever wording for what you presume to be back-to-back one night stands. “I’ll start: Y/N, there’s not much I know about you besides the fact that you’re unfriendly, but I think that’s intentional. Like you’re hiding a dark secret or something. Jungkook, if you weren’t so shy, I’m sure you’d get laid more often.”

“Let’s not sugarcoat anything,” you roll your eyes. “I would say you, Taehyung, abuse your charm to get what you want. You use sleeping around as an excuse to avoid responsibility. And you embrace it because you fear that that’s the only thing people will ever acknowledge you for.”

“I’m not usually a masochist, but I kind of like it when you roast me like that, Y/N,” Taehyung shrugs it off, though you know you’ve hit the mark. Everyone has a poker face, and Kim Taehyung is no exception. To take the attention off of himself, he throws an arm around his favorite art buddy. “Roast this guy next.”

You glance over at Jungkook who’s in the midst of adding to your roast on Taehyung. It’s interesting to see how differently he acts with Taehyung, with you, and with everyone else. The more he knows someone, the less he withholds. If he knew you more, you wonder what he’d tell you. “I agree that if Jungkook weren’t so shy, there’d be more potential for a lot of things, but-”

Buzz! Taehyung looks down at his phone. “Well, that’s my cue. Jungkook, Y/N, you know what to do~”

“Have fun at your doubleheader,” you wave off your incompetent teammate until he’s out of sight. “Should we be enabling him like this?”

“Probably not. But even I can’t say no to that charm of his.” Jungkook sighs as he pulls out a blank sheet of bristol paper. In what feels like an instant, several dots and lines transform into a general outline of Taehyung’s face. “I’m surprised you haven’t fallen for his charm yet… unless…?”

“Look, I get the appeal of a smoothtalker who walks with confidence, but Taehyung really isn’t my type,” you laugh.

“Still, I’m a little envious of him.” Jungkook draws Taehyung a nice and natural wink. “Because he isn’t afraid to chase after what he wants.”

You want to tell the boy that he should chase after whatever it is he wants, but you know that’s easier said than done. After all, you know exactly how it feels to take that leap of faith, only to fall short before reaching the dream you so desired. So all you can do is nod and start working on your own portrait.

For about five whole minutes, you try to sketch out a decent upside-down egg shape for your head, but it always comes out a little lopsided or rough around the edges. Once you’ve got a little mountain of eraser shaving piling up, you decide it’s time to sneak a peek at Jungkook’s sketch to get an idea of how a well-seasoned artist draws a proper face.

What you see instead, however, is the boy staring back at your mountain of eraser shavings. You swear you hear a little pft come out of his mouth. The nerve.

“Hold your pencil like this,” he says, holding his own pencil with his pinky sticking out.

You replicate his grip, wiggling the pinky. “Is this some sort of weird pinky promise that artists do?”

Before Jungkook can even respond, your pinky is already linked to his. Funny how his finger curled around yours as if it were the most normal thing to do, but his burning cheeks say otherwise. You might’ve jumped the gun on this one.

After blinking at the empty pinky promise for a good three seconds, the boy finally lets go. “Use that pinky to steady your hand as you sketch.”

“Oh… right…” You feel a wildfire spreading across your own cheeks. Your dumbass somehow misinterpreted a drawing technique for something as childish as a pinky promise! Whether it’s because you’re flustered or just shitty at art, you fumble around to get your pencil on the paper. “…How do I do it again?”

Rather than trying to explain or demonstrate it to you, Jungkook motions for you to come closer. So you do. He takes your hand and individually sets each finger onto your pencil like a guitar teacher helping their student find the right chord position.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how gentle his touch is. Rather than forcing your fingers to conform to the conventional ways of an artist, he gives them the little push they need to find their own place along the length of the pencil—wherever is most comfortable for you.

Once you’ve got a good grip, Jungkook guides your pencil back to the canvas with your pinky just barely touching the drawing surface. “Now try drawing the outline of your face again.”

You do as you’re told and see immediate results. Although it’s not a perfect egg, your lines are noticeably smoother as if your skin had just been cleared. Jungkook gives you and your improved egg a thumbs-up, which you return with a thumbs-up of your own.

As you both resume your portraits, you can’t help but wonder if it was the tiny adjustment of how you held your pencil that made the difference. Or if it was Jeon Jungkook himself. You suppose only time will tell.

Several hours later, Jungkook has finished Taehyung’s portrait, you still need to color yours in, and an announcement goes off through the intercom.

“Due to the art auction charity event tonight, this building will be closing in ten minutes. Thank you.”

You groan. This is the worst case scenario for your damn group project. Because if you’re kicked out of the studio, you won’t have access to all of the necessary art supplies.

Unless…?

You exchange glances with the most devoted artist you know.

-

Jungkook’s apartment is not exactly how you imagined a weeby Snow stan’s habitat to look. There’s not a trace of Snow, nor is there a hint of magic anime girls floating around. But the one thing you did correctly predict is the amount of art scattered across the boy’s room.

Everywhere you look, you’re blown away by something different from the last. A painted city landscape detailed enough to be mistaken for an actual photo, a busy abstract pattern that makes the little wheels in your head spin, the familiar animation booklet of the flower in the snow, and an interesting little doodle that doesn't seem to scream “college art project”.

You try to make sense of what appears to be the chaos that ensues when the worlds of mathematics and music collide. Half of the basic times tables chart is replaced with values represented by music notes. The math nerd in you laughs when you see that a sixteenth note is correctly placed where two quarter notes align. Similarly, the music sheet on the other side of the doodle has a time signature of “75%” aka ¾ time aka the rhythm of a waltz.

“How old were you when you drew this one?” You point to the artwork titled Math Musician written in tiny font at the bottom corner next to the boy’s initials.

Jungkook chuckles, probably out of embarrassment. “I think I was ten.”

“Imagine being a talented artist at age ten. Can’t relate,” you clown yourself as you pull out your unfinished portrait from your art bag. In addition to looking “unfriendly”, your drawn face is rather lifeless and more so demonic for some reason. Hopefully some color will bring more dimension and life back into your flesh.

Just then, you realize you’ve made a fatal mistake.

“Umm, Jungkook?” you continue to stare down at your mistake. “I forgot to factor in your opinion of me into my portrait and now I just look unfriendly like Taehyung said.”

Jungkook tilts his head to get a better look at your monstrosity. His reaction could go one of three ways: he could laugh and give you a hard time about it, he could help you find a solution, or he could do both.

“You definitely nailed the ‘unfriendly’ part,” he snickers. “The RBF is strong with this one.”

“So you agree that I’m unfriendly?” On one hand, that would be good because you won’t have to revise your portrait if Jungkook shares the same opinion as Taehyung. On the other hand, you don’t want Jungkook to have that opinion of you.

“Not necessarily,” he says. “I think if people looked beyond your unfriendly demeanor, they’d find someone very different.”

Before you can ask the boy to elaborate, he has already left and come back with the solution to your problem: fancy coloring markers.

“Since you already drew your appearance based on Taehyung’s opinion, you can color it in based on my opinion, if that makes it easier.” Jungkook hands you an assortment of markers, though a large portion of them are just different shades of one color in particular. Yellow.

Yellow was the last color you were expecting. You expected cooler and darker tones like blues or greys to match your ice queen personality. But yellow? Yellow, to you, has always meant bright and happy.

“Yellow is a happy color, isn’t it?” You start swatching each shade of yellow to see how they translate onto a white canvas. Your favorite shade out of the bunch is the soft pale one called Banana Milk, but that still doesn’t mean it suits you. To prove your point, you hold up your unfriendly demon portrait to your actual face and pout. “Do either of these faces look happy to you, Jungkook?”

“No, but they do look silly.” The boy cracks a smile at your humor. “In a good way.” The way he smiles so brightly plants a dangerous little seed in your head. Maybe the yellow is meant to represent not how he perceives your feelings, but rather, how he perceives his own feelings for you.

-

By the time evening comes, you’ve shaded in every inch of your canvas, completing your portion of the portrait project. You were right—the bright colors really did help bring life back into your face, and there’s less of a demonic aura about it now.

It also looks like one big contradiction: an unfriendly-looking face with a cheerful brightness around it. But that’s probably what Jungkook was referring to when he said you were very different beneath your unfriendly mask.

As you stretch out your arms and yawn, you peek over at the boy’s progress with his portrait. He stares down at his markers scattered across the floor, pushing his long locks out of his eyes, in search of his next color. From the small portion that he has colored so far, you notice a big difference between his portrait and yours. While your color scheme is bright and flashy like a star, Jungkook’s is soft and subtle to mimic his shy and lowkey personality.

“Use this,” you toss him the Banana Milk marker and pull a scrunchie off your wrist, “and this too.”

Jungkook places the pale yellow marker down right on the area he’ll color next. He doesn’t, however, know what to do with the foreign hair accessory in his palm. He just blinks at it.

With a dramatic sigh, you join the boy on the floor and take back the scrunchie. Like a puppy with long bangs poking its eyes, he lets you comb your fingers through his hair before tying a tiny sprout on top of his head.

“So this is what the world looks like,” he nods, as if his long hair had greatly hindered his view of the world in front of him. At the same time, he spots the finished product of your portrait. “Your self-portrait is a lot different from how I would draw you.”

“I would’ve appreciated a compliment for my hard work, but go ahead and insult me, Jeon.” You square up.

“Oh sorry. You did a phenomenal job, Y/N.” He doesn’t even try to put effort into masking his sarcasm as pity praise. But that’s expected in how he hasn’t missed a single opportunity to tease you and your shitty art. “It’s just interesting how differently others interpret us from how we interpret ourselves.”

Now you’re curious. “How would you draw me then?”

