#they’re hitting the hospitals hard before the truce… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flowerflamestars · 4 years ago

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okay i’m still obsessed with your idea of nesta and tarquin together!! would you mind giving us a little more on that, like how would they first interact, what would nesta think of him, all of that? thank you so much!!!! 💚💚

I would love to!!!

The important thing to remember about the Tarquin Draft is that is has the same main story as Daylight: Nesta in Day, Nesta the Library, Helion’s grumpy best, best truest friend ride or die companion.

So Nesta doesn’t actually meet Tarquin again until she’s halfway to okay. It’s plotwise timeline closest to where she is in the most recent chapter- feeling at home in her body, really hitting her stride as Librarian, gaining a reputation as just an absolutely formidable force who helps anyone who asks.

There’s been correspondence between the Library and Summer- Nesta, acting as a go-between for Kallias- but remember, no one uses her name.

So it’s a big surprise when the Librarian arrives in Summer, pulls down her black and gold hood and...there is Feyre Archeron’s face, like a nightmare. Except not- wearier, sharper, older, devastation and salvation like the sunrise after a storm at sea- Nesta, who laughs in Cresseida’s face when the Princess of Adriata calls her a Night Court spy.

Nesta: wouldn’t that require belonging to the Night Court? Try my baby sister, if you’d like to yell about idiotic plans. Where are the books that keep eating people?

Cresseida is so wary, but Nesta, of course, isn’t actually going to leave before handling the cursed trove some Summer sailors pulled from the sea. She’s the Librarian.

Tarquin just...doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to be proved inexperienced, that he can’t act for his people’s good by a beautiful woman again. But Nesta aggressively wants to help, and ultimately, he lets her.

And Nesta acts nothing like Feyre.

She takes off that cloak of office (listen, I’m picturing like, the coolest wide-legged, sleeveless white linen jumpsuit that has EVER existed, chic but functional), puts on a sunhat that she...magicked into her hand? and stomps into the shallows. Starts pulling sailors souls out of the treasure and hauling them to shore.

It’s terrifyingly efficient. And listen, Tarquin doesn’t give a shit about rank, so he, after some very blushy surprise because no, he did not know he had a competency kink and Nesta Archeron has tiny adorable little freckles on her shoulders- gets in the waves to help.

Nesta doesn’t even look at him.

What she does is save the lives of twelve of his men, pick up the faintly hissing, utterly cursed chest of books that started all this, and ask Cresseida is there’s a room where she can work.

So they take her to the palace.

The beautiful ambassadors rooms, windows and silk and the sound of water.

It becomes clear that the curse is in fact, just a curse, but one that can only be broken under the full moon, which is two weeks away. So Nesta stays, being the only person who can keep that magic from spreading. The only payment she wants is to take the books back when she goes which leaves Tarquin, arms full of the traditional gift of pearls, VERY embarrassed.

But he gets over it. Tarquin is genuinely chill- he has baggage from the weight of his responsibility, of being fooled by the Night Court- but he’s also so, so young. Kind. Curious. He doesn’t want to judge Nesta on the actions of people related to her, and once she proves herself, he doesn’t.

And meanwhile Nesta is like, cool. Cool, cool, cool- I can’t sleep while I’m here, I can’t winnow home and sleep because the Library can’t suppress a curse from hundreds of miles away, I’m not going to steal the books like a fucking thief in the night like Feyre-

So Nesta does a lot of exploring.

Tarquin comes into the harbor one morning, pink still streaking the sky. He’d been up in predawn doing Manly Boating Things with his navy- he walks through the harbor, lets the sounds his happy people sooth the rush of magic that still surprises him- to shape the sea, to cease the waves, to bend the world, to call the tide- and goes looking for breakfast.

Instead, he finds Nesta.

In line a line waiting for fresh bread and pastries, in another insanely attractive white outfit, looking at the sky. She’s alone- he’d given her guards, servants, knew damn well Cresseida was watching her- holding a basket, drinking coffee with her free hand.

So Tarquin joins her.

It cannot be overstated how genuinely charmed they both are with how normal it is. No death and war between them. No magic drawing them together. No real history- Nesta isn’t Feyre in the slightest- just a man with salt drying in his hair and a beautiful grin, asking if he can buy Nesta breakfast.

Just Nesta, and the only High Lord she’s ever met besides Helion who isn’t aggressive. As she says, Nesta has as many problems with High Fae men as they tend to her- the siren song of power, challenge called to challenge by her very primordial being.

And listen, Tarquin is a huge, very physical dude. Summer faeries are touchy, in a friendly way. But he also, like Helion, is smart enough to pick up on how screamingly uncomfortable men make Nesta. He doesn’t know why, and noticing it made him feel a little sick- but he’s careful. Kind, funny Tarquin, whose managed in knowing her just a few days to figure out how to approach her without triggering her.

So Nesta says yes. Nesta probably says something snarky as hell about his High Lordly hospitality.

And Tarquin laughs- genuinely, beautiful.

He’s still laughing when they get to humble little window, and Nesta goes still.

Tarquin clocks it- handles what they’re doing, gets Nesta out of the line of people without unnecessarily touching her. He sort of thinks she’s having a panic attack?- finds a nice quiet bench under a tree. He’s also pretty sure he’s making it worse just by being present, but he’s not going to leave her alone like this- so Tarquin just like, sits on the ground.

Which startles Nesta. She looks up- he doesn’t know her well enough to know what’s going on, so he’s extremely confused when Nesta goes: why is she here?

Tarquin: ???

Nesta: the HUMAN

There’s part of Nesta thinking the worst possible scenarios- what her past and the Night court taught her.

But Tarquin just like, blinks? Sets down the pastry bag on the bench for Nesta and is says well, she was shipwrecked. A whole passenger ship from the continent last summer- she was going to the North, to start a new business. But she liked it here, and decided to stay.

Nesta: that human woman, owns a business? Here.

Tarquin, who’s starting to get what is happening here: Yes. She’s a Summer Court citizen.

Nesta eats a pastry. Nesta, face wry, eventually hands a pastry to Tarquin, who’d seemingly decided she needed them more than he did. Tarquin wolfs it down in three bites, just enough time for Nesta to grumpily confess: I’ve never seen a free human, above the Wall.

Tarquin, haltingly, shyly is like: well, I want it to be different. We all share the same world. Acting like we’re not all the same is how Hybern almost took over-

By the end of the sentence he’d managed to look up. That was the voice a High Lord, a man who had power and would use it.

So they have this truce, a spark of very real, pretty damned charmed interest. They walk back to the Palace across the whole city, talking.

The next day Nesta is deep in working Librarianing while she’s there- and Tarquin just pops up. Draws as little attention to himself as possible to be like, here. I noticed your hat blew away yesterday? So I brought you a new one. And some coffee. Do you like it cold? Don’t let me get in the way, what you’re doing is important.

What he means by important: incredible.

It had taken him ages to find her, because Nesta is apparently spending her spare time- does she sleep??- winnowing all over his territory, solving any problems anyone asks of her, bringing books to schools. Talking to regional leaders about what their educational needs are. Chatting with sea monsters so the fishermen understand they’ll be totally safe, so long as they always throw back in that one kind of crab that the baby krackens exclusively eat.

And look, it is a coping strategy. Nesta CANNOT rest by the sound of the sea- but she’d also realized this kingdom her sister had fucked with had been hit so, so hard by Amarantha, and then the war. That she can help, so she will.

But she just kind of stops. Tarquin left as quickly as he came she’s just there like- coffee. hat. BEAUTIFUL RESPECTFUL MAN. It’s not the vibe of her and Helion. It’s flirty but not...pressing? It’s nothing like how any faerie man (see: Cassian) who wanted her has ever, ever treated her and it’s just...so, nice.

He’s nice. Gorgeous. Easy to be around, which Does Not Happen to Nesta ever.

