#then as soon as i lay down cat threw up bile

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon High: Chapter 6

Moonkit and her littermates were growing fast, their days in the nursery numbered. It had been nearly a whole moon since Treeclan's incident with the fox occurred. Blazestar had doubled patrols since then. While Silverhawk stood guard of the nursery most nights, worrying by day as her kits grew and became apprentices. Blackpaw and Beepaw had gotten their promotions recently and were out exploring the world. One day, Moonkit watched as the twins took turns picking the elders clean of ticks, faces twisted in disgust. The smaller of the two stuck out his tongue, while his sister laughed at him for forgetting Mothsong's warning about handling mouse bile. Blackpaw groaned, racing off to cleanse his pallet of the vile taste. Beepaw simply shook her head and picked up where her brother left off. Moonkit purred in amusement at the sight. Someday soon, that'll be me and my siblings. A bubble of joy floated in her chest at the thought. Then it burst; a thorn of sorrow piercing through as Rainkit came to mind. Moonkit would never get to see her sister again. She wouldn't get the honor of apprentice duties like the rest of their littermates would. She would never be a warrior, or cause mischief, or play ever again. The reality of that still hit hard. Every now and then Moonkit would wake up, plagued by dreams of the night her sister died. She had been right next to Rainkit when the fox came. Had Moonkit shrieked, would she have been torn apart too? Would her littermates be mourning her now, the way she did for Rainkit? The possibility haunted her. But she tried not to let it to come to mind often. She had to keep her chin up. For the sake of her denmates, her mother, and her clan.

Speaking of her mother, Moonkit decided it was time to go and visit her. It had been a while since Brightsky had come out from the nursery. Moonkit bet she would appreciate some company.

With a determined bounce in her step, Moonkit made her way over to the overgrown tree roots, down the slope and padded into the nursery. The den was dimly lit during this time of day. Faint beams of sunlight cast against the walls, highlighting the leftover remenents of that dreadful night. Blood still stained the roots and dusty floor underpaw. The nursery continued to hold onto the stench of fox and fearscent. But there was evidence of a coverup. Scrub marks streaked through crusty brown splatters, proof that the warriors had tried cleaning up the walls with wet moss. Wisteria flowers had been planted just outside, entangling the tree and covering up musky odors with a floral fragrance. They were signs that the clan was healing. But, like the pain, the leftovers from that faithful night could not be so easily erased. And that sentiment showed itself within the cats most effected by it.

Brightsky lay silently in her nest by the farthest corner of the den. Her back faced the world beyond her shelter, blocking it from her view. Only the steady rise and fall of her flank proved that she had not turned to stone while sinking into her sorrow. She'd hardly moved from her spot in days. Moonkit felt terrible for her mother. It was hard enough to lose a sister. She could only imagine what the agony of losing a kit might feel like.

Softly, Moonkit padded up to Brightsky. She reached out a paw, touching it to her shoulder "Hi, mama," She trilled quietly, a sunshine bright smile on her face. Brightsky shrieked, nearly jumping out of her fur. She threw Moonkit away from her, whipping around with claws unsheathed. But after a heartbeat the queen came back to her senses, looking down at the kit that lay near her resting place.

Moonkit stared up at her mother with wide eyes, sitting back upright. She must have been sleeping, Moonkit figured. Have I woken her from a nightmare?

"Moonkit..!" Brightsky breathed, pulling the kit to her chest, resting her forepaw along her shoulders.

"I'm sorry mama, I didn't mean to startle you," Moonkit mewed, still looking up at her mother.

Brightsky purred, rasping her tongue between her daughter's ears. "It's alright, chipmunk, I know. I'm sorry for reacting the way that I did. I didn't mean to frighten you either."

"I don't get scared, so it's ok," Moonkit assured. "Are you, though?"

Brightsky hesitated to answer. She spent a few more heartbeats grooming Moonkit before speaking up again. "...I will be. With time."

Moonkit whimpered a little. That's what Brightsky had said last time, too. Moonkit was beginning to grow worried. It wasn't like her mother to sulk, or to be so jumpy when touched. But she knew that Brightsky was strong. She was fighting her depression as best as she could. Even if little progress had been made, Moonkit could tell she was getting better. This was the first time in a half moon that Brightsky had spoken more than a couple of words. Maybe tomorrow, Moonkit could convince her to sit outside. For now, the little silver and white kit figured she should probably give Brightsky more space; despite the sadness it brought her to leave her grieving mother alone.

"Alright..." Moonkit wiggled out of the older molly's grasp. "I just wanted to check on you. I'm glad that you're up now. Maybe later we can share prey together?"

"That sounds nice," Brightsky agreed with another purr. Moonkit smiled.

"Great! I'll be back by sunhigh." Moonkit stepped up to touch noses with her mother. Then she licked her cheeks before backing away again. "I love you, mama."

"I love you too," Brightsky responded. She made a small noise like she was holding back a sob. And tears seem to prick the edges of her eyes. Moonkit couldn't tell what emotion that stemmed from, but she hoped it was happiness. Even if Rainkit was gone, Brightsky still had Moonkit and the rest of her littermates to love and care for. And they all loved their mother just the same.

With a tail flick Moonkit made her way back out of the nursery and into the chill of the morning. The camp wasn't as busy as when she had gone to visit Brightsky. Moonkit figured the hunting patrols must have been sent out a short while ago. Come sunhigh, the clearing would be flooded with cats. But for now, only a few lingered about. One of those cats was Tigerkit. She was chasing her only sister Tinkykit around, swiping to catch her tail as if it were a prized mouse. Tinykit squealed, trying her best to avoid her larger sibling. But she was no match for Tigerkit's speed, and soon, Tinykit found herself pinned. Tigerkit yowled out triumphantly, laughing a hardy warrior's laugh.

Moonkit purred in amusement. Despite everything, she noted that Tigerkit seemed unaffected by the occurrence that took place the previous moon. In fact, she seemed even feistier than before. She was determined to be brave and remain strong just as her mother had until the very end. Moonkit admired Tigerkit for that. For being able to come out of a bad experience stronger than before, despite the pain. I hope I can learn to be that resilient, she thought with a small sigh.

"I'm going to become the greatest warrior in the Land's Star! I'll be skilled at everything; leading, fighting, hunting, den keeping, spying, and guarding!" Tigerkit proclaimed to Moonkit one day while they were play fighting just outside of the nursery. "And one day, I'll be Treeclan's leader. You'll all have to call me Tigerstar soon!"

"I know you will be, Tig. I believe in you!" Moonkit purred in reply, nipping the tabby and white mollykit's ear playfully.

"Then if you're going to be the best in the Land's Star, at least let me be the best in Treeclan," said another kit who came to join them; a ginger and white tom named Sunkit. Moonkit purred a greeting, a warm feeling pooling in her chest at the sight of him.

"Oh please. You have to actually be skilled to be the best," Tigerkit joked, batting at Sunkit with a white paw, claws sheathed. "You're as clumsy as a lopsided, one-eyed badger."

Sunkit huffed, hopping on top of the mollykits, creating a kitten pile. Tigerkit shrieked from the added weight on her back.

"What can I be?" A fourth cat asked, inviting himself into the conversation. It was one of the new apprentices, Blackpaw. Moonkit wasn't exactly close with him. But she knew he was friends with her friends. And so, the young tom was allowed to join their group whenever he had the free time. Blackpaw plopped down on top of the others, squishing everyone below him. Tigerkit and Sunkit both squeaked out in annoyance. But the complaints seemed to fall on deaf ears. Blackpaw simply purred, happy to be included.

"You can sit with me on the sidelines cheering them on," Moonkit suggested, wiggling to get more comfortable as the base of the kitten pile.

"No way! I think I want to be a deputy like my father, Thornberry," Blackpaw replied, sitting up to lick his fluffy black chest fur, his paws pressing down into Sunkit's rump.

"Is that possible?" Moonkit wondered. "If Thornberry becomes Thornstar, I don't think he can choose one of his kits to succeed him," she noted, rolling over. As she cralwed away the kitten pile came undone, leaving a mess of kits sprawled out on the earth.

"Well Blackpaw doesn't have to worry about that." Tigerkit sat up and puffed up her chest fur. "I will be the leader after Thornberry. So I'll be the one picking a deputy."

Blackpaw tilted his head. "Well can I be your deputy then?"

Tigerkit thought for a moment before replying, "Maybe. If you try really really hard and fight lots of warriors."

"Hey, stop trying to kill off my dad. He still has many seasons left in him. Thornberry will probably retire before my dad joins Starclan," Sunkit growled defensively.

Blackpaw let out an amused mrrow of laughter, "Maybe while I wait to become deputy, I'll be a Guard warrior. That could be fun."

Sunkit hissed playfully, batting at Blackpaw's nubby tail. Blackpaw turned around to defend himself, rolling the ginger and white tomkit onto his side. Blackpaw jumped onto him and the two began to tussle around on the damp grass.

"Let all cats old enough to climb through the trees gather here beneath the Great Stump for a clan meeting," Blazestar called. Sunkit paused in his play and gasped, his green eyes going wide.

"My apprentice ceremony! I forgot!" he yowled, jumping up and rushing into the nursery to get some last minute grooming from Leafheart. His fur was messy, covered in bits of dead grass and mud. Moonkit knew his mom would be mad at him for it. She giggled at the sight, walking with Tigerkit and Blackpaw to the front of the crowd to watch. The mollykits were five moons old now, and pretty soon it would be their turn to be apprenticed. Moonkit wished Sparrowkit and Rainkit could be with them, but she knew they'd be watching over them when the day came. Maybe they'd be reincarnated so they could get an apprentice ceremony one day too. A kit could dream.

***

The last moon of their kithood seemed to fly in the blink of an eye. The faithful day had come for Moonkit and her littermates to become apprentices. Tigerkit, too, would earn her promotion this day. After being held back an extra half moon, she was finally ready to graduate.

Brightsky seemed to cheer up in time for the ceremony. The pain in her gaze was still evident. But Moonkit could tell that her mother was excited for this moment. She diligently groomed all of their fluffy fur, then walked her litter and Tigerkit out to the Great Stump as the meeting began. A chilly Newleaf breeze ruffled through the clan cats' fur. Change was in the air, and all the new apprentices meant great news for Treeclan.

Blazestar began the ceremony as he had the others before. Brightsky chose to remain a queen permanently, padding back to the front of the nursery. She sat herself next to Mapleshine and Silverhawk, watching her four kittens with love shining in her blue eyes.

"You have survived the first six moons of your lives. May Starclan guide your paws from this moment on," Blazestar meowed. "Smokekit, from this point on you shall be known as Smokepaw. Shadeleaf, I think it's time for you to receive your first apprentice. You had a wonderful mentor in Wolfheart, and I trust you will pass on the knowledge you gained from him to young Smokepaw."

The tom in question bounced happily up to the tortoiseshell she-cat. His nose squished awkwardly against hers as they met, his eagerness getting the better of him. Shadeleaf simply chuckled, leading Smokepaw towards their gathered clanmates.

Blazestar went on; "Skunk-kit, from this point on you shall be known as Skunkpaw. Silverhawk, I trust you can juggle your duties as Den Mother and help whip this young cat into shape. Train him well."

Silverhawk perked up in surprise, standing and making her way to the front of the crowd. Skunkpaw waited for her patiently, lifting their chin to touch noses with Den Mother as soon as she came. Once they moved aside, Blazestar focused on the next new apprentice.

"Magpiekit, from this point on you shall be known as Magpiepaw," he declared. "Pepperpatch, I think it's time you received your first apprentice as well. Train her to the best of your ability, just as Galestorm had trained you."

With ears lowered slightly, Magpiepaw moved to touch noses with her new mentor. Her paws kneaded at the ground as she waited for Pepperpatch's first instructions.

"It's ok, little bird. You're doing fine," Pepperpatch reassured her softly. Magpiepaw perked up, her posture becomong more relaxed. She moved away with her mentor in tow, passing the spotlight onto her sister.

"Moonkit, from this point on you shall be known as Moonpaw. Leafheart, I trust you to train this apprentice," Blazestar decided. "Guide her paws on the path to become a great warrior like you."

Moonpaw shimmied, proudly stepping up to the ginger and white she-cat to touched noses. It was an honor to have such a highly regarded cat as a mentor. Moonpaw hoped not to disappoint. After a heartbeat, the pair made their way to the front of the crowd to observe the last of the apprentice ceremony.

Tigerkit sat alone. Her tail swept across the ground; whether it was from impatience or nervousness was unclear. Moonpaw wondered who Tigerkit would receive as a mentor. There weren't many cats left who didn't already have an apprentice to train. Would she receive someone who would be able to tame her wild spirit?

"Finally, Tigerkit. Previously you were held back in the nursery, as punishment for your wreckless behavior. I'm certain you've learned you lesson now. And so, for your patience, I finally name you Tigerpaw. I believe you deserve a mentor who will challenge and push you in the way you need. And that it why I have decided to take you on as my apprentice."

Tigerpaw jumped to her paws, wide eyed and mouth agape at the announcement. Moonpaw beamed, excited for her best friend. To her, no one could be a better choice to train the young tabby. Blazestar jumped down from the Great Stump to touch noses with his new apprentice, thus concluding the ceremony. The clan broke out into a cheer, brightening the new apprentices' spirits.

"Smokepaw! Skunkpaw! Magpiepaw! Moonpaw! Tigerpaw!!"

"Come, Tigerpaw. It's time for you to see the territory. Leafheart, Moonpaw, care to join us?" Meowed Blazestar, walking up to the mollies. Tigerpaw eagerly kneaded the ground, and Leafheart nodded her head.

"We would be delighted to," she accepted.

Together, the four cats made their way to the Entrance Tree and climbed their way up to its branches.

"Today you will learn the territory from down here," Leafheart said, leading the patrol to the ground outside of camp. "That way you will know where you are in case it's too dangerous to travel by tree."

Moonpaw and Tigerpaw stared at the forest around them with amazement. The territory was far bigger and brighter than either had remembered. Perhaps it was because the last time they'd stepped paw out of camp, the forest had been been a wonderland of white. The woods looked far more magnificent without a snowy blanket to hide all the details. There was so much greenery, and so much land to explore. Moonpaw couldn't wait to learn about every pawprint of it.

The patrol of cats walked for quite a while. Leafheart would point out small landmarks that the apprentices should remember. An extra large boulder here, a gnarled misshaped tree there. Eventually they came to a stop in a more important area which required better explanation.

"This place is called the Tree Dome. It's named for the way the trees are shaped. Here, you will learn to fight,  utilizing the terrain you have available to you," Blazestar retorted, gesturing to the large sandy hollow they were standing in.

The trees surrounding the clearing arched inward, like a great force had bent them to create a shelter. In the center there was plenty of space to move around. At the edges a warrior could touch the trees' branches simply by standing on their hind legs. Prey like squirrels and birds would probably be easy to catch here, if the hollow didn't smell so strongly of cats. The leaves in Greenleaf would make for great cover from predator and enemy alike. It was the perfect place for a Treeclan apprentice to train.

"It's amazing!" Moonpaw trilled with delight, spinning in a circle as if she were trying to take in the full view of the area. Leafheart chuckled and beckoned the others onward.

The patrol continued the tour heading northward, pausing on occasion to mark the border. Ahead, the land started to slope upwards, leading the cats along the edge of a cliff. Not much farther along, a strange scent began to mingle with the breeze. It grew stronger as they went along, becoming more unavoidable by the heartbeat. Moonpaw's nose wrinkled when she caught a big enough whiff of the odor while Tigerpaw sneezed.

"Oh Starclan, what is that?" Tigerpaw griped. The older cats chose not to explain right away. Instead, they held out until they slowed atop the highest point of the cliff. Here sat an an old tree. It's limbs hung like a weeping willow. Yet its branches were girthier with larger leaf buds protruding from its Newleaf growths. A part of its trunk bore a prominent scar at the bend. It looked as if the tree had been struck by lightning once. It healed from its injury, but was never quite able to return to it's full upright glory.

"This is the High Cliff, it's marked by the Saggy Tree. The forest once extended to this point. Now, all that remains here is this lone ash. A fire broke out during a storm once, destroying everything but the tree that started it all," Blazestar explained.

"Breathe deep, 'paws. The scent you caught on the wind is the stench of Oceanclan," chimed Leafheart. "Learn it quickly. You need to know it to identify your enemies."

"Let's continue along the border this way," Blazestar suggested, pointing to the right with his tail. The group moved away from the High Cliff, down a slight slope to the edge of a rocky area a couple tree lengths away. Blazestar waved his tail to signal for the group to pause once more.

"This is the Rubble Path. A great area to sunbathe and hunt, but also a dangerous place. Adders sometimes live in between the rocks, and this land is often fought for by Oceanclan. Many battles have taken place on this land, and much blood has been shed. Mark the trees and rocks around here well whenever you pass, and always keep an eye out for trouble," Blazestar meowed, walking up to a tree to spray. Just then, a mrrow of laughter sounded from the base of Rubble Path.

"You make us sound so evil, Blazestar," remarked an unfamiliar golden she-cat. Her long fur flowed in the breeze as her paw rested on one of the stones. She had three cats backing her up with varying degrees of emotion on their faces.

"It's an Oceanclan patrol. That she-cat is their deputy, Sandybreeze," hissed Leafheart into the apprentices ears. Tigerpaw let out an involuntary growl, and Moonpaw lashed her tail.

"Ah don' recognize those two. Showin' yer new apprentices 'round personally?" wondered a molly with gray fur and black tabby spots.

"It's customary for a mentor to show his apprentice around," Blazestar responded simply. Moonpaw watched Tigerpaw step forward next to the leader with her head held high. Please don't say anything rash...

"He doesn't need stinky old Oceanclan's approval to train me now, does he?" She snickered, flashing a smug toothy grin. Moonpaw tilted her head, wondering how Tigerpaw could be so bold. The enemy patrol seemed to take the remark with good humor.

"Your apprentice has guts, Blazestar. I can see why you've chosen to mentor her. Though you might want to teach her to watch her tongue. It's going to lead her to trouble sooner or later," advised Sandybreeze.

"Yeah, Treeclan cat, shut your trap!" Piped the third cat, a fluffy white tom. He was smaller than the she-cats were. Moonpaw wondered if he had just been made an apprentice too. "Your clan's filled with nothing but deer ticks." The similarly sized black tom beside him hung his head with a slow shake.

"And your head is full of bees," Tigerpaw spat back in response. "Yknow, I wouldn't be surprised if you've got sand up your-"

"That's enough, Tigerpaw," Blazestar warned, holding his tail in front of her.

"We didn't come here to throw jabs at one another. Only to mark and show off the border," Leafheart chimed in. "We should be going now. I think to the Twoleg border next."

Blazestar nodded in agreement. "May the branches hold your weight, Sandybreeze, Silverdrop, and 'Paws."

"An' may Starclan light yer path," responded Silverdrop, turning her apprentices around. The white tom turned his head to look back at the Treeclan patrol. He stuck his tongue out at Tigerpaw then put it away, locking eyes with Moonpaw. His gaze shifted to one of intrigue, and Moonpaw felt curiosity rise up within herself as well. After another heatbeat she turned, following her clanmates to another part of the territory.

[hirazuki]

I’ve been awake since 3:45am (it is now 7:49pm) and I’m at that point of tiredness where everything feels surreal. 

... and I’m not even done with work yet T_T

[ikevamp-shrine]

“You make everyday an adventure Cara Mia, sleep well.”

Author: @ikevamp-shrine

Fandom: Ikemen vampire

Warnings: mentions of blood and puke

Word count: 1808

Character(s): Anna (MC), Leonardo, Arthur, Theo, Isaac

So you know those daydream fantasies you get while on the toilet... or something? Well this is one of those. Honestly I think it’s a little cringe 😂 but I couldn’t get it out of my head so yeah... welp enjoy.

                                                ~*~

“Cara?” 

Leonardo shifted from his orginal laying position to rest on his elbow at the sound of whimpering emmiting from his sleeping lover. She was sweating and shaking, her eyebrows furrowed in pain. 

“Cara mia?” Leonardo repeated while gently shaking her shoulder with his hands, concern written on his face.

“Anna!” Leonardo’s voice turned serious when she stopped breathing. The frantic girl shot up and furiously looked around the room until her gaze landed on Leonardo’s worried eyes. 

“Leo-,” Anna’s voice was interrupted when she felt the hurried burning of bile rising up in her throat. Shocking Leonardo, Anna threw the comforter off her throbbing body, planting her feet on the wooden floor attempting to make a mad dash to the toilet only to end up tripping, her world tilting before her eyes. Pain shot up her arms as the corner of random sharp nick knacks splayed across the room dug into her hands and forearms. The thin night dress she was wearing flowed out around her like wings fluttering through the air. Leonardo was at her side in less than a second as he helped her sit upright, shearching her dazed, pain filled eyes.

“Anna do not move- you’re bleeding.” 

It was only then at Leonardo’s words did she notice the wet drops of blood sliding down her arms onto the cluttered floor below. The sight of her own blood did nothing to help the sickening feeling quickly rising in her trembling body.

“Leo, I’m going to pu-” Anna gasped out when she was lifted off the ground and rushed out of the room and into the adjacent bathroom from the couple’s shared room. As soon as the toliet came into her view, it was like Anna’s body skipped the gagging process and went straight to puking her guts, barely having time to actually open the lid. Leonardo quickly grabbed his lover’s hair and wrapped it around his fist to keep it from being soiled by the horrid smelling puke. A chill racked its way through Anna’s trembling body as she gagged, groaned, and expelled her dinner that she could barely finish while eating that afternoon.

“Good girl... let it out baby. I’ll take care of you Cara so just let it out,” whispered Leonardo as his large calloused hands rubbed gentle circles on Anna’s back. His voice was calm and soothing, a lovely deep constrast to the ugly sounds of his lover’s actions.

“Leonardo,” Anna sobbed, “it hurts.”

“It will be okay Anna, you’ll be okay.” Leonardo didn’t know if he was telling her that for her reassurance or his own sanity. He had seen the way she acted during the day and he knew she was coming down with something, but she tried every trick in the book to convince him she was fine- that it was just allergies, so he let her have it. Her skin was pale- too pale, the entirety of the day, and she would shiver every so often as if moving made her sick. Leonardo had caught her a few times coughing as if trying to rid herself of a lung, and all he would do is glance at her with observing eyes only to be waved off.

Allergies she had said. God how horrible he felt at this moment that he hadn’t forced her to quit working and rest.