“You want to see?” Jungkook pushes his own portrait aside and starts digging around for a sketchbook with a blank page to spare. What possesses him to prioritize a drawing of you before his own portrait that’s due in less than 24 hours? You won’t allow that.

“I want to see it after our project is finished, please,” you pull his unfinished portrait back in front of him before making yourself comfy on the boy’s bed. “In the meantime, I’ll be reading you-know-what.”

“Smut?” The boy has a dirty mind, it seems.

“Unless Witch Hazel plans on getting a little smutty, no, I will not be reading smut.” With a hmph, you scroll through jk.seagull’s blog. “I wonder if the new chapter is posted yet.”

Jungkook, too, picks up his phone with wide eyes when he hears you say “new chapter”. Your hype and excitement around the fanfic must be rubbing off on him.

But unfortunately for you, there is no new post since the one you saw before class. You make a sad booboo face, but it isn’t the end of the world either. You’ll just have to reread the series from the beginning as you wait for either Witch Hazel to be updated or Jungkook to finish the project. Whichever happens first.

“Wait, I think the seagull guy just posted something.”

You’ve never jumped onto your phone so quick when Jungkook mentions the seagull guy. It isn’t a new chapter of Witch Hazel, but instead another small text post.

“sorry for not updating witch hazel today like i said i would!! i was bombarded with an unexpected art assignment;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;”

Your sad booboo face disappears. It seems you’re not the only one struggling to find balance between the arts and the need to satisfy others. “Isn’t it funny that he’s an art student too?”

“Haha, yeah…” Jungkook’s voice fades as he returns to his portrait.

“Maybe that’s why I like his work so much,” you say, clicking back to the very first chapter of Witch Hazel where Snow is helping out those who she had unintentionally scared away with her witchcraft. “He just gets it.”

“He gets what?”

With the biggest yawn, you shrug because you don’t really know how to put it into words. It just feels as though you and him think alike. And the thought of that is comforting enough to put you to rest until Jungkook finishes up the project.

“Y/N.” You hear things shuffling around in your half-asleep state. When you rise from mysterious pile of blankets on top of you, you see Jungkook putting his art supplies away and clearing space on the floor for him to camp out since you’ve apparently claimed his bed.

“Did you finish?” You check the time in the dimly lit room, and you’re shocked to see it’s past midnight.

“Yeah.” He pulls your scrunchie out of his hair and drops it into your palm. “Thank you for your service.”

“Keep it.” You slide the hair tie onto the boy’s wrist when you notice he looks a little different somehow. The hoodie he was wearing earlier is replaced with a plain white tee, and his torn jeans have become grey sweatpants. The unspoken reality of you stay over at the boy’s apartment is slowly becoming realized. “In exchange, I’d like to see how you’d draw me.”

“Already done,” he says, jogging to his desk and back to you with a page from his sketchbook in hand. “I drew you as a superhero.”

“What kind of superhero?” You kick the blankets off of you and reach for the drawing, but of fucking course, Jungkook pulls it back real quick just when you were about to snatch it. “Let me see!”

He keeps it hidden behind his back for a while until he gets a little too cocky and dangles it above where you’re sitting on the bed. It would be too predictable for you to reach for the hand with drawing in it, so you decide to aim for the other arm to trap him in.

But rather than latching onto his arm, you catch only a piece of the scrunchie around his wrist, causing you both to lose balance. Your back hits the soft bedding as you stare up into the eyes of the boy who just so happened to land on top of you. Aha, you finally figure out why he looked a little different after you woke up. No glasses, just his handsome brown eyes.

You’d give yourself a pat on the back for figuring that out if you weren’t distracted by the drawing of you as a “superhero”. You were expecting something tough like the Avengers or Sailor Moon or even Izuku Midoriya. But instead you see someone who looks very much like yourself with a guitar and yellow flower crown.

“That’s not a superhero,” you say quietly.

“There are people who would feel otherwise.” Jungkook plops down next to you on his stomach.

“Like who?”

“Like people you share your music with.”

You bite your lip before rolling off the bed to run and get something. When you hop back onto the bed, you drop a pencil into Jungkook’s hand make him hold it with his pinky out like he had shown you earlier. You do the same with another pencil and link your pinky to his once more.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

#5 Sternclay please? SFW or NSFW, doesn't matter to me. Thank you!

I went NSFW, minor CW for light D/S and a brief mention of suicide.

5 Should I update my outfit again? I think they like my new boots but the cape didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for 

“Okay, I want your honest opinion.” Barclay turns towards the communication screen.

On the screen, Indrid Cold raises an eyebrow, “My honest, unvarnished opinion?”

“Yeah.”

His friend throws his silver haired head back and cackles, the kind of supervillain laugh that makes Barclay jealous, “Oh, oh my friend, that is the most absurd get up I have ever seen on any hero, villain, anit-hero, supermodel, or psuedovillain.”

Barclay sags, “that’s kinda what I figured.”

“I mean, the tight black tank-top? The black pants? Those boots, goodness, did you get rid of your modified hiking boots?”

“No. Pretty sure he liked those.” He mumbles.

“Ah haaah.” Indrid tents his fingers, leaning forward with a grin, “still pining for your man in black, I see.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Barclay, I doubt changing your outfit is going to bring him over to your point of view. And what happened to the trans-pride patterned flannel top you got for the last time? I recall you being proud of how it flattered your physique?”

“He didn’t even mention it.”

“Wasn’t he chasing you off government property at the time?”

“So? He’s commented on things like that before. Uggggh.” Barclay slumps down in his command chair, “How did you get the Ranger to move things to the next level?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

Barclay stares him down. Indrid stares right back. 

Finally, his friend sighs, “My wires got crossed during a fight and I kissed him instead of headbutting him. Not one of my prouder moments. Though it has decreased the number of fights in my life and increased the number of orgasms.”

“Don’t think that’ll work. No offense to the Ranger, but Agent X is all business. I try kissing him, he’ll taze me or some shit.”

“Well then, you’ll have to get creative. Perhaps...oh drat, he’s early.”

Barclay’s about to ask who when a crash echoes offscreen. 

“We should catch up again soon, Barclay.” As the feed goes dark, Indrid turns and shouts, “You green-clad nuisance, I just had that door fixed!”

Barclay shuts off his end of the communication, stands and stretches as he regards the security feeds from his cameras scattered through the woods. Being fifty miles from the nearest town was supposed to make him feel safer; lately it makes him the frustrating combo of lonely and paranoid. 

Then again, does it really count as paranoia if Agent X is always on his tail? The man is intelligent, and has government resources behind him. If he wants to find Barclay, Barclay has a bad feeling he’ll be found.

Worse, he suspects he wouldn’t mind being found.

That’s part of why he’d called Indrid. Yes, he wanted feedback on his new look, but Indrid is one of the few people he trusts to understand his situation. They each chose cryptid aliases (Mothman and Bigfoot). They fell into villainy through similar channels; Indrid from being chased out of towns with (usually figurative) pitchforks one too many times when he was just trying to help, Barclay because he’d learned to survive mostly on his own and grown tired of seeing certain kinds of evil rewarded while things that didn’t even count as evil were harshly punished. But Indrid also understood what it meant to get a crush on the very person who was hunting you. 

He knows the affection is one-sided. Agent X is the put-together, cultured, cosmopolitan; Barclay is not (were you to ask his friends, they would argue that being tidy, well-read, and widely traveled shakes out to the same thing).

The elevator ride from his underground hideout to the main cabin is brief. Another ding in his villainy score is that he really loves his rustic, cozy home, and only uses his fancier tech for work. What’s the point of a suite in some skyscraper? You can’t even have a proper back porch. 

Maybe he should start a fire in the fireplace, or read that stack of food magazines he has squirreled away. He could reheat dinner too, homemade green onion pancakes and bao for one. 

In any case, he’s not going to get anything serious done tonight, as he doesn’t really scheme in the way his fellow villains do. His actions are a tad more impulsive, in response to the government or certain corporations doing corrupt shit. Besides, the forecast calls for a snowstorm, and he’d rather not get stranded in the woods. 

After settling on the couch he picks up the top magazine, a travel issue. 

Twenty romantic getaways off the beaten path

Hmmmm, would Agent X like the beach? Or is he more of a mountains guy?

He should read a different article

8 recipes to cook for a special someone

What the fuck, this is supposed to be the travel issue, not the valentines day issue.

After sorting through the pile, he grabs the Halloween issue from last year and heads upstairs. He needs to sleep, only partially because sleep might keep him from daydreaming about his arch-nemisis. 

The black boots come off and he sets them in his closet. Hops onto the bed and stretches out.

Somewhere in the middle of a fascinating article on cast iron pans, he falls asleep. 

When he wakes up, his arms are trapped above his head and someone else is reading his magazine.

“I’d been meaning to read this issue. Their writing is always excellent.” Agent X looks up, smiling mildly.

“Glad I could help. Now help me back by untying me.”

Agent X sighs, “You know very well I can’t do that.”

“So what, you break in here just to read my shit?”

“Of course not. Actually, I didn’t choose to come this time.” he stands, producing a slender, silver device from his sleeve, “In fact, I’m being reassigned.”

“Wait, how the fuck is that even a thing? You’re a ‘hero’ you pick your enemies.”

“No, I’m a government agent. And they’ve decided that you are not nearly a large enough threat for me to keep chasing you. Never mind that I devoted years of my life to the endeavor.” Barclay finds the bitterness oddly flattering. As the agent talks, Barclay moves his hands; there’s a reason he taught his security AI ASL. The mirror behind his enemy flickers to life, showing him a video feed of the Snowspeeder Agent X used to get there.

“They were going to assign me to chase The Mothman, but his nemesis is….very territorial and they decided that was not a wise move.”

Barclay can’t help snorting out a laugh. 

“This isn’t funny.”