Nesta breaks the curse and leaves.

Keeps her promise to the schools, visits to sit on the shore and talk to sea monster babies, so much more prodigious now that they have enough food.

Tarquin thinks she’s amazing, and he starts writing to her. For real Lordship reasons, but also just to see what she’ll say- he wants to know how humans live. How his cities could integrate them. Can they use magic? Will they, if it’s available to them?

Tarquin finds someone- witty, beautiful, so intriguing- who believes in the value of his most difficult dreams. Nesta finds someone who looks at the most fraught, hurt parts of her- humanity lost, a terrible human life, that she still, even now, asks herself sometimes if she can belong, and treats those things as important and integral.

And they fall in love.

It’s a story about a lot of things- Nesta, who drowned to become, learning the whole seas of world will still for her, protect her. Tarquin who does revolutionize his kingdom, and spend centuries counting Nesta’s freckles as they peel and disappear.

Love of choice. Nesta, in the sun, being adored. Tarquin, who so many people think is foolish, a reckless dreamer, defended by the most loyal person on earth.

There’s small details i love so much it makes me want to go to the extremely troublesome work of writing them their own story- Nesta inviting the mermaids from the Night Court waters to live in a place no on is afraid of them. Tarquin who is both sort of a golden retriever but ALSO a proud, petty bitch when tried, draping Nesta head to toe in rubies for inter-court events.

With Tarquin the story really embraces the idea of eternity- of possibility. They’re young, they’re equals in this eternal life. There’s so many years ahead of them, so many things they can do: they have time to go slow, to make changes, to learn each other inside and out as they become the people they want to be.

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cyhyr · 3 years ago

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Whumpmas In July: "Stop"

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~6200

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con

Notes: Miscommunication, Dissociation, Relationship Problems, Captivity, Kidnapping, Hand Feeding, Master/Pet, Canon-Typical Violence, Hair-Pulling, Defiance, Begging, Asphyxiation, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Crying, Scars, Anal Fingering, Non-Consensual Spanking, Anal Sex, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Hospital Stay

A/N: I think I got everything in the tags. If ANYONE sees anything that I missed that I should add a tag for, PLEASE let me know so I can add it on.

Read After "Warmth"

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

Iruka mops the floors of his apartment, looking desperately for the calm that cleaning usually gives him. He’s already washed all of the windows and reorganized the pantry. If mopping doesn’t work, he’ll have to try deep-cleaning the bathroom again, which he knows won’t work, actually, because he did that last night.

Last night was nice. Last night, he and Kakashi made out for well over an hour in training ground twenty-three, and he even had his back against a tree for much of it. And then…

And then Iruka went and ruined it by asking Kakashi to stop.

It worked! Kakashi is always so careful and perfect, and so stopped exactly when the word slipped out of Iruka’s mouth. But he hadn’t… he hadn’t been happy about it. Especially because Iruka couldn’t tell him what was wrong.

Because nothing’s wrong.

That’s why—

“Hello, Love.” The front door opens and closes, the crinkle of paper bags shifting alerting Iruka to fresh groceries and a potential truce meal. Iruka, in the hallway with the mop still in hand, feels queasy. He’s not ready for this conversation.

He might not ever be.

“I was thinking—oh, Love,” Kakashi cuts himself off, startled. “The apartment is… very clean. Is everything—?”

“I’m going to discuss it with Rikona-sensei in our next session,” Iruka says, finishing the mopping and dropping the dirty mop and bucket just inside the bathroom to take care of later. He comes back out and crosses the living room to Kakashi, still hovering just inside the genkan. “I want to get her opinion first, and then I’ll discuss it with you.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?”

Iruka shrugs. He changes the subject, “What’s for dinner?”

Afterwards, they lay side-by-side on the kotatsu and touch and make out like teenagers. Iruka’s enjoying it, he really is. He loves kissing Kakashi, loves touching him, and loves feeling him get worked up. He loves how Kakashi gets chattier the more turned on he gets.

He appreciates how Kakashi asks for every touch, every time he wants to get closer. He keeps their hips apart until Iruka’s ready for it, and is careful and gentle when he does eventually press a thigh between Iruka’s legs. And it’s wonderful feeling the bare skin of Kakashi’s chest against his own, the thrill of being turned on for the first time in so long.

But.

“S-st—oh, Kakashi—I. Oh, please, please. St-stop, stop, stop—”

Kakashi pulls away quickly and sits back. Iruka lays still, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. He takes a moment, and then closes his eyes in relief.

He did—

“Am I doing something wrong?”

Iruka’s eyes snap back open and he looks up at Kakashi. He’s kneeling back, still between Iruka’s legs but not touching him anymore. His hands are clenched in tight fists on his thighs, and his mouth is a hard line. There’s a love bite on his collarbone, the skin red and irritated—Iruka put that there, just a little while ago.

“What—no, I—”

“Then why do you keep telling me to stop?” Kakashi holds up a hand to keep him from answering.

Oh, he knew this was going to bite him.

“Kakashi, please,” he tries anyway.

Kakashi is already standing up and looking for his clothes. “I don’t like being tugged around. If you don’t want this, just tell me, don’t—fuck, I told you I can’t hurt you like this, but apparently I’ve been getting close every time we’ve been making out for the last week!”

“It’s not like that,” Iruka says, reaching for his own shirt.

“Then what is it?” Kakashi pauses in the middle of pulling up his trousers. He’s clearly trying so hard not to glare, not to growl.

It doesn’t change the frustration in his tone. It doesn’t change that Iruka’s still too fucked up to tell the difference between frustration and anger. He’s too at risk for an episode.

He’s—

“When you get your shit together,” Kakashi, once he’s finished dressing, pulls on his mask. It feels strangely final. He moves to the genkan and slips into his sandals. “Come find me, and we’ll talk.”

Then he leaves.

Iruka lays back on the couch and presses his heels into his eyes. He tries to keep his breathing even, and fails. He tries to calm his pulse—and fails that, too.

The timbre of Kakashi’s frustration/anger/sex voice echoes in his head. Iruka loses feeling in his fingers, first, then his feet and legs; and then the ache settles in his chest and he knows for sure that he lost.

Nononono—

He slips.

Iruka tries to find Kakashi the next day, but he’s already gone on a mission. It’s telling enough that he left without saying goodbye to Iruka; that had been a recurring thing between them since before they started dating. Iruka holds himself together until the end of the school day, and then walks to his shift at the Mission Desk.

There’s a C-rank scroll delivery on the books waiting for either a genin team or a solo chūnin to sign for it. The clocking is estimated at a day and a half.

Iruka likely has the weekend to himself. He shrugs, signs for the mission, and tucks the details into his vest to peruse later. Sitting down at the Desk, he starts his shift, calling the next shinobi forward.

Some time away may do him good.

Iruka wakes up groggy and limp, and struggles to remember what happened. He attempts to activate his chakra-location technique, but nothing happens. Then, as he tries to lift his head, he feels the paper tag pressed against his neck. He stops moving immediately, not sure if it’s a paper bomb or something else without looking at it.

“You’re awake,” someone says. “That’s good. I was hoping I didn’t hit you too hard.”

Iruka clenches and unclenches his hands. They’re tied up above his head to the pole against his back. He almost lost feeling in them. How long has he been out?

Footsteps—leather on stone—echo around him. Iruka blinks, his eyelids heavy. “I may have to get rid of some identifying marks if I end up keeping you,” the other person, a man, says. A hand grabs his chin and lifts his head for him (very likely not a paper bomb; he’s not being careful enough) and turns him left and right. “Though, I must say, your scar is particularly fetching. It’s what caught my eye in the first place, see.” He drops Iruka’s chin. He doesn’t have enough strength back yet to keep his neck upright. The man fingers his scar from cheek to cheek. “Beautiful.”