“Damn,” cursed Leonardo when Anna went limp in his arms suddenly, causing panic to rise in his chest even if his outward appearance remained calm. His silky greyish locks tickled Anna’s nose as he shifted her in his strong arms, lifting her from the cold tiled bathroom floor. The cotton clothing consisting of his normal everyday attire, he once more forgot to change before he passed out on the bed, rustled with each quick step Leonardo took towards the game room he had an inkling Arthur would be in at this time of night. Leonardo knew it was a risk to carry a bleeding Anna around a mansion of hungry male vampires, but leaving her alone would be even more dangerous. 

At least this way he was with her to protect her, Leonardo thought as he glanced down at his lover who groaned pitifully. The closer Leonardo came to the game room the louder the laughter and voices became until the voices stopped all together... probably from the scent of blood.

“...do you smell that?” 

The sight Leonardo walked into would before have made him laugh, but at this moment his anxiety was so high he didn’t think he could laugh for the next little while. Arthur and Theo were competing against each other in a game of chess the former would most definitely win, while Isaac’s head was sandwiched between Theo’s bicep and rib cage. Of course that all changed when Leonardo walked in with a still dripping blood and passed out human female in his arms.

Theo’s brows furrowed, his arm relseasing Isaac who tumbled to the floor, but the art seller made no other move from his seated position as if sensing the greater vampire’s growing worry. Isaac’s hand quickly shot to cover his nose and mouth, his face shifting into a grimance. He shot off the floor and just stood there as his peach colored eyes watched each slow drop of blood like a predator hunting his prey.

Leonardo’s smoky golden eyes shifted over to a quivering Isaac, who was quickly loosing his control on his own blood lust, when a low guttural growl slid past the pureblood’s lips slithering through the suddenly chilled air and slicing through the lesser vampires’ eardrums. The growl was terrifying, putting the whole room to a stand still. Arthur froze, Isaac froze, Theo froze. 

To hell with their father-son like relationship, Leonardo thought, if Isaac went after her he wouldn’t hesitate to throw their bond out the window and drag him down to the bowels of hell himself.

No one would be touching Anna without getting their head torn clean off. 

“My... ha, Leonardo that was quite scary, but I need you to put her down on the table and keep her steady while I look at her wound,” Arthur’s shaky voice broke Leonardo out of his stare down with Isaac causing the smaller male to bolt out of the room.

“She woke up, fell, and then puked,” Leonardo spoke smoothly as he watched Arthur slide the chess board off the table and onto the nearby couch, and continued speaking while laying the still unconscious human on the table, “she was acting strange yesterday, gagging, pale, shivering, breathing heavily at the smallest actions, coughing up a lung... all the signs of-.”

“Pneumonia,” Arthur interrupted lifting his head from Anna’s chest after listening to her breathing.

Theo tried to shuffle out the door undetected freezing when Arthur said, “Theo go get my medical bag- up on the shelf in my closet. Gods speed.”

After a few quiet moments of Leonardo stalking each action of Arthur, Theo stepped back in, laying the large bulky bag next to Arthur.

“Such a troublesome Hondjie she is,” Theo whispered walking back out of the room. The scent of blood was slightly getting to him and Theo in no way, shape, or form wanted to be on the receiving end of the pure blood’s blinding rage.

“High fever, struggling to breath, chills, vomiting,” Arthur mumbled on, “any allergies you know of?”

“She’s allergic to pineapple, but other than that she hasn’t told me of any,” Leonardo mumbled deeply.

“Hm, well how disappointing... now she might wake up from this so... don’t chew my head off.” Arthur's voice lessened in volume at the last part while he threaded a needle and placed it against her skin.

Leonardo’s jaw felt as if it was crack while watching Arthur stitch his lover’s wound up. She still slept but flinched at every new puncture of her skin. This was all his fault.

Soon enough the couple were back in Leonardo’s room, Anna sleeping deeply and peacefully- finally- bundled up in the thick blankets on Leonardo’s bed. The pureblood had dragged a chair beside the bedside to watch his lover’s chest rise and fall while changing the wet rag on her forehead. 

“Oh my love, how foolish I am,” Leonardo sighed, chuckling self depreciably, running a heavy calloused hand down his face. Leonardo’s fingers twitched with the need to hold a smoke between his digits. 

“...this is not your fault Da Vinci,” Anna grumbled out while slowly pushing herself up and tossing the rag into the cold bowl of water. 

“You have pneumonia Anna,” Leonardo gruffly spoke, leaving his hand on his forehead and glancing over his cheeks at the girl who was now sniffing her dress collar, a grimace on her features.

“Lord I smell of puke,” she whispered before glancing at Leonardo with a hopeful expression and joking, “you still love me correct?”

Leonardo couldn’t help but smirk at her question. 

“Always Cara Mia.”

“Well time to get up.”

“Are you insane?” Leonardo whispered as he watched the girl struggle to rid herself of the burrito like blankets, lightly pushing her back down the man couldn’t help but roll his eyes dramatically at the girl’s display of slight defiance and huff. 

“Stop pouting little lamb, you passed out and had to get stitches. You may move around as much as you shall please when you get better.”

“... whatever.” 

“Good girl.”

Anna sighed and attempted to bite her lover’s hand when he tried to ruffle her hair.

The couple slid into a comfortable silence, Leonardo grabbing the closest book to him and opening to the first page, Anna shifting to lay on her side to stare at her lover. The ticking of a clock, gentle rushing of the wind against the window, the distant purring of a cat, quiet flipping of pages all lulled Anna into a sleepy state. She could barely keep her eyes opened at the moment and the warmth of the blankets that seemed to seep into her bones did nothing to help.

Leonardo shifted his gaze, noticing his human was fighting sleep he began to read aloud. His deep, gravely voice weaved its way through the air, reverberating against the walls and tracing its way up Anna’s skin. 

“Sleep, Anna, I will be here beside you for every moment,” Leonardo whispered as he placed delicate lips against the crown of his lover’s head, breathing in their scent, causing a wave of calm and relaxation to crash over his large body. 

A soft hum sounded from the girl as the sweet scent of Leonardo finally pushed her over the edge, tumbling into the land of dreams.

The flipping of pages once more began as Leonardo sat back, resting his feet on a pile of who knows what. 

“You make everyday an adventure Cara Mia, sleep well.”

MASTERLIST

[pineaberry]

ESC: Lover’s Knot

ESC is a series of drabbles and ficlets that were really more like writing exercises created when inspiration struck. They’re labeled ESC because usually, they’re choices that I’d like to explore but immediately hit ‘Esc’ in-game before they’re set in stone. I also like to do little rabbit holes of character development for the Canon Storylines. To celebrate my 250th follower milestone... HAVE SOME AWKWARD CATS!

Feel free to reblog and let me know what you think! (Reading the tags fuels me. FEED THE AUTHOR!)

This fic is dedicated to @cinlat @kunoichi-ume and @sunsetofdoom for their beta-ing and world-building assistance.

Trooper Storyline Chapter 2 (Threats in the Darkness)

Setting: Immediately after the destruction of the Gauntlet. Elara Dorne was injured in the attack and has been transported to a Republic Hospital for her recovery, everyone else is off celebrating.

Location: Coruscant

Players: Sartem Roan (Cathar F!Republic Trooper), Aric Jorgan, Jonas Balkar

Relationship: They’re just friends, but mainly because Aric is so terrible at making the next move. It also doesn’t help that Sartem knows exactly ZERO about Cathar traditions.

Aric Jorgan hated Jonas Balkar.

He hated how the man’s cloying words seemed to reach out and taint the world around him twisting and taunting him to the point where JORGAN was the one who sounded unbalanced. He hated the familiarity and lack of respect the man showed whenever he addressed him. He hated the too-confident-for-his-own-good swagger in which he walked up to General Garza and simply acted as though rank didn’t affect him.

But most of all, he hated how the damn Spook’s flirting made his CO smile.

“Relax Jorgan, its banter. And besides, there’s no need to worry, you’ll get invited to the wedding. I’ll make you my best man,” Balkar teased and Jorgan answered with a feral snarl bordering on a roar that caused every patron in the cantina to flinch.

“Girls, girls, calm down, you’re both pretty,” Sartem said arriving just in time to save Balkar’s hide yet again.

“We’re supposed to be celebrating, Jorgan. It’s not every day we take down a superweapon,” the SIS agent grinned impishly.

“HAVOC took down the Gauntlet.”

“And I helped!” Jonas piped up undeterred by the obvious hostilities.

“Regardless, we all deserve a break,” Sartem interjected before taking a seat between the two.

“I was wondering if you’d stood us up! Congratulations, Major,” Jonas motioned to the bartender and the droid arrived with a bottle of chilled white wine.

“Coruscanti White, twenty years old, courtesy of an inattentive Senator who left their yacht docked at the Star Cluster Casino,” he winked as he unstoppered the bottle with a satisfying pop and poured Sartem a glass.

“Pre-sacking wine? Now that’s a treat,” she mused appreciatively. “I’m surprised you didn’t sell it instead. Bottle like this would easily get you at least 200k.”

“I’d never take less than half a mill,” Jonas scoffed, “but despite what you may have heard Major, my days of hocking pre-sacked finds are far behind me.”

“Mmm. This mean you don’t want the empty bottle back?” she asked as she tasted the pleasantly tang wine.

“Well… it would be a shame for such a pretty, easily refillable bottle to just end up tossed in the garbage disposal. Wouldn’t it?”

“Of course. And should said refilled bottle find itself back on the market...” Sartem smirked all too familiar with the typical Capital City con.

“Well then that’s just upcycling,” Balkar winked cheekily earning a bright laugh. Aric’s piercing green eyes narrowed but he remained quiet. He reminded himself he promised to be nice all the while nursing a tumbler of cheap local whiskey.

“Jorgan, care for a glass?”

“That’s a hard pass...” the Cathar growled.

“Oh come on, Aric, it’s not all that terrible,” Sartem said taking a sip.

“Ah don’t mind him. Can’t expect someone who spent half their life on some backwater like Ord Mantell to appreciate a good Coruscanti. I’m thinking beer, or whatever local moonshine is more up to his speed, eh? Hey droid, another shot of whatever paint stripper my buddy here is drinking!”

Jorgan’s grip tightened around his glass and he gritted his teeth to keep from slugging the sleazy grin off of the agent’s face. He was right, of course, even for a Cathar he was too blunt and awkward for polite society. Back home on Rendili it hadn't mattered and on Ord Mantell the most delicate thing he’d ever had to handle was the pin of a flash grenade. Growing up, his sisters had mocked his lack of finesse by implying the woman who mated him would have to be part-Rancor.

His brow furrowed as he stared at his drink.

Sartem was no Rancor.

But Sartem was no Cathar woman either. She was something else entirely. She was a charming woman from Coruscant who knew her way around a rifle and a diplomatic councilroom. She oozed charisma when she needed to, and at the same time, refused to betray her principles in the name of politics. She was clever, she was fair, she was brave, and gentle and kind…

“Balkar! You rat!”

She was laughing with the idiot whose only intent was to bed her. Aric scowled as he wished for the same ease of words Balkar had. Granted, he wasn’t an idiot, but having a brain filled to capacity with military strategy and tactics did little for his ability to wax poetic. Unlike the Spook, his strength was in actions not words.

Sartem chuckled and plucked off her gloves a finger at a time. It was rare for her to walk around without them, something he chalked up to minimizing callouses. Yet as she flexed her fingers he noted a wrongness to them. His brow furrowed as he absently grabbed her wrist and turned the full force of his glare on them. Her fingertips were wrong, modified. Her claws were dull. No, not dull, flat, almost human in appearance. And then it clicked. They had been removed and replaced with blunted, artificial caps. Someone had torn out her claws. Rage was the first thing to register followed by the intense desire to eviscerate the person responsible.

“Er… Aric?” her voice cut through the anger.

Vivid green eyes blinked and his throat went dry only then registering that he had been staring. He instantly released her wrist.

“Your claws… they’re,” he stammered for a polite way to say mutilated.

“Hm? Oh! Yeah. I had a habit of scratching up things as a kid. It was harmless, but as I got older it became a problem.”

Jonas cleared his throat before taking her hand in hers. “A shame, but it doesn’t detract from your loveliness...”

Aric felt ill. ‘It became a problem’ so they took care of it. Like an errant pet that ruined the furniture. They, no, not some anonymous face, the Republic decided to take it away. With no one to stand in their way, they took away her only means of defense. What did an old Twi’lek know about Cathar pride or heritage? What did any outsider care or understand about a kit’s behavior and the blatantly obvious signs of distress? It was easier to remove the source of irritation rather than mend the problem. What did they expect her to do? Cry like some bleating ape! It was easier to break off, and rend, and tear than to just…

Perhaps if Sartem was weaker, she would have cried for them. If they had broken her she would have sobbed. Maybe that would have pleased them.

How were such procedures still legal?!

Sartem was looking at him, as though gauging what had gone wrong. It happened more times than he cared to count. She took all of her cultural cues from him because- He gritted his teeth.

Because they took everything from her.

“Nothing’s the matter, right? Aric?”

Green eyes flickered to Balkar who was quite blatantly expecting him to say something. Expecting him to wave it all away as though it were normal to cut off pieces that were inconvenient. Such a narrow-minded, oblivious, humanistic point of view to have. Bile threatened to rise in his throat but he swallowed it down with the contents of his glass before standing to leave.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Thanks for the drink,” he managed to keep his voice below a sneer before he ran away.

No. Not ran away. Tactically retreated. She was looking at her hands before reaching for her gloves. He’d made her feel self-conscious and he cursed himself for it.

Balkar was prattling on about some sordid adventure on Nar Shaddaa before he’d reached the exit and he trusted the man would soon distract her from the scene he had caused.

Aric took the long way back to the ship but the anger refused to dissipate. The ship was empty, save for the protocol droid, allowing him to storm to his bunk without being intercepted. The restless energy bubbled inside him and he gave a loud snarl before taking out his anger on a practice dummy Dorne had set up.

At times he resented her ignorance. He resented the fact that, despite her appearance, she was something so uniquely non-Cathar. She had more in common with Balkar than with him, but resentment was a selfish emotion. If he cared to delve into it, he simply detested having to explain the galaxy’s prejudices to her. He didn’t want to look into Sartem’s large blue eyes and explain how the Republic had failed her. Again. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in them when he explained that the same people who deserted her would reject her. He didn’t want her to know how so many would judge her for what was taken. He didn’t want to explain why some would think less of her; treat her as less. The scorn, the humiliation… he wanted to keep it from her all the while he knowing it would have to come from him. Another Cathar wouldn’t be bothered with her and would certainly be less understanding, less forgiving, and simply less kind about it.

A well placed slash broke the stand and it toppled over crashing onto a crate. He stood panting as his own claws lay trapped in his gauntlets preventing him from causing any real damage. He tore off the gauntlets and threw them aside as though disgusted by them. The rage had faded away leaving him with regret.

Sartem deserved better.

Instead, she was stuck with him, and he’d left her alone with Balkar.

He slouched into his bunk sorely wishing he’d drunk more than just a tumbler of whiskey in order to drown out his feelings of defeat. Idly he pulled out a velvet pouch tucked away in his pillowcase. He tipped it onto his hand and a piece of opalized wood rolled out. It was another failure materialized.

As custom dictated he’d picked out his stone when he came of age. The chocolate brown fossilized wood was riddled with cracks and seams of glittering opal filled the gaps. His sisters had hidden their smiles when he showed them. Opalized wood was too brittle, too soft. Once polished, it would scratch at the slightest graze of a claw. Others had chosen more sensibly. Garnets, amethysts, quartz crystals, and citrines were durable. These could be cut into sparkling gems that caught the light and burned with cold fire. Agates and jaspers were equally tough and easily fashioned into intricate carved cameos. These displayed skill and tenacity, but an opal? They were soft as sand, infinitely finicky to fit, and required a lifetime of maintenance. He could have done no worse if he’d just picked out a river pearl and declared himself a eunuch.

His father had provided little comfort other than to keep his opinion to himself. His mother had been more charitable, stating whoever Aric chose would find the stone perfect. Yet another foolish thought. Cathar men didn’t choose, they were chosen, though the gods knew he’d tried.

Naadia was his first, novice attempt at love. For a while, she encouraged his advances. She was calm and level-headed. He’d thought they made a good match. She took his gruffness with good humor and he entertained the thought of something more. Just as soon as he’d worked up the nerve to make his move, another rival with ‘better people skills’ began lavishing her with attention. Open displays of affection had never been his forte and never would be. She made up her mind rather quickly after that.

Sisa was lovely. It was one of the few times he’d fallen for someone at first glance, well him and several others. When he approached her, she demanded to see a sample of his handiwork, but his clumsy attempts at jewelry weaving left much to be desired. He could break down and reassemble his rifle blindfolded and upside down with an arm tied behind his back, but the infinitely delicate strands of wiring ended up tangled and bent by his fingertips. After weeks of crafting he presented her with a lover’s knot. His best attempt out of the eighty. Despite it all, she took the poor craftsmanship as an insult and refused him. He couldn’t bring himself to blame her.

And then there was Tae-Lyn…

His fingers curled around the stone.

For a long time he had thought her to be his last chance; the last train leaving the station. His love for her hadn’t been borne out naive foolishness like Naadia or fleeting passion like Sisa. Tae-Lyn was special. She was that rare mixture of woman that was both impulsive and patient, she was also notoriously difficult to please. Most Cathar were mated at her age… well, their age. Their courtship had been discreet and surprisingly intimate. Tae-Lyn was the only one to be offered his stone, but by that time Jorgan’s career kept monopolizing his attention. Serving with the Deadeyes meant more and more of their interactions were via holo. Still, he remained faithful to her promising he would take a promotion as soon as it became available; promising that he would make it all up to her if she could only wait. Wait another year, wait another season, wait another month... When a post opened up on Ord Mantell he took it. Despite it all, Aric never got the chance to tell her. The next day after his promotion was made official, he received a package containing his opal and a note he only half-read.

Aric didn’t need her excuses or apologies to confirm what he already knew: He’d made her wait too long.

And yet, rather than toss away the stone and be done with it, he’d kept it. For all his grandstanding about not being interested in such frivolous things, he’d never gone through with throwing away the damned thing. His fingers gripped the smooth polished stone tightly.

What was he hoping for anyway? If he was being honest with himself, what did he have to offer?

A lifetime of single-minded dedication to the republic military had left him bereft of anything that would appeal to a potential mate. He had no home or land to call his own, no social status,  no real connections within the clan. He supposed there was his pension, but those were funds intended for the final stretch of his lifetime, not the beginnings of a family.

And still, staring at his reflection upon the glass smooth surface of the opal, Aric knew Sartem wouldn’t care about those things. The way she smiled, how she looked at him, she wouldn’t care if all he had was the armor on his back. Perhaps, if he hadn’t been so quick to abandon her side she would have chosen to spend the night with him instead of that smug idiot.

He stood and walked up to his tool box shuffling the contents a bit before pulling out a spool of magnet wire from his detonator kit. Aric then sat at his workbench, painstakingly, stripping the thin coating of varnish from the wire until the bright copper core was exposed. He hesitated as he stared at the spindly metal strand as though it were mocking him, before setting the stone down and measuring it. His fingers were as clumsy as he recalled. His claws snagged on the soft metal nicking and bending it in unflattering angles.

Aric growled in frustration and dropped the piece before leaning back and running his hand over his face. He took a deep breath before staring at the ceiling. How many years had it been? And he was still blindly stumbling through this. His skill was no better than it had been with Naadia. A lover’s knot was meant to be unique; a representation of everything a male adored about his mate. No two were ever alike.

Emerald green eyes blinked as the thought clicked into place.

Sartem wasn’t Naadia. She wasn’t Sisa. She wasn’t Tae-Lyn.

He sat up and tossed the mangled scrap of wire aside before cutting a new length. Bringing out his detonator kit he turned the wire into coils and the coils into knots. He worked efficiently, forgoing the traditional twists and weaving patterns and instead building the piece like he would a detonite charge circuit. At long last finding his rhythm, he spun the lattice around the opal until it was snugly encased into a pendant. He paused to analyze his workmanship and realized it looked nothing like an engagement piece was supposed to look like. It was too plain to be a proper Cathar gift, but he noted there were no dents or scratches on the wire. The coiling was deceptively simple in appearance, but Sartem would recognize the intricate configurations mimicking the circuitry diagrams in the detonation handbook. She would appreciate the sort of skill it would take to make the stable loops and connections out of a single piece of wiring. She would know that it would take decades of practice to make the curls uniform and the bonded connections invisible to the naked eye. It was perhaps the best work he had ever done.

There was a hiss as the ship’s door opened and Cee-Too gave a cheerful greeting. He stashed the stone in his pocket and reached for his rifle before masterfully dismantling upon the table so it appeared as though he were in the middle of repairs. He knew it was her from the sound of her footsteps and he kept his gaze focused on the table. If he was lucky perhaps she would ignore him and go straight to her quarters.

“You know, one of these days I’ll get you to actually have some fun, Jorgan,” her voice echoed through the barracks and he detected a subsonic purr that meant she wasn’t upset with him. He ventured a glance and saw she was leaning against the doorway smirking.

“Can’t say I’m familiar with the concept, sir,” he drawled sarcastically but tensed as she walked up and took a seat next to him on the bench. Her pupils were dilated as she looked at him. The curl of her lip meant she was amused. She smelled faintly of that expensive Corellian wine and blueblossom soap.

The pendant burned a hole in his pocket at the sight of her.

“That wasn’t why you stormed out though, was it?” she asked leaning casually against him and his gaze kept flickering from the table and back to her as though unsure where to keep his gaze.

“I… that was rude. I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Does it bother you that I don’t have claws?” And there was the question. Direct and blunt like a bolt between his eyes. The silence dragged on and he knew she expected an answer.

“The Cathar value strength. It’s everywhere in our culture. Claws and teeth are symbols of a person’s- of a Cathar’s strength.”

“Do you think I’m weak, Aric?”

“No,” he answered without hesitation, “I know you’re not. It’s just... There is the expectation, the notion that a Cathar without claws has suffered a severe humiliation and I-”

“Does it bother you that I don’t have claws?” she repeated with her typical infinite patience.

“How can it not?” he snarled as Sartem pressed the issue, “Every day I see how much they took from you, how they used you, how they hurt you and I can’t protect you from any of it! You should hate them for hurting you, you should hate us for abandoning you, you should hate me...”

He then felt her bare hand rest over his and it stopped his angry tirade. His brow furrowed as he looked down at her fingers smoothing over his fur in a soothing motion.

“It brought me to you, didn’t it?”

He was rendered mute by her words unable to formulate an argument against them. She was touching him, willingly. His pulse raced as she crept closer and snuggled against him. Was this how it felt to be chosen? No arduous struggle; no harrowing attempts to read her mind; they simply existed naturally. He reached out and held her hand before looking into her deep blue eyes and feeling a connection between them.

“Was it worth it, sir?” he rumbled.