“Trust me, that bit’s hilariou-oh shit” he registers the solemn look on Agent X’s face, “Are you supposed to fucking kill me?”

The tricky thing about a nemesis who wears glorified sunglasses is that it makes his face hard to read most times, but right now he looks horrified.

“No. I, I was allowed to decide how best to handle you as a threat, and I do not believe you’re that dangerous. So I’m just going to install a tracking chip in your spine and be on my way.”

“Like hell you are.” Barclay curls in defensively, signs “destroy.” In the mirror, the snowspeeder silently explodes.

“Barclay, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Don’t fucking tag me like some wild animal then.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Barclay growls, “That’s been your line for three fucking years. You’ve got choices, agent, we all do.”

“You’re right. And you could have chosen something other than a life of crime.”

“Don’t act like you know what I choices I was given. And don’t come any closer with that thing.”

Agent X takes a half step before Barclays feet connect with his chest, sending him clattering into the dresser and the tracker pen under the bed. 

“Shoulda tied those too agent!” With all his might he yanks on the cuffs snapping the wrung of the headboard.

“Is this really how you want our last interaction to go?” Agent X stands, nightstick coming free from his belt. 

“Nope.” Barclay charges him, the agent sliding gracefully out of is path. Just as they pass, Barclay spins, cuffs connecting with the agents hand.

They glow green, accepting the fingerprint. 

“Damn it.” The Agent turns on a dime, launching at him.

“Three years, agent, I know your gadgets as well as you do. Sorry about the speeder.”

He points at the mirror and Agent X glances away momentarily to look.

“Shit.”

“Yep. Have fun getting back on foot. If you stop fighting, I can loan you a snow-cat.”

Agent X turns the stun function of his nightstick on in response. 

“C’mon really?!” Barclay growls, pounces before the agent has a chance to react, and hurls him into the mirror. 

It shatters, and the agent falls, crumpled and clutching his arm, to the ground. Barclay straddles him, pinning him on his stomach, immaculate black suit ripped in the back.

“Okay, let’s try this again: You’re going to stop attacking me, break that tracker thing in half, and then I’ll give you the keys to something that can get you out of here.”

“I can’t, I cannot fail this mission.”

Barclay does his best, wicked smirk, “In that case, I get one more thing for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

With that, he rips off Agent X’s mask and goggles. 

The face beneath them is better than he ever envisioned: sharp cheekbones, blue eyes, movie star handsome in every way.

His gaze is unflinching, enraged, and when his fingers curl minutely Barclay grabs his hand and pries it open.

In the center is white, cylindrical pill.

“Is this...fuck, is this a suicide pill?”

“Yes. Now give it back.”

“Not a fucking chance.” He stands, crosses to the window and chucks the pill out into the night, “Christ, agent, do you really think I’m going to torture you?”

When he turns back, arms crossed, the veneer of Agent X’s expression cracks, and he presses his face into the floor with a shuddering gasp. 

“It’s p-protocol. If, if my identity is compromised.”

He wants to be moved by the tears in that voice, but he’s still pretty pissed. 

“You’d swallow a pill for them, just like that. Shit, they really do brainwash you guys.”

“It’s not that.” The agent raises his head, spits out blood, “I still have family. If an enemy knows who I am, they could go after them for leverage. Ending my own life keeps the people I love safe.”

The fight goes out of him and he sighs, “Look, I’m not gonna go after your family, I promise. I won’t share your identity either; I know you’ve probably figured out the identities of people I care about and haven’t ratted them out. Consider this a thank you for that.”  

“They’ll terminate me anyway.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s protocol.”

“Fuck protocol.”

The agent giggles, the sound increasingly hysterical, “I’m quite the triple threat; in one move I lose my job, my safety, and my purpose. I guess I live on your floor now.”

“I’m not gonna make you live on my floor.”

“Your holding cell, then.”

“Uhhhh” Barclay rubs his arm, “I don’t have one. It’s not like anyone besides you has ever tried to infiltrate here.”

“Please tell me you have a guest room.” The agent is still hiccuping laughs.

“Yeah. I can fix it up real quick for you.” 

Agent X sits up, wincing, “You’re really letting me stay?”

“I mean, yeah? No way I’m sending you back to people who we know will kill you. I know you think I’m a villain, but I don’t really want people getting hurt. And I respect you as an adversary, not to mention I actually kind of like you,  Agent X.”

“Joseph.” The agent slowly drags himself up onto the bed. “It’s just Joseph now. Joseph Stern.”

“Don’t seem like there’s much ‘just’ to you, Mr. Overachiever.”

Joseph tries flipping him off, only to flinch when he moves his arm. 

“Good lord, I thought that wasn’t a real mirror, why is there so much glass in my skin?”

“Uh, you know how when you drop a cell phone and the screen kinda-splinters and you can get bits of it in your fingers? That’s basically what happened to your back. Uh, sorry.”

“It was in self defense.”

“Will you let me help? I got lots of first aid stuff.”

Joseph nods and Barclay hurries into the bathroom to grab one of the two dozen med kits scattered around the house. 

“On your stomach.”

The other man rolls over, and Barclay gets to work on his back. Joseph remains stoic the entire time, until Barclay begins dousing the cuts with disinfectant, at which point he hisses. 

“I know, I hate this shit too. Dunno why people are always inventing new torture devices and interrogation techniques, this’d do the trick on most people I know.”

“Very true. It’s alright, pain is deserved when you fuck up as royally as I did tonight.”

“Hey, none of that, okay?” Barclay says gently, easing the tatters of Josephs shirt off, “That pain isn’t a punishment, it’s something I’m doing to keep you safe and so you can heal. You don’t deserve to be hurt, Joseph. And I’m sorry for all the times you ended up that way because we fought. I know it comes with the territory, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize.”

Silence as he finishes bandaging that well-developed back, and as he cleans up the debris from the fight and the aftermath.

“In that case” Joseph murmurs, “ I’m sorry too. For, well, for any time during the last three years where I hurt you.”

“Apology accepted.” Barclay sits down on the bed, facing his guest, who turns his head to smile weakly at him.

“What happens now?”

“No clue. I can heat up some dinner, and there’s lots of books here, and some movies. Even got a couple of video games for when friends visit. Or you can sleep, if you want.”

Joseph gives him a curious look, “I meant to ask, is this what you wear at home all the time?” 

Barclay blushes, “No, uh, I was just trying out a new costume. Usually wear, like, my flannel shirts and stuff.” 

Joseph cautiously rolls onto his side for a better look. A prolonged, hungry, better look.

“What do you think?” Barclay keeps his eyes fixed on the headboard and not on the lines of muscle on Josephs stomach. 

“I think you look like you should be cruising the Folsom Street Fair looking for some gym bunny who’ll call you sir.”

“Is that a...good thing?” 

“Yes.”

When he meets those blue eyes, their pupils are wide.

Barclay chuckles, “You gonna call me, ‘sir, babe?”

“Only if you want me to.”

The bed dips as shifts to be next to Stern, “Nah, but I’ve been dying to fuck you since the Pipeline Incident.”

“Lord, Barclay, that was a year ago. But the answer is yes.” Stern tries to sit up, but Barclay rests a hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

“I just patched you up, babe, so how’s about we keep this simple for tonight?”

“Oh, okay, uh, how should we?” Stern is blushing, head dipping in slight deference, and it’s the most gratifying goddamn thing Barclay has ever seen. 

“Get those pants off, lay on your stomach, and put your ass in the air.” He sits back so Stern can obey, which he does as quickly as possible.

“Good boy.” Barclay rumbles, sitting behind him, “Shit, all that superhero training makes for an amazing ass.” He rubs it possessively, Stern moaning softly at the touch. 

“Thank you.” 

“Think it’ll look even better with my handprints on it?” The question is breezy as he drags a nail along the right cheek, waiting for Sterns permission.

“Yes.” Stern whispers into the pillows.

Barclay swats the right side, “What was that?”

“Yes!” Stern cries out, wiggling his hips in response. 

“Much better.” He hits four more times, two for each side, Stern yelping with delight at each one.

“Now, let’s get one thing straight,” He grabs Sterns hips, pulls his ass against his crotch, grinding slowly, the pants for his definitely not for work anymore outfit just tight enough to give excellent friction from the movement, “I get the feeling you get off on a little pain. And I sure as hell like watching you squirm from it. And” he smacks his left side, for fun, “I bet you think you deserve this.”

Five slaps, fast and with more force behind them.

“Yes, yes, Barclay, please.”

“You’re right, you do. But not because you deserve to be hurt, or to suffer. You deserve to feel good, Joseph. And the second this stops feeling good and you start using it as punishment, I stop doing it. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Stern whimpers at the next slap, and Barclay bends forward to loving kiss a line up his throat and nuzzle his cheek. 

“Good boy. You okay to touch yourself--hah, that answers that.” He laughs as Sterns right hand disappears beneath him and his mouth parts in a moan.

“Fuck, Barclay, I, I’ve, nhhnn, I’ve wanted this so long.”

“Me too babe. God, Joseph, you got any idea how fucking incredible you are?” He finds an angle that lets him continue rutting against his ass and kissing his neck and face without touching his injuries.

“No, perhaps you can say more?” Stern grins 

Barclay growls, delivers a particularly hard slap, “Oughta make you stop jerking off since you’re fishing for compliments but, fuck, babe, you look so goddamn hot when you’re moaning and twisting around under me, shit, I love hearing your voice, and your smile makes me forget my fucking name and fuck, fuck, yeah, ohyeah.” He tugs Stern close as he comes, keeps pouring out increasingly jumbled praise as Stern tenses in his arms and comes across the covers with the most erotic sound Barclay has ever had the good luck to hear.

“Lord almighty I needed that.” 