“I…” Iruka gasps, swallows hard. “I won’t talk.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” the man chuckles. “I know you’re shinobi, but I’m not here for secrets. I know that’s futile.”

“Then… what do you… why am I—?”

“You’re here because I need a new companion,” the man says. “My last one, hmm, expired, see. And I saw you walking into town just yesterday evening and, well. I had to have you.”

He places a hand on Iruka’s cheek and lifts his face again.

“Oh, you are even more beautiful when you’ve got terror in your eyes,” he grins. “That’s good.”

Iruka growls, shakes his head away, “Stop touching me.”

“You’ll be hungry in a little while,” the man says with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, pretty one, I don’t let my pets starve; unless they’re bad, of course.”

Kakashi flickers across the rooftops of Konoha, much more relaxed now that he’s had a few days to cool off. He’s glad he left when he did; he didn’t want to be angry around Iruka, but the pent-up frustration had been getting to him. He still needs to apologize for snapping, and he hopes that Iruka’s ready to talk about whatever’s been bothering him the last week or so.

He stops outside the apartment door and knocks. Iruka had keyed him into the wards last week, but after their fight—he’s hesitant to call it such, but, it really was, wasn’t it?—he wants to give Iruka the chance to open the door and let him in. Or they can go to Ichiraku’s; neutral ground. Or to Kakashi’s place.

He’s not picky. He just needs to…

To…

Hmm.

He knocks again. Waits.

It’s Sunday evening. There are no classes at the Academy, and the Mission Desk is closed by now for mission assignments, too. Iruka should be home.

He flashes around the side of the building, to the kitchen window. There’s no sound, no movement. The next window is the bathroom window, and he glances in—empty. The bedroom window is around another corner, and he checks in there, too. The bed is made and the room is spotless. More importantly, Iruka-less.

Kakashi flickers back to the Tower and lands outside of the Hokage’s open window.

“Iruka’s missing,” he says without preamble.

Tsunade pauses and turns in her chair, narrows her eyes. “Umino’s on a mission,” she says.

“A mission?”

“But,” she holds up a finger, and looks to Shizune, standing beside her, “I do believe the time estimate on that mission stated that he should have returned today.”

“I’ll retrieve his mission details, Tsunade-sama.” Shizune hurries out of the room.

“Come in and wait, brat.”

“I’ll stay here. The breeze is nice”

“He may just have been delayed.”

“But why did he leave anyway?” Kakashi hums, shifts to a more comfortable crouch. “Did you need him for seal-work?”

“No,” Tsunade says. She stops pretending like she’s going to try and get back to work. “I actually sent for him yesterday before realizing that he was out of the village. I had a few scrolls brought up from the archives that need unsealing, and I honestly don’t trust anyone else with them besides Umino or Jiraiya.”

“High praise,” Kakashi smiles behind his mask. Iruka deserves it.

“Kid should be tokujō, but wants to stay at the Academy,” Tsunade sighs.

Shizune comes back, scroll in hand and a thoughtful frown in her brow. “The mission parameters, Tsunade-sama,” she says, handing the scroll to the Hokage. “He should have returned early this afternoon. That it’s past sundown and he’s still not back is… concerning.”

“Umino is a capable shinobi,” Tsunade says. “Standard procedure is three days late before a scouting party is arranged to find out what happened.” She turns to Kakashi, “Can you wait until Wednesday before you lose all sanity?”

“Haven’t got much left to lose, Hokage-sama,” Kakashi says. “I’ll wait, but I demand to be in the scouting party.”

Iruka chews the rice the man feeds him. He won’t untie him, and so instead he brings small bites of food to Iruka’s lips every so often. Iruka takes the food and tries to think of how he’s going to get out of here, but with his chakra repressed somehow—Iruka suspects the tag—and his wrists tied as they are, it’s difficult to come up with a way to pull away from the pole at his back.

“What, um,” Iruka clears his throat between bites, “what can I call you?”

The man smiles; it sends a shiver down his spine and makes his throat close up because he knows that smile. Mizuki used to give him that same smile. Before.

“‘Master’ works,” he says. He offers a canteen of water. Iruka drinks slowly, but some liquid still slips out of the side of his mouth.

Iruka swallows; frowns. “I’m. I’m not calling you that.”

“We’ll see, pet.” He packs up the rest of the food and leaves the canteen on the ground, half a meter from Iruka’s knees. “If you’re good tonight, tomorrow I’ll move you to the futon. The canteen stays upright all night. You’ll get to drink more in the morning.”

“You—what?”

“If you’re going to keep talking,” he sighs, “I’ll have to gag you. And I really don’t want to have to gag you, pretty one. I don’t like gagging my pets, see. But I’m going to bed, and so I need you to be silent.”

Iruka ducks his head, snarling, but holding back heated words. He can’t be gagged. He can’t show this man the weakness he has, or he at least needs to hold out as long as possible.

Iruka wakes up to his stomach grumbling. The rice and water hadn’t been enough, but he’s been hungry before and he can take the discomfort. The man is already puttering around by a small fire, cooking his own breakfast it seems, and gives Iruka that same slimy smile when he notices that he’s awake.

“You left the canteen alone,” he says. “That’s very good. I had a feeling a pet shinobi would be able to follow instructions well.”

“I’m nobody’s pet,” Iruka seethes without thinking.

The man’s eyes darken. “Well, now that just won’t do,” he says. He stands up and takes the pan off the fire, douses it, and stalks over to Iruka. “See, boy, you are my pet. And every good pet’s gotta learn some manners, I suppose. So here’s your first lesson, see: I’m your Master, and you will address me as such.”

Iruka spits at the man. He gets him on his trouser leg.

“Alright, pretty one, but you asked for this.”

He reaches out and takes a handful of Iruka’s hair, holding the back of his head flush to the pole. The pain in his scalp drags him down, down, oh gods no, please not now stopstopstop!! Then the man’s boot connects with his stomach and the breath is literally kicked out of him.

Again.

And again.

Iruka holds back tears and grapples with his own mind to stay present because he doesn’t want to hurt anymore but he also doesn’t want to slip, please, he doesn’t want to go right now—

“Please,” he gasps.

“You can be good, pretty one,” the man coos. “You know how to make this stop, don’t you now?”

He pulls harder on Iruka’s hair and kicks him again.

The ache in his chest is settling. He can’t—He can’t.

Iruka sobs. “Please, please stop.”

“I don’t hear the magic word,” he sings, and pulls back for another kick.

Iruka cries, “Please, Master, I-I’ll be good!” Tears slip down his face and his stomach throbs—but the ache flutters away and he’s able to breathe.

The man releases his hair, and then cups his cheek.

“There, see. That wasn’t so bad.”

The man eventually moves him away from the pole—he’s not sure yet if this is a good thing, because while, yes, he can now at least feel his hands, tied now behind his back, he’s also closer to the futon. And the implications of that…

He was due back in Konoha yesterday—and that’s assuming he was unconscious for less than a day. They won’t send a search party for another two days. He needs to stay strong.

Gods, he hopes Kakashi’s mission is going well. He didn’t even check the rank before he left! What kind of partner is he…

“Pet?”

Iruka looks up begrudgingly.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. How’s your belly?”

“Fine,” he says.

“Fine…?”

“Fine, Master,” Iruka grits.

“Good. I think I’ll feed you again tonight.”

Iruka says nothing.

“Or, you can starve.”

“I prefer to feed myself,” Iruka says cooly.

The man’s eyes narrow dangerously. “I do so enjoy feeding my pets,” he says. “You eat by my hand, or you don’t eat at all.”

Iruka nods. “I understand.”