“I’ve managed to meet the most interesting people,” she mused, “Dorne, Yuun, Vik...”

“Balkar,” he growled unable to hide how a spike of jealousy coursed through his veins. “Even got a proposal out of him.”

“Do you really think he has a chance,” she countered with a wry grin.

“I didn’t see you turn him down-mph!”

His griping was cut off when she leaned forward and kissed him. The doubt and shadowed thoughts faded away as she slipped into his arms easily. Aric’s heart swelled as her scent and touch filled his senses. It was part male instinct, part lovesick idiocy, but he never wanted it to let go. The kiss ended all too soon but he gave her a dazed smile.

“Does that answer your question?” she asked.

“You… wanna run that by me again?” he asked cheekily.

Sartem gave a soft laugh before rubbing her cheek against his and once again disconnecting his brain. His claws had extended as he fumbled at the clasps of her armor and she… sweet gods was she purring? He groaned as he felt the soft vibrations. She was going to kill him.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would give the pendant an acid dip and give the copper a dark patina. Tomorrow he would wrap it in velvet and place it in a cortosis bit case. Tomorrow he would give her his stone.

Sartem wouldn’t know what it meant to him. She wouldn’t understand how harrowing its rejection could be, but Aric realized it didn’t matter. Customs, belief systems, traditions, they were just a means to categorize emotion. After all what else could he do? It’s not like he could back down now. It was too late. She’d already stolen away his heart.

For all the curious out there, this is what Aric’s opalized wood stone looks like:

[hazkiwislutt]

photograph: in sadness (part 1)

warnings: alcohol & swearing & mentions of death!

Harry and Y/N had been friends for nine months now. A friendly lunch date after a morning of spilled coffee had turned into late dinners that turned into early breakfasts, that turned into movie nights, that turned into picnics in the park and trips to the local shelter, and suddenly Harry found that Y/N had cemented her place into his life. 

Everything about her was so lovely, from the way she would give him cuddles during the movie, Coraline (which was Y/N’s absolute favorite, but Harry absolutely hated the Beldam; she gave him the creeps), to the way she would jokingly pretend to spill his coffee on him every time she made him a cup when he came over and she would read to him. 

Y/N lived about two hours away from Harry, but after nine months, Harry found that the enjoyment that her company gave him was more than enough compensation for the drive down to her apartment. He knew that her university schedule was incredibly hectic, so he took it upon himself to commute to her. She was more than worth it, and Harry... well, Harry had never had anyone like her in his life, and maybe because he never had anyone as effortlessly lovely as Y/N in his life, his “friendly” feelings had suddenly turned a little less friendly, and a little more... loving. 

And now, as he was en route to her house for a weekend full of cuddles, cooking, and cats (from the local shelter), Harry realized just how non-friendly his feelings for Y/N actually were. 

How every time she woke up (she was the only person Harry had ever met that woke up earlier than he did) and pried herself from his morning cuddle, he would find himself groaning in complaint because he’d just wanted to hold her for “five mo’ minutes, Bambi.” How every time she’d throw open the door to her small apartment, she’d beam happily and Harry had to fight the urge to not kiss her entire face on the spot because the fairy lights that decorated her apartment were reflecting off eyes that held the world in them. How every time he’d drive down to her apartment, he’d find himself so desperate to see her that he’d still be going twenty over the speed limit as soon as he reached the busy area that she lived in (although whenever he passed the elementary school by her apartment building, he’d always take care to slow down to ten, even if it was the weekend, children could be playing around that area). 

As Harry’s mind was captivated by the beautiful idea of Y/N, he realized she hadn’t responded to his text from last night, and that he’d just assumed that they would uphold their weekend tradition. Come to think of it, Harry realized she hadn’t responded to his texts all of yesterday. He’d had such a busy day with meetings and people trying to get a piece of him, left and right, and- 

And now Harry was speeding for a different reason, because he’d wanted to see Y/N, but now he wanted to see Y/N and make sure she was alright. Mentally, he cursed himself for being so busy that he hadn’t realized she wasn’t responding to him. Careless, careless, careless. How could he be so careless with a girl as precious as her? 

Screeching to a stop in front of her building, Harry parked as best as he could in ten seconds and fumbled to get out of his car, nearly slamming it into a passing truck in his haste to see her. He burst into her building, not bothering to wait for the lift as he briskly walked for the stairs and began scaling them two at a time. 

And finally, he was in front of her door, scrambling to get the key she had given him out of his pocket, shakily unlocking the door because he needed to know she was okay... But as he stepped into her apartment, the silence he was met with slowly began to make him doubt that statement. 

“Bambi? Are y’in here? Haven’t answered any of my messages and ‘ve jus’ been so worried...” Harry began walking into her apartment, noting that she wasn’t in the living room, nor the kitchen. He walked into her bedroom, which was empty as well, meaning that she was either on the balcony or in the bathroom. 

Harry walked quickly out of her bedroom, headed straight for the bathroom because at least if she wasn’t in there, he could throw up from all the worry he had toiling in the pit of his stomach. He threw open the door of her bathroom, and oh, Harry had never been so relieved but so afraid in his life. 

Y/N lay against her bathtub, filled with multiple empty bottles of alcohol, in nothing but flannel shorts and a large UC Berkeley t-shirt, stained around the neckline with throw-up and sweat. Her eyes were closed, her face was gaunt, and Harry was terrified at this sight. He threw himself down on the ground next to her, noting that she was still breathing but unresponsive, and shook her shoulders lightly. 

“Bambi, oh m’god, wha’ the fuck happened? Why did yeh-shit, wha’ th’ fuck do I do? How long ‘ve yeh been... Bambi, wake up please. Please, wake up!” 

Harry was desperate, shaking her as gently but as urgently as he could, hoping she would cough, or open her eyes, or twitch. He even wished she’d throw up on him, if it meant she’d be moving. And Harry got what he wished for, because after a particularly harsh shake of the shoulders, Y/N’s normally alert eyes fluttered open droopily and a cough racked her body before her small figure heaved, and she threw up. Harry gasped, crushing her to his figure despite the putrid combination of stomach bile and alcohol that covered both of them. 

“Bambi, god, oh m’god. Yeh’re here! Yeh’re here, yeh’re okay, gonna be okay...” Harry quickly stood up, grabbing the alcohol bottles out of the tub and laying them on the floor. He picked up Y/N, who was curled into herself, and placed her inside, turning on warm water and gently peeling off her shirt and her shorts so she could be rinsed off. Y/N’s eyes kept fluttering shut and her breathing was shaky, but she reached a hand out to touch Harry. 

“Hurts, ‘arry... t’hurts..” she whimpered, and he got down on his knees to rub shampoo in her hair and soap her. 

“Know it does, Bambi, but s’okay. M’gonna take care of you, okay?” He murmured, being as careful as he could with her. After her bath, he swaddled Y/N in towels and carried her to her bed, picking out pajamas that would be comfortable for her before changing her into them. 

He laid her down in her bed and tucked her in, and went to grab her water and bread. When he returned, Y/N was having a hard time keeping her eyes open but she tried to smile at him as he approached her. He sat her up, giving her water, which she downed slowly, and watching her slowly munch on the bread he brought. His heart was aching and his head was filled with questions, but he wanted her to rest before he asked her what happened. Harry’s train of thought was interrupted by Y/N placing her hands on his cheeks. He held them there, trying to smile for her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, before drifting off to sleep. 

... 

Harry was sat on the edge of Y/N’s bed, processing what had happened and trying to make sense of it. He sat there, tense, breathing harshly. He’d fallen asleep with Y/N, happily wrapped in blankets as he held her but woke up to go to the bathroom, where he was met with empty alcohol bottles and Y/N’s stained clothes, giving him a reminder of the event that had taken place. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t realize that she had woken up as well, watching him with concern. 

“M’sorry,” she croaked tiredly, causing Harry to whip his head around and pin her with his gaze, “I’m sorry, for not answering your texts, and throwing up on you, and for doing something stupid like that. I’m sorry I scared you, and I just-oh!” Harry had tackled her, smothering her with all six feet of his lanky body. He gripped her tightly, like she would fall through his fingers. 

“Don’ do tha’ again t’me, ever. Please.” Harry’s voice broke, and Y/N’s eyes watered. “Wha’... wha’ happened, Bambi?” 

Y/N’s body went rigid under Harry’s, and he pulled back from the sudden change in her behavior. He stared at her face, while Y/N tried to compose herself. She knew he’d ask that question, that he’d want to know what happened, not because Harry was nosy but because he cared. And if he cared, then she could let him know what happened, right? She could be vulnerable with Harry? Harry, who didn’t care that she spilled coffee on a shirt that cost half of what Y/N paid for rent, who drove two hours every weekend to take spontaneous trips to different places or stay in to watch Netflix. Harry, who was now a part of her life. Harry, who she had developed more-than-friendly feelings for. She could definitely be vulnerable with Harry.

“I told you I’m the oldest of five. I’ve got two sisters and two brothers... But I guess you’re wondering why I’ve only got pictures of one brother around my apartment.” Harry pondered her statement, realizing that yes, it was true that Y/N had so many pictures of her younger sisters, and many pictures of one of her brothers. But that was it, only one brother. 

She continued, “When I was four years old, I had my first baby brother. And like, I was young, so I don’t remember a lot about him. I just remember the night he was born, the day he died, and the funeral.” Harry sucked in a breath, and Y/N let out a shaky sigh. He gripped her hands, looking at her stony face and tearing eyes. 

“He died from SIDS when he was four months old. I know that doesn’t sound significant, if I don’t remember him and he was just a baby, but... As I got older, I wanted to know more about him, ‘cause someone could tell me at least one story about him, right? But no one could, ‘cause no one really had any stories about him. It drives me insane, that I had a baby brother I know nothing about, basically, but if he’d lived, my life would have been so different, and I always think hard about it.. and I just, today’s his birthday. He’s two years younger than me, so he would’ve been twenty, and I don’t know, I just got so sad yesterday and so I.. you know.” Y/N’s eyes flickered downward, and Harry saw tears pattering onto her blankets. 

“I told you a few months ago that I only take pictures of people I love, that are so special to me. I only take their picture when six core emotions shine through, so I can remember them and I don’t have to scrounge around for information about them, like I had to do with my brother, if anyone else I love leaves the way my brother did..” 

Harry couldn’t swallow properly, and his breathing was shallow. He hadn’t known Y/N kept this all bottled up from him, and the story itself broke his heart. But Harry’s heart shattered with the way that Y/N’s eyes, always so full of life, looked in the fading light of her room, so broken up and full of longing. 

“I didn’t know tha’. M’so sorry, Bambi.” Harry’s voice was tight with emotion, and Y/N finally faced him, piercing him with her gaze full of wonder and painful longing. He looked away, saddened by the story and how it affected this precious girl. 

Y/N cocked her head to the side, before reaching over to her bedside table. Harry was so lost in thought, he didn’t see her close her small hand around the strap of her camera, watching her as she brought the it toward her. 

“Harry,” she said quietly, aiming the camera at him. He looked up to her slowly, and she took the photo, the sadness etched into the lines in his face like stone. She set the camera aside, holding out her arms as Harry collapsed into them, burying his face into her neck, not processing that she had started the series of photographs dedicated to him, someone she loved, someone she never wanted to forget. 

[samingtonwilson]

Relationship Tutor: (4) Social Psychology

relationship tutor masterlist

Summary: College AU. Bucky, a relationship novice, asks for your help in dating your friend. Unable to say no to him, you agree despite everyone and everything telling you not to.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: language, alcohol 

A/N: sometimes when i write these author’s notes i picture my voice coming across like how the adults sound in peanuts cartoons. look how pretty he is in that gif. also, this is one of my favorite parts by FAR.

Two hours into the party, you found yourself seated atop the kitchen counter pouring a good amount of gin into yet another sixteen-ounce bottle of pressed juice— this odd mixture of pineapple, apple, cucumber, celery, lemon, and Bombay Sapphire becoming your fifth drink in total.

It wasn’t that you prefered natural pressed juice to the sugary goodness that came from the supermarket-brand artificial excuse for fruit juice, it was a sorry attempt at redemption in the name of health. Sure, you were drowning your liver in more gin than necessary by any means— but you were mixing it with juice loaded in vitamins and minerals! Plus, the gin was brand-named— so you felt expensive while taking down sip after sip.

You swung your legs and leant the back of your head against a high cabinet, humming along to whatever song Sam’s playlist skipped to. Just as your eyes were beginning to slip shut, you heard your name being called loudly and snapped up straight with your eyes wide. “What? Who died?”

“Thankfully, no one,” Steve replied, grinning at you with an intensity that narrowed his baby blue eyes. “But the night is young and at least three cases of alcohol poisoning are imminent.”

“Wonderful,” you mumbled dryly. “The landlord will love that.”

He snorted and stood beside you so he could pick up a bottle of beer, popping the cap off as if it was the simplest task. “I’m guessing Wilson didn’t ask for your permission before throwing this little shindig.”

“When it comes to throwing parties, he never asks permission, only forgiveness.”

“S’poetic.”

“Thanks, I’m a big Langston Hughes fan and only want to do him proud.”

Another snort with an added roll of his eyes and Steve laughed. “There a reason you’re in here?”

“There are several reasons, actually.”

He waved his hand in an indication to proceed. “Do tell.”

You held up your index finger. “For one, the gin is in here.”

Steve’s lips fell into a frown of consideration and he briefly glanced at the kitchen’s entryway when Bucky walked in with a loud laugh leftover from his shouted conversation with Sam.

You smiled at Bucky briefly and looked at Steve once more to continue, holding up a second finger. “Two, food’s accessible in case I get hungry.” You held up a third finger. “And three, Tony’s in there.”

“Tony?” Bucky repeated questioningly, lifting a single dark eyebrow as he dumped an unnecessarily large amount of Jack Daniels into a stereotypical red Solo cup already filled halfway with Coca Cola. “That the Richie Rich grad student you hooked up with last year?”

“Last week is more like it,” Steve muttered into his bottle as he took a sip, wincing when you smacked his chest without much force. “What?”

You narrowed your eyes, pointedly looking away from Bucky as he stared at you. “How do you know about that, Rogers?”

“Your roommate is more loose-lipped than you think.”

“I’ll sew those lips shut,” you threatened emptily, frowning. “But, yes, Tony is the filthy rich grad student I hooked up with— and continue to hook-up with periodically. I haven’t replied to any of his texts and have been avoiding him like the plague but Sam’s got this ridiculous crush on him probably motivated by his net worth.”

Bucky snorted. “The guy’s a tool. Keep avoiding him.”

“He’s a good lay, though. He does this thing with his hips—”

“Jesus, Y/N.”

You smiled innocently and shrugged, bringing your juice bottle to your lips. “Whoops.”

Steve spoke to the two of you for only a few more minutes, pulled into the living room by Sam and Clint, a friend of theirs. He left you and Bucky in the kitchen alone, a few straggling party-goers filtering through just to refill their drinks.

Bucky held his hand out to retrieve your bottle from you, grimacing exaggeratedly upon taking an experimental sip. “What the hell is that?”

“Gin and pressed juice,” you replied, laughing and catching the bottle when he threw it back to you. “I needed some sort of concession in the name of health.”

He smirked and shook his head once in amusement. “You could just not drink.”

“You could just shut the hell up, yet here you are.”

He sighed heavily. “The love in this friendship is almost palpable, isn’t it?”

You laughed openly and covered your lips with your hand to muffle any sort of unflattering snorts or hiccups that might slip through, alcohol spiking your whooshing blood almost overwhelmingly.

He joined you in laughing and set a hand on your knee, the warmth of which managed to seep through your jeans and practically ignite over your skin.

You placed your elbow on his shoulder, looking away from the eyes that shined into yours to glance over the crowd of people cheering and jumping when the song changed. “God, I’m never getting my deposit back.”

“You kissed that thing goodbye the instant Wilson moved in.”

“S’what I get for helping a friend in need,” you said with a click of your tongue. “Kindness never pays. I’m almost certain this whole thing I’m doing for you with Natasha is gonna bite me in the ass soon enough.”

“I’d rather have that biting you in the ass than Tony fuckin’ Stark.”

“How’d you know he did that?” you asked, bursting into laughter the moment Bucky’s features twisted in disgust.

After a few seconds you found it difficult to breathe through the laughter, Bucky’s disgust and the gin coursing through you doing you no favors. Eventually, though, he began to laugh as well, slate blue gaze unwaveringly on you and hands still warm against your jeans.

It took the clicking of boots flowing over the music to tear your eyes from him, your smile faltering and growing tight at the sight of Natasha.

You cleared your throat and took your arm from Bucky’s shoulder, setting your bottle aside so you could gesture dramatically towards Natasha. “Nat’s here!”

“How low’s your tolerance, babe?”

You tilted your head. “Honestly, pretty damn low. You look beautiful as usual. It’s annoying.”

Natasha’s smile shifted into a smirk, her fingers tucking a wayward red curl behind her ear. She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked you over. “How do you think I feel whenever I look at you?”

You frowned and lifted an eyebrow, visibly impressed. “Damn, I might just date you myself.”

She shrugged a shoulder, smiling politely at Bucky and grabbing her own red cup. “All you have to do is ask.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You were taking a sip when Bucky nudged your ribs with his elbow, the alcohol hitching in your throat so you coughed and sputtered. “What?” you whisper-yelled, glaring at him.

He motioned to Natasha with his eyes pointedly, lifting his eyebrows each time he did so.

You nodded with a thumb’s-up and winked before calling out, “Nat!”

She jumped at your volume, laughing to herself as she screwed the cap back onto a bottle of Bacardi. “Y/N!”

“How’ve you been lately? You been good?”

She nodded slowly, smiling as she did so. “Not much has changed since we saw each other yesterday. How about you? Have you been well?”

“Oh, Miss Grammar over here,” you murmured into your bottle almost inaudibly, not answering her question in the least. “I heard Wanda’s cat got into your laundry again.”

“Wanda tell you that?” she asked, sighing when you nodded in confirmation. “That damn cat tore my favorite sweater to shreds and all my leggings are covered in hair.”

“Wanda is Natasha’s roommate,” you told Bucky, narrowing your eyes at him. “Her cat is this overweight, angry grey lump— kinda like the one you said your sister has.”

He scowled at the cat’s mentioning. “Fuck that cat, dude. I can’t wear black around that thing.”

“I can’t sit on the couch in peace!” Natasha complained, laughing when Bucky nodded vigorously in agreement. “I get up and all of my clothes are loaded.”

“Does the bastard scratch?”

She hummed, taking a long sip of her drink. “It thinks my legs are a scratching post.”

You reached into your pocket and busied yourself with your phone, organizing your apps and re-organizing them in a slightly successful attempt to block out Natasha and Bucky’s voices. You opened your text messages and scrolled through the myriad of unread messages, giving them all a light read, prior to finally opening the thread you had with Tony.

You couldn’t help your flattered smile when you counted the amount of messages he’d sent in an attempt to get together again, setting your bottle down beside you and squishing your bottom lip together between your index finger and thumb.

You kicked your legs absentmindedly as you typed a reply, releasing your lip only to bite down on it.

After what felt like milliseconds, you almost screamed out in frustration when the phone was snatched from your hands. “What the fuck?”

“Stop texting that tool, Y/N,” Bucky told you, glaring as he clicked the lock button on your phone and stuffed it into his own back pocket. “You can have that back when you know how to behave.”

“Good call,” Natasha complimented, the glint in her green eyes as she looked at Bucky making the heated blood in your body verge on boiling.

“I wasn’t texting anyone!”

He scoffed. “I know the face you make when sending out for a booty call.”

“First of all, don’t you ever say the words ‘booty call’ to me ever again.”

“Noted.”

“Secondly, I can send out for whatever I want! I’m single and cute. Back me up, Nat.”

She shook her head. “I’m with Barnes on this one.”

You mouthed Barnes to yourself and worked hard to keep the bile rising in your throat down.

“You are single and you’re much more than cute,” she continued. “But you can do better than someone you’ve been avoiding and only find appealing when drunk.”

“How d’you know I’m avoiding him?”

Bucky raised his hand. “It came up.”

“I came up? My sex life came up?”

Natasha smiled with a shake of her head and excused herself to use the bathroom, your eyes narrowing into the iciest glare you could muster the moment she was out of the kitchen and your fist ineffectually pounded against Bucky’s arm.

“Why were you talking about me?” you demanded between punches. “When I said common interests, I meant tennis or eighties music!”

He placed his cup atop the counter and took your fist in his warm hands, trying to hold you still. Grey-blue eyes bore into yours and his parted lips were so, so close to yours. “Stop.”

“Well, don’t talk about me.”

His long fingers wrapped around the circumference of your wrist and his other hand clasped your palm as if he was going to be arm wrestling you. “You were right here, it’s not like we were talking behind your back.”

“Still! You couldn’t have talked about something you both like? Something like a favorite writer, or musician, or artist. Why me?”

“We both like you,” he shrugged. “Liking you is something we have in common— talking about you came easily.”

You stared at him wordlessly, your eyebrows together as you traced his features with a soft gaze. It seemed to have a sobering effect on you.

His lips twisted up into a smile and he nodded upwards. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “‘Sides, we got tired of talking about cats, and transferring here, and that one art museum you dragged me to.”

“You love that museum more than I do.”

“Yeah, but I only ever went because you dragged me there.”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips as well, averting your gaze to watch as a girl dressed in burgundy leather leggings rummaged through your refrigerator.

Once she managed to find a bottle of water and stumbled back to the louder portion of the party, you lifted your hand to ruffle Bucky’s hair. “You establish common interests with her? Maybe some common friends aside from me?”

It took him a moment to respond, an adoring and indulgent gaze fixed on you until his fingers released you and he clutched his cup instead. “Common interests, yes.”

“There enough there for at least a degree of mutual understanding?”

He half-shrugged. “Maybe. S’hard to process all the information in this context with such little time.”

“Keep talking to her over the next few days then. She’s here enough, just find some way to bring up things you both like or hate.”

“She said she’s big believer in existing in silence,” he added, clearing his throat before polishing off his drink. “Like, just being around someone else, without talking and filling every silence, is enough to alleviate loneliness. Also said you taught her that term and the importance of the concept.”

“I am an excellent spiritual guide, James,” you joked, snorting when he delicately nudged you with his elbow. “I’m glad the two of you seem to have a connection.”

You were surprised at the ease with which the sentence left your lips. Not because you were shocked at your ability to lie, but because you were shocked at how much the revelation was the truth.

You wanted Natasha to like Bucky back. Though it made you a bit jealous and the rhythm behind your ribs had changed when Natasha affectionately called him by his last name, you genuinely wanted her to see Bucky the way he saw her.