Barclay chuckles, guides them both down into a comfortable cuddle, “Glad I could help. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Okay, lemme rinse off and I can make us dinner.”

By the time he’s out of the shower Stern has stripped and remade the bed with clean covers, and takes his hand as they head downstairs. Barclay reheats the leftovers and makes them tea while Stern reads to him about fifty of the best new restaurants in the west. 

The next morning, the FBI’s villain control division receives word that Agent X has been killed in the line of duty. 

Three weeks later, they learn that Bigfoot has a new partner: the man in black. 

[novissa]

arms unfolding

The rooftop is almost the same as it was that day at the parade. Almost. How long ago was that? A few months? It feels like much longer.

She was so close, and yet she failed. Pull the trigger, Nova. Now, if she was put in the same position again, she’s not sure what she would do.

She pulled the trigger back at Cosmopolis Park. She killed. Not just anyone, but Ingrid. Who had been part of the only family she had left. Who tried to kill her. Who manipulated her throughout all those years.

Maybe she would pull the trigger. After all, what’s another death on her hands when she’s already killed family? What’s another death if it’ll avenge the deaths all those years ago?

But… she’s infiltrated the Renegades, and it hasn’t helped. She can still hear the gunshots echoing in her head, still remember holding onto that gun but not being able to fire. Ace is gone, and she’s not sure she can get him back. Sometimes she’s not sure if she wants to.

“And if revenge does not bring you joy?”

“It’s not joy I’m looking for.”

She said that to Leroy so long ago. Joy. It hasn’t brought her joy; she knows that, at least. But that doesn’t matter. Except revenge hasn’t exactly brought her what she is looking for, either.

What is she looking for? She doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s never been about what she wants.

Would she pull the trigger, knowing what she knows now? It should be a simple answer, and yet she’s not sure. She’s now talked to Captain Chromium. Hugh Everhart. And… maybe he’s not the monster she thought he was.

Is it so impossible to believe that there might have been something else about that night? He got there late; that much she could tell from the files. What happened?

She brushes it away. It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late to do anything about it. Maybe there was a reason, or maybe there wasn’t. It doesn’t change anything.

“Would you pull the trigger, Nova?” she whispers to herself. As much as she pretends to be conflicted, she knows the answer.

She wouldn’t.

And this is a mistake. Why was she able to kill Ingrid, but not Hugh? It doesn’t make sense.

She steps closer to the edge, looking down at the city. Do they know that everything is about to change for them? Do they know that their shining hope that kept them going (and maybe still does) in the Age of Anarchy is built on unstable foundations?

Callum showed her the way the world could be. Perhaps that world he sees is beautiful, but it’s not true.

Nova stands up and pulls her mask over her head. She has a job to do.

Unfortunately, she’s interrupted by an all-too-familiar figure. The Sentinel.

“You again?” she asks, slipping into the usual cockiness she exhibits as Nightmare. It’s a good thing she put her mask back on.

“I know what you did,” the Sentinel says.

“What?” she responds, not entirely sure what he’s talking about. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

The Sentinel takes a step closer. Apparently, he's not joking around today. Of course, Nova has never joked around.

“Max Everhart. A ten-year-old boy. Why did you do it? Was he just in your way? Or did you just do it to be cruel?”

Of course. The Renegades think she hurt Max. Still, it’s interesting why the Sentinel seems to be so enraged about this, when he’s apparently brutally killed Hawthorn.

“You know, I thought even the most monstrous villains had a heart. I guess I was wrong,” the Sentinel continues.

It hurts her to say it, but she has to keep up this pretense. “I don’t have to answer to you. Sometimes innocent people get hurt.” Like Evie. “Besides, do you really know what happened, or are you just going off of what Genissa Clark said?”

The Sentinel pauses. “How do you know that name?”

Shoot. She slipped up. She forgot that she wasn’t supposed to know anything more than a code name. Still, maybe this can give her an upper hand…

“I know more than you think. And I know,” she says, “that you should probably run right now.”

“Are you a Renegade spying for the Anarchists?”

Shit. She should have realized that if Adrian was wondering if Nightmare was a Renegade, other people would, too. Still, her cover’s about to be blown anyway… “You know I don’t care for labels. Renegades; Anarchists… they’re all the same to me.”

“That’s right. You betrayed your own.” She frowns, but it is true. Not just throwing Winston out of the balloon, but also Ingrid. And, if she’s being completely honest, the whole Anarchist cause, too.

“What about you? The Council denies that you’re under their orders, but…” A thought occurs to her. “Wait. How do you know Frostbite’s real name?”

“What?”

Nova stares him down. “Earlier, I said her name, and you asked me how I knew it. Really, the question is how you knew it. What are you hiding?” She takes a step closer to him, as if that will help her reveal his identity. Ugh. No bare skin, or she’d knock him out and reveal his identity in a heartbeat.

“I know more than you think,” the Sentinel says, echoing her earlier words.

“No. Really,” she says, her mind churning. “Unless… you have multiple superpowers, and they’re unrelated. It would be so easy to become a Renegade with just one of them, and go on fighting crime without rules. But… how do you have so many superpowers?” Maybe he’s like Max? But that would require a long time of absorbing those powers, and surely her own powers would start to fade now, unless maybe the suit stopped that? But in order to be a Renegade, that wouldn’t work.

The Sentinel snorts. “As if I’d tell you.”

She rolls her eyes. That’s not important. She’ll figure it out one way or another. She’s actually onto something now, she knows it. “Why are you here?”

“To stop you. What are you planning?” he says simply, with an air of righteousness.

She laughs. “You never do have a plan, do you? You’re always barging in to save people, without any idea of what you’re actually going to do. And sometimes— sometimes people don’t need saving.” She remembers the Sentinel treating her like a damsel in distress back at the library and takes a step forward.

But then again… her parents could have used help. There are people out there who are genuinely trying to help. Callum, Adrian, Danna, Ruby, and Oscar… They’re genuine. She remembers the little kid gripping onto her at the library, remembers the girl who offered her cake at Cosmopolis Park. Perhaps not all heroes will let you down in the end.

“What do you mean?” the Sentinel asks, almost sounding surprised. “Everyone needs help sometimes.”

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “But you don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to decide who’s worth saving or not. Is it so hard to understand that Anarchists are people, too?” She doesn’t know why she’s saying this. She doesn’t know why she’s so determined to change his mind. It doesn’t change anything in the end.

Maybe she just needs someone else to understand, to see both sides. There’s too much pressure from the Anarchists and too much glorifying of the Renegades with the others. She might be a fool, but she supposes she thought that maybe her archenemy would be the closest to seeing it.

“You kill innocent people.”

“As do you,” she counters. “No one in this world is innocent. You killed Hawthorn. You hurt… you hurt Monarch.”

The Sentinel flinches.

“If you truly believe you’re on the right side, how could you do those things? And things just aren’t black and white. Is it just so inconceivable that villains might have been forced into that life, or that they have points?”

“You make your choices,” the Sentinel says. “You can’t just blame everything on other people, who are actually trying to make the world a better place.”

“But we should be free to make those choices. Everyone tries to make the world a better place, but your villains just have different ideas of that. And no one should be able to take away those choices, not the Renegades, not the Council, and definitely not you.”

He starts to point his laser towards her, and she dodges and prepares to run. She shouldn’t have taken this long trying to convince her worst enemy to see what’s really going on.

“You think you’re some comic book hero, someone who can do no wrong and always wins,” she finishes off with. “What we do—” she gestures vaguely— “it’s nothing like comics.”

She’s about to make a run for it when he freezes. He steps closer, and she reaches for her gun instinctively. What is it?” she asks, unnerved by the way he’s staring at her. Or rather, at her wrist.

As he catches up to her, he doesn’t point his laser at her again. Instead, to her surprise, he grabs her wrist and turns it so that her bracelet is showing.

Shit.

She’s been clumsy. Even as she moved her hands around, it never once occurred to her that she might reveal something if, say, her glove slipped down. Still, it shouldn’t mean anything to him. Unless…

“Where did you get this?” the Sentinel demands. He’s definitely agitated and angry now, and she’s afraid that she might be right about who he is. “What did you do to her?”

She’s not compromised yet. She can pretend she’s done something to Insomnia, to Nova McLain. It’s easy enough to fake your death, and she wouldn’t last long in the Renegades anyway. But she’s just so tired. So tired for a girl who doesn’t need to sleep. She doesn’t want to have to pretend anymore. She just wants to… she wants…

It doesn’t matter what she wants. There’s something she needs to do, has to do. But for once it would be nice to not have to lie. Besides, as the Sentinel said, you make your choices.

And she said it herself: no one should be able to take those choices away. She meant the Renegades, but it was the Anarchists, too. Everyone wants something from her, and she just wants something, anything for herself.

So she stays quiet. She herself pieces together everything— the rest of the team’s shared looks when the Sentinel was brought up, the way Adrian paused when she said the word “neophyte” as Nova McLain, the way Adrian seemed to always defend the Sentinel… it’s all there. It’s always been there, and part of her always suspected. She’s been lying to herself, trying to desperately deny it.

But she waits for the Sentinel to piece it together, for the one last confirmation that it is him.

And she gets it.

“Nova?” Adrian Everhart asks softly, barely a whisper, as if that won’t make it true.

She takes off her mask, aware of what she’s doing. Aware of all the consequences of this. She does it anyway.

Adrian mirrors her, his suit vanishing, replaced with his Renegades uniform. “You— you almost killed Max! You tried to kill my dad! I— how—” He shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”

“You don’t,” she snaps. “You never knew me. You knew Nova McLain, but you don’t know me.”

He’s still gaping at her. Honestly, she’s surprised it took this long. “Then, who— who are you really? Is your name even Nova?”