His lip curls. He crouches down and puts his hand around Iruka’s neck, crinkling the paper seal and squeezing just enough to threaten. “Listen here, pet—”

“You don’t scare me,” Iruka snaps. “I’m a Konoha shinobi. Your torture methods won’t break m—nng—”

“I’m not trying to torture you, pretty one,” the man says, tightening his grip around Iruka’s neck so he chokes. “I simply want the respect I’m owed. Give that to me and I won’t have to hurt you.”

“Fuck… you…”

The man purses his lips and mutters, “Now there’s an idea,” and then lets Iruka go.

He coughs, sputters, heaves deep gulps of air. He barely hears the clink of the man undoing his buckle, or the unmistakable sound of a zipper, but he gasps when his hair is pulled again and—

No, gods please

“Will you be good and keep your teeth to yourself?”

“Please, please, st-stop no I don’t—”

“Oh, you’ve had this done before?” He clicks his tongue and leaves his dick alone to stroke Iruka’s face. “My sweet, pretty pet. No one else is ever going to touch you like this again, see? Now. Open up for me.”

Iruka shakes his head. “I don’t. No. Stop.”

“You said it yourself. You don’t have to be scared of me, pet.” He presses his thumb into Iruka’s mouth and pulls down on his jaw, and then runs the pad along his molars. “Stay,” he says, and then puts his hand hack on his dick.

Iruka whimpers, but leaves his mouth open. He doesn’t want to think of what could happen if he closes his mouth now. His breath comes in stutters, through his nose.

This man smells nothing like Kakashi, thank the gods.

He jerks himself off quickly and efficiently, and is soon ejaculating across Iruka’s face and into the back of his mouth. It’s sour and thin and Iruka coughs—the man immediately grabs his mouth and pinches his nose closed. Iruka flails to the side, but the man grapples with him and gets behind him, keeping a hold on his nose and mouth.

“Swallow, pet.”

Iruka would rather pass out. He thrashes in the man’s grapple.

“Swallow, or you’ll run out of air.”

That’s the plan.

“Pet!”

Iruka slumps in the man’s arms.

Wednesday morning arrives and Kakashi is—twitchy. He’s already at the Hokage Tower, sitting outside the window to Tsunade’s office, when she arrives at seven o’clock.

“Kakashi, have you slept at all since Sunday?”

“I dozed here and there,” he shrugs

“The scouting party won’t be put together until after lunch,” she says. “Go get some more sleep until then.”

He turns to go back to the roof—he’ll doze for a bit up there waiting for Tsunade—but then a pigeon flies by his ear into the Hokage’s office and lands on her desk. No one uses pigeons anymore for carrying messages, do they?

Shizune picks the little bird up and says, “It has a message, Tsunade-sama.” She picks the message off of the bird’s leg and hands it to the Hokage, who unrolls it and reads silently.

“Brat.”

“Hokage-sama?”

She turns to him, eyes burning and mouth hard. “We’re going to release this pigeon, and you’ll follow it. The scouting party will be along as soon as I can get it together.”

Kakashi nods. Hesitantly, he asks, “Iruka?”

“Follow. The pigeon. If it doesn’t lead you to him, any means necessary. Bring him home, Kakashi.”

“What condition can I expect him in?”

“I’m sending you ahead, alone, because I believe you’ll be the only one he’ll trust to take him out of the situation he’s in,” she hands Kakashi the letter, rolled back up. Then, she nods to Shizune. “Go.”

The pigeon flies away. Kakashi follows.

“Quit struggling; you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Iruka flails and bucks against the ropes tightening around his wrists and neck. He’s naked, light-headed and dizzy but gods he can’t stop fighting.

“Pet, do I need to take your mouth again?”

“You do whatever makes you feel better,” Iruka growls.

“I’ve never had a pet who responded to pleasure as though it were pain,” the man muses behind him. “Though, it does make you that much more fascinating.”

The rope around his neck tightens as he’s lifted by the strand connecting his neck to his wrists along his spine. His back is brought to rest against the man’s chest, and he starts touching Iruka, all over his chest and bruised belly. He winces as the man pinches his nipple and sniffs his hair.

“Stop,” he mutters weakly.

“Hmm. You know how to ask properly, pretty one.”

He bites back a cry as the man pulls and pinches at his chest. Iruka starts losing feeling in his limbs and his breath stutters. It’s. It’s too much like Mizuki. He has to. Gods he has to stop it. He can’t—he must remain present. Even if it means kowtowing to this…

His breath hitches. He forces out, “Please, Master, stop,” and then hiccups on a loose sob.

“Oh, that’s pretty, see,” the man says. He stops pinching and starts caressing and fuck, that’s not what Iruka meant.

“No, no plea—ohh.”

He pulls Iruka’s hair and Iruka falls back on instinct. Mizuki used to like to pull, and he wanted Iruka to like it.

“Yes, that’s it, pet,” the man croons. “Now, bend forward—that’s it, very good. Oh, look at you. Look at this,” he places his palm over the fūma shuriken scar on Iruka’s back.

Iruka breathes heavily. His bare knees are cushioned by the futon mattress and his temple is against the pillow. It’s… it’s more than Mizuki ever gave him, when he tied him up like this. He closes his eyes against the tears.

Gods, he wants Kakashi.

“Your scars are beautiful, pet.” The sound of a jar lid being turned, metal on glass, is loud in the cavern. “Once you're trained, I’ll be the envy of all who see you. Perhaps I’ll lend you out to those I trust.”

Iruka chokes on another cry. Mizuki used to threaten him like this—

“Oh, pet, that’s sweet. You’d rather stay mine and mine alone, wouldn’t you?”

Iruka flinches at the first touch of a cold, slick finger to his hole.

Kakashi hasn’t yet—they haven’t—gods—

“Stay still, pretty one, or this could hurt.”

He loses the battle against his will of holding in his tears. The man’s finger breaches him. Iruka holds himself perfectly still.

“I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t—stop, stop, please, I don’t want it…”

“Shh, pet. It’ll feel good soon.”

I know. That’s what I’m scared of.

Kakashi summons the pack three hours out of Konoha. The pigeon had clearly been a summon as well, because once it had gotten a fair distance from civilization it poofed away in a puff of smoke. Frustrated, Kakashi has the pack fan out to search for Iruka’s scent.

Just as he’s been keyed into Iruka’s impenetrable wards, Iruka’s scent has been memorized by every member of the pack. Kakashi imagines civilians would think those actions wouldn’t have much meaning, but to each other it meant everything.

Fuck he was such an idiot. How could he have left for a mission without saying goodbye? He was upset, and frustrated, but he wasn’t… shit, he needs to get his act together.

A howl comes from the north. Akino. He flickers from tree to tree, making the distance in ten minutes.

Akino frowns at him when he settles beside him. “That was stupid quick, Boss,” he says accusingly.

Kakashi ignores the comment. “You have Iruka’s scent?”

Akino nods and points with his nose. “He’d come from that way, a few days ago. There was a struggle. And then he and this other scent—male, middle-age, water chakra-nature—go off east.”

Kakashi nods. “I’m going to release the rest of the pack, for now. Keep on his trail.”

“You got it.”

Iruka comes back to himself with an indicative pain in his ass and a headache pounding behind his eyes. He hadn’t even felt himself start to slip; he’d just gone. Not good.

His clothes haven’t been returned to him. That’s… understandable. Easier access.

The man is asleep next to him. His snores are ugly and loud, it’s a wonder Iruka stayed under for as long as he did.

His stomach growls. It’s been days since the last time—first time—only time—the man fed him. He twists his wrists in the ropes and shifts his hips a little. A thin dribble of come slips out and drips down his thigh.

“Are you with me again, pet?”

Iruka gulps and sniffles. “I’m—”

“I don’t appreciate my pets zoning out during our couplings.” The man drapes a hand on Iruka’s ass and then spanks him hard, the slap pushing Iruka forward into the pillow a few inches.