Maybe it was because you liked the idea of two of your friends being happy together, maybe it was because you liked the idea of a friend getting to be with someone she liked. Or maybe it was the twisted comfort you felt at the thought that the guy who was your leather jacket, your object of affection, could be cared for just as well by someone else— someone he wanted.

He deserved that. He deserved to be wanted by someone he wanted, someone he saw in that light rather than by someone who was too timid, too unsure, too frightened to just admit their own feelings.

You’d justified your fear over the last year by telling yourself it made sense to prioritize friendship. Friendship was more permanent and peaceful, whereas love and its counterparts were rooted in passion and chaotic uncertainty. You had nothing to fear in friendship and the aching contents of your chest to lose in love.

He smiled and nodded. “Me, too.”

After a few seconds of a comfortable silence, he added, “You didn’t tell me she’s a dance major. And a literal ballerina.”

“I didn’t want you babbling about pirouettes like they mean anything to you other than those long rolled up cookies filled with chocolate.”

“Crack those suckers in half, toss ‘em in a bowl with some milk, and they’re also a breakfast cereal.”

You scowled. “Please leave my apartment.”

PART 5: INTRODUCTION TO HONESTY

TAGLIST, if you’re crossed off your tag isn’t working! (send me an ask to be added): @sweetstilesofmine@dugan365 @lowkeysebby @eufeme @marveling-at-marvel@anyakinamidala@spookyscaryscully @doublestufthoreo @feelmyroarrrr @sarahp879 @spidey-linquentimagines @mackenziesmarvelousgalaxy @aholland01 @lostinspace33@clairedycat1810@softwhispers @apolleo @sebstancial @buckylovelybarnes @chrys-1029 @sheddingpounds @brooke-supernatural16 @seargantbcky @someonekindalikeyou@marvel-trash07 @chuckennuggets1213 @captainmisfit13 @ailynalonso15@lilypalmer1987 @nasasoldier @snuggleducky @areyousirius  @acebabe @melswolf19@vandread1989 @e-g-b-o-k @iamzion-therealhabesha @fancybasementpersona @alemer88 @hercrazyfandomobsession @ohmybuckybarnes @sarahp879 @lovely-geek @void-imaginations @mad-girl-without-a-box @stomachfilledwithbutterflies @joulien @followeroonieclassic @tomdarlingholland @rebelfuckingblack @bakerstgirl @starkxpotts

[overwatchworks]

Jesse McCree’s the Name:

McCree head-canon Part 2. Warnings for language, torture, gore, and violence. Please read with caution.

(Italics are used for when they speak Spanish)

Jesse was standing outside a door in an old, musty, rundown warehouse, trying not to listen to the sounds of fists hitting flesh and bones snapping in the other room. They had caught a squealer that was selling Deadlock out to one of their rival gangs, Los Muertos, and there were three members currently beating the crap out of the unlucky traitor. Jesse sighed and leaned his head back against the cold concrete walls, not really needing to keep an eye out here for much, lazily looking over the bits and pieces of omnic parts laying about.

“Oi! McCree! Get in here!” Someone yelled, and Jesse jolted, opening the door warily and wrinkling his nose against the thick smell of blood and sweat permeating the room. He stared at the woman in the chair, eyes fixed on the blood dripping in a steady stream from her busted lips down to her exposed chest, and he grimaced.

“What?”

“She’s sayin’ somethin’, and we can’t understand her. Speakin’ Spanish or some shit.” One of the dumber gangsters told him, pulling the woman’s hair back and forcing her to look up. He was met with a glare that turned into mild surprise when seeing Jesse’s face, a look he normally got when people saw that he was just some kid. He gazed back down at her, smart enough to stay back far enough from spitting distance, and he raised a brow.

“Well, she ain’t talkin’ anymore.” He stated, mostly because he couldn’t stand the silence that was practically ringing through the room.

“You bastards will pay for this!” The woman suddenly hissed, and Jesse put on his interrogation face, smiling a bit at her. He was their sweet talker after all, and he was good at disarming people with his smooth words and the unassuming appearance of being young.

“Nice to meet you too, miss.” Jesse replied, and the woman humphed at him.

“Let me go!” She demanded, and Jesse tutted, the other gang members all watching him with interest.

“No can do, miss. Unless you tell us what we want to know.” Jesse hummed smoothly, and the woman’s eyes flashed in fear for a moment as one of the gang member’s hands came towards her.

“Woah, easy! Yer gonna scare her back inta bein’ feisty.” Jesse bit out, and the man pulled his hand back with a grunt.

“Thought she was givin’ ya some lip.”

“No, she wasn’t, now shut up an’ lemme work!”

Jesse turned back to the woman with his most charming grin, and she stared back at him, waiting for something.

“Well? Which is it sweetpea?” Jesse asked again, and she blushed a bit under the nickname.

“Ya promisin’ ta screw her afterwards kiddo?” Raphael jeered, and Jesse ignored him, instead focusing on the woman in front of him. He honestly did feel bad for her, and if he could spare her some pain, he would.

“I’ll tell you...” She whispered, and Jesse grinned.

“Good, good. Now I know you can speak English. I need you to tell them what you know, in English, okay?” Jesse told her, and she shook her head quickly.

“No! No, I’ll tell you, but not them.” The woman muttered with a disgusted look towards the others, and Jesse sighed.

“You have to tell them.” He said simply, not elaborating and saying they wouldn’t believe it coming from him.

“I won’t tell those fucking creeps.” She growled back, and Jesse straightened.

“Okay, well, she don’t wanna say nothin’ ta y’all, but she said she’d talk fer me.” Jesse tried, and as expected, the three other men laughed.

“Yeah right. I guess ya made your choice, bitch. Once chance was all ya got. Deadlock don’t take kindly to people like ya, so we’ll send ya to hell.” Raphael sneered, the woman going pale and squirming as the others started to get handsy, eyes narrowed with cruel lust. Jesse crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, knowing he couldn’t do anything more to help her. He had done what he could.

“No! No please I’ll tell you! Get your filthy hands off me! I’ll tell you!” She screamed, and Jesse walked over to the wall, lowering his hat over his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see what sleazy things they were doing to her. He didn’t want to risk intervening either.

“Too little too late!” Jimmy sing-songed, and he heard the sound of a pistol hammer cocking back.

“Wait a minute. McCree.” Raphael suddenly called, and Jesse glanced up wearily. The woman was staring at him pleadingly, shivering under the hands that were groping along her chest, but he tried not to look at her for too long, the poor thing.

“Let the kid do it.” Raphael continued, and the rest of them stepped back with cruel laughs, nodding vigorously. Jesse’s blood ran cold as Raphael’s eyes bore into him, and he jerked his gun in the direction of the woman.

“This bitch needs to be shut up for good. You’ll be the one doin’ this for us.”

Jesse slowly dropped his gaze to the now terrified woman, and he was strangely reminded of the cat from what felt like ages ago. It had looked at him the same way she was staring at him now-pleading and scared, knowing her life was in Jesse’s hands.

“Ya gonna do it, or will we have to shoot ya too?”

Jesse knew an empty threat when he heard it, but he pulled out his gun nonetheless-too afraid of what they would do to him should he disobey-the woman’s eyes bulging slightly.

“No, no no no please don’t! Please! I’ll do anything, I’ll tell you anything!! Please!” She pleaded, eyes now spilling desperate tears as she strained against the bindings tying her to the chair, shouting out names and places in a terrified voice.

“Quiet, ya slut. Go on, McCree. Prove your worth. Show us you’re ready to move up in our ranks, that you really belong in Deadlock.” Raphael egged him on, and Jesse’s hand shook as he raised it level with the woman’s head, taking a step closer so the barrel could rest against her forehead. 

She flinched under the touch of the cold metal, and he saw her skin flush with goosebumps, her whole body trembling as she pleaded nonsensically.

“Don’t be a pussy, do it!” Jimmy barked when nothing happened, and soon their words of encouragement were all that he could hear, everything else tuning out.

Jesse stared at her for another moment that felt like an age, then tightened his finger on the trigger in a jerky movement. The bullet left the chamber and splattered the woman’s brains and blood all over the wall and floor behind her, and Jesse flinched when he felt it splash on him too. 

Now all he heard was a high pitched ringing in his ears, and he felt bile rising in his throat, limbs heavy like lead. Jesse swallowed his feelings and the nausea that was threatening to make him puke his guts out, and he put his gun back in the holster, unable to tear his eyes away from the slumped form of the woman. 

Her eyes were staring straight ahead, dark and lifeless, but that stream of blood was still dripping from her mouth to her chest.

“That’s it! That’s it McCree! You’re a natural at this!” Jimmy cheered, and Jesse slowly turned to him, though he could still only see the woman in his mind’s eye.

“I am?” His voice was smooth and dull, completely different from the panic and loathing he was feeling inside.

“Ooooh, lookit them dead eyes he’s got. Yeah, you’ll be great at this kid. Got a feelin’ you’re cut out for this line of work here.” Raphael chuckled darkly, and with a snap of his fingers, he motioned for everyone to leave.

“Clean up in here McCree. Toss her body outback, the buzzards’ll thank ya. Leave the blood for future guests.”

As soon as they left, Jesse did as he was told, the woman’s blood still warm as it smeared against his hands when he picked her up. He didn’t look at her again, merely disposing of her body and walking back to where the others were waiting for him, pale and shaking. 

When he got back to his little room in the Deadlock headquarters, he threw up everything he had in him, dry heaving afterwards for at least ten minutes. He then peeled his sweaty and bloody clothes off, kicking them away from him as if they had burned him, and he scrubbed at his hands and face in the crummy little sink until they were raw and red. 

He sobbed, unable to get the images out of his mind, unable to clean the blood that had caked under his fingernails, and he didn’t sleep at all that night when he managed to collapse onto his bed, exhausted.

--

The more Jesse was ordered to kill people, the more the Deadlock members seemed to think he was cut out for it. He had stopped hesitating after the seventh one, and he eventually stopped caring, just as he stopped counting how many people he had executed. They had nicknamed him Deadeye after all that, and it matched with both his skill in the practice ranges and when he would kill. 

It never got any easier, no matter how many times he did it, nor how smooth and uncaring his motions seemed. Jesse’s mind would still scream at him every time he raised his gun, pulled the trigger, and walk away like nothing had happened. He would still end up crying in the bathroom afterwards, curled up and terrorized at night by panic attacks and nightmares, seeing red painted and speckled all over his skin where he knew he had cleaned it. 

He would even kill members of the gang, Deadlock not sparing any room for softies or people who couldn’t handle the tasks they were given; they had to be ruthless and unforgiving, just like the gang they were in. The only things that could actually calm him were his cigarettes, and he started getting a weekly pack from Van Griffin when he turned sixteen, the man finding a bit of a liking for him now that he was fully immersed in the gang. 

Kathleen would always praise him for a job well done when he came back from an interrogation, robbery, or even a simple scout out, and he would eat it up like it was candy, no matter how much he hated her or how cruel she was to him every other time he was around. Jesse also got the Deadlock tattoo when he was sixteen, a winged skull hanging over a padlock forever inked in black on the skin of his left forearm, like a brand. He worked on the bikes and fixed them up until he earned one of his own, and then he rode with Deadlock too, just like the others. 

Deadlock was where he belonged now, and Jesse found himself becoming just like them; if someone laughed at the cowboy get up, he would smile thinly and in a cold voice tell them “Either ya like it, or my gun an’ ya get real friendly.” Everyone seemed to like it, because no one wanted to piss Deadeye off. He would jeer and laugh at the newbies, no matter how much older they were than him, joking crudely with the others, taking a pretty lady or handsome man up to his room every now and then to distract himself, drinking every other night in the bar until he couldn’t remember his name, drowning out the screams and blood and torture he had to witness, smoking a pack a day, killing like it was nothing, like it wasn’t making him the man he had always told himself he wouldn’t be. 

Jesse McCree knew he was lost, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, at least not until it mattered. He would normally find himself thinking about these things when they were interrogating someone and he had to sit and listen, bored out of his mind and searching for any kind of distraction. 

They were currently in the Red Room, so it was lovingly called and equally whispered about in fear. Everyone knew what the Red Room was, but only a select few actually knew what it held. If someone was brought into the Red Room by one of these special individuals, everyone knew that they wouldn’t be coming back out. Jesse happened to be one of the special few that could walk in that room without the fear of never walking back out, and it wasn’t something he could say he took real pride in. 

The Red Room was given its name for good reason; always its walls were splashed and stained with scarlet blood and chunks of gore, puddles of it still drying on the floor, hell, there were even splotches on the ceiling that would drip if someone got a little too excited with their methods. Jesse never interrogated anyone long-as long as he was alone at least-and if they didn’t spill after he got tired of the screams and blood, Jesse figured they wouldn’t. So he would put an end to their misery with a bullet between the eyes, quick and efficient. 

Jesse’s methods normally got the most answers the fastest due to his brutal and well known and equally feared antics, so naturally, everyone thought he was the best man for the job. Which also meant he spent the most time in the Red Room, interrogation and mostly torture, screams and blood filling his senses all day, again and again and again.

“Tch! Deadeye! Get ‘im to squeal.”

Jesse dragged his tired eyes up from where he had been staring into a pool of blood absently, and he stared at the man sitting slumped in the cold metal chair.

“Ya suck at this Marline.” He told the woman in there with him, her choppy, bleached hair falling into her face, red with frustration at failing to squeeze any information out of the guy.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth, ya damn cocksucker. I know what I’m doin’, he’s just a tough one!” Marline spat, and Jesse rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“Get outta here. The magic only happens when I’m alone.” He demanded, and Marline crossed her arms under her chest, practically tumbling out of the ripped, low hanging shirt she had on.

“I wanna see how you do it.” She pouted, shifting her weight and sticking her hip out, the movement exaggerated so her breasts would bounce with it. Dear god, was she serious?

“Listen, Marline, can ya not do this while we’re in the middle of a fuckin’ thing here?”

“Whaddaya mean ‘this’?” She asked innocently, leaning forward and showing off even more.

“Christ, just get out, will ya?” Jesse hissed, cutting her off right then and there, and he reached for the holster on his belt just for good measure. Normally he was polite to the ladies, but Marline had gotten on his bad side a long time ago and hadn’t done anything to change it. 

Marline huffed, dropping her arms and storming out of the room, the blush on her face now from embarrassment. Jesse turned back to the guy in the chair, who had been watching the exchange with vague amusement, and he took off his hat, putting it in the cleanest corner of the room.

“Nice going. Coulda had a nice fuck, her boobs were monsters.”

“Yeah, well, we ain’t on the best o’ terms, her an’ I. She’s just a bit jealous. She ain’t my type anyways, I like the smarter ones.” Jesse hummed, rolling up his sleeves leisurely and strolling over like they were just having a little chat in the bar.

“So what’s yer name, partner?” He asked, squatting down in front of the man and resting his forearms on his knees casually. This was part of Jesse’s method; get friendly, and with a man of his charm, it was all too easy. The man stared, debating, then a smile split across his bloodied lips. It worked every time.

“Darius.”

He was lying, of course, but Jesse went with it, not caring what his name actually was anyways.

“Darius, huh? Well, it’s mighty nice ta meet’cha Darius. Ya know who I am, I’m sure.”

“Deadeye. You’re Deadeye.”

Jesse grinned, standing up smoothly and taking his revolver out of her holster.

“Right ya are. Yanno how I got the name?”

The man paled a bit as Jesse raised the gun, twirling it over his finger lazily as he waited for an answer.

“You...I-I don’t.” Darius stuttered, and Jesse stopped spinning his gun.

“Let’s just say I’m really, really good at what I do. Yanno what I do?” Jesse asked again, taking a step forward as he spoke, Darius flinching a bit as he did so.

“I’ve heard a few things...”

“What things might that be?”

“You...You don’t miss any of your shots. You can hit a man between the eyes at a hundred yards, and you...Your gun is...”

Jesse’s grin grew wolfishly as he waited, Darius’ Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, a bead of sweat making a trail down his bloodied cheek.

“It can shoot more than six bullets. You can kill more men than you should be able to with one round, and no one knows how you do it...C-crazy, huh? But that’s what they say. I bet it’s all just shit they make up to scare the bejesus out of you.” Darius spat, though his eyes were dancing with fear, fingers twitching nervously. 

Jesse hadn’t even done anything yet, and he already had the man wrapped around his finger. He straightened, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he took another step forward.

“They ain’t lyin’. I have a reputation ‘round here, an’ I daresay I live up ta it in every way.”

“Bullshit! No one can do what they say you can do!”

“How ‘bout this? I’ll tell ya how I do it, if ya tell me what I wanna know?” Jesse offered smoothly, and Darius narrowed his eyes.

“Sorry, but I don’t really give a fuck. I don’t believe in any of that bullshit.”

“Mm, that’s your loss.” Jesse hummed, and he stepped forward suddenly, slamming the butt of his revolver down onto the man’s hand, which was strapped to the chair at the wrist. 

Darius shrieked as his bones broke like glass, and the sound in Jesse’s ears dimmed a bit, just as it always did when he started his torture routine, when he turned into the monster behind the man. He used the tip of the little spike he had grafted to the end of the grip on his revolver to dig under Darius’ fingernail, prying it up easily in a practiced motion.

“JESUS CHRIST! YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Darius screamed, blood dripping off the finger now as Jesse circled him lazily.

“Alrighty then. Let’s try this again, shall we? Yer from a half-ass gang but ya stole some of our merch. That ain’t somethin’ Deadlock forgives. Where’s yer little hideout at? We gotta steal it back.”

Darius grit his teeth, his heavy breaths hissing out between them as he glared heatedly at Jesse.

“I won’t tell you.”

“Listen, I could do this all day. It’s just a matter ‘a ya decidin’ how many nails ya wanna keep, how much pain ya wanna save yourself.” Jesse shrugged, the little blade wedging itself between Darius’ nail on the middle finger without waiting for a response, breaking it off and taking a small chunk of meat off with it. Darius screeched, his whole body writhing in the chair, hands twisting and straining against the binds cutting into his wrists.

“Oooh, that’s a good one.”

“Oh god...Oh christ, no...No I won’t say anything...! Bastard!”

Jesse continued to do the same thing for each finger, the other man’s throat going raw from the guttural screams that were being ripped from it.  

“STOP! STOP, JESUS PLEASE!”

Jesse raised a brow and stopped, Darius going limp, head hanging as he panted, fingers bleeding, bruised, and puffy.

“Ya feel like talkin’ yet?” Jesse asked, voice sickly sweet as he pushed the man’s head back to look in his eye.

“D...Dead eyes...” Darius whispered, staring up at him in a mix of agony and horror. Jesse clicked his tongue and whipped out his other revolver, not even needing to look as he shot. Darius’ kneecap shattered easily, blood and shards of bone spraying back from the wound, his leg twisting a bit from the impact. 

His mouth was hanging open in a silent scream, and Jesse waited a moment before letting his fist crunch against Darius’ cheek to bring him back. When that didn’t work fast enough for Jesse’s tastes, he set his boot on the man’s injured knee, pressing his weight down until Darius cried out weakly, his focus back.

“The...The old mill...It’s just past that, down in a cave in the canyons! We got everything in there!” Darius finally gasped, and Jesse smirked in satisfaction.

“Why, thank ya kindly Darius. Ya’ve been a real help ta me. I’ll make sure someone comes in here ta take care ‘a ya all nice an’ proper, mkay?” Jesse told him as he wiped the blood off his gun with the little bandana he kept in his back pocket for just such things. He went back to grab his hat, placing it where it belonged and tipping it to a limp and sobbing Darius as he walked out of the room.

“Been nice doin’ business with ya partner.”

He left without a backwards glance, face immediately dropping as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep, steadying pull. The smoke curled in his lungs and he held his breath for a moment, then let it all out in one long exhale. Jesse went straight to Kathleen with his findings, grabbed a quick drink at the bar, then disappeared in a cloud of dust on his motorcycle for some much needed alone time.

~~

[froldgapp]

Day 7 no.2: AU

For @rijomu . Daemon AU with a little whumpin’ and a little Sheith. Sorry to everyone’s dash for the length!

@blackpaladinweek

‘Come on, Kuro!’ Shiro shouted breathlessly, turning mid-run to see the large Leonberger emerge from the bushes and lope after him, tongue lolling. The sun split the trees behind her; a beautiful autumn day.

The Garrison was bustling with activity, new students having arrived just the day before. They moved about the campus in clumps of three or four, birds fluttering excitedly on shoulders, rodents scurrying between feet, and snakes slithering through lush grass maintained only by the indulgent use of sprinklers. Beyond the garrison walls lay the scorching Mojave Desert.

A few students paused to watch him as he sped past, Kuro bounding at his heels, her explorations over for the moment. He threw out waves and smiles at brazen newbies and class buddies, and offered a high-five to one lanky first year with an otter lounging on his head and shoulders. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but Shiro was already sprinting away. It was his final year, and while he quietly enjoyed the admiration of younger students, it would take something remarkable to distract Shiro from his morning run.

A solid mass slammed into his chest, taking him clean off his feet. He hit the gravel with a winded, ‘Ooft!’ 

Kuro tumbled over him. She yelped in pain, but he realised dumbly it wasn’t from the fall. The sound of another daemon filled the air: hisses and a screeching hoots.

‘Get...ugh...’ A body squirmed beneath Shiro. ‘Get off me, you big dummy!’

Shiro rolled over so he was on his back. The gravel crunched beneath his shoulder blades, and the sun above him was blinding. ‘Ow,’ he groaned, before peeling himself upright. Chaos greeted him.

A low, sandy-coloured cat with impressively tufted ears had wrapped herself around Kuro, jaws locked on her neck. Kuro twisted this way and that, trying to lose the cat but with little success. A slim boy Shiro didn’t recognise had buried his hands under the cat’s body and was attempting to pull her free.

‘Aka!’ he yelled. ‘Aka stop! People are looking! Aka!’

He was right. A small crowd had gathered and watched the circus with a range of expressions from embarrassed horror to sly-faced amusement.

Shiro climbed to his feet and rubbed his head. He’d taken quite a knock and must have absolutely flattened the other boy. Growing more panicked by the second, said boy had taken to pushing his finger’s between his daemon’s mouth and was attempting to pry her jaws free. Blood ran in thin rivulets down his forearms. Beneath his bright red running shorts, his thighs and calves were scratched up badly from the fall.

‘Hey, hey–’ Shiro began placatingly, but a wave of dizziness swept up from his toes and he almost lost his feet again. The boy’s fingers had brushed Kuro’s neck; Shiro felt it as surely as if it was his own flesh. He waited for the expected bile to rush up the back of his throat, but it didn’t come. Strange. It was then that red-shorts managed to wrench his daemon free. He stumbled backwards, his daemon twisting wildly in his grasp. Kuro slipped away – as much as a 60 kilo dog could slip anywhere – and joined Shiro’s side. She was shaking.