She wants to tell him. She wants to plead with him and tell him that she didn’t hurt Max, that she would never hurt Max. But she’s already done enough damage. It’s time to cut her losses.

“What I am,” she says, her voice distant to her own ears, “is your worst nightmare.”

She’s tired. Exhausted. But she’s been selfish enough for one night, so she points her gun at him.

“Make one move,” she says, “towards a weapon, to release your suit, to use that laser…” She switches the gun’s safety off. “I won’t miss.”

“Nova…” Adrian says.

Her hand is shaking. Pull the trigger, Nova. But what’s the point?

Pull the trigger.

She’s revealed who she is— she can’t take that back, not now. If she puts down her weapon, he’ll tranquilize her, burn her, something. He’ll reveal her to the Renegades. It’s best to cut her losses now. Let the Renegades deal with the aftermath. Pull the trigger and kill the son of two Council members. Ingrid urged her to do that before; what’s the difference now?

Pull the trigger.

Why was she able to kill Ingrid but not Hugh Everhart? Why was she able to hold the gun steady and shoot, aiming to kill, then?

Because Ingrid tried to kill her? But she knows that Adrian will turn her in, and that’ll be the end of her. Even though part of her wants to believe that he won’t.

She puts her finger on the trigger shakily, but can’t bring herself to shoot.

Pull the trigger.

She takes a deep breath. She means to say something brave, some threat or witty line about last words. “I didn’t hurt Max,” she blurts out instead. “I would never. Frostbite meant to kill me, but I dodged and it hit Max instead. She wouldn’t help him, wouldn’t chance losing her powers, but I made her come closer and give him her powers so that he might live. I would never hurt him, not ever.”

Adrian meets her eyes.

“And with your dad, I— I hesitated. I shouldn’t have, like I shouldn’t hesitate now, but I just— I just can’t pull the trigger. Except that one time at Cosmopolis. The one time I was able to pull the trigger, it was family I was killing.” It’s horrible, that she’s spilling all her secrets to her nemesis when he should already be dead, but it’s also… kind of nice.

Adrian finally speaks. “Are— are you… apologizing? Or… defending yourself to me? While pointing a gun at me?”

She takes another shaky breath. “I don’t know,” she admits. “This… this is how it’s always been. I’ve always been trained to be a killer. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“What about your family?” he asks. “They died when you were six, right?”

Nova grips the gun until her knuckles turn white. Still, she just won’t quite pull the trigger. “Three gunshots,” she says, hearing them in her head. “A Roach member killed them. My dad had been supplying them. He went to the Council for protection, and he got it. He stopped making weapons. The Roaches got angry.”

Adrian looks like he wants to step towards her, but she keeps the gun pointed. She swallows, hard.

“The Renegades never came. No one did. Not one neighbor, no one passing by. Maybe if I hadn’t been so sure that the Renegades would come I could’ve saved Evie.”

She lets the tears escape, but doesn’t lower the gun. She hasn’t cried in a while.

“She was only a baby, and she still died. Why? What was the point?” Nova shakes her head. “He came for me, too. But I used my power on him. He fell to the ground, asleep, and I grabbed his gun.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Pull the trigger, Nova.

“I don’t know how long I stayed there, ready to shoot. I never did. My uncle— you know him as Ace Anarchy— he came. He killed the Roach, and took care of me.”

Pull the trigger, Nova.

“The Renegades never came, but the Anarchists did. They’re all I have left. The Renegades failed to protect my family, and then they took away Ace, too. Twice.”

“I’m sorry,” Adrian whispers.

“Artino,” she says, her voice hoarse and shaky.

“What?”

“Nova Artino. That’s my real name. I’m not a McLain, not a Renegade, but an Artino. That’s who I am, and who I always will be. It’s in my blood, and I can’t be anything else.”

“Blood doesn’t define you,” he tells her, and she wants to believe it.

“What would you know about that? You’re a Renegade, through and through.”

“I’m as much of an Everhart and a Westwood as I am a Rawles,” he points out. “And,” he adds with a laugh, “I’m not exactly a rule follower.”

“Why are you trying to convince me I can change?” she asks.

“Well, first of all, you are pointing a gun at me,” he says. “But also, I do believe you can change. You’re not as far gone as you think.”

She smiles at him sadly. “Aren’t I?”

“Also, I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said about the Renegades and Ace and everything. You do have points.”

She wipes away the tears, still holding on to the gun. “I know I said that the Renegades shouldn’t have the power to take away people’s choices,” she admits, “but I’ve never had much of a choice as an Anarchist, either.”

Adrian looks at her sadly, and she thinks that maybe it doesn’t have to be as complicated as she thinks it is. “This is your choice,” he says. “I won’t take that away from you. But you have to trust. Not everyone in the world is going to let you down.”

She closes her eyes. Trust. “I wouldn’t know how to start.”

“Somewhere,” Adrian says.

She lowers her gun and takes a small step towards him. He doesn’t attack.

Somewhere.

Nova Artino slowly closes the distance between them and takes the hand of her worst enemy.

She doesn’t use her power on him. He doesn’t stun her. For once, they just look like two people on a roof, not people on opposite sides of a war. And… it seems an awful lot like peace.

It’s a start.

[stanskzseungmin]

Operation Miroh| Stray Kids Mafia! AU ~ Chapter 4

You stirred in your sleep. You felt a lingering pain in your shoulder from where you’ve been shot. You wince as you attempt to move your shoulder. You cracked open your eyes a bit...only to be eye to eye with another pair of eyes. You let out a loud shriek and Hyunjin stood up straight. The temple of his glasses were hanging from his lips. His lips were formed into a frown, his eyes were hooded and his eyebrows furrowed. You sighed as you rolled over on your back after seeing his face. His eyebrow quirked up as your pupils looked away. You can hear his voice in your head going, “Well?” You can hear, heck you can feel his disappointment. You were supposed to rest, yet you charged in head first into another mission AND getting injured to top it off. 

Oh.

Woojin.

You felt Hyunjin’s disappointment, you can only imagine Woojin’s disappointment. 

“Woojin!” You shot up. Pain flared up throughout your body as you collapse back down wincing as you reach for your injured shoulder.

You looked at him expectantly for an answer. Hyunjin still looked at you in disappointment.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry,” you sat up slowly as Hyunjin turned around and pulled out a syringe, his miracle anti pain and rapid healing concoction. Hyunjin can’t be bothered to actually lecture every single Stray Kids member whenever they get injured, so he waits until they awake due to the pain before relieving them of it in place of a lecture.

“Please, Jinnie. I’m so close,” you breathed out as Hyunjin glanced at you briefly before pulling back your bandages a bit to inject in his magic liquid into the bullet wound. Your shoulder tingled slightly as you watched the wound close slowly but surely. You reach up to caress your fingers down his jaw. “Please.”

He sighed as his gloved hand grasped your own. His black gloved fingers caress your smaller ones as he pressed a small kiss to your fingertips. He turns away and stood before his screens.

You slid off your cot and walked past him. You entered the long hallways as rush back to Chan’s office. You hesitated in front of a closed door. You turned to face it. Your heart was beating in your chest as your fingers trail over the grey painted wood. Woojin’s room.

~Voting Opportunity~ Do you want to talk to Woojin?

Reluctantly, you turned away and trotted down the hallway towards Chan’s room.

“CHAN!” you burst into his room, his door swung forward rapidly harshly coming into contact with the wall. From a few doors down, you could hear a soft chorus of groaning from Seungmin and Jisung. 

Chan visibly flinched from your loud voice and harsh impact as he swung around in his chair to face you.

“Pleas-” you started.

“You don’t have to explain. Woojin already gave the briefing,” Chan interrupted, smiling softly in pity.

“W-wait. No. Channie...” you started, feeling your heart sink down in your chest as you fought back tears.

Chan looked up to you briefly, opening his mouth seeing your tears.

“I need to go back,” you breathed out. “I was so close.”

“I don’t think-” 

“No. We’re close I know it. The people. They aren’t being kidnapped. The bakery-”

“You didn’t find anything,” Chan reminded.

“Exactly. They aren’t being taken, they left willingly,” you explained.

“You’re grasping,” Chan turned away slouching back over his laptop.

“Chris,” Chan flinched upon hearing his English name. “The baker was last seen in her bakery. She’s gone without a trace, but no sign of a struggle.”

“...”

“No signs of a runaway,” you finished, hoping Chan would connect the dots. 

“Tonight, please. Let me go back,”

“In the morning, when the weather is nice,” Chan gave in.

“Thank you,” you rushed forward wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling his back into your chest. You nestled your cheek into his blond curls. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.” 

Chan gripped your hand softly.

~

You walked out, closing the door to Chan’s room quietly behind you. You jumped once you saw Jisung who magically appeared in the hallway before you. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

“You should’ve picked me,” Jisung stated.

You scoffed, looking down to the floor in defeat. Jisung strolled over to you and pulled you into his embrace. You leaned your head into his shoulder. He swayed you side to side softly and he ran his fingers through your scalp.

“Tell me what you’ve found,” Jisung whispered. “Tell me, baby.”

You shoved him back causing him to collide with the wall. He chuckled softly at your reaction. 

“Come on, we’ll check out District 9. Maybe, just maybe someone will show up,” Jisung offered.

~ 

The sun was barely setting. The night sky slowly took over the brilliant oranges and red. District 9 was a shady place. It’s cold, dark and lonely, but hey, it’s home. Without the knowledge of District 9 and its location and existence, this little patch of territory looked to be abandoned littered with several destroyed and worn down buildings at first glance. 

Jisung was donning his signature white porcelain squirrel mask. In a squirrel like fashion, he climbed up the broken and worn walls. Like a squirrel, he walked on his hands and feet. One hand after another, one foot after another. As ridiculous as it looks, it works as a taunt and Jisung is exceptionally great at taunting and pushing buttons.