“I didn’t—”

“I really don’t appreciate my pets lying to me,” the man growls, leaning up on his elbow. He spanks Iruka again, this time drawing a hiss of pain. “I know what I saw, and I know what happened.”

His fingers dance around Iruka’s rim, still stretched and slick from before. Iruka shuts his eyes tight and grits his teeth against the cry in his throat.

“Now. I’m going to have you again. And you’re going to enjoy it.”

“Stop touching me,” Iruka sobs through clenched teeth.

“No, I don’t think I will. Although,” he slides two fingers inside and hooks them, pulls so Iruka has to lift his hips more, spread his knees more, “you know how to properly ask for what you want, see.”

He moves to kneel behind Iruka and pulls his fingers out, and then wipes them off on his back. The man presses his dick inside and Iruka—

Iruka whimpers.

“That’s it, oh, very good, pet. So pretty, taking my cock.”

He’s not going to make it out of this without a new trigger word. Pet. Pretty. Hell, this fucker’s reinforcing his old trigger for Good, and he and Kakashi only just got to the point where they can say it under the right circumstances.

“Such pretty hair,” the man takes a handful and pulls, only barely lifting Iruka’s face off of the pillow. “When I found you, you had it tied up. What a crime. You’ll wear your hair down from now on, pretty one, so I can see it.”

He brushes Iruka’s prostate. He groans, bites his lip. No more. No. He can’t. Stop. Stop.

“Please stop,” he murmurs.

The man sighs and thrusts faster, harder.

Kakashi

“K-shi.”

“What’s that, pet?”

Iruka snaps his eyes open. Fuck.

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

“What is ‘k-shi’?” he asks, stilling his hips.

“No one.”

Fuck.

“Is that so?” He slowly starts thrusting again, picking up the pace bit by bit until his hips are slapping unrelentingly against Iruka’s ass. With one hand he holds onto the rope, taut from Iruka’s neck to his wrists at the small of his back, and with the other he presses his fingers into the flesh of his waist and pulls Iruka back onto his dick with each thrust.

“Who—is—k-shi?” he growls.

Iruka cries, “Stop, stop, please!”

The man spits. It lands on the back of his neck. Iruka shivers.

“Whoever it is, you’ll never see them again.” He stills, reaches around and fondles Iruka, and the grin is audible in his voice as he continues, “You’re mine, pretty one. No one’s coming. No one else cares.”

Iruka can’t pull back from the hand on his cock, it only shoves the man’s dick further inside. He can’t push forward, that would only make him think he’s enjoying the touch. His chest aches. His breath comes in fits and starts.

Kakashi… he’ll come… right?

If he can’t get himself out of here, Tsunade-sama will send a scouting party. Kakashi will volunteer to be on that mission, won’t he?

“You have only me, pet. I’m your Master, and I’ll take care of you, see. You just have to let me.”

He jerks Iruka off in the same rhythm as he thrusts into his ass. He braces himself on Iruka’s shoulder, pressing him into the futon. It hurts. It.

Oh he’s gonna—

“STOP, please!” he sobs one more time.

“No. Come for me, pretty one.”

He does. He sobs and comes and it hurts and it’s like the man’s kicked him again. Iruka hardly registers the flood of come in his ass as the man orgasms, too.

The man pulls out and walks away.

To the feeling of more come dribbling out of his hole, Iruka mutters into the pillow, “I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Kakashi, I’m so sorry…”

Iruka loses count of how many times the man comes inside him. It’s enough that after a while he stops fingering him first, then later stops bothering with oil. Eventually he’s led to the fireside, and then made to kneel again beside a large stone. The man sits upon the stone, above him, and feeds him bites of rice and small morsels of rabbit.

He keeps his head down between bites. Sometimes the man will leave his fingers on Iruka��s lips after he’s placed food on his tongue, and so after he’s finished chewing and swallowing, he lets the man explore his mouth with his fingertips. “Very good, pet,” he praises. Then he’ll give Iruka a sip of water.

It’s been days, hasn’t it? Even the worst trackers Konoha has would have found him by now—and Kakashi is by no means the worst. The pack knows him. If Kakashi was looking…

But he’s not. He’s not, is he?

He’s led back to the futon, laid out on his back, and then his neck is tied up to a stake the man’s placed near the pillows. His wrists, too, are taken and tied up above his head to the same rope, to the same stake.

“I think you’ll be ready to bring home in a few more days, pet,” he says. “You’re almost done.”

Almost broken, you mean

The man lifts Iruka’s legs over his shoulders and thumbs at his hole. “So pretty. I like this much better than taking you from behind. I get to see that beautiful scar, the play of your face. You can’t imagine how beautiful your eyes are, full of fear. But you don’t have to be afraid right now, pet. Your eyes are just as beautiful in the throes of ecstasy.”

At the sound of chirping electricity screeching in the cavern, Iruka snaps his eyes open—he didn’t realize they were closed—and feels his heart begin to race. The man is suddenly gone from his looming position over Iruka; he lowers his legs back down, bending his knees. The grunt and gurgle of death is sweet to his ears, but he holds back his tears for when he is sure this isn’t a hallucination.

Unruly silver hair comes into view first, and then the careful fingertips dipping to pick at the paper tag stuck to his neck. The mask, Konoha hitai-ate, the exposed sharingan and gentle gray eye beside it; Iruka hiccups a sob.

“You came,” he whispers.

Kakashi pulls the chakra repression seal off Iruka’s neck and tosses it away.

Iruka whispers something, he doesn’t catch it, but he nods anyway. “Let’s get you home, dear,” he says, and cuts the ropes keeping Iruka’s neck and wrists bound to the stake in the ground.

He looks around the cave, but Iruka’s clothes and gear are missing. Kakashi pops a scroll from his own vest and unseals a spare set of his own clothes; they’ll be a little tight, and a little long, but he can’t—can’t let anyone else…

Gods. Fuck.

What good is he, if he can’t even keep one person safe?!

He helps Iruka into his clothes. His heart warms to see Iruka lift the collar of the shirt and pull it up to his nose and take a deep breath, scenting it. “Can you walk?” he asks once Iruka’s clothed.

Iruka shudders. “Probably not,” he says. His voice is small, like it is when he comes out of a dissociation episode. Shit, how many did he have? “I can try, though,” he continues, and then he stupidly pushes himself up to standing and immediately sways to the side.

Kakashi jumps up to catch him, cradling his partner—will he still trust him after all this, shit, he fucked up so badly they might not make it through this without breaking up, no—and slipping his arms around Iruka’s knees and back. “Please don’t strain yourself, dear,” he grits. “Let me help.”

Iruka nods and wraps his arms around his neck. Kakashi begins flickering out of the cave. He has the rapist’s body in a scroll in his vest, so someone can autopsy it when they get home. Everything else he left. He can’t—

He can’t be in that cave another second.

Iruka burrows into the collar of his flak vest and is muttering again. This time, Kakashi focusses and listens; he wishes he hadn’t.

“You came. You came. You came.”

His heart breaks. Had their fight really unsettled Iruka enough that he thought…

He chokes, presses a kiss to Iruka’s hair and mutters back, “Always, love. Always.”

Kakashi doesn’t leave Iruka’s side throughout his admission into the hospital, various check-ups, blood tests, rape-trauma treatments, oral report; he has to leave the room for the standard psych evaluation, and then again when Rikona-sensei arrives for their own session. But he stands sentinel just outside and waits until he’s let back in, and the second he’s allowed he’s asking for Iruka’s hands and pressing kisses to rope-burned wrists.

He finds out that the pigeon had delivered a letter from one Sato Touma, declaring that the shinobi Umino Iruka, registration number 011850, had completed his latest mission, and to not come searching for him as he was now a pet of the Sato family, barring a training and testing period. Tsunade made the right call in sending her strongest shinobi after Touma—if she’d let it go, the Sato family could have assumed that any Konoha shinobi were free for the taking. Sending Kakashi was a show of force.