‘He touched me,’ she said quietly.

‘I know,’ Shiro said, and massaged the slobber-wet fur at her neck. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory of the fingers ghosting over his neck.

The crowd shrank back as the daemon, Aka leapt against her human, claws raking down his shirt and jaws snapping at his face. Her powerful hind legs left deep trenches in the gravel.

‘Aka stop!’ the boy cried, winning a savage bite to the wrist when he caught her head between his hands and forced her to her haunches. He knelt over her, his thin shirt wet with sweat, and held her fast to the ground. ‘Stop, stop,’ he said quickly, quietly.

Again, Shiro approached the boy. His daemon noticed before the boy did and was up on her legs again, scrabbling to get away. The boy jumped to his feet also and she skittered behind him. She hissed from between his legs, uncanny green eyes boring into Shiro’s. A warning. A challenge. The boy, too, looked at him from beneath a heavy curtain of jet black hair. His violet eyes were vicious.

‘What do you want?’

‘Some daemon you’ve got there,’ said Shiro with a shaky smile. ‘What’s your name?’

‘You should look where you’re going,’ he answered and, much to the shock of the amassed crowd, spun on his heel and started walking away.

Shiro sighed and trotted after him. ‘How do you spell that?’

‘Funny.’

The cat daemon scurried ahead of them in a wide arc, glancing over her shoulder with untrusting eyes. Her tail was curled under her but her ears and sullen maw said a solid, Fuck you all. Her human was hardly better.

‘I’m Shiro,’ he said to the boy’s back.

‘Good for you.’

Shiro matched his stride easily and motioned with one hand that Kuro should hang back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I don’t realise my own size.’ He ran a bashful hand up the back of his head and laughed. ‘Looks like I really uh... You fell pretty hard. I fell on you hard.’ What the fuck. ‘I fell down.’ What the fuck was he saying. ‘You okay?’

Nothing.

‘Hey.’

‘Just leave him, Shiro,’ said Kuro from behind. The daemon ahead growled.

‘You know,’ said Shiro to the boy. ‘I didn’t run into thin air. And your daemon owes Kuro here an apology. That’s hardly any way to behave on campus.’

The boy stopped and flashed uncertain eyes at Shiro. ‘You a teacher or something?’

Shiro crossed his arms. ‘If I was would you be less of a punk?’

That actually won a reluctant laugh. One beat later, and the walls were up again as violet eyes swung back to the onlookers who at least had the wisdom not to follow them.

Shiro tried again. ‘Shiro,’ he said, holding out his hand.

The boy eyed the offered hand and shook it once. His palms were cool and dry. ‘Keith,’ he said.

Shiro nodded at the daemon who judged the exchange from afar. ‘Some kind of lynx?’

Keith rubbed one savaged hand in the other. She’d really gone for him. Shiro tried to recall ever seeing anything like it; a daemon railing on her human like that. Keith spoke through a tired sigh. ‘Caracal.’

They started walking again. Kuro pressed against Shiro’s legs and examined Keith unabashedly. Keith avoided her eyes with badly concealed shame.

‘What are Kuro’s chances of getting that apology?’ asked Shiro.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Keith to Kuro, though he still refused to meet her eye.

‘I meant from your daemon... eh... Aka?’

Keith laughed: a single ‘ha’. ‘Slim. She can’t speak.’ 

Shiro tried to hide his shock. Another surprise from Keith and his caracal: a daemon who couldn’t speak.

The conversation ended there with a cursory wave. Keith hopped into a limping run and had soon disappeared over a low rise, his daemon skulking in his wake.

‘He’s trouble,’ said Kuro.

Shiro smiled. ‘I know.’

[doctorpariahdax]

Daud’s Last Day

     Last night the air had been so dry, even at the dock, that she thought he was going to cough up a lung. She could hear him even from above deck, coughing – nearly choking – so harshly that she could feel the rumble of his lungs inside of her own chest. For three months she watched as his health meandered between wellness and decline, for three months she listened at night to the sound of his breathing, for it overshadowed her own. Sometimes, Billie couldn’t tell if it was the rotting wood of the Dreadful Whale, or Daud’s chest that made the popping groans in the night.        Fondly, Billie could pull an image of Daud to mind from the thinnest memory, and it shined brightly behind her eyes. He was never ta;;, but there was a grandeur that surrounded a man as built as he was in his prime, drenched in the smells of cigars, hard liquor, and sweat stained clothes. The odor of piss was just what tagged along to any of the whalers on a bad day in the flooded district. He had seemed invincible back then. Maybe he would return secretly from a private endeavor, a scratch on his face or holding his wrist in a hurt fashion, but he never seemed to really bleed, like the rest of them did.        Billie thought that it was part of the Outsider’s curse, his mark that made Daud so imposing, impenetrable, and so cold. But she was just a recruit then. She had seen the horrors that men could inflict upon others as easily as themselves. She had never been a fragile girl, but she had been malleable. She knew it too. Perhaps that was part of the reason she endeavored to trust Delilah upon their meeting. Daud had seen that she could be molded like a lump of clay – and she partially hated him for it. Now though, in hidnsight, she had allowed such a cause of regret to afflict her with Delilah, even more easily than she had with Daud.        Billie wiped a hand across her face as she stared down upon her diary.               Thoughts like these could drive someone mad.        She wasn’t getting anything scribbled down in her seemingly useless journal. Anything of note was stored already in Daud’s mind, or he had helped Billie preparing ensembles of information, keypoints, targets, hand drawn maps...Her journal served no purpose as of yet. It meant nothing to keep her thoughts organized when it seemed two minds held the same information. With a start, Billie swung her head around and stared at the iron and mahogany door to her quarters, when she heard a familiar wheezing cough echo from the other side. Like a cat, Billie tuned her ears to ignore the creaking and the moaning of water against the ship’s sides, waiting for a signal.         Moments passed in relative silence and nothing came.         A swell of anger rose into the back of Billie’s throat, burning like bile.        “What am I doing?” Billie whispered to herself, and maybe Deidre, should she care to listen to complaints. “After all of this...what am I left with? What will we be left with?”        Billie didn’t know what the world held in store for itself should the Outsider die – if it was possible. And she doubted that Daud was even a slight step closer to such knowledge.       Billie had obeyed him without question back in the day. He was omniscient, omnipresent, you couldn’t hide anything from him – until Billie dared to try. She had always felt that there was some degree of mistrust between her and Daud as she grew and rose to his second in command. Betraying him gave her a confidence she hadn’t known since Deidre had first smiled at her, a confidence so rare like his smile or a small accolade for her performance on a mission. But it also sent a jarring pain up her spine, tormenting her with a headache of fear and paranoia.        She knew that he knew, he had always known. One of the strongest might rise up and try to upset the balance of power that simply held the hierarchy of the whalers in place – that had held all of their worlds’ in place. It was the only thing they knew, that they wanted to know. The whalers were a band of misfits, freaks, talentless polymaths, and criminal sweethearts. They all missed one thing in common, or had been betrayed by that one thing – family.       Daud offered them a home, food, purpose.       Daud had offered them a family, and Billie, like the rest of them, fell for his maneuvering. Even after Daud expelled her, and soon afterwards found himself having ‘disappeared’ from the underside of Dunwall, from the underside of the world seemingly, there was a constant pang somewhere deep in Billie’s stomach that she had lost something important. She had lost trust, she had lost her family. All of the whalers, all of her friends, they were now without a proverbial father, and their family shattered.       Billie still, even after fifteen years couldn’t help but think that it was her fault that nearly a hundred faceless souls had lost the closest thing they had to acceptance and love.         Lurk was brought out of her guilt ridden contemplation at the sound of scuffling. She thought it was a water rat loose in the kitchen with how faint and sharp the sounds were. The quiet came back in a breath and Billie nearly relaxed, considering trying to write pointless information in her journal when she felt the boards of the lower deck vibrate slightly, a thunder of weight collapsing outsider of her door.       Her head snapped back to the door, and within moments, she heard the coughing.       Bolting from her seat and pushing the heavy cast iron door open so quickly it threw Billie off balance she ran feverishly outside her cabin.     Panic raised the hairs on her neck and arms when the cot beside her door was empty. None of the lanterns were lit and dawn was still several hours from breaking. “Daud!” she yelled into the darkness as she took precarious steps towards the sound of his lungs collapsing. “DAUD!”        Billie’s bare feet rushed towards the stern of the lower deck, near the coal burner, and paused just before she nearly fell onto Daud’s twisted legs. In the darkness next to the fire from the burner she could just make out his form, and sense his motions.       It was a wonder he was still conscious. Daud’s breathing was expending enough energy to keep a campfire lit through a storm. He was hyperventilating, but it was deep and intermittent with horrible coughing. It wasn’t a wet cough, like the kind sounds that came of pneumonia or tuberculosis – she thanked whatever gods there might be aside from the cold bastard who watches with apathy from the void – but Billie could feel something heavier than spittle rising from Daud’s lips with each heaving breath.       His body was stiff, almost like a bone and he shook like a leaf on a dying branch. He lay on his side, holding his legs close to his chest and one arm wrapped around his torso. His other hand was extended into the darkness beyond the burner. He was without his jacket or leather overshirt, just the stained off white sleeveless shirt he wore beneath and his slacks and socks. He shivered violently, but it was hot below deck, even at night.        “Daud!” Billie fell to her knees and tried to straighten the man out, at least turn his violently convulsing form to his back and hold his neck between her hands. “Daud, what is it? Daud! Daud god damnit what’s the matter? What’s wrong?! Daud? Daud look at me!”          There was once an old man who lived on the street next to Diedre’s favorite corner who was bedbound. Diedre had told Billie that before his daughter came to look after him and the house that he walked with twitches. His legs spasmed and his hands shook, it got to the point where he couldn’t write his own name. Diedre had told Billie it was some kind of disease. You lose coordination, your memory faltered….It all had to do with the spine, with the brain. Something that only natural philosophers truly had the opportunity to examine understand.          The only time Billie had seen the man was when the city watch was bringing his body out from the house, and preparing to send it to the academy for study. The man’s eyes had been rolled back, white as river stone. Billie couldn’t see Daud’s eyes, but about the place where they should be there was a pale color, not dark where one would intuitively be able to see the iris and the pupil. Billie didn’t know if she could muster the will to scream, and it’s not as though anyone could hear her or be able to help.           She smelled burning meat to her left and reached for Daud’s hand that was extended into darkness, repulsing as the scent of molten skin. A siren seemed to go off in Billie’s ears, her eyes becoming attuned to the dark. She held Daud’s burned hand close to her and dove her own free hand beneath the coal burner, hissing in brief as her shoulder was burned, but grinning madly in desperation as she felt a cylinder of glass brush against the tips of her fingernails.           He had been reaching for something. Something that drove him from bed. Billie all but shoved her body beneath the burner, the heat from the metal radiated against her skin and scorched her from proximity alone. She let out a cry as she pushed against the burner and grabbed with desperate might around the floor until her hands wrapped around the glass again. She pulled back, burned, and stared ferociously at the small glass container she held in the palm of her hand.            Daud’s body twitched beneath her and her pain suddenly faded. She sprang so quickly from Daud she was worried that she had kicked him and she ran into the kitchen, grabbing the closest match she could find in her sparse drawers and tore the lantern from it’s nook on the ceiling. Even without the light from the lantern she was nearly sure she knew what the vial was. <5α,6α> -7,8-didehydro- 4,5-epoxy-17-methylmorphinan-3,6-diol.         “Fuck.”         With the lantern in hand the the vial carefully folded into her palm Billie darted from the kitchen towards Daud’s cot. Beneath it there was a small container.         He had come onto the ship with nothing in his possession, and after three months there had been small amenities he had required. Horse bristle and baking soda for his teeth, which smelled constantly of tonsil stones, a small curved knife for nails and loose skin, and a small black compartment with metal latches on the side.         It was something Billie had to search for in some time, it wasn’t cheap, even to those that used it in their professions.         Billie had stolen it from a small practice in Karnaca, but given the circumstances, the theft felt less of a crime and more of a necessity. It was a steel syringe. The needle was wide and the container was thicker, but it could be cleaned and easily sanitized. Given how often Billie had needed to put it to use in recent weeks, despite how painful it was compared to a smaller needle, it was worth the extra trouble of taking it.          Billie fumbled for a half moment as she emptied the contents of the vial into the syringe, and adjusted the filter measurements for the medicine in the dim light of the lantern. She could hear Daud’s restless body throwing itself harshly against the floor.         It had never been this horrible before, but in this state not even bone shattering exhaustion would keep Daud’s body still.         Billie grabbed the lantern, put the syringe in her mouth and practically jumped down to Daud’s side, pinning his corpse rigid arms to his side with her knees, and held his stiff neck straight her one of her arms. She muttered false reassurances to him, hushing him, counting down from three quickly before placing the syringe with some force into the flesh of his exposed shoulder, his muscles and veins bulged – even without much medical practice and his convulsions, it didn’t take much effort to align the needle and his veins. She dropped the syringe after she removed it from his arm, holding his head between her two hands, slowly watching the whites of his eyes disappear beneath eyelids as his body eventually came to a still. His breathing gruff but at an even pace.            Billie gently climbed off of him, and took a moment to lean against the wall by the burner, comforted by its warmth and shrinking her form into the quiet blackness of night. Her breath quivered with anxiety for only a minute, as it was all she could afford, before gingerly lifting Daud’s head again, cradling his neck and shoulders against her chest, and dragged him carefully and as easily as she could across the floor to her quarters, lying him down in the bed. She covered the blankets over his chest and dragged her wooden chair to the head of the bedside. Billie spent the next five hours with her hand on his forehead, occasionally straying down to his neck, watching his pulse. The liquid that spurted from his mouth during his twitches was a dark red, flecked with black.           It spotted her arms, her face, and it smelled like offal.          She didn’t dare leave his side until he woke up, not until she could be sure she gave him an unworrying amount of morphine. The last thing she wanted to do was send him off to a final sleep.         She needed him.         Or more, he needed this – one last condolence.         He had to pay off this debt before he could sleep. It was beyond feasibly important. This was a matter of corruption. The Outsider could create another ‘Daud’, it was necessary to his own peace – even Billie’s – that the Outsider didn’t get the opportunity to.          Dawn well had passed before Daud opened his eyes. Bloodshot and yellowed from exhaustion, much like Billie’s, Daud tried to blink to clear his vision and his dry lips parted to call out to Billie. He was feverish, as he had been for the past few nights, but his consciousness lifted a weight from Lurk’s chest that had pulled her heart down into her stomach all night.        Billie rose and went to fetch a bowl of hot water and a clean rag, wiping the black and bloodied spittle from her arms and face before returning to clean what remained of it from the corners of Daud’s mouth. Billie fixed them creamed oats, but Daud had returned to fervent sleep. She ate alone, and stared at his paling face, wondering if he knew – if he truly knew – if he accepted what was happening to him.           The black spittle was common from collapsed lungs and blood pooling in the tissues of the chest and esophagus, the cough even more common, and the rancid smell was what came most naturally to the human body when its expiration date came to a close.          There is a mellow absence of feeling that overcomes someone when they truly think about oblivion, about their natural return to nonexistence…. It did require some form of naive sentimentality about one’s life, and it was for that reason that Billie wondered if Daud feared his own death. Was he to be trapped in the void? A place that did and did not exist?           Would he exist, or not? Would it matter? Would he even know?           Daud’s hand tremored once again as Billie ate her creamed oats, watching him, stroking his burning forehead.          His nerves were on fire, grasping at any sense they could feel, and to not much success.          They stayed like this, in Billie’s cabin for nearly half the day. She had left to relieve herself in the afternoon and found her cabin empty. She came up to him from behind, as he clutched harshly onto the railing of the stairs. She helped him into a leisure chair she kept at the aft of the main deck, against a wall, cornered by a small desk littered with studies and plans she had drawn with Daud weeks past for her mission into the bank. She returned and helped him dress, in his leather overshirt and short wool coat.          It was warm, perhaps even hot but Daud insisted he felt chilled. Billie tried to pretend her understanding smile was without worry, but there was a part of her that knew he could see through the facade, and she felt guilty thinking of the consequences of his physical state.         He insisted she get rest before her mission, ate the cold creamed oats and insisted on having whiskey and the black box close at hand.        “One or the other.” She responded. It was dangerous to mix such a strong compound of morphine, much less any opiod  with liquor. She laughed to herself, unsurprised, when he took the whiskey.          From late afternoon until the setting of the sun in the evening, Daud had been left to his own devices upon the deck.         When Billie found him she thought for a moment, staring at his pallid figure, that there might have been a smile hidden in the cracked blue lips. She woke him to speak of the plans, but his mind was ...quiet.          His attention seemed to be employed elsewhere as his lips moved to speak at Billie, he stared off at the waters, facing the setting sun clouded by dust and industrial pollution. The smell of burning blubber and whale oil flittered through even the crisp sea breeze. It was an annoyance to Billie, she had always been accustomed to the smell of industry.            Daud seemed almost comforted by it.           Understandably so. He was back home. And the smell of Dunwall’s whaling refineries had followed him from his hayday back to the southern isle.              Just as Billie had.          She exhausted every possible outcome to the bank, and in doing so exhausted Daud’s voice with retaliation of contingencies. He had faith in her, that much was apparent, but Billie had never pulled a job as big as this one, even back in her prime at Dunwall without the aid of a few whalers, much less without directly being aided by Daud.           His body hesitated into f faintness as he bid her “Go...”. It was half hearted, almost a request.           Billie took the near empty whiskey glass from his hand and placed it near the bottle on the desk. She straightened his shoulders and helped his head lean against the plush leather of the leisure chair. His eyes closed as if it were a reflex.           A dark thought crossed Lurk’s mind, and she pushed it back, at least until she had set foot on the dock, Daud out of her sight. She stroked some lose hairs back onto his head and gently clasped her palm onto the side of his neck, like she had done to comfort Diedre when -           Billie left without a word.           And within the hour as she reached for the knife that made the Outsider deep within the quiet walls of the Dolores’ Bank, Billie sighed. Her breath was heavy, almost as if she were breathing for two. Her chest collapsed, but she thought nothing of it. Merely adrenaline.           When the Outsider appeared before her, she knew that her single addled breath hadn’t been her own.           There was some side affect from the arcane bond, although it had been broken so long ago by force of will. When the Outsider spoke the words that shook her to her core – allthough she expected to hear their value at some point soon….just not from him, she knew that the arcane bond had been broken at circumstance this time.            She found him, lying still and tremorless in the chair.           His head was back, skewed tiredly to one side, his hands with a loose grip on the arms of the chair. It was...wrong...to move him so suddenly. He was finally able to rest.            Billie dried her face and sat upon the ground next to his feet, grabbing the bottle of whiskey that was left unfinished, and a cigar she had left for him that was barely lit. She sat with him and watched the sun set before she began work on his  pyre.

[helloclaxe-blog]

clace. 

requested by anonymous: in which Azazel puts a curse on Clary making her sick.

word count: 2400

[send me any prompts or ideas for a one shot and i’ll whip something up]

https://helloclaxe.tumblr.com/ask

Jace could see that Magnus’ power was slipping, and the demon Azazel was gaining the upper hand, but nothing prepared him for the blast of power that errupted from the demon. The force hit Jace in the stomach, sending him flying backwards. It hurt but he was lucky that he’d activated his blocking rune before going into this-- you never knew what was going to come from a Greater Demon. 

He landed on the ground with a gross thud but was able to pull himself up quickly. He had his seraph blade out as Azazel approached a worn-out Magnus. Next to him, Alec was armed with his blade. Coming from behind, the parabatai pair sliced through the demon simultaneously, who then burst into a cloud of black flying insects. 

Jace sheathed his blade as Alec helped Magnus. Jace checked to see if Valentine was still chained and there, which he was, before he scanned around to check on Clary.

She was lying on the ground, unmoving. “Clary?” Jace asked as he approached her. She didn’t respond. Within a moment, he’d dropped to his knees beside her, putting a hand on her head. “Clary?”

She was unconscious and Jace noticed markings on her neck, as if the veins beneath her skin had turned black. “Magnus, something’s wrong.”

Jace pulled out his stele and tried to activate her iratze rune, but it only glowed for a second before fading out. The lines on her neck didn’t disappear. “Magnus, what’s wrong with her?” Jace asked the warlock, a mild panic surfacing up inside of him. He tried to swallow it down. “Why isn’t her iratze working?”

Magnus dropped next to Jace, laying his hand over the markings on Clary’s neck. His cat eyes appeared as a faint blue glow floated from beneath his palm. After a moment, he looked at Jace, his eyes back to normal. “Azazel sent out a curse with that blast just before, Clary must not have had her blocking rune activated. It’s embedded itself in her.”

“Can you heal her?” Jace questioned, the panic rising dangerously. 

“Not here,” Magnus said, his expression solemn. “It’s made her very sick. We need to take her back to my apartment.” 

Within an instant, he’d created a portal. Jace scooped up Clary in his arms, her lifeless body dangling limply. “Take Valentine back to the Institute,” he addressed his brother. “Fill them in on what happened.”

Alec nodded once and Jace made to move past him, but Alec stopped him by putting a hand on his arm. He must have sensed the panic through his parabatai bond, because he said, “She’s gonna be okay, Jace. Magnus will heal her.”

Jace only nodded in reply before following Magnus through the portal. 

Clary lay unmoving on Magnus’ bed. It had been two days and the markings had spread further up her neck, right to the edges of her face. She looked pale, like she was so close to death, and the thought of that had bile rising up in Jace’s throat. It had been two days of pacing at the end of the bed, as Magnus tried to figure out how to extract the curse from her body. 

Jace took a break from pacing to sit on the chair next to Clary. He grabbed her hand and he grimaced at the coldness of it. “You have to wake up,” Jace whispered, lowering his head to rest his forehead on their hands. “Please, don’t leave me.” 

The bedroom door clicked open and Jace rose to see Magnus and Alec enter. “Any news?” he asked by way of greeting.

Magnus’ looked tired and stressed. “I can’t find anything in my spell book. I’ve contacted a fellow warlock who has a higher expertise in all things Greater Demons.”

“And how long is that gonna take?” Jace asked, frustration lacing his voice over the lack of progress. 

Alec put a hand on Magnus’ back in comfort, sensing Jace’s unease. 

“I just sent the fire message, he should be here within the hour,” Magnus replied.

“Yeah and how long is it gonna take to figure out a cure?” Jace clenched his jaw, balling his hands in fists as a way to keep a lid on his anger. “How long does she have left?”

Magnus seemed hesitant to answer, but the look Jace was giving him forced one out of him. “The curse is spreading to her heart, and once it does, she’ll die. She has until tomorrow morning.” 