District 9 held several hidden secrets, not even you know every single one. You doubted even any of the Stray Kids members knew of them all. Perhaps Chan, but his mind was a mystery of its own. Was a building a safe house, a secret base, a storage or just plain up an abandoned and destroyed building?? There used to be so much light in this area, so much chatter and voices. But now, there are so many voices that would no longer make a sound. Not even the sounds of buildings settling can penetrate through the dense silence. 

Something about the air felt heavy, so little activity, but it feels like so much activity. The paranormal doesn’t exist, just lingering memories of the life before, before everything fell apart. We were going backwards in time. The world used to be industrious, making huge human innovations, leaving their marks in history. Now the world has collapsed back to the days where electricity were but a dream. Electricity became a luxury where not even the rich can afford, the people lived under candle light and heated water.

Money was worth so much yet so little. In the mafia and gang underground, money was power. However, in the over world with the people, money was a rarity.

You casually strolled down the wide open streets, the sounds of your boots seemed to echo loudly against brick street. There was hardly a breeze, but memories of the previous life seemed to echo in your ears, you can almost hear the breeze and the soft night time chatter. In the corner of your eye, you see Jisung jumping from roof to roof, rubble to rubble in an animalistic fashion, he was always on all fours. A squirrel of all animals, you never thought of the small furry animal to be terrifying or animalistic. After all, Woojin was known in the underground as the bear, a bear. 

A squirrel. You scoffed.

You watched Jisung take a bigger bite than he could chew. He attempted a leap that looked wayyy too far to a building diagonally from him. He landed on the weak rubble of a wall on his hands with the wall breaking under his feet. His feet scrambled on the weak surface trying to find purchase as his metal claws dug into the brick wall as he slowed to a stop. You watched him pull himself up until he was crouched upon the ledge with his back towards you.

Jisung had requested (rather threatened) Hyunjin to fashion him some metal claws to finish off his squirrel aesthetic. To which Hyunjin agreed just to dump the workload onto Seungmin, bless his soul, for he almost broke Hyunjin’s nose for dumping it on him and then proceeded to almost breaking Jisung’s nose because of the stupid request (but Chan interfered). (No) thanks to Hyunjin, Seungmin had specifically designed and engineered metal claws that acted like an extension of Jisung’s fingers. The metal rings surround each individual finger snuggly but without cutting off blood circulation or limiting mobility as it ends into a slight curvature. Because of this accessory, Jisung was able to climb surfaces as well as an actual squirrel can.

You almost mocked him for the over glorified metal manicure to get a matching pedicure because climbing is more than just fingertips, you need feet purchases as well to Hyunjin and Seungmin’s dismay. If looks could kill, you would be dead long ago. Heaven forbid, Hyunjin and Seungmin to work with Jisung’s feet to fashion the little shit metal claws for his toes.

You ducked into said abandoned building and knocked twice on the wall. You paused momentarily and knocked once. Two knocks echoed back in response. There were people within the hidden safe house, but no one new. There was an unspoken rule that the people that Stray Kids safe guarded follow. Once Stray Kids knocks, you always answer. If there was any newcomers, they were to emerge with the acting leader of that particular safehouse. Other than that, the people should never emerge because even though District 9 was Stray Kids territory, the abandoned buildings hid many dangers. The dangers include traps by Stray Kids, traps by the enemy, or the enemies themselves. You looked up at the wall, you see the shadow of Jisung’s crouched figure illuminated by the moonlight.

You smirked.

“I know what happened.”

“Explain please,” Jisung’s voice broke through the silence. 

“Tomorrow.”

Jisung groaned.

~

Two Voting Opportunities

Do you want to speak to Kim Woojin?

Yes or No

Who do you want to bring for your next mission?

Kim Woojin (Light Injury//Will not be available until 3 members have gone)

Bang Chan

Lee Know | Lee Minho

Seo Changbin

Hwang Hyunjin

Han | Han Jisung

Lee Felix

Kim Seungmin

I.N | Yang Jeongin

I hope you find the context clues for the next mission, remember it follows this format.

Mission Briefing

Location: 

Weather: 

Date: 

Time of Day: 

Mission Objective: 

Partner: 

~Masterlist~

[ladyvegeets]

Turn of Phrase

Written for @the-tesseract-wrinkling-time​ who once claimed she would read anything I wrote, including Vegeta reading from a dictionary (or something to that effect).

Her mind still turning over her work in the lab, Bulma walked down the corridor on the way to her room. It just so happened to be the same corridor past Vegeta’s room. He had been living at Capsule Corp for several months now, and still managed to be as enigmatic as ever. He hardly spoke to anyone and when he did, it wasn’t always the most pleasant of exchanges. He spent 99 percent of his time training, the rest of his time dedicated to eating and sleeping and being a general pain in the ass.

But hey, he hadn’t killed anyone yet (to her knowledge) so… Glass half full.

Consciously or not, her mind fell silent as she passed his door, her ears pricking up for any signs of life. What did mister short, dark, and criminally handsome do in his free time?

Her feet came to a stop. Was that a voice?

Was that his voice?

Was Vegeta talking to someone?

Was Vegeta entertaining someone?!

No… impossible. Vegeta only ever entertained a bad attitude. Who the hell did he know — and who knew him — that would come back to his room and at this hour of the night?

Curiosity ramped up to maximum, Bulma couldn’t help herself. She pressed her ear to the door and listened. If she was a betting girl, she’d put down her new bike that it was indeed Vegeta talking, albeit softly. Unusual in and of itself. He rarely spoke in such subdued tones. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make out what he was saying, or if anyone else was in there with him.

Well, there was no way in hell she was going to be able to sleep tonight until she got to the bottom of this.

She stood back and knocked on his door.

The talking immediately stopped. A few seconds later the door cracked open and a familiar scowl directed itself her way.

“What?”

He had barely cracked the door, the insufferable ass, but she still made a point of giving him a look-over from head to toe, taking in the casual white tank and black sweats, each stamped with a CC logo. The corner of her lip curled up. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing him branded in her family’s insignia. Like he was slowly being domesticated.

…Housebroken.

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me, or did you merely come to get an eyeful?” The sharp bite of his words reminded her of her purpose. Her eyes snapped back to his. They were narrowed, calculating, but guarded. For all his pomp and ego, he still considered her a threat. It was oddly flattering.

“Everything going alright with the gravity room?” she asked, deciding the best course of action was a more round-about approach. “You haven’t come demanding repairs or improvements in a couple of days, I was starting to worry you might be dead.”

His scowl intensified, his lip curling with disdain. “Don’t. Like anything you could make could kill me.”

She raised her chin. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “It would be, if there was any challenge to be had.”

Oh, no he didn’t.

Wait, no, focus Bulma. He’s baiting you. You didn’t come here for a fight.

Choking back her pride for now — he would get his later — Bulma tried to steer the conversation back on track. “And your room?”

The ghost of his smile died, his posture tensing. “What about my room?”

“Everything agreeable? You’ve been here a while now but I don’t think I ever really checked in with you since you first started living here.”

He grimaced at her choice of words. He refused to acknowledge her house as his home. It was always your planet this, and your house that. The only time he invoked a ‘my’ was about his room or his food.

“It is tolerable,” he conceded. “Is that all?”

This wasn’t working. To hell with round-about. “Was that the tv I heard just now? Or the radio perhaps?”

“And why would I wish to inflict upon myself your Earth drivel?”

She would take that as a no. “It’s just, I thought I heard voices.”

Vegeta did the most peculiar thing. If she had blinked, she would have missed it. It lasted all of about 0.2 seconds, but in that time his mask fell away and the panic flashed across his face. Then just as quickly the glitch in the Matrix fixed itself and he was all cool-as-you-please cucumber with a hefty side of Saiyan beef.

“It was the radio,” he deadpanned.

Oh, that lying shit.

They stared at each other, both of them knowing he was busted but he refused to backdown from the lie.

Bulma cocked her hip, resting her hand there with confidence. “What station?”

“Whatever station drowns our your incessant screeching.” And with that he slammed the door shut on her face.

Bulma stared at the paneling with indignant fury before slamming her palm against it for good measure. “Fine! Keep your secrets, Vegeta, like I give a damn, but you don’t have to be a colossal dick about it! See if I give you the time of day again when you next break the gravity room!”

With a huff, she stomped back to her room and slammed the door shut behind her.

~xox~

Vegeta grimaced as he heard the the sharp bang of her door close. The woman was finally gone. Good riddance.

He scowled at his door for a moment longer, still irked by the whole confrontation. Like she had any right to be sticking her nose into his business. What did she expect, for him to throw open the door and invite her in and discuss the intricacies of what he did in his free time?

As if.

With an irritated huff, he made his way back to his desk and pulled open the draw. He dug out from hiding a small but dense book he had found in the Briefs’ library.

Little Book of Earth Idioms.

He started flipping through the pages.

Though he and the people of Earth shared a mutual language, there were still a lot of expressions the people here used — the damn woman especially —  that he was unfamiliar with. At best it was bothersome. At worst it was humiliating, leaving him adrift in a conversation with no alternative but to flounder and hope he found his way back to the point. Because like hell was he going to stop her and admit he didn’t understand everything she said. That would give her even more of an advantage over him than she already had, what with her putting him up and providing him with an occupation.

Some days he felt like he had traded one Frieza for another.

He might be another glorified pet, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to content himself with a Saibaman’s grasp of the local vernacular. Information was key to success, to power, to strength. He wasn’t about to let a few stupid turns of phrase keep him from achieving his goals: get the Legendary; beat the Androids; kill Kakarot; then… rule the universe, or something. He hadn’t quite gotten that far yet.