The Sato family won’t touch Konoha again. Not with Touma dead in their morgue.

This… doesn’t put Kakashi at ease. He can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Iruka’s supposed to be released from the hospital tomorrow. He’ll feel better once they’re behind Iruka’s wards. No one gets past those wards without Iruka’s permission.

“Kakashi?”

He realizes he’s been pacing, and collapses onto the chair beside Iruka. “What do you need?” he asks.

Iruka is… strangely calm. Actually, that’s not so strange if he thinks about it—and Kakashi really doesn’t want to think about why Iruka’s calm about having been brutally raped. Because if he thinks about it, he’ll remember Sato, and Mizuki, and then the Hate will start to fester again and this is not the time nor the place—

“I told him to stop,” he whispers. Louder, he continues, “I-I fought as hard as I could.”

Kakashi takes his hands and holds them between both of his own. “Iruka, dear, I’m sorry. I should have been faster. I—”

“Don’t you get it? I told him to stop. I fought him. Me. I fought him,” there’s a slight hint of hysteria in his voice, but Iruka’s smiling through the tears collecting at the corner of his eyes. “Maybe I wasn’t… I wasn’t strong enough to save myself. But I can do it now, Kakashi.” He sniffs, hiccups, and says, “I can—I can tell someone to stop.”

And suddenly, Kakashi understands. “You. Oh, love,” and Iruka pulls Kakashi into the embrace as Kakashi falls into it. He chuckles, his own brand of hysteria bubbling up out of his chest. “You were never—you—Gods all that before, it was never about me, was it?”

“I needed to know I could do it,” Iruka mutters. “If I’d told you what I was doing, the reaction wouldn’t have been real. I needed. I needed to be able to ask even though I knew it was going to disappoint you. To anger you.”

“I was never angry,” Kakashi assures him quickly. “Frustrated, annoyed; yes. Never angry. Fuck, I thought I’d lost your trust somewhere, somehow.”

“I could never have done it with anyone else,” Iruka nuzzles his hair. “I never doubted your ability to stop. It was never about that.”

“I’m. Still really frustrated about it all.” Iruka nods above him. Kakashi continues, “But I’m so happy for you, love, that you’ve found that strength.”

“I’ve found that strength thanks to you,” Iruka says, carding his fingers through Kakashi’s hair. “If this had happened two years ago, or more, I… I wouldn’t have. Shit, I would have been worse than a doll for him. And, yeah, I had a few dissociation episodes; but I resisted them. Before, I would have just gone down and-and never come back.”

Kakashi picks his head back up and drags his mask down with a finger. “Can I kiss you?”

Iruka’s smile brightens like the dawn. “Yes. Please.”

They keep it chaste—they’re still in the hospital, and Iruka could have new triggers neither of them know about yet. But the simple press of lips on lips is enough to make Kakashi’s chest pound and his fingertips tingle. Gods he almost lost this.

“He had me believing you wouldn’t come,” Iruka reveals into their kiss.

“My love,” Kakashi murmurs back, lips to lips, “I will always come for you.”

#whumpmasinjuly #stop #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #kakairu #my writing

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cuddlecave · 3 years ago

Note

is xiphoid

first: you *are* good

next: alright thingrey au

how bout an alternate 'the team finds out the shapeshifter is still alive, whoops!' but in an utterly disastrous way

it's been a while since antarctica! a long while, and gord and benr *meant* to tell the team about them ages ago, when benr became human shaped again, but there just never seemed to be a good time? and really, whats one more day, week, month...

anyway the team is utterly oblivious of benr, but being aware of gord, means that's they've noticed he's not been spending as much time with them! been spending, like, a lot of time at home, actually--or away from town. sometimes even avoiding them! they're worried, bc really, this is not the way to deal with trauma, gord! you don't pull away from your friends, you get help! just bc you can't see a therapist doesn't mean you shouldn't try to process it!

anyway, gords generally cagey about where he is, but on a rare team night where he had come to hang over...they very much on purpose get him drunk. now, drunk gord is still pretty fucking cagey (he loves his boyf and would never endanger him if possible), which is a shame, but tom is able to ask a question casually enough that gord doesn't think about it...and ends up telling them he goes out to the [insert desert area here] sometimes. when pressed on why he goes, he seems to realize he made a mistake, and bolts, cutting the night short.

now, credit to gord, him and benr don't go back to that particular desert area after that. but the team are damn smart, and figure that just bc he's not at that area anymore, doesn't mean he's not in *any* desert area anymore.

takes some trial and error--figuring out when gord seems to be out (he never answers his phone when he's out, his car is not at home), and then checking a desert area (didn't get anything but desert the first few times). but eventually...they find his car.

things paint...a worrying picture. there's camping/chilling gear in the car (chairs and a shitty tent, left from when gord tried camping several years ago and never bothered to remove from his car) but they're not set up and gords not there? the doors arent locked and the keys are in ignition? (gord doesn't want to drop his keys running from benr, he did that once and it sucked. also why he doesn't bring his phone! but he's out like 55 miles from the nearest town, who's gonna steal his car?) there's torn up foliage around, as if something big came through (benr may give gord a head start, but he still likes to be big enough to a) chase well, and b) nom gord after), and most worryingly--a set of human footprints in the sand, clearly running based on stride. and some strange larger footprint *next to them*.

their friend was ambushed by something big, and is going to get got. (this is not entirely untrue. not ambushed, but definitely going to get got, lol.) they set off quickly following the footprints.

meanwhile-gord and benr are having a *great* time! the exercise feels nice for both of them, it's a cloudy day so it's shady, they're gonna order pizza and play playstation after this--its gonna be a wonderful day. it already is!

gord, at this point, is beginning to tire out. benr is getting closer. he pushes himself a bit farther, to stretch out the chase just a touch longer, and makes a sharp turn around a rock formation, causing benr to briefly crash into it, giving him a few more steps. but he's tired, and well, benr has better stamina--and agility. benr bounds over the rock formation and uses it's height to gain just a bit of an extra boost, and tackle-hugs gord. they nearly crash into some sharp shrubs, but they're fine.

gord turns and looks up at benr and grins, and benr leans down to him, and gives him a long kiss. gord hums in contentment and relaxes. he's gonna get to doze, now, before driving. naptime, hell yeah.

benr picks him up to swallow him and he just remains basically limp, exhausted, letting benr manhandle him, gently maneuvering him into his jaws. he's swallowed with little fanfare, and happily settles in his tum, almost immediately starting to doze as benr starts to walk.

then he hears screaming, and benr sharply moves, and suddenly he's wide awake.

the team follow the tracks. it's a long walk, even moving at speed--gord must have really been booking it, which means hopefully he's still safe, got away some how. surely nothing would chase him for too long, when he was outrunning it this well. the trail goes on and on and on--its looking less like this thing gave up. and gords footsteps are shorter, he's not managing a hard run anymore. they're coming up on a rock formation--its still several hundred feet away. close enough to see a figure that can only be gord run from behind it, but far, far to far away to do anything about what happens next.

they see him turn sharply, and something big hits the rocks, clearly taken off guard. he makes it a few steps. and the team look on in absolute horror as what can only be the shapeshifter jumps off the top of the rocks, and tackles gord to the ground. they're partially obscured by the desert plants, but it's enough to see, even at this distance, the rippling body parts of the creature, pinning gord down.

the thing leans its head down toward gord, and they can't see what's happening with the plants and distance. and then.

it picks a completely unmoving gord up, and swallows him whole.

oh, god. it snapped his neck. it ate him. it's going to try to finish what it started in antarctica oh fuck does anyone have a flamethrower?!

a seeing it stand and start to leisurely walk in the direction they came from, they're finally broken from they're spell of silence and horror. somebody starts screaming angrily, and bubby has a lighter and big spray, making a makeshift flamethrower--and they run towards it in vengeance.

it notices them and sharply turns, booking it in the opposite direction.