Jace tensed his jaw until it hurt, his breathing came out hard but slow. “So you’re telling me, we have to wait on some other warlock while we sit here doing nothing? Waiting for her to die?”

“Ragnor will come--” 

“And what if he doesn’t have a cure?” Jace cut him off angrily. “You need to be doing more!”

Jace felt his eyes glow gold, felt his angelic power bubbling up inside of him. He hadn’t learnt control yet, didn’t even know what triggered it, but he did know that it was surfacing, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d lash out. 

Alec noticed Jace’s eyes and felt his anger through their bond. He stepped forward. “Magnus is doing his best, Jace.”

“Well his best obviously isn’t good enough,” Jace spat back. 

Magnus retreated at Jace’s harsh comment but Alec stepped up to his parabatai. “That is way out of line,” Alec said, his voice dropping lower. “Get a grip on yourself. Magnus is helping.”

“Alec--”

“No,” Alec cut him off. “You’re not helping anyone. Get out and calm down.”

“I’m not leaving Clary,” his parabatai replied. 

“Yes you are, Magnus will stay with her,” Alex said as he grabbed Jace’s arm. Jace felt his eyes go back to normal, the power inside of him settling down. “You need to cool off. You’re not helping anyone.”

Before Jace could object again, Alec dragged him out of the bedroom. He dragged him all the way to the roof of Magnus’ loft, despite the curse words Jace was throwing his way. Once they broke out into the daylight, Alec shoved Jace away from him. 

“What is your problem?” Alec growled, his anger now unleashing. “Magnus is doing his best, he’s the only hope Clary has of surviving, and he can’t do it if you don’t cut the attitude.”

“She could die!” Jace growled back. “She has until tomorrow, Alec, don’t you get that?”

“She’s not gonna die. Magnus is gonna cure her.”

Jace rolled his eyes, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push down his anger. “I think you’re opinion on the matter is a bit bias.”  

Alec threw his hands up. “Honestly--”

“Alec, just stop!” Jace yelled. “Please. Just stop. Clary could die. She could die.” 

Jace’s voice cracked on the last word, and it was a like a key to the floodgate of emotion that he’d tried so hard to bottle up over the last two days. It overtook all the anger swirling around him, the only emotion he’d allowed to show; it was the only emotion that didn’t make him vulnerable. 

Alec took a step towards Jace and put a hand on his shoulder, he could feel him breaking apart bit by bit. “We’ll figure it out,” Alec said softly, the anger gone from his voice. 

Jace looked up at his parabatai and Alec was shocked to see the expression on his face. He’d never seen Jace look so lost. So... helpless. Alec hadn’t even seen this when his father had died, even back then he’d had control over his emotions, not letting his true feelings show. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Jace whispered, his head dropping. “I didn’t get to tell her, Alec. I didn’t get to tell her I...” Jace trailed out, unable to say it. But Alec knew what he meant. He had felt the exact same way when the Soul Sword was activated and he’d thought Magnus had been caught in the blast.

“You’re going to get to tell her,” Alec said. “Magnus is going to figure it out.”

Jace looked up at his brother and noted the belief he had in Magnus. Jace wanted that, he realised, wanted what Alec and Magnus had. He wanted it with Clary. He made a vow to tell her when she woke up. If she woke up. 

Alec pulled Jace in for a hug then held him at arms length. “Ragnor will be here soon, let’s go back.”

Jace nodded once and followed Alec back to Magnus’ loft. 

Ragnor was already there when they got back. Before Jace went into the room Clary was, he apologised to Magnus. Luckily for him, Magnus understood his pain, and forgave him quickly. 

When the three of them went into the bedroom, Ragnor had his hand over Clary’s body, a deep orange glow emitting from his palms. He stopped after a moment and turned towards them. 

“The curse is embedded deep, Magnus. It’s going to take both of us,” Ragnor said, ignoring the two Shadowhunters in his presence. “I must warn you though, using this much magic on her could kill her quicker than the curse.”

“Wait what?” Jace piped up. 

Ragnor finally acknowledged him. “Humans, even Shadowhunters, are fickle beings. The small amount of angelic blood you have doesn’t match the amount of magic we possess.” 

Alec stepped forward and spoke before Jace could object to whatever they were about to do. “Clary has more angelic blood than the normal Shadowhunter. Would that make her chances better?”

Ragnor flourished a hand. “Oh yes, Valentine’s experiments. It may help, but I cannot promise anything.”

Alec looked at his brother in question, giving him control. Jace clenched his jaw. He felt backed into a corner. “And there are no other options?”

“No,” Magnus answered. “This is our last shot.”

“Then do it,” Jace grimaced. 

Magnus gave his arm a comforting squeeze before standing on the other side of Clary, opposite Ragnor. Like the time Magnus healed Luke, Alec set himself up beside his partner, knowing he’d probably need Alec’s strength to help. Jace mirrored him and stood next to Ragnor. He grabbed Clary’s hand, it was even colder than before. 

“Please get through this,” he whispered, before looking up at the two warlocks. Jace took a deep breath and nodded for them to start. 

Together, Ragnor and Magnus began to chant in Latin as their power flowed from their hands. Nothing happened at first, but as the moments passed, Clary started to stir. A faint murmur escaped her lips and she writhed around. 

“What’s happening?” Jace asked, the panic inside of him rising. Neither warlocks answered, even Alec was concentrating on Magnus, the grip on the warlock’s arm tight and unmoving. 

Suddenly, he felt Clary grip his hand, squeezing it hard. He looked down at her and his panic rose even higher. Her body seemed to be elevated, her back arched towards the ceiling as her teeth ground against each other in pain. 

“Magnus!” Jace yelled, his gaze unmoving from Clary. 

Panic raced through Jace as the warlocks chanting grew louder, their power heightening. Jace felt his own power surface, the fear of losing Clary triggering it. But he felt something else, something different to the other times his power was activated. His power felt stronger where he gripped her hand, as if it had travelled there because it sensed her connection, like it wanted to mix with it. 

Clary writhed around and before Jace could think, before he even knew what he was really doing, he put all his energy into sending his power to Clary. He had no idea if it’d work, or if it was even possible. But he needed her to stay alive, he needed her to take his power. Feeling his eyes glow gold, he urged Clary to take as much as she needed. 

Clary’s eyes snapped open as she jerked up. The marking’s on her neck had disappeared. She was still pale and deathly looking, but they’d gone, all traces of the curse missing. Ragnor stumbled back, taking deep breaths of air. Across from him, Magnus was leaning on Alec for support. He looked at Jace, his magic visibly drained. “I felt you give her that power,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know it was possible, but it saved her. She was slipping away.”

“I know,” Jace said, his voice hoarse. His power had retreated the moment Clary woke, but he could still feel small remnants of it, almost like a hangover. “I could feel it.”

Clary looked between them and brushed her hair behind her ear, confused. “What happened?” 

Alec glanced between her and Jace, before making eye contact with him. “We’ll give you two a minute. Magnus and Ragnor need to recuperate.” 

He lead them both out of the room as Clary looked at Jace expectantly. “The last thing I remember was Azazel blasting us. Is he dead?”

But Jace was barely listening to her, all he could fathom was that she was alive. Eyes open, moving, breathing, and alive. She was talking to him, but he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He kept his gaze locked on her face, his eyes scanning over every inch of it, taking in every little detail. They’d been so close to losing her. 

Before he could second guess himself, he leaned in. His lips touched hers and Clary paused in surprise. Jace pulled back, but only a fraction, enough to look her in the eye. “You almost died,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “and I almost went out of my freaking mind.”

“Jace--”

“I couldn’t bear it, the thought of losing you, you know? I... Please don’t do that to me again,” he said, cutting her off. He needed to get this off his chest, he didn’t want to miss the chance like he almost did before. “I care too much about you.” 

This time, Clary leaned in, kissing him softly, tenderly. They’d kissed before, but those kisses were urgent and filled with lust. This one was different, it was soft and filled with a much more deeper emotion. 

Clary pulled back and Jace kept his hand on the side of her face, her skin so much warmer than it was before. 

“I’m here now. I’m safe,” Clary said softly, before leaning in for another soft kiss. And in that moment Jace felt all the fear and panic and unease fade away into oblivion. 

[itskimtaehyung]

Always Pt. 3: Lie (M)

Trailer | Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five (coming soon!)

It appears the tables have turned...

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Jimin x Reader

Genre: Killer!Jungkook, Angst, Smut

Word Count: 5,690

Content/Warnings: Smut, Violence, Major Character Death, not nearly as graphic as part 1 though.

Summary: 

You would die for him, kill for him, and everything in between.

He was as much a part of you as yourself. 

You didn’t want anyone else. 

It was always Jungkook.

You woke up with his strong arms around you, feeling safe and secure. Jungkook always had the ability to make you feel that way. His body and his warmth was like home. A tough shelter from the unrelenting storm outside. It had always felt this way, ever since you were teenagers. And you were glad you still felt this way, even after all you had been through together. 

You pressed yourself closer to him, feeling his morning hardness poking into your back. He groaned and gripped you tighter, moving his hips to rub himself against you. You giggled at his neediness and turned your body around to face him. You were startled by what you saw.

Jimin. His jet black hair draped over his eyes, which were still half closed. His plush pink lips moved closer toward yours until there was no distance between them. He kneaded his lips with yours and pushed your mouth open with his tongue. You were suddenly jolted back to reality, remembering how Jimin had been sleeping over every night for the last two weeks. How Jungkook was still gone and you hadn't heard from him in more than two months, and hadn't seen him in more than a year. Jimin gripped your hips harder and rubbed his erection between your legs as his tongue swirled around yours. He moaned groggily into your mouth. "Jimin..." you croaked. It was hard to talk with his lips pressed against yours. "Mmm?" His mouth moved into the crevice of your neck. "Don't you have to get going?" You couldn't help the moan that escaped from your throat at that moment as he sucked on the most sensitive part of your neck. "No. It's Sunday and I have nothing planned. We can spend all day in bed if you want to,” he said, nipping at your earlobe.

“Mmmm. Okay,” you hummed, grinding yourself harder into his crotch.

Jimin then pulled you on top of him so that you sat in his lap, pushing himself up so that his lips met yours.

“Mmmmm,” you moaned as he gently tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth.

You moved your hips in circular motions, grinding his erection against your clit.

“Babe, what are you waiting for?” he mumbled into your mouth.

With that you took off your shirt and shorts, and pulled down Jimin’s boxers, allowing his cock to spring free.

“You want to be on top this time, baby?”

You nodded.

Sex with Jimin was quite different from sex with Jungkook. With Jungkook, it was more slow and sensual, oftentimes loving and gentle, with no real dominant between the two of you. With Jimin, however, he was usually quite aggressive and demanding in bed, completely opposite of his gentle, caring personality he had everywhere else. Even when he let you be on top to give you some semblance of dominance, he controlled you from underneath, sometimes going so hard you felt like you were going to break. But he always made sure you came first, and gave you plenty of soft cuddles afterwards.

You positioned yourself over his length and sat down slowly. Jimin moaned with his lips against your collarbone as he entered you. You placed your hands on his bare chest and swiftly pushed him until he lay back on the pillows.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “We’re feeling a little feisty this morning aren't we, baby girl?” That was another thing you liked about Jimin: the little pet names he gave you that always managed to turn you on.

He sharply thrusted up into you to remind you who was in control. You cried out in response to his roughness.

“You like that, darling?” He smirked at you.

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, Jimin.”

As soon as Jungkook landed, he got into a cab and went straight home. It had been more than a year since he'd seen you, and he couldn't wait to have you back in his arms.

He felt terrible for not calling in the last couple of months, but the circumstances just wouldn't allow it. He hoped you would forgive him. He would do anything for you to forgive him.

He didn't call when he left or when he landed because he wanted to surprise you. It was around 9am on a Sunday, so you would probably still be asleep in bed anyway. Oh, how he couldn't wait to get home and get into bed with you and envelope you in his love. Unfortunately, you had other plans.

When he unlocked the front door to his house in the first time in so long, he was hit with the familiar scent that he couldn't describe as anything besides home. He took a deep breath, briefly basking in it, before dropping his bag by the door and rushing up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with you.

He thought everything would be quiet. He thought you would still be asleep. But as he got closer he heard… Moaning? Screaming?

He approached the bedroom door, slowly pushing it open, afraid of what he’d see on the other side.

What he saw was you. Naked. Having sex with some other man. His eyes left your body and locked with the man beneath you.

Jimin.

Neither Jimin nor Jungkook broke their gaze. Jimin gave Jungkook a smug smile as Jungkook stared him down with a straight face, pretending that he didn't care that the other man was fucking his wife.

Suddenly Jimin started quickening his pace, which had his intended effect on you.

“Ah! Jimin! Right there! Yes! Yes!” You cried out, so consumed in chasing your orgasm that you didn't notice your husband entering the room or the staring contest that was going down between him and Jimin.

“You like that, kitten?”

Jungkook almost threw up a little at the pet name.

“Yes, Jimin!”

“You gonna come for me, baby girl?”

“Yes! Yes! Jimin, yes! Ah, Jimin!” You screamed as you came.

Not long after, Jimin came too, squirting his hot seed into you, coating your walls and making the area between your legs slick and sticky.

"Did you like that?" Jimin smirked, rubbing your ass with his hand as you planted kisses along his jawline. You thought he was talking to you, so you replied, "Mmm yes very much." You hadn’t come that hard since– "I've been waiting for you Jungkookie." You jolted upright and turned around, finding your husband standing the the doorway. You immediately pushed yourself off of Jimin, trying to wrap yourself in the covers to hide your shame. You were speechless, unable to form words in your head as Jungkook just stared at you, his face emotionless and his mouth formed into a straight line. "I hope you enjoyed the view. Did you like watching me cum inside your wife Jungkookie? How long has it been since you've done that?" You were suddenly hyper aware of the stickiness that was now starting to drip its way out of you. You were now nauseous at the thought of Jimin's semen inside of you and tried to hide your grimace under the blanket. Jungkook's expression didn't change, but you could see the twitch in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. "Or how about when she screamed my name as she came? Did you like that?" That devious smile didn't leave his face.

Jimin got out of bed. Thankfully he had the decency to put on some boxers before walking over to Jungkook. Your husband balled his fists at his sides as he watched the man walk over to him.

Jimin frowned at Jungkook’s lack of response. “What’s the matter Jungkookie? Are you that surprised to see me? Cat got your tongue?”

“Why the hell are you here?” Jungkook asked through gritted teeth.

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your hyung?” Your stomach turned when Jimin’s playful smile returned.

“Why the hell are you here?” Jungkook repeated.

“Because, Jungkookie, you still owe me. I was sick of waiting for you. So I decided to come find you myself.” The older man stepped a little closer, but Jungkook didn’t move. The man’s face was merely inches from the other. You could tell Jimin was squaring his shoulders, trying to size your husband up, even though he was a little bit shorter. “I found out where your wife works. You know, I have my ways…” He said in a low voice. “Got myself a job there, got close to her, got her to invite me into your home… into your bed.”

It was like he was a completely different person. Not the kind, polite, caring man that you had gotten to know over the past year. Was it all an act?

You were amazed at how Jungkook was maintaining control over his emotions right now, because you were disgusted, having just found out your were being used this entire time…

Yes, it’s true. You used Jimin, too. But what he used you for was far worse than what you used him for. You just wanted a good fuck, something to distract you from missing Jungkook. And Jimin was there… And available. He on the other hand, was using you to– what?– get revenge on your husband? You didn’t even know exactly why he was using you, since Jungkook still hasn’t told you exactly what happened last year. You just knew that it was much more devious than what you were using him for, and probably much more illegal.

“And I waited, bid my time, got a few good screws out of her in the meantime.” Jimin turned around to wink at you. Bile crept up your throat. “I waited because I knew you would come back eventually. I knew you loved her. It took you longer than I expected, though. But it’s okay. I learned a lot in that time. For example…” Jimin quirks one of his eyebrows. “I learned that maybe your wife doesn’t love you as much as she had you believe. I mean, she slept with me didn’t she? Even though you two are technically still married? I really hope that changes, though. I would really love to keep her.”

At that moment, Jungkook lunged for Jimin, knocking him off his feet. You flinched as your husband’s fist connected with the other man’s jaw. Jimin tilted his head to the side, spitting out dark red blood all over your cream colored carpet. Although Jimin was smaller, he was, unfortunately, a lot stronger. He was able to easily push Jungkook off of him. You started to think that he let Jungkook punch him, let him have a little fun, before he showed Jungkook who was really the stronger out of the two.

The older man stood up, hovering above the younger, who was still stunned at the sudden force that knocked him on his side. Jimin took advantage of this momentary disadvantage and brought his foot straight into Jungkook’s ribcage.

Jungkook could do nothing but take the blows from his attacker. He saw Jimin’s foot about to make contact with his head, and braced himself for impact. But instead, he heard a sharp hiss before Jimin crumpled to the ground. His view was blocked by Jimin’s body. Despite the pain in his abdomen, he forced himself to sit up.

His heart stopped.

He looked up to see you kneeling on the bed, now wearing one of his white t-shirts. Your body trembled, eyes widened in fear. Your hands shook as you held the gun he had given you, still pointed in his direction. The only sound in the room was both of your breathing, quick and ragged.

Jungkook groaned as he stood up. One of his ribs was definitely fractured. He strenuously made his way over to the bed, trying to ignore the pain that shot through his body with every step he took. When he reached you, he stood, waiting for you to react. However, you were still in the same position, trembling, your eyes still fixed on the point where the bullet entered Jimin’s head.

He carefully reached over and pried the gun from your hands. Your eyes never left Jimin.

He now lay facedown on the floor of your room. Bright red blood flowing out of his bullet wound and staining the pale carpet. Jungkook was glad you couldn’t see the other side of Jimin from this angle, because when he was still on the floor, he was face to face with him. Jimin’s eyes were still open, wide in the split second realization that he had been shot, frozen in that expression as the life left his body. With Jimin facing him that close, Jungkook expected to feel his breath on him, but there was nothing. Just a lifeless corpse with the remnants of the person who once occupied it.

He set the gun back into the bedside drawer and sat down by your side. “Y/N,” he uttered.

You didn’t move.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He stared at you, waiting for a response. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. “Please, say something,” he urged.

“Is– Is he dead?” You stammered.

Jungkook sighed and lowered his gaze to his hands, which were resting in his lap. “Yes, he’s dead.”

Finally, you turned towards him. Your brows were furrowed and your eyes were watering. You no longer looked scared. Now you looked worried.

The second Jungkook’s eyes met yours, you broke down. Sobs wracked your body as you collapsed into him. He caught you in his strong arms, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you.

“Are you sure?” You managed through your tears. “Go check to make sure!”

Jungkook looked at the large pool of blood on the carpet, and the hole in Jimin’s head from which it came.

“Yes, Y/N. I’m sure,” he replied with false calmness.

You shook your head. “No! No he’s not! Because if he is, that would– that would mean I killed him.”

“Y/N…”

Your uncontrollable sobs turned into screams at the realization of what you had done. “I killed him! I killed him… I killed him…”

Jungkook rocked you back and forth in his lap. “Shhhh shh shhh. Don’t worry, babe. It’s okay,” he reassured. “It’ll all be okay.”

“No! It won’t! You said that after what happened with Taehyung! But it was not okay! I was never okay after that!” After a pause you whispered, “Do we have to do that again?”

Jungkook shook his head, even though you couldn’t see it. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

He let you stay there, curled up in his lap, for a little longer before getting up.

You didn’t know how, and frankly you didn’t want to know how, but Jungkook took care of it. You spent the rest of that day traumatized out of your mind, laying in bed and staring at the stain that Jimin left on the carpet.

Later that night, when Jungkook had finished and there was no longer a dead body in the room or a stain in the bedroom floor, he showered and crawled into bed next to you. You were lying on your side, staring off into nothing. You were looking at the wall, but all you could see was the bullet going through Jimin’s head. That moment played over and over in your mind.

Jungkook lay beside you, pressing his body into the crevices of yours, cradling you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There's a drawer full of Jimin’s clothes in your old dresser,” you told him, not daring to turn around to meet his eyes.

He wrapped an arm around you, holding onto you tightly. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. The words were barely a whisper. “You haven’t called in months. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back. I was just… Lonely…”

“Has he been sleeping over a lot?” You expected his voice to sound angry, but instead was gentle, laced with curiosity and concern.

You thought about what to tell him, whether you should tell him the truth or tell him a version of the story that would hurt him less. You decided there was no point in lying to him. “A couple of weeks ago I kissed him in a bar and we came back here together. He's been staying over every night since then.”

You heard Jungkook sigh and felt his chest rise up and down against your back. “Did you love him?” He didn't think you did, but he wanted to hear you say it yourself.

You jolted to the side, half turning toward his face which was right next to yours. You wanted him to see your face so he would know you're not lying. “No! Of course not! I only love you, you have to know that.”

“I do know that,” he murmured burying his face into the crook of your neck. “And I understand. It wasn’t fair of me to leave like that… You deserve better.”

“I do, but that doesn’t make me love you any less.” You could feel the tears forming in your eyes. Jungkook pressed a kiss on your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. You could feel his crotch rubbing against your lower back as he did so. “Not right now.” You told him.

“I know.” He sighed. “I just want to be closer to you.”

You rolled over the rest of the way until you faced him. Once you were eye to eye with your husband, you brought a hand up and let it rest on his cheek. He closed his eyes, relishing in your tender touch.

“I missed you so much,” you said.

“I missed you, too,” he replied, his eyes still closed.

“Jungkook…” Jungkook opened his eyes and looked at you expectantly. You knew it was kind of a sudden change in topic, but you had to ask. The question had been gnawing away at your brain ever since… what happened with Jimin. “Who is Jimin and how does he know you? Is he connected to all of this?”

Jungkook sighed and simply replied, “I’ll be able to tell you everything. Very soon. Just not right now.”

You could see the sadness and pain in his expression, so you didn’t press him further. Instead you wrapped your arms around him and pressed your face into his chest. “I understand,” you mumbled into the fabric of his t-shirt. He let out a soft groan as you squeezed his rib a little too hard, but you were not going to let him go.

You fell asleep like this. And you were relieved to find Jungkook still curled up against you when you woke up.

You called in sick for the next week. You just couldn't bring yourself to get out of bed. The nightmares were starting all over again. This time with both Taehyung and Jimin. You found yourself waking up screaming every night, heart pounding and covered in a thin film of sweat. Every night Jungkook held you and whispered sweet reassurances in your ear until you fell back asleep.

You couldn't take too much time off work though, since Jungkook hadn't found a job yet so you were the one supporting the two of you. When you returned, you found that Jimin was the subject of office gossip. People were saying he quit and found a better job in a fancy new office building downtown. Since you were gone, too, others thought that maybe the two of you had skipped town and eloped. But when you returned to work and Jimin was still gone, they realized that wasn't the case.