He reached the page he was looking for. He scrolled down the list with his index finger until he found the phrase and then carefully read it aloud. He found it helped to do so, to process the information faster especially as the Earth alphabet was still new to him.

“To ‘give the time of day’ is to respect someone enough to pay them attention. Conversely, to ‘not give someone the time of day’ is to dislike them so much as to ignore them.”

He let that sink in a moment. Then he scowled in the direction of the woman’s room and made a dismissive sound.

“See if I give you the time of day again, vulgar woman,” he grumbled under his breath before he snapped the book shut and shoved it back into hiding. He turned off his lights and got into bed, trying to push aside the woman’s threats of leaving him to his own devices — and the uneasy feeling it conjured — before he drifted off to sleep.

~xoXox~

[catsundercherryblossoms]

|Ch. 11: More Than Meets The Eye| Her Forgotten Past //Attack on Titan fan fiction//

If I had a dime for every time these people asked me, 'Why are you here?'. Well, let's just say I'd be able to afford living in the King's palace.

Ah, here comes another one.

"So... it's pretty clear why Eren's here. The poor thing..." A girl with ginger hair said to me. We rode our horses side by side. "I don't mean to sound rude, but I'm kind of clueless as to why you're here? Sorry. Please don't think I'm—"

"No, it's fine." I said, plastering on a smile for her sake. Introductions were the last thing I felt like doing. But I had no other choice. Why? Well, it seems Corporal Levi told his whole squad about Eren, but completely left me out of the picture. And I have a feeling it's not a matter of forgetfulness. But be that as it may, I will try to be on good terms with his squad, even if the Corporal himself has something against me.

What a jerk... I thought, sneaking a glare as he rode ahead, leading the way.

I went back to answering her question. "I'm here because I have no citizenship. It was as much of a surprise to me as it was to others, let me tell you." I said with a dry chuckle. I then nodded towards the Corporal half-heartedly. "But Humanity's Strongest over here saved the day. Now I'm under custody of the Survey Corps..."

"Wow, Corporal Levi made that happen?" The ginger said. A professional type of admiration shone in her eyes. I could tell she'd been serving in his squad for years now. Actually, all four of Squad Levi's members were very tight-knit. I don't know precisely how to explain it, but maybe it was the glimmer in their eyes whenever they spoke to each other. Familiarity... warmth... like they'd known each other since the beginning of time.

"Its a surprise to hear that. I don't know if you've noticed, but... he's not the charming kind of person. You'll be lucky to even get a handshake on the first meeting. But for him to step in and make such a decision for a complete stranger like you..." she looked at me with child-like curiosity. "I wonder what he sees in you."

Ha. No offense to this girl, I think she's sweet and all, but I'm not taking this bullcrap.

"Yeah, romanticize it all you want. He thinks I might be from outside the walls, which in his eyes makes me a threat. Or... I think that's what he thinks. To be honest, I sometimes wonder if it's all a cover-up." I squinted and stared at the back of Corporal Levi's head from a distance, thoughtful. "Why not gather every single person without citizenship and put them under the Survey Corps' custody? You know, since he's so generous..."

"Hm, you're right. It doesn't add up." She said and smiled cheekily. "Oh! I love mysteries like this! How about we get to the bottom of this together, hm? You seem like a nice, honest person. Let's be friends! Plus, it's great to finally have another girl around." She said. The sincerity in her honey-brown eyes was impossible to refuse. "So, what's your name?"

"Johanna Archer. And you?" I said and shook her hand.

"Petra Ral." She said with a beam.

"We're here." Corporal Levi announced, his voice sucking the joy out of the atmosphere like always.

The trees cleared to reveal a beautiful estate with tower-like structures. A castle, maybe? Moss covered the walls and vines creeped up the front door, a sign that nature had claimed this place already. I even saw a few spiders clustered on the overhanging of the balcony.

That's going to be a problem.

I shuddered and dismounted my horse.

"When was this place last inhabited?" I asked, busy taking in the sight. 

"Beats me. It's probably older than all of us put together." A voice I knew all too well said.

Eren, of course.

As we lead our horses into the stables, I finally took a good look at his face. I didn't get the chance to check on him during the journey since he maintained himself always at the front, on behalf of Corporal Levi's orders. The results of spending day after day in a cell could be seen in his complexion. Although I must admit, he looked better now that he had soaked up the sun. So I guess that's progress.

And yet... an underlying stress and thinness pulled his features down. Sure, he could try all he wanted to mask it with a smile. Maybe it worked on the members of Squad Levi. But it didn't work on me.

"Um... is there something in my teeth?" Eren asked.

I hadn't realized I was staring that long. Idiot. "No, nothing." I pried my gaze away and shut the gate to the stall. Eren gave his horse a farewell pat on the muzzle and followed behind me. "It's just... You should eat something." I said, trying to sound casual.

Eren's face was one of surprise. But that surprise quickly turned to slyness and he smirked. "Unbelievable... Is the cold, no-nonsense Johanna actually worried about me? Me?" He then finished with a fake gasp.

I swear, I could just smack him sometimes... but I couldn't help the smile forming on my face. "Don't let it get to your head." I snapped, quickening my pace. I didn't have to look back to know he was smiling warmly. Soon we were walking at the same pace again, this time closer, our arms almost brushing together.

Okay, why was I focusing on that? I never focus on dumb little details like those.

What he said came back to me in rippling thoughts.

"You don't think I'm... cold. Do you?" I asked. Keep it casual, keep it casual... not that I really care what he thinks.

"Well, at the beginning of training, yes. You're not the best at first impressions." Under the sun, his eyes glinted like emeralds. "Heh... I start to hurt just remembering that time we sparred together. You really made it personal."

I half-smiled. Fifteen year-old Johanna was a real sociopath...

"But I've gotten to know you better... and I realize now that there's more than meets the eye." He said. The summer heat tinged his cheeks red. Or at least, I assumed it was the heat.

I snuck one more glance at him, but quickly broke the connection between his eyes and my own, choosing to smile down at my feet. Weird... a foreign feeling coursed through me. God knows I've never felt like this before. All warm, stupid, and... fuzzy.

"Oi! You two. What the hell took you brats so long?"

Corporal Levi stood at the front of the castle, it's doors wide open behind him with some of the cobwebs cleared away. He held a broom in one hand and a mop in the other. His usually passive face was now stiff with irritation. Geez... doesn't he know stress causes wrinkles?

I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. "We were at the stables—"

"I don't want excuses or explanations, rookie."

I blinked in confusion. "But you asked—"

"Enough. Not only will you mop the second floor, but you will also scrub the windows as punishment for smart-talking your superior." He said severely, and he tossed us our cleaning tools. I caught the broom and Eren caught the mop. He turned away sharply, walking back inside the castle. "Get to it."

* * *

"He's the devil, Eren, I'm telling you." I dipped the sponge into the soap bucket, practically punching the water.

Eren chuckled at my violent cleaning style. He shook his head lightly and continued mopping the same floor for the fourth time. "I'm pretty sure that's offensive to the devil."

As mad as I was, his comment made me smile.

We were on the third level of the castle, in a decent sized room with plenty of sunlight, cleaning the freaking life out of every corner and crevice. See the thing is, this room is the one Corporal Levi chose to be his personal office. And of course... he gave the job of cleaning it to the rookies. Lucky us, eh? I mean, I get it. This will soon be his personal area where he'll keep all of his shit and probably sleep in. But still... I don't think I've ever met someone so damn meticulous. Every time we reported our job-well-done he would come back and find a speck of dust or dirt in the tiniest of spaces. He'd scold us and order us to clean the whole room from top to bottom... All. Over. Again.

This is the seventh time I've cleaned these windows. I'm starting to lose hope. We'll probably never live up to his impossible standards.

"But seriously..." Eren said, now mopping the space right behind me. "You don't actually hate the Corporal, do you?"

"Its getting to that point." I climbed up the ladder, my legs tired from going up and down just to soak the sponge. I scrubbed the windows angrily. Any harder and I would break the glass. "I mean, I understand why you glorify him. Mikasa told me you've been invested in the Survey Corps since you were a kid. He's your idol. But don't you think—"

"Hm, nice view."

I broke my train of thought and looked out the window, raising a brow. "What are you talking about? It's just grass and trees..."

Wait a minute.

I looked down and saw what he was actually staring at.

My ass.

"Eren!" I exclaimed, swatting him away with the sponge. He laughed. It was easy for him to avoid my hits, since I was so up high and he had the advantage of being below. Droplets fell from the sponge and landed on him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He said, trying to calm his laughter. He went back to mopping, keeping his eyes glued to the floorboards this time.

The nerve... I tried to reduce the blush on my face by focusing on the windows again. But my thoughts betrayed me. Nice view, huh? Did he really— Wait— no! Stop it, Johanna...

"Anyways, you were saying?"

"What? Oh." I snapped out of it. Corporal Levi's face popped into my mind and I returned to being petty. I huffed and continued scrubbing. "Its just... I signed up to kill titans. Not to become some damn housewife... That basta- aAAH!!"

A spider was suddenly in my face, dangling from the ceiling by its silky string. I lurched back and lost my footing. The ladder— the object which my life depended on— was replaced by air. I shut my eyes and braced myself for the incoming floor.

Something caught me mid-fall. Arms? I gave a little yelp, clinging to this so-called knight-in-shining-armor.

Wait... the only person in this room besides me is...

I opened my eyes and was met with Eren's surprised green ones. His face was inches away from mine, holding me bridal-style. Well... this is awkward...

His usual confidence was thwarted. For a moment his cheeks reddened, and he struggled to find something to say. As did I.

Please just end this. Whatever life force or god of the universe is watching over us, just end it. Please.

My prayers were answered. But not in the best way.

"What the hell are you brats doing?"

Eren whipped around and gasped. "C-Corporal!"