(1/?)

continued under the read more!

(cont) oh fuck, thinks benr. this is not good. Not Good at all. gord frantically asks what's going on?! and goes cold when benr says 'ur friends saw us. and buby has fire.' the good thing is, benr is bigger and faster than humans. the bad thing is that he's been running all morning and now has over 200 pounds of boyf swaying in him, even if he's holding gord as tight as possible so he's not getting thrown everywhere. he's not gonna last long, and there's nowhere to hide. gord is furiously thinking. but he's also exhausted, and panicking. the thoughts in his brain are sticky like drying glue when he tries do something with them, and he can feel benr slowing. it's not by much, but his alien bf getting hurt *at all* is unacceptable, so. he decides to stop thinking and start doing. he tells benr to 'stop and let me out! as fast as you can!' and benr skids to a stop and turns half facing the approaching team, and splits his abdomen open and gord comes tumbling out into the light, getting immediately covered in dust and mud sticking to the saliva covering him. it's kinda gross, but at the moment it's not even registering, bc in those moments buby has nearly caught up. gord stands, pushes benr behind him, who let's himself be pushed purely out of surprise, and holds his hands out. 'its me! I'm fine it's ok it's me, please I can explain, just turn off the fire! it's ok!' but the thing is, as far as they're concerned...'you fucking imposter we saw gord die! get a better lie!' and buby is still running full tilt at them. gord has enough time to think, *aw fuck, this is gonna hurt*, before buby lights his makeshift flamethrower and gord is suddenly extremely hot, in pain, and knocked on his back. he can see the sky for a quick moment, before what can only be benr is standing over him, protecting him from further fire. a few limbs quickly use the dirt to put out the couple embers on his shirt (well, what's left of his shirt...) buby jerks back at the large being leaping in his direction, but it stops as it stands over the gord-imposter. which... is not moving. or writhing like the shapeshifter, or trying to split off from the damaged part. it's just...lying there. shallowly breathing as if in shock. buby gets a bit of a sinking feeling. - I got tired after writing this but basically benr tries to angle around enough to protect gord and also use teal green on him from another mouth. the team quickly figure out something is fucky, and that gord...might not be a Thing?? gord is in zero shape to have a real conversation--burns are serious business, and he basically passes out during teal-green. so why was the creature... protecting gord?? especially if it ate him?!?! there's an uneasy (extremely uneasy) truce, and benr carries gord back to the car, flamethrower pointed at them the whole way. they leave gords car and take them both back to toms place, in the car they drove in. it is supremely awkward. especially when gord wakes up for half a minute, kisses benr, and passes out again. not sure how it would go from there,, .... didn't mean to accidentally write a minific but here we are!! I really like the 'extreme misunderstanding vore' trope, lol.

ohhhh man this is like an angsty version of a regular not-a-game au idea i've thought up before o: thinking about what would happen next... the whole car ride home, benb was hitting gord with more healing (tho he gave the guys ample warning first about what he was doing so they wouldn't think he was attacking or something), and thanks to that, gord's burns are healed up to the point where he doesn't need hospitalization, just some burn cream and good rest to finish it off. (and a hair cut. benb is very sad that he couldn't repair gord's burned hair and beard. when gord's awake again he's just "Dude it'll grow back, don't worry." "i knooowwww but it still sucks. your hair was SO pretty. and you look like a sixteen-year-old without facial hair. kinda weird. babyfaceman." "WOW shut up."). when gord's awake and aware enough again, they all have a sit down and get an explanation from him and benb. benb goes on to basically give a summary of his whole backstory; explain what exactly he his and how he got to earth, and what he was trying to do both at the b'mesa base and that first norwegian base he first thawed out in. when he gets to the part about why he never wanted to hurt the sciteam, that does a pretty good job of warming them up to him. "the thing about that frzn guy is he was a total asshole. HUGE douche canoe. and i was like 'maaaan i don't wanna be this guy, he suuuuucks', but then i noticed that he'd hardly ever interacted with anybody else there. new guy on the base. nobody knew him, or knew what he was like. so i figured i could get away with acting like myself instead of him, and nobody would notice. i've never been able to just be me around other people, only when alone. i didn't really... know how it was gonna turn out. but you guys ended up liking me! you invited me to come hang out on breaks, and play video games, and watch movies, and talk about soda and photography and it was fun and nice and good! you were nice to my dog body, too. giving me a name and everything... you're all great cools. i got attached to you guys. like, super attached. didn't wanna hurt you, ever. 's the reason i never touched the sled dogs, too- i knew tommy would be sad if something happened to the dogs, and i didn't wanna make him sad." (bubs probably acts like he's not touched by that, but he is :B and also, like i've said in a post on my main, bubs feels some sympathy towards benb after hearing about his origins as an unethical science experiment. bubs wasn't grown in a lab in this au, but he was still subjected to some painful "knowledge tubes" experiments due to his contract with b'mesa. so he still knows that feel, bro. unwilling lab rat solidarity.) benb apologizes for everything in antarctica, and bubs apologizes for torching gord, but then the team asks what the fuck? happened in the desert?? and gord explains the "one-sided tag" game they do to help benb burn up energy, and that benb was just carrying gord to let him rest from the run on the way back to the car. ("Carrying you in his stomach, though?" "nah i don't put him where food goes. it's the uhhhh *lip smack* nap organ. custom made for sleeping in. bedry time.") (they also at one point explain "also we're dating" to which gord gets accused of being a monsterfucker ha ha. and then benb's like "ew no i'm ace" and harold goes on about how beautiful interracial young love is.)

#long post #bf tum is the warmest place to hide

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shih-coulda-had-it · 4 years ago

Note

17 96 nana and torino please

17 (War AU) & 96 (Scars) | Nana and Sorahiko

a/n: an AU wherein All for One went a little more militaristic, and Japan’s Self-Defense Forces incorporated the budding Pro-Heroes into its ranks. Realistically accurate? mmm

Torino Sorahiko stumbled to a stop, falling to his knees by Shimura Nana’s bedside, drinking in the sight of her: alive, awake, and awe-inspiring.

“Nana,” he breathed. He ripped off a glove and reached out with trembling fingers.

The nurses hadn’t given her the hospital gown yet. Or, Sorahiko supposed, distantly registering the bundled fabric cushioning his kneecaps, Nana had woken up and grumpily stripped the gown off. She always complained about the texture against her skin.

Nana’s modesty was only preserved by the private room, the layers of bandages packed over her chest, and the blanket draped over her waist and legs. Her arms were somewhat better off, but covered with angry red scars.

Knocked clean out of the air by a damn lightning bolt of all things, and then harassed by opportunistic foot soldiers until rescued by a passing patrol squad. Injuries sustained were serious enough to warrant a visit from Recovery Girl, but even the Quirk-boosted regeneration had been touch-and-go.

When Sorahiko (her first emergency contact, just as she was his) had received the report, his heart had leapt into his throat.

He’d dreaded that moment, having anticipated it months ago, when they were first separated.

Maximizing efficiency, the Commission had decreed when pressed for answers. Neither Sorahiko nor Nana were common infantry; they had accumulated enough of a reputation to help buttress faltering forces.

And now they were here.

“Sorahiko,” she said warmly, and tangled their fingers together in a gentle hold, bringing them down to rest near her waist. “I didn’t think you’d have time to show up.”

“The front is stable. I needed...”

“You’re like a load-bearing pillar,” Nana teased, hearing his words trail away. “Soon they’ll be begging you to report back.”

“I’m staying,” Sorahiko insisted.

“Don’t get court-martialed on my account.”