On your first day back, you got a note from the secretary that Seokjin had asked to see you in his office. You walked in, ready to apologize for missing so much work.

“Good morning, President Seokjin. Have you eaten yet?” You said as you took a seat across from him.

“Yes, yes, Y/N. Good morning. How are you faring?” He greeted you warmly.

“I've been good. Just had a bit of the flu last week.” You had no reason to be nervous, yet your hands still fidgeted in your lap.

“Y/N, I called you in here because I wanted to talk about Jimin. I knew you two were sleeping together.”

“Oh, um, yes, sir. But the last time I checked, there was no policy against dating coworkers.”

“Yes, that's correct, but that's not why I wanted to talk about him.”

“Oh?” Your palms started sweating, and you felt the room getting hotter. Now, you had something to be nervous about.

“Jimin and I have been… Let’s say we’ve been business partners for a long time.”

“Oh.”

“When he asked me to work here, I was a bit confused at first. I mean why would someone who made a lot of money… um… elsewhere, want to work in a modest company like this one? He told me that he needed something from you, and I was a little worried because I knew he also did business with your husband. However, I owed him a favor, so I agreed.” He shifted forward in his seat. “But Y/N, I know he’s a dangerous man, I know what he’s capable of, so you have to believe me when I say that I feared for your safety when I found out that you had been sleeping with him.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, but how did you find out?”

“That’s not important,” he replied sternly. “What’s important is that you’re okay. You’re not hurt, right?”

“No, sir. He did not try to hurt me.” But he did try to hurt your husband.

“I’m relieved to hear that. Even though what happened between you two happened outside of the office, I still feel responsible for your well being since I’m the one that brought him in here.”

“Thank you for your concern, President Kim.” You began to get up from your seat when your boss held a hand out to stop you.

“Wait, I have a few more questions.”

You nodded and sat back down. “Yes, sir. Ask away.”

“What happened to Jimin?” He asked.

You froze, unsure of how much you should tell him. “Uhh– Um,” you stammered.

“I ask this because he just stopped showing up here last week without saying anything to me. I just assumed he got whatever he wanted when he came here.” You simply nodded and said nothing. “What did he want?”

You didn’t know how to answer him. Your eyes darted around the room, avoiding Seokjin’s gaze as you tried to come up with an answer. However, your thoughts were drowned out with the sound of your thundering heart. Your mind drew a blank.

“I can see you’re overthinking it. Come on, you can tell me,” he coaxed. “I’ve done some pretty questionable, and dare I say, downright illegal things in the past. And if anything bad happened between you two, trust me, although I’ve worked with Jimin in the past, I am on your side. If you did something bad, I won’t say anything to anyone, okay?”

You nodded. Your voice was quiet and trembling when you spoke and you chose your words carefully. “Jimin was using me… To– to I guess get back at Jungkook for something. An–and Jungkook came back when Jimin was at home with me. And they got into… an altercation.” You looked around to make sure no one outside was listening in, even though you knew these glass walls were soundproof.

“Mhm,” Seokjin nodded and leaned back in his chair.

“And somehow, Jimin was able to get the upper hand on Jungkook and Jimin was kicking him and hurting him, and I thought he was going to kill him. And before Jungkook left, he gave me a– a gun. He told me to keep it next to me when I sleep.” You noticed Seokjin’s brows knitting together, like he knew what was coming next. “So… so I took the gun out of the drawer in the night stand and… and I shot him. I shot Jimin.” You hadn’t realized that you hadn’t breathed this whole time and nearly choked as you gasped for air. Seokjin stood up, ready to come over to you if you needed help, but you held your hand out to stop him. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” you tell him.

“Y/N… I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He looked truly concerned for you. But then suddenly, he started laughing. Softly at first, but then it grew louder as he went on.

You were scared, scared that maybe your boss was crazy. Maybe this had all been a trap to get you to admit what you had done, and now that you have… Oh, god.

To your relief, instead of telling you that, he simply said, “I’m so glad that bastard’s dead.”

Your jaw dropped, and you were left speechless.

“He was a horrible, horrible man. He threatened my family on numerous occasions. For a long time I lived in fear because of him. But he was also a very powerful man, so no one could do anything about him. He had more enemies than friends, but his friends were also extremely loyal, and would kill anything and anybody to ensure his safety. I can’t believe you were the one who finally offed him.” Then the smile left his face, replaced by a grimace. “Oh, but you must be so traumatized. That’s why you took last week off,” he said, connected the pieces of your story together.

“Yeah I was a little shaken up at first. You know, it being my first time taking someone else’s life and all.” You simulated nonchalance, thinking that if you pretended like it didn’t affect you, maybe it would stop bothering you. “But it wasn’t my first time seeing a dead body. Or that much blood for that matter,” you admitted. You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. You guessed it was because you needed to talk to someone, but Jungkook still wasn’t ready to open up to you yet.

Seokjin just sat there, staring at you. This time he was the one left speechless.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to say anything, you tried to move on with the conversation. “Is he part of the mafia or something?” you asked.

He snapped out of his daze. “Not exactly,” he replied. “Did your husband ever tell you anything?”

You shook your head and looked down at your hands, which were still trembling in your lap. “No,” you admitted. “He keeps saying he’ll tell me everything soon, but that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Hm. Well, I think it’s best you hear it from him. He was tangled in with them more recently than I was, so I think he has better insight.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The CEO took a deep breath. “Well, that’s all I have to ask you, Y/N. Is there anything else you have to say?”

You shake your head.

“Ah, alright then. I’ll leave you to get back to work.”

“Thank you, President Kim.” You stood from your seat and bowed.

“Oh and, Y/N?” He called to you on your way out.

“Yes, sir?”

“If you need to take some more time off to recover, feel free to do so. I’ll even pay you for it.”

“That’s alright, sir. I feel like I should work on some stuff, to distract myself and try to forget.”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you for your time this morning, Y/N.”

“Yes, of course, President.”

You were still trembling as you left his office. You couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling you had as you sat down at your desk and examined the stack of papers in front of you. You hoped that it wouldn’t take as long as last time to recover.

Later that day Hyolyn invited you to eat lunch with her in the company cafe to catch up. Normally you would just stuff a sandwich down your throat at your desk, but you missed her company. You wanted to get back on track, and socializing with your friends was the first step in doing so.

“It's a shame what happened to Jimin. He was cute.” Hyolyn said, twirling her fork around in a bowl of pasta.

You tried to avoid saying anything that would suggest you knew more than anyone else. “Yeah. He left so suddenly. I guess he didn't want to stay here.”

Hyolyn leaned over the table and whispered. “No, I know you killed him.”

Your heart stopped. How could Hyolyn know? She couldn't possibly unless… She couldn't possibly be working for Jimin, too, could she? You tried to hide your fear as you replied, “What? What are you talking about?”

“You know, with your magical seduction skills. I know you two were sleeping together. I guess finally he couldn't handle your amazing bedroom tricks and his soul ascended to heaven.” She winked at you.

“Hyolyn!” You exclaimed, shocked by her crudeness. “We’re at work!”

“So? We're on lunch break. And it's not like we've never talked about sex at work before.” She nonchalantly takes a bite of her linguine. “Seriously though, what happened to him? Did he say anything to you?”

“I think it was because Jungkook came back. Quite unexpectedly actually. He walked in on us,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

“Like, he walked in on you or he walked in on you?”

Instead of answering you just looked at her until it clicked in her brain. “Oh, oh. And you didn't tell me? Why not?” You hadn't told her because you were still trying to get over the trauma of it all. And you didn't know how to tell anyone what happened without talking about the fact that you straight up murdered Jimin.

“I guess I’m still a little shaken up is all.” You stirred your spoon around in your soup.

“What did Jungkook do?”

“He was strangely calm about it. He didn't say anything at first; I didn't even notice him there. But then Jimin saw him and immediately stopped. Jungkook called him a few profanities and then chased him out.” Yeah, that seemed like a pretty convincing story. “I guess Jimin felt weird about working here after that and quit.”

“Yeah I would too.” She took a sip of her water. “Wait so Jungkook is back?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you were out all last week?” Her tone didn’t suggest anything sexual. It just sounded like she was being a concerned friend.

“I guess you could say that.” You avoided her gaze, choosing to stare into your tomato bisque instead, which, to be honest, wasn’t any better. It looked too much like blood. Like Jimin’s blood. And Taehyung’s. God, even after you tried so hard to forget, you still thought about Taehyung.

“And he’s staying? Even after catching you with Jimin?” Hyolyn asked, thankfully breaking you out of your reverie.

“Yeah, he said he didn't blame me, since he was the one who left. And he knows I didn't love Jimin or anything.” You cautiously took a sip of your soup, trying to hide your grimace.

“But do you still love him? Jungkook I mean?”

“Of course. I never stopped loving him. I was mad at him for a little bit because he was gone, but I still love him.”

“Wow, you guys are like, couple goals. I want that kind of unconditional love like you guys.”

“Don't worry, you’ll find it.” You sighed and pushed back your chair. “I’m going to get back to work. I was nice catching up with you.”

“Wait! But you barely ate!”

“I guess my appetite hasn’t completely returned yet after having the flu.” You smiled at her.

“The flu? You never said anything about the flu.”

You froze. That’s right. You told her you were out last week because Jungkook came back. It was Seokjin who you told you had the flu. Jesus, how did you expect to do this if you can’t even lie properly.

“Mhm. Yes. That’s right,” you said distractedly. “The flu. I had the flu. Which was also why I was out last week. Not just because of Jungkook. But because of the flu.”

“Y/N… Are you alright? You’re acting kind of weird…”

“What? Yes! Of course I’m alright! I’m just recovering. From the flu.” Not able to bear staying there a second longer, you grabbed your tray and dashed toward the door, dropping it off at the trash can on your way out. Before returning to your desk, you stopped by the bathroom. Again, you checked if the stalls are empty before locking the door behind you.

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Y/N, you thought to yourself. Get yourself together. If you want to convince people that you are absolutely not a murderer, you gotta act like it.

You splashed some cold water on your face before exiting the restroom. On your way out you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again.

But you are one.

“Hey, you’re home. I missed you,” Jungkook greeted you as you entered your bedroom. He sat on the bed, with his laptop on his lap, typing away.

“Hey, babe. What did you do all day?” You set your purse down at the vanity and sat on the bed next to him. You gave him a kiss on the cheek before snuggling your head in between his neck and shoulder, being careful not to put too much pressure on his healing rib.

He smiled at you. “I’ve just been fixing up my resume, looking for jobs, practicing…”

“Practicing what?” You lifted your head up so you could see his face.

“Y/N…”

His serious tone confused you. “Hmm?” You sat up to face him.

“Y/N, I think it’s time to tell you everything.”

[makinjakenpancakes]

could you write a fic where kim gets sick and she's too stubborn to get some rest and jason just takes care of her? yo we need more people like you man this ship needs more supporters haha great job on the other fics as well ✌🏻️

(Aw shucks. I’m doing God’s work btw :P )

Luckily for Kim her parents were gone because she wascoughing up a lung. She couldn’t sleep between trips to the bathroom and thecoughing fits. Her desk was littered with cough drop wrappers. A bottle ofDyQuil laid half empty as if discarded because it did nothing. She was typingup a term paper because she had to do all her course work, plus extra creditand on top of that the detention workbook.

Not to mention save the world, keep up her social life(thank you Lord for group chat!) Kim couldn’t just lay back and rest. She wasgoing to punch this cold into submission like it was Rita’s monster. Or dietrying! Kim coughed, gagged and dumped her chair over as she ran to therestroom. She thought the soup would go down and stay down.

She was flush, her eyes bloodshot as she spat the bile. Sheyelled a few choice words that would get her written up at school beforecrying. She was so exhausted, she was in pain all over and she wasn’t going tolet the cold beat her into submission. (Spoiler Alert: It already had.)

Knock knock knockknock-knock… knock-knock

Only one dork would knock like that, her knight in crimsonarmor. The only person she actually wanted to see while simultaneously didn’twant to be seen. As she got up to zombie shuffle her way to the door she passeda mirror. Yep, still look like death,she thought. She opened the door and he lit up.

“Oh good you didn’t die,” he said as he entered. “Oh? Haveyou slept?”

“Are you joking Jason? I can’t afford to be sick. I haveterm papers, senior project, extra credit, the workbook as well as basic homework.I’m not going to repeat senior year. I have to get into college.” Kim said veryquickly.

Jason lifted her up and she hated him for it but also herheart fluttered when he brought her close. She wished she could smell because Jasonhad some natural musk or his cologne did something to Kim. She lazily put up afight as he carried her to her bed and tucked her in.

“Wait right here, I’m going to make you the Scott FamilyCold-Be-Gone. Trust me.”

She crossed her arms and pouted, she did trust him and itpissed her off. Jason wouldn’t steer her wrong. Not only was he a good person,he was a better boyfriend. Jason walked off wearing his big smile. He went tothe kitchen and got the blender. He tossed a bunch of bananas, he cut up somestrawberries threw a few ice cubes in. Then some non-fat Greek yogurt for anice cream-y flavor and NyQuil to finish it off.

He blended it hoping he added enough stuff to cover themedicine’s flavor. He hated to deceive her like this but he had a plan and itwould be a good plan. Trini would probably approve, Zack too. Billy not somuch. Luckily none of them were here to stop him from getting his girlfriendsome rest. He returned with a pink liquid and handed it to her.

“You have to drink it in one gulp, no excuses,” he said ashe sat on the edge of her bed.

She did so and coughed. She had no idea what flavor it was.There was fruit and yogurt and… it took her a few seconds. Medicine!

“You poisoned me, with NyQuil! Dick,” she said knowing sleepwould take her soon. “Jace I can’t sleep I’ve got… the.. maybe a quick cat nap.”

“Forgive me Kim for I have sinned,” he said to himself andgot up.

Jason went to her laptop, he finished her term paper gotsources for her senior project. Jason finished any of her other homework beforewriting a few more term papers for extra credit. All while he made trips to thekitchen to make soup. He had stopped at the store prior to driving over so hecould do this. Luckily Zack had sent him the recipe. He was stiring the soupand tasted it, perfect.

“What day is it?” a groggy Kimberly asked.

“Same day, it’s nine thirty. All your work is done and soupis hot and ready. Sit down,” he said and she sat.

Kim rubbed her eyes; she hadn’t had a good night’s restsince the summer. As she yawned she realized she could smell the soup. Chicken noodleor rice. It smelled fantastic. Had he said all her work was done? She looked atthe table and saw her binder. When she opened it she saw the start of what shewrote and then stuff that wasn’t her words. She continued to flip through andit was all done.

“Did you do all my homework? And make me soup?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said as he slid over the chicken noodle soup. “Isthat not something boyfriends do?”

“I could kiss you,” she said.

“As tempting at that is, I can’t afford to be sick. I’ve gota load of homework to do tonight.” Jason smiled as he walked over and kissedher forehead. “Mind if I crash on your floor?”

“I can help you with-“ she said and his finger touched herlips.

“Nope, you rest up.”

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

Prompt: Sterek ;) Derek woos his mate the wolf way. :D

This is one of my favorite tropes! So glad I got to write it! Also on ao3!

Stiles wished he could say it was the first time he had found a dead animal on his doorstep. He really did. But it wasn’t.

For the past few days, five in a row to be exact, he had found all sorts of small, fluffy little woodland animals lying dead and bloody on his front porch. They ranged from squirrels, their furry tails soaked in blood, to birds, their feathers strewn around the doormat, to rabbits, who apparently were not fast enough to outrun whoever or whatever was leaving them on the front stoop.

Initially, he had thought it was one of their neighbor’s cats, the old woman a few houses down who owned a veritable army of feline companions having recently procured two more cat cadets. But on the fourth day, he had walked out of the house to check if they had gotten any mail only to find a large raccoon with its throat slashed open, blood seeping out onto the doormat that they had just replaced.

No matter how fierce those cats were, he doubted they could do such gruesome damage. And so, he had begun considering other culprits who may have been leaving the dead animals.

It had started with a dead bird, a blue jay lying on the top step of their front porch. Stiles had found it while leaving for school in the morning, taking a few minutes out of his morning rush to bury the poor thing in the front yard before heading off to school. He figured it had simply keeled over in exhaustion, no obvious injuries save for a few molted feathers, and moved on.

The next day he had found two dead squirrels, deep claw marks raked down their sides, on the front porch. He had wrinkled his nose at the grisly sight, running back inside to grab a plastic bag to shove them in before tossing them into another shallow grave by the blue jay. That was when he began having the sneaking suspicion that a cat was responsible for the morbid little deliveries.

The day after the squirrels, he found the rabbit. Its throat was open, a hole about the size of a cat’s mouth oozing bright scarlet blood onto the doormat, absolutely ruining it. Groaning, and internally cursing crazy cat people, Stiles held his nose and cleaned up the scene, again burying the poor victim and dumping the doormat into their trash can.

The raccoon was next, sullying the new welcome mat that Stiles had picked up after his last class the day before. Curiously inspecting the raccoon, finding wounds too large to have been inflicted by a cat, Stiles had reached another, new conclusion ― there was some new supernatural threat in Beacon Hills and it was killing poor, defenseless animals and dumping them on Stiles’ porch.

Why he didn’t know, but it was the only feasible thing he could think of. He had taken his theory to others, asking around to see if anyone else had noticed anything strange lately. No one else had.

He had gone to Deaton at the vet clinic to ask if he had any information about anything weird going on with any of the local animals. Deaton had denied that anything unusual was going on with any animals, neither domestic or otherwise, for once actually foregoing any cryptic responses. Though, he did mention that parvo was more common than usual that year.

After talking to Deaton, he went to Chris Argent, figuring the ex-hunter would have information on any supernatural goings-on that Deaton did not know about. Argent didn’t know anything either, indulging Stiles’ curious nature and patiently answering his strange inquisitions with as much patience as someone who had been woken up at four thirty a.m. could muster.

Afterward, he had dropped in to visit his dad at the station, hoping that it wasn’t just happening to them, even though it would be just his luck. The Sheriff let him rifle through recent reports of strange, out of the ordinary activities but all he found were reports filed about suspicious looking teenagers hanging around outside of local convenience stores. There had been no reports of rabies, either, dashing another one of Stiles’ theories.

And, of course, he had gone to the pack as soon as he began to suspect that the dead animals may have a more sinister origin than simply falling prey to some pet cat roaming the neighbor. No one in the pack had noticed anything amiss, no supernatural threats or random dead animals on any doorsteps.

Peter had made some snide little comment about Valentine’s Day coming up soon, pointing out that Stiles probably had a psychopathic secret admirer who thought that leaving dead animals on his porch was the epitome of romance. With Stiles’ luck, it was a disturbingly real possibility, one he wouldn’t discount.

The other betas had dissolved into a bout of raucous laughter, even Boyd chuckling under his breath at the comment, but Stiles hadn’t been very amused. Rolling his eyes at the remark, Stiles had noticed that the tips of Derek’s ears had been burning bright red, a sure sign that the alpha was blushing at something. Probably due to secondhand embarrassment, Stiles figured.

Now, there he was, standing on his front porch in his Spiderman pajamas, looking down at that day’s little ‘gift’ ― a twelve point buck, lying dead on the walkway in front of the porch, a large hole in its chest. Ripped out of the buck’s ripped, its bloody heart lay on the front porch just inches from his bare foot, a single red rose laid beside it.

He almost threw up.

Holding back gags, feeling the bile rise in his throat as his eyes watered, Stiles pulled his phone out of the pocket of his pajama pants and dialed Derek’s number, fumbling a few times while typing in the digits. He tapped his foot while waiting for Derek to pick up the phone, hoping the werewolf had his cell phone on him, aware of the fact that he sometimes left it at the loft when he went for his morning run through the preserve.

“Hello?” Derek answered a moment before the call would have gone to voicemail, voice rough and gravelly with sleep. Stiles sighed gratefully at the sound of Derek’s voice, relief washing over him.

“There’s another,” Stiles reported pitifully, a whine in his voice as he lamented his situation, hands clutching his phone tighter. With a disgusted glance at the deer’s carcass, he felt his stomach turn, desperately relaying, “Dude, it’s a deer this time. A fucking deer! I just― I think I’m gonna be sick… Can you come over and help take care of this? Please?”

“Sure,” Derek replied evenly, his tone calm and placating like he was trying to soothe a frantic animal. Given Stiles’ panicked state, the comparison wasn’t all that far off, in fact, it was actually rather fitting considering the situation. He was drawn out of his musings when Derek tacked on a weary, “Just give me a minute. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” Stiles breathed in relief, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to Derek hang up. Shivering when he accidentally made eye contact with the dead buck, Stiles slipped back inside, infinitely glad that it was Saturday and he wouldn’t be missing any school because of his theoretical psycho secret admirer.

He waited patiently by the front window in the kitchen, sitting perched on the edge of the counter by the sink, swinging his legs over the side of the counter as he chewed his nails down to the quick while waiting for Derek to get there. He was so fixated on watching the street in front of the house for Derek’s Camaro, still frazzled from the ghastly sight on the porch, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard his dad walk into the kitchen behind him and greet, “Morning, son.”

Flailing and tumbling off the edge of the counter, Stiles squawked in surprise and pure, visceral fear, for a split second terrified that whoever, or whatever, had been leaving the dead animals had somehow gotten into the house. He had been watching too many horror movies lately, it was making him paranoid. Well, more paranoid than usual.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He gasped in shock, clutching a hand to his chest as his dad muffled his amused laughter behind the back of his hand, shoulders shaking as he watched his son straighten up to stand on shaky legs. Running a hand through his hair, Stiles whipped his head around to glare at his father who was still laughing, snapping at him, “A little warning next time!”

“Didn’t know I needed to warn you when I walk into the room,” his dad snarked, crossing the room to open one of the wood cabinets above the linoleum countertop, grabbing a mug for his morning coffee. He visibly stifled a yawn as he shuffled over to their old coffee maker, a steaming pot of strong roast ready courtesy of Stiles who could barely go two straight days without caffeine, pouring himself a cup. Taking a sip of his black coffee, he asked, “So, we get a new one today?”

Stiles just nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face, not wanting to go into particular detail about the utterly lovely scene on their front lawn. Just thinking about it was enough to make him feel a bit queasy. Sighing, he simply claimed, “Yeah. Derek’s coming over to help me deal with it.”

“That why he’s parked out front looking like he’s here to pick you up for the prom?”

“What?” Stiles mumbled, turning his back around to peer out the kitchen window, indeed seeing Derek’s unmistakable Camaro parked out front, sleek black paint job shining in the morning sun. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Derek was fiddling with the steering wheel, looking like he was psyching himself up to tackle some unconquerable task.