He dropped me and I hit the floor with a painful thump. Ouch. I scowled up at him and denied his helping hand, getting up myself.

Corporal Levi stood at the doorway, unimpressed. "Tch. No frick-fracking in my office. I won't tolerate hormonal behavior from teenagers like you. Now get the hell out. We're having lunch outside."

He turned and left, muttering more stuff under his breath.

Eren sighed as we headed out. He took one last look at the spider and then turned to me. "You, a top-ten soldier, slay Titans three times your size and you're scared of that?"

I folded my arms in embarrassment. "Sh-shut up!"

* * *

I wonder how my friends are doing... I picked at my food, no appetite whatsoever. Okay, I hate to admit it... but my chest ached the moment I realized I wouldn't see Jean, or Annie, or Reiner or Bertholdt again. Those four were set on the MPs. The second they graduate that's where they'll be running to. I couldn't blame them either. After everything they endured in the battle of Trost, any normal person would want to seek a safe haven.

Maybe I'm not normal. Maybe I'm crazy. Somewhere in the heat of battle maybe I bumped my head too hard and now I can't think straight. I don't regret my decision to join the Survey Corps. Not yet, anyways. But it sure isn't what it's all cut out to be.

Damn... who knew I'd grow so attached to those four idiots? I thought of Jean's snide comments, Annie's take-no-shit attitude, Reiner's brotherly charisma and Bertholdt's sheepishness, and I smiled a little. It was a sickening, barely-there watery smile. But a smile nonetheless.

All it took was one look and Eren knew what I was thinking. "Yeah, I miss them too." He sighed.

I raised my eyebrows. "Even Jean?"

"I know, right? I can barely believe it myself. Kill me."

We both laughed. It wasn't the hug your stomach and double-over kind of laugh, but it was reminiscent laughter. And laughter felt good in times like these.

Then came the wince.

I looked down at Eren's heavily bandaged hands and frowned. He had tried to get ahold of his tea mug. But that wasn't happening anytime soon.

"Still not healing, huh?" I said.

He shook his head. I could imagine the frustration he must be feeling.

Earlier this evening, when Corporal Levi pulled us out of cleaning to have lunch with the squad, Hanji thought it would be convenient to do an experiment. She wanted to see Eren's Titan form and observe how it works. Long story short, they stuck Eren at the bottom of a well and distanced themselves a couple feet. They gave him the signal to transform and anticipated the big boom.

But nothing happened.

When they peered down the well, they found Eren in the exact same spot at the bottom, both hands bitten raw. His futile attempts had given no results.

I didn't feel disappointed, unlike others. The Levi Squad tried to mask their shattered high hopes, but that's exactly the thing. They at least masked it with a smile and a 'Don't beat yourself up'. That shows compassion.

But Corporal Levi... that was a different story.

'Here comes trouble...' I thought, as the devil himself approached our table.

He sipped his tea in one hand, his gaze as emotionless as ever. "What's the progress?"

Eren pursed his lips and looked down at his hands. He did not respond, but he didn't need to. The Corporal could read him like a book.

"Are you seriously telling me... that those bites on your hand aren't healing?" He questioned. I could already sense his patience running thin.

But wow, I admired Eren's unwavering respect. "No, sir." He said courtly.

"No offense, but you're not much use to us in this form." His voice cut sharper than a knife. "If you can't Titan-shift, you can forget about saving Wall Maria. Pull it together. And yes, that is an order."

He turned to leave.

"He's trying his best, you know." The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

The muscles in his back tensed. He turned around slowly and faced me like he hadn't noticed my presence until now. His expression hardened. "I don't remember asking for your input, rookie."

"Archer." I corrected him fearlessly. "And it's the truth! I don't see you turning into a Titan effortlessly. Not that it would be very tall anyway..." I finished the last part under my breath.

He still heard it. Actually, both of them did.

Eren's eyes widened like I had just ventured into dangerous territory. He laughed but covered it up with a fake cough.

"Did you just...." Corporal Levi, on the other hand, was honestly appalled. Had no one stood up to him before? Was I the first? He placed a hand on the table and leaned menacingly towards my face. "Jaeger was right. You do have a problem with authority."

I heard Eren gulp.

Corporal Levi backed off. He adjusted his cravat. "I guess we'll have to work on that. Archer, you just earned a whole month of stable maintenance. Have fun cleaning horse shit." With that, he turned and left.

Is he serious? A whole month? A flood of curse words were eager to leave my mouth, but I held it in.

"If it helps, I thought the joke was funny." I heard Eren say.

My eyes were glued to the Corporal's retreating figure, but I wasn't exactly seeing. It was more like a limbo. Out of nowhere, I felt a migraine coming on. Wait... didn't this happen... on the wall... right before Trost was breached? The world around me drowned out. My vision blackened.

What the hell was happening? In my mind's eye, an image flashed before me: a man... why was he so blurry? I couldn't distinguish who it was. He knelt down to my level. I was small and when I reached out to take the knife he offered me, my hands were little and dainty. Much too little to be holding such a perilous weapon. "Use this if they get to you..." the man spoke, "those guys with the green horse on their jackets? They might be police, but they don't have good intentions for people like us, Johanna. People like us... we need to fight to survive. Now, give Daddy a hug. Auntie Isa will watch over you while I'm out getting food..."

As quick as it started, it ended. I blinked and suddenly I was back outside, sitting at the lunch table.

"Johanna!"

"What?!" I jumped, looking at Eren.

His face was one of utter confusion. "Well, don't look at me like that! I've been trying to get your attention! Seriously, are you okay? You looked like you were in a trance..."

"What are you talking about?" I blinked. I raised a hand to massage my forehead. My head hurt, and I had no clue why. Also, was I dreaming? What was it about? I could hardly remember now.

I accidentally knocked down my spoon. It landed closest to Eren's foot.

He bent down. "Here, I'll get it."

"No, it's okay. I got—"

BOOM!

An explosion of heat. I hit the ground hard on my back. For a good thirty seconds I was disoriented, my head hurting worse now from the bad landing.

But when I opened my eyes...

What I registered was this: Eren, the upper half of Eren's Titan body, and Squad Levi surrounding the scene with their blades drawn.

"Shit! Wait! Don't kill him!" I yelled. In a flash I was up on my feet and running. I jumped between Eren's Titan and the squad, holding my hands up as an open gesture of harmlessness.

"Get out of the way, girlie! Or we'll take you down as well!" Oluo barked at me.

"Eren! What the hell is your problem? No one gave you permission to transform!" Erd said furiously.

Eren was on top of his Titan's neck, trying to pull his arm free of the muscle. He struggled to explain himself, overwhelmed by their sudden turn of alliance. And I couldn't blame him. Didn't they trust him? Or was this how they really felt?

I bet they were faking their friendliness since the start... I thought.

"Stand down!" I told them as they got closer with their blades.

"Who do you think you are? I'll teach you a lesson as soon as I'm done with him!" Günther growled.

I was surprised to hear a voice next to me. "Calm down."

When I looked to the side, Corporal Levi was standing there, a hand raised to warn them off. And he was... agreeing with me?

"The situation is complicated. Now, calm down."

But they continued protesting.

"Are you trying to kill us all?"

"Eren, you better explain yourself!"

"Forget it! Explanations are useless." Günther said as he approached the Titan. "You better persuade me that you're not hostile before I slice you to pieces!"

"So much as twitch that arm and I'll lob your head off! I can end you in a heartbeat, do you hear me boy?" Oluo bared his teeth.

"Oluo, how many times do I have to say it? Calm down." Corporal Levi snapped.

"Corporal, step aside! You're too close!" Petra said.

He couldn't care less. "Right now I think it's you guys who need to step away."

She looked baffled. "Why on Earth—"

"A gut feeling." He cut her off.

By now, everyone was screaming and it was hard to tell who was saying what. But Eren had enough.

"QUIET! ALL OF YOU BE QUIET!" He bellowed.

Silence. Tension filled the air. I watched the squad calculatingly. Two things could happen right now: Either they make peace and hear him out... or they go ahead and kill him on the spot.

"EEEERREEEEEEEEEENNNN!"

Apparently it's neither of those.

Hanji came running at the speed of light. She pushed the squad members out of the way and screamed so fanatically that I could barely understand what she was saying.

"Iwannatouchthearm! Eren, I wanna touch the arrrmm!" She drooled at the sight of Eren's Titan arm the way Sasha drools at the sight of food. "Pretty pleaaasseee, with sugar on top! LEMME TOUCH THIS GLORIOUS LIMB!"

"Who let out the lunatic?" I glared at the soldiers who came with her. They had the decency to look ashamed.

"Wait!" Eren told her worriedly. "I don't think that's a good idea!"

But did she listen? Of course not. She reverently placed her small hands on the Titan's huge red one.

"Ow! Son of a BITCH!" She gasped and removed her hands immediately, falling to her knees with a gleeful look on her face. "That hunk of muscle is hot when there's no skin! This is the best day in the history of science! Ahahaha!" She cackled.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Okay, valid question. Is anyone in this regiment sane?"

"How are you not burning?" Hanji asked Eren excitedly. "Why aren't you out? Is your arm fused to the neck? Oh, you have to show me! I really wanna see!"

"Eren." I cued him.

He gave his arm one last tug and it popped out. He rolled off the Titan and fell to the floor, panting.

"What? Wait, no! That was too fast— I still wanted to investigate some more!"

We all blocked out Hanji. Although, if I'm honest, I think her rash intervention was exactly what the squad needed to make them hesitate. I sighed and looked up at the periwinkle sky. Things would only get more complicated from here on out..

A clean freak, a Titan worshipper, and a guy that likes to sniff people. And that's only the ones I've met.

Who knew the Survey Corps would be full of weirdos?

End of Chapter 11