“They can’t afford that,” he said. “They’re too distracted spending all their time trying to put together a spy network, to figure out the mastermind behind the Alliance. Silly, isn’t it? Wars aren’t masterminded by a single person.”

“Oh,” said Nana, and she looked oddly shifty.

Sorahiko felt a distressing sense of trouble on the horizon. He searched her expression for hints: she was biting her lower lip; her grasp had tightened; her eyes were flashing an uncanny silver.

“What happened,” Sorahiko asked, apprehensive.

“Well,” she dragged out. “What if this war boiled down to a single person?”

“I’d ask who tricked you into believing conspiracy theories again.” Unbelievably, Sorahiko felt himself resigned to listening; he didn’t want to see the spark in Nana’s eyes flicker out in the face of his doubt. “If there was a single person, I can imagine the Commission organizing a hit squad to take them out.”

“Not a hit squad,” Nana said. Her hushed, conspiratorial tone coaxed Sorahiko to bend his head a little closer. She whispered, “All for One. One for All.”

“There are three masterminds to this war?”

“No, silly. Two Quirks meant to cancel each other out, one wielded by a mad man, and the other by a series of successors.”

He jerked his head back. “Don’t you tell me - ”

“My older cousin,” she continued. “He’s going to pull me off the aerial patrol into special ops. He was part of the patrol that found me, Sorahiko, and he’s already passed the Quirk on, and I really think I can do something with it, you know? Not just hold it in safe-keeping.”

“Nana, this war has lasted for years,” he said, helpless.

“We grew up in ‘safe’ civilian zones, only to be taught how to function in a military setting, primed to fight when we reached the age of majority. The repercussions of this war will last for decades. We need to end it. Soon.”

Sorahiko bit his lip. Here he was, kneeling by the bedside of his best friend, connected by the warm clasp of their hands, and all the months alone suddenly weighed on him like a millstone.

Nana said ‘we.’ She was taking a chance by entrusting him with this secret, a selfish action that he wouldn’t have attributed to her before, treasonous in the sense that the Commission could have no idea that they held a wild card in their hands.

That they could negotiate a truce, using Nana (and her successors) as bait, as collateral, as -

Sorahiko didn’t know what his face was doing, but it concerned Nana. Her brow furrowed, and she said, “Stop kneeling, you’ve got the joints of an old man.”

“Well, where do you suggest I sit?”

“My bed,” she suggested impishly.

“Your cramped and tiny bed,” Sorahiko said, judgy tone and all. “What if a nurse walks in?”

“It’ll break their hearts. I’ve already flirted with them, and I’m sure they all caught a glimpse of you. Let’s stir some gossip, Sorahiko!”

“Gossip,” he echoed. In his head, he’d already conceded. His knees did hurt, and however hard the hospital cot was, it couldn’t be worse than the floor. Sorahiko snorted, and squeezed her hand, and he creaked up to his full height.

Nana obligingly scooted up, rearranging her pillows and carefully pulling in her legs. She winced the whole time.

“You’re going to hate rainy days,” said Sorahiko, sitting on the far end of the mattress. Without asking, Nana extended her feet and plopped them into his lap. He tugged the blanket down over the whole affair.

“I’m going to be able to predict rainy days, you mean.”

“Your new calling as a weather vane?”

“Those are used to tell where the wind blows,” she bickered. Nana looked ready to fall back into the familiar banter, her toothy grin revealing itself, but the whole of her demeanor rang… false. Like she was putting on an act for Sorahiko’s sake.

With a shock, Sorahiko realized he had never given her a straight response to the question of All for One and One for All.

“Hey,” he said, slow and deliberate, stopping the budding conversation dead.

“Yeah?”

“Can I join you in special ops?”

Nana blinked. “You… you wouldn’t like it? It would be more stress than you signed up for.”

His hands curled loosely around her ankles, not restraints, but for reassurance. ‘I signed up for you’ was too vulnerable a confession to give. ‘I can’t wait like this again, seeing you only when you’ve survived a fight’ was equally bad.

“You made a decision,” Sorahiko responded, “and I’m making mine. Can your cousin pull me out of the frontlines?”

She tilted her head at him, inspecting him for tells. Sorahiko held himself tense for only a second, before his shoulders slumped. Either Nana wanted her partner back, or she didn’t. Either Nana allowed him to support her in this quest, or she didn’t, and Sorahiko would return to the front and wonder if he could have saved her, should she die.

“I’ll make him, if he says he can’t,” said Nana finally. “Partners shouldn’t be separated.”

“No,” he agreed. Maximum efficiency be damned.

#bnha #gran torino #torino sorahiko #shimura nana #shih.txt #asks #anon #platonic best friends style #though if you’d like to read it as nnhk I think you could #the vibes are strong

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emmerrr · 5 years ago

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omg em ❤️ if you can you could write about pynch snowed in + lynch brothers

anonymous asked: prompt: adam and ronan snowed in at Christmas and using the time to bake and watch bad Christmas movies and be soft and make out, please?

anonymous asked: pynch baking cookies, but Ronan is allergic to cinnamon and Adam doesn’t know that and Ronan doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment

(i’ve merged all these prompts together into something that’s kind of what you all wanted, i hope it’s okay! also this is also on ao3 here)

When Adam was finally home for the holidays, he and Ronan still had three full days alone before Declan and Matthew were due to arrive on Christmas Eve.

Adam planned on making full use of them.

Day one involved doing very little. They had a lazy morning, trying — albeit not very hard — and failing to get out of bed several times, alternating between coaxing the other back into the warmth whenever one of them got even close to getting up. Tired, unhurried kisses were shared under the covers, hands wandering slowly, fingers grazing bare skin, muffled laughter into necks. Quiet, nonsensical conversations that tapered out until one and then the other drifted back to sleep, before rousing again some time later, limbs entangled in the little cocoon they had created.

Eventually, hunger motivated them to move downstairs, where they cooked up a mountain of breakfast food in the kitchen before heading to the living room to make a blanket fort and watch Christmas movies for the rest of the day.

They’d made it through Elf, Gremlins, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and — because Ronan inexplicably loved it — The Holiday, before they stopped to make another mountain of food, for dinner this time. Once they’d eaten their fill, dishes were thrown into the sink to soak (probably overnight as it was highly unlikely they’d get to them before heading to bed), and then, arms slung around each other, they retreated back to their living room blanket fort for more movies.

Adam couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a day like this. A nothing day. Even the blissful summer with Ronan had been interspersed with work, and they’d spent most of their free time outside anyway. Today, Adam had barely even looked out of the window, too busy soaking up time missed, time with Ronan, time he wasn’t going to take for granted.

They were so full they could hardly move, but they still lay sprawled over each other in their blanket fort, made even softer by all the cushions Ronan had scattered. They watched both Home Alone movies back to back, Adam drowsily and unnecessarily pointing out all the ways in which Harry and Marv should be dead, if not incapacitated at the very least. When Marv got hit in the head by the fourth brick in Home Alone 2, he threw his hands up in exasperation.

“This is ridiculous. Just one of those from that height would kill him, and I’m supposed to believe he can take four and just walk it off?”

Ronan laughed fondly; Adam felt it rumble through where his head was rested on Ronan’s chest. “See, Parrish, this is what’s called a ‘movie’, and in movies, we’re supposed to suspend our disbelief.”

Adam rolled his eyes, lifted his head, and shoved a cushion in Ronan’s face, all in one smooth movement. “I know what a movie is you patronising ass. I’m just saying. They’re asking me to suspend an awful lot of disbelief, that’s all.”

“Okay, college boy,” Ronan said with a sage nod, before Adam shut him up with a kiss.

Between make-outs and more movie complaints, they ended up falling asleep down there before Adam rolled over and onto the hard floor and woke himself up. He dragged a disgruntled Ronan up to bed with him where they fell asleep again almost instantly, clutched