Stiles figured the werewolf had caught sight of the bloody body of the buck and was a little bit horrified by the needless bloodshed. Though, why seeing a dead deer would have a bigger effect on him than seeing the dead bodies of the various supernatural creatures they slayed, Stiles didn’t know.

Steeling himself for seeing said dead deer again, Stiles saluted his dad and made his way to the front door, slipping out into the porch to greet Derek. Adamantly avoiding looking at the dead ungulate, Stiles waved Derek over, sure he was even paler than usual if that was somehow possible.

Derek climbed out of the Camaro, rounding it to jog up the front walk until he reached the dead deer, accidentally stepping into a pool of coagulated blood. He looked down at the buck with an indecipherable expression, no emotion whatsoever on his face, even his eyes blank.

After a long moment of painfully awkward silence, both of them staring at the slain deer’s lifeless body, Derek raised his head to look at Stiles. Voice gruff, he demanded, “You don’t like it?”

Wait, what? Was Derek seriously asking him if he liked the dead deer some crazy wacko had left on his doorstep? Seriously? Stiles’ voice revealed his incredulity as he gaped, “Of course, I don’t like it! It’s a dead deer for god’s sake! Who in their right mind would like it?! I mean, the rose and the heart were a nice touch but― That’s not the point! The point is, no, I don’t like it! Are you crazy?!”

“You could’ve just said you didn’t like it,” Derek growled out, curling his hands into fists at his side as he glowered at Stiles, a scowl planted firmly on his lips. “You didn’t have to insult me.”

“What?!” Stiles screeched, eyes wide as he gawked at Derek, his mind running a mile a minute as he tried to decipher how exactly he had managed to offend Derek. Eyes darting between Derek and the dead deer, Stiles groaned, “Insult you?! How the fuck did I insult you?! I just don’t like waking up to dead animals on my front porch! How in the hell is that insulting to you―” he cut himself off, pausing as the realization dawned on him “―Oh my god. You. It’s you.”

Ducking his head, ears burning again, Derek nodded silently and scuffed the tip of his shoe against the dirt in the front lawn, nearly kicking the dead deer. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and continued sulking, a frown on his face as he glared down at the buck as though it had done something awful to him.

Stiles broke the awkward silence by softly asking, “But why…?”

“It was supposed to be romantic,” Derek grit out in a growl, every word sounding like it pained him more than the last, a deep crease between his brows as he refused to meet Stiles’ eyes for even a second. Running a rough hand through his hair, Derek squeezed his eyes shut and accused, “But you humans are weird! You do things―” he paused in frustration as though wrestling with his choice of words, eventually snarling, “―different!”

“Romantic? Different?” Stiles repeated to himself, frowning as he attempted to figure out just what the hell Derek meant. Jaw nearly dropping a moment later when another realization struck him, he squeaked, “Wait, have you been trying to woo me? With dead animals?!”

“Yes,” Derek spat, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Brows still drawn together, he elaborated, “It’s how werewolves court each other! It shows we can provide for each other. Can take of each other.”

“Oh my god, you’re such an idiot,” Stiles sighed fondly, rolling his eyes at Derek’s utter stupidity. Bracing himself with a deep breath before he could over-think his next move, he stepped over the deer, just barely avoiding stepping into a large puddle of blood, to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck and tug him into a kiss.

Derek was slow to respond, Stiles stuck kissing a pair of rigid, unmoving lips until he did. Stiles was about to pull away, worried he might have somehow misread things, despite the fact that Derek had very clearly confirmed he had been wooing him, when Derek finally kissed him back.

Unfolding his arms, he slipped them around Stiles’ waist to reel him in a little closer, molding their bodies together with a soft sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat. Stiles smiled into the kiss at Derek’s eagerness, relaxing into the werewolf’s strong arms, trusting Derek to hold him up.

Gently scraping his fingers over the back of Derek’s neck, Stiles deepened the kiss a bit, gingerly sweeping the tip of his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip, hoping he wasn’t moving too fast. Derek hummed, tightening his hold on Stiles’ waist while he opened his mouth to flick his tongue against Stiles’, nibbling his lower lip.

Before things could get too out of hand, Stiles itching to bury his fingers in Derek’s hair and really kiss him, he realized that they were standing in the middle of his front lawn at six a.m., kissing each other beside the lifeless body of a slaughtered deer. Pulling back a little bit, pressing his forehead against Derek’s to let him know that he wasn’t going anywhere, Stiles fondly sighed, murmuring, “Y’know, chocolates and flowers would’ve worked just fine.”

“Duly noted,” Derek smirked, moving in for another, deeper kiss. Stiles rolled his eyes but accepted the kiss anyway, eyes falling closed as he melted into Derek’s arms even more.

Hopefully, this would be the last time he found a dead animal on his doorstep. But with Derek, he wasn’t holding his breath.

💕VALENTINE’S DAY FIC GIVEAWAY💕

[tossing-cookies]

This is a really weird question but what anime is your header image from?? Also, since your taking requests for YOI would you write Yuri P. sick in Japan and missing home - maybe with Viktor being in big brother mode and taking care of Yuri??

Hi! Thanks for the request! The picture is from Antique Bakery 07- MERRY XMAS?! I had no idea when I used the picture lol I had to reverse image search haha.

Yurio was moving unconsciously, his legs stumbling reflexively out of bed when his stomach seized. Both hands covered his mouth tightly, desperately, praying he could hold his stomach until he made it to the bathroom. Hot bile bubbled up his throat as he gagged into his palm, the sickness making his legs felt heavy like lead but wobbly and weak like jello.

He all but toppled down the stairs, sliding at the landing and nearly falling. He managed somehow to keep his balance, and skidded down the hall. When he reached the bathroom, Yurio fell painfully onto his knees, his hands moving from sealing his mouth to lift up the lid and the seat. A gurgle ran up his throat and sent him into a harsh coughing fit. Every gag brought stinging acid further up Yurio’s esophagus, choking him.

Gasping for a strangled breath, a loud retch tore from him, producing a thin film of bile that slipped over his lips and streamed into the toilet bowl. Another coughing attack took Yurio, suffocating him with its sharp sting.

Gentle hands were on him then, stroking though his hair and moving it back out of the way. Rubbing up and down his back ensued, for which Yurio was grateful. Another retch interrupted his choking, sending a rush of bile and half-digested dinner. The feeling of it coming up his throat made him grimace and shudder.

The massage on his back continued, and a soft breath whispered in his ear words of comfort. While Yurio’s head was too muddled to comprehend what was being said, the tone itself was low and soothing.

Yurio moaned in response, his stomach gurgling as it lulled from vomiting for a moment. He was left a panting, sweating, exhausted mess. His throat burned, his stomach was tied in tight knots, his head spun, and he could hardly keep his eyes open. He wanted to go home. This was not his bathroom, and the room he would go back to sleep in was not his. As bad as he felt, he craved the familiarity and comfort of his own house in Russia.

“Nngh…” The sick blond adolescent groaned, eliciting a wet belch and another retch. Vomit splashed into the water he hovered his head over, one rush after another. Between each gag, he could not even breathe, gasping, choking, before the next heave was wrenching from him.

“Yurio.” Viktor called, his voice firm but soft, willing Yurio to listen in the midst of this turmoil. “Yurio, relax…” He coaxed, moving closer and continuing to rub the boy’s back. “Easy, just let it out.”

The encouragement brought about ten more minutes of violent heaves, first bringing up substance, but then turning dry, painful, abrasive. It felt like glass scraping his throat.

“Breathe…” Viktor instructed, massaging circles still into Yurio’s back, feeling the boy’s muscles tending and trembling.

When the dry retching released him of its torture, Yurio lay over the toilet, wheezing, gasping, coughing weakly. A miserable sob threw itself into the mix, prompting tears to slip from his half lidded, glassy eyes.

It took him a couple minutes to regain his breath, after which he spoke for the first time since He awoke to vomit so terribly. “Ugh… I want my cat…”

Viktor snorted a laugh. “You’ll see your cat soon enough. In the mean time, let’s clean you up and get you back into bed.”

[gary36]

2 Soups for a Tray

Right then. Properly caffeinated and sufficiently indulged in cat therapy, it's time I got started and if I mispell anything I know a lovely audience member will tell me.

Here's a tale from the land of orange jumpsuits and tiny toothbrushes.

I'm not proud. Let's get that out of the way. Late one night I was on my way home from a job out of town. At around 9:30 I see blue light very dimly in my mirror. It should be known I was pulling a large trailer. What's more the running lights didn't work. I should've never agreed to drive the thing but jobs run late and I finish what I start. Now there's blue lights behind me, and my face is covered in my own blood. Now I promise to explain that but it's a story for another day. I pull into the next gas station and wait. I'm the subcontractor, I get the points off my liscence but nothing to pay. I'm cool. The cop's nothing special. He sticks to the facts. I've got no lights, he just needs to run my liscence. He's gone for a minute and I have time to get bored and wonder how much longer until I'm free. There was a long ways to go yet and the felines would be waiting on food. He gets back "Can you step out of the truck." Instruction, not question. "Yes sir." And I'm out. "Turn around." I do.

Handcuffs are on me before I can think about why I turned around in the first place. I'm confused. I go and sit in the back of a cruiser while the officer asks me questions. There's nothing but cold metal back there and with my hands compromised I wasn't comfy. Do I know there's a warrant for my arrest? No sir. Do I know why? No. Is there anything I want to tell now before I get stripped down? No. So we wait for someone to radio. If they want me I'm screwed. If they don't I'm free to go. We wait so long two more cops drive up to chat with my keeper. They all get a good laugh in at me hunched forward back there. I let it slide because if I'm lucky it'll be over soon. It wasn't.

Finally the radio condemns me. Then a long ride to county jail. First thing's first I empty my pockets. Write down all the contacts in your phone as fast as you can. Got it. Turn over your wallet. Now we're going to put your card on file so you can use it inside. Won't be an issue, no money. Then into the holding tank. There's three benches and two are broken. There's a sink and a toilet. I haven't slept in a long time and it's getting late. I lay on the bench. I jump awake and sit up to see a large man inside the tank as well. He's bald and surprisingly cheery. Neither of us says anything but he takes a seat. It's awkward silence for a long time. The cops ask him out. I'm alone. I lay down. The door opens and I jolt up. It's a stocky man with a beard. He loves to talk. "Why are you here?" Until he asked me I didn't know. I sigh with exasperation. Now I remember. "When I was twenty I got caught shoplifting. I never went to the court date."

About two hours later after pretending to be interested in the fight my fellow got into with his girlfriend and her ex, just as I'm beginning to wonder what'll happen if he actually expects me to be involved in the conversation, I'm asked out of the holding tank. I put finger prints on paper. A lady behind a desk tells me what I already know. I talk to a nurse. She wants me to come in to her office for the blood on my face. May not be until the next day. Fine. None of it felt the least bit real until I had to change. Out of my filthy work clothes into an orange jumpsuit that is entirely too loose and incredibly itchy. Having a cop watch me change took the rest of my dignity. Now I get a stylish green napsack, a pair of slippers that constantly fall off, a smelly hard pillow, to top it off a blue bedroll that is approximately 30 pounds. All the lawmen are surprisingly nice, maybe they had fun watching me carry everything. It's 3 AM and I walk into block B.

I don't know what I expected but I didn't get it. Everyone is asleep. I'm in a large room of white and green tile. It smells offensive. My bunk is 34. There's at least 50 men packed in the room. A third of them are up some stairs. It took a while to find my bunk because the numbering is present but without logic. I roll out my bedroll. It's bad. It's really bad. The pillow is a rock wrapped in plastic. The bed is running out of stuffing. I don't know who's in the bunk above me. I try to be quiet. For some reason I want to make a good impression. What a laugh. I peek in my stylish napsack and find a very worn blanket, a very short toothbrush in a wrapper, toothpaste in a ketchup packet, soap in a ketchup packet, 2 rolls of toilet paper, six blank strips of blue cardstock. Then my favorite. A pamphlet of rules. The pamphlet is hilarious. It urges me to tell a guard if I ever feel threatened. The room has three doors. Two upstairs lead to separate blocks. Five locks a piece. No guards. Downstairs has a big window into the halls, one pressure locked door and no guards. The pamphlet also reminds me that there's no weapons or drugs allowed in the county jail, and well... we'll get to that.

The next morning I'm jolted awake by the lights and a horn. No music just a very forceful "MEHHHH" and everyone is paying attention. A guard opens the pressurized door and bellows with a drill sergeant's enthusiasm "EXERCISE!" Almost everyone lopes along to the door. My bunkmate hopped down. A very lean man with dreadlocks. I watch them file out but when I realize that exercise isn't mandatory I decide to get my bearings. Only 3 people remained in block B besides myself and they were all keen on sleeping. I find 3 showers and five toilets. One shower and one toilet upstairs. It's suddenly obvious where the awful smell comes from. Jailbirds can't be bothered to hit their mark. I had to be careful to avoid puddles in my worthless slippers. The shower upstairs is the only vaguely warm one as I'd soon find out. The shower is not very helpful. There's not enough soap to get very clean, I'm still dirty from work. The walls of the shower are disturbing and I dare not touch anything. I use all my soap and half my toothpaste right away. I feel better but not much. My hair is a gnarled mess and the blood on my face is dry. I look fairly crazy, just guessing since all the mirrors were scratched to the point of not functioning. Everyone filed back in from exercise. At this point I realize my bunkmate is the only black guy in block B. Based on what I learned from TV he'd be in danger but he was cool as a cucumber. Before anyone can settle in it's breakfast time. A cart shows up. We all take trays and a single styrofoam cup. I get a sudden feeling of the first day at a new school and not knowing where to sit. I hear over my shoulder "Bunky!" That's how I met Shakespeare Jones. My bunkmate was incredibly well liked. Guys were always asking Shakespeare to come play cards or join in on some project or other. Shakespeare asked me a series of questions I would get used to, eating heartily as he did so. What did I do? How long was I in for? What happened to your face? Shoplifting and failure to appear in court. I don't know. Nothing violent. When Shakespeare was satisfied he became quiet and I decided not to bother him with similar questions. I turned my attention to the food. Breakfast looked and even smelled quite normal. With plastic spoon and grits in sight I dug in. And immediatly gagged. A sharp and distinct taste of bile slithered in my mouth. I tried the firm and sticky scrambled egg. The SAME sharp bile taste. I could barely overcome my instincts, it was work to swallow anything. Everything, even sliced carrots tasted like bile. It would've been impressive if I wasn't so hungry. I knew I couldn't be picky so I ate it all. I needed water to force down each bite. The water from the fountains is horrifying. It's warm. It tastes like metal. The fountain is grimy. After breakfast I settle into my bunk and just watch. Just to see how block B's ecosystem functioned. The basis of the economy is food and drugs we were not supposed to have. The highest tier of food is soup, followed by anything else from commissary (small bags of chips, coffee packets, mayonnaise, small slim jims), followed by cake.

A lot of people had cake. The cake came about once a day with lunch or dinner. Everyone was stockpiling cake by making containers for it out of two cleverly bent styrofoam cups. Most people saved it for later, others traded large amounts of cake for soup. Soup is just instant ramen. It's value was initially hard for me to understand. Lunch arrived before I could find out. Lunch looked normal. It tasted like bile. All of it, even the rice. My stomach was sore from trying to vomit even as I forced myself to swallow. I was starting to see what would be the greatest challenges in jail. I wasn't worried about my cats. I had a good roommate, he would feed them. I used my one phone call to let my roommate know the situation. Half way through explaining that I still didn't know how long I'd be locked up the phone cut out. I went back to observing. A commotion passed through almost every man in block B. I heard many whispers of "Billy White." A freckled man with a beer gut and a bandana who only ever wore one sleeve of his jumpsuit bellowed "Billy White's coming!" Several others echoed joyfully. The pressurized door opened. In walked the bald cheery man from the holding tank. With a smile on his face Billy White threw up his arms to a round of tired applause and set about high fiving and bear hugging the line of men to greet him. Thirty minutes after Billy White set up his bed he was pulled into a group of mischievous men. They whispered for a while. Billy White broke away from the huddle and walked upstairs to one of the doors with five locks. He knocked rapidly and loud. Then silence. Then he placed his ear to the crack in the door. Then he whispered to the door. A few minutes later something slid beneath the door and into Billy White's hands. It was shiny and smooth. The huddle formed again around Billy White, this time close to my bunk. A man crowding Billy White looked sickly, he saw me watching and told me to go somewhere else. I opened my mouth to speak but Billy White was first. "Layoff he's cool. Anybody who fights the cops is cool." The crowd automatically obeyed him. Shakespeare hung his head over from the bunk above and he was positively beaming. We both knew I'd never fought a cop. Billy White was making assumptions because of the blood on my face. I was allowed to watch the rest of the crime. Billy White produced a small cylinder from somewhere. It was a third the size and diameter of a #2 pencil and had a candy cane pattern. He twisted the thing and a razor blade grew out of the end. If he went through the same strip down as me then the only way Billy White had gotten that inside was up his ass. They search every where else. Billy White cut the shiny smooth stuff into rectangles. I don't know why. The crowd stumbled to the toilets downstairs where they could all just barely escape the view of the camera by going around a corner. A minute later the stench of criminal urine mingled with a strange chemical smell. News traveled throughout block B that the guys downstairs were smoking spice. The night of day 1 was lively. Most people stayed up talking. Shakespeare and I talked for hours. Shakespeare had been incarcerated a lot. He was the same age as me but had spent 7 years in prison and over two months in jail this time. He used to fight a lot. It used to help pass the time. It got to where he'd been broken and stabbed so much he just gave up fighting. Now he would do anything not to be bored. He had a daughter and a girlfriend waiting for him. Outside he was a custodian. Shakespeare couldn't believe I'd never been to jail. He said most guys talk more on their first day because they're scared. I told him I was terrified. I told him I'd never steal again. He laughed at that. He said that's what they all say. Shakespeare was always laughing mostly at his own jokes, he was too funny to be where he was.

On Day 2 I felt myself getting cabin fever. The room was explored. We never left. There was nothing to do. No matter what I did the eyes of at least twenty men were watching. After forcing down breakfast and lunch my stomach was turning. Shakespeare did a little dance and then made like he would backflip off of the upper floor. He made it look so authentic my eyes went wide. Shakespeare Jones was the only performer in block B. He made everyone laugh. Once he bellowed a joke I'll never forget because it makes no sense without context. "2 soups for a tray!" He called out to no one in particular. And everybody laughed. The trays are so rotten and the instant ramen so mysteriously valuable that the idea of auctioning off soup for a tray is a joke all its own. I finally understood the soup after Shakespeare drew a crowd together. Each man brought every food item he had. Fritos, bits of hotdog, bits of slim jim, a tin of onion dip, some mayonnaise, everything. Shakespeare provided the instant ramen. All the ingredients go into one trash bag. The trash bag is filled with water from the upstairs shower because it is the hottest. The bag is shaken. That's it. That's soup. Everyone argued over how to divide the soup until finally each investor had a cup full. They ate with much passion. It smelled alright, like instant ramen. Shakespeare offered me half his soup, I declined because the hotdog worried me and my stomach was already in knots. The investors chastised Shakespeare for trying to waste soup on me. Shakespeare pointed at me "Look at him man. He ain't got nothing." I layed down, I couldn't believe I was the poorest guy in block B. That night the guy in the bunk next to me packed up and went home. I was the only one awake so he offered me his stylish bag. I got a real bar of soap and travel size toothpaste. Score.

On the third morning the guards had us all step away from our bunks and hold still. They knew about the guys who smoked spice. They were doing a search. They threw shit everywhere. My bag remained intact though, other guys weren't so lucky. Some guys got taken outside. Some came back. After I ate breakfast I felt suddenly ill. I had a fever and I began vomiting. Not sure why. Thought it must've been the food. I stayed in bed all day. Shakespeare came by to let me know the rumors about me. In block B they thought I was a meth addict who knew Billy White on the outside. They thought I was going through withdrawals. I didn't eat dinner. Mistake. Hungry by midnight but still sick. Shakespeare asked how I was. I said my head was pounding and the food or water was killing my stomach. He said that wasn't normal. I figured if it was bad enough they'd take me to a nurse. I was supposed to have been already but it just never happened. Shakespeare told me I wouldn't go to the nurse until one of the guards confirmed I was dying. I didn't think I was dying.

Day 4 I wasn't any better. I was led to a room with 15 others to talk to a judge on an old boxy television screen. He asked us if we had lawyers. He asked if we were mentally competent. He set my trial date for next month. I asked the television how much longer I'd be in. He told me I'd be transferred within ten days to the prison in my county. Then after booking I would likely be transferred back to where I already was because the prison was overpopulated. All at my expense. On the way back to block B we passed a line of female inmates. The guys from block B went nuts. The women went nuts too. In a few seconds twenty or more people let loose all the most vulgar things they wanted to do to each other and then we rounded the corner. Back at bunk 34 I wiped out. The fever was worse. My insides were all wrong. My neck was stiff because of the worthless pillow. I missed my cats.

On day 5 I began to wonder if the food might kill me. Billy White gave me some coffee. For the first time I tried to sit by the TV. Usually the seats were all taken by the oldest men in block B. One of the gray inmates had his hand grafted to the remote and all requests had to go through him. One guy managed to get him on to a news channel. It was raining. I didn't know. I hadn't been anywhere near outside and I was starting to regret not taking my chance on day 1 to excercise. The coffee tasted like the metal in the fountain but I hadn't had caffeine in a while so it worked. Along with the morning news it nearly made me forget the headache. I was being pressured into relinquishing my TV seat, cake was brought up. I was about to explain to the man hovering over me that food wasn't an acceptable offer because I was vomiting all the time and the cake tasted like bile anyway. Before I could speak the guard opened the pressurized door and called my name. I didn't register what was going on. Finally Shakespeare put it in terms I understood. "You're going home man!" I got that. Confused and groggy I gathered my lumpy bed, my stiff pillow, and my fabulous bag. I gave Shakespeare the stuff he wanted out of the bag. I told him I'd find him on Facebook. He just smiled and shook his head.

I got naked for a cop one more time. I got back my dirty work clothes, my wallet, and my phone. I was led to the entrance where my sister was waiting for me. She had called. She had gotten worried. She went to my house. My roommate told her where I was. She payed my bail. It was a thousand bucks. It took me 6 months to pay her back. All because I tried to steal a shoelace, a soda, and a packet of Thai seasoning from Walmart. That's how my sister saved me from the second most painful experience in my life. Starla ex machina.

I looked for Shakespeare on Facebook but never found him. I check every now and again. I hope he got out and stayed out. I hope he got to see his daughter. I never stole anything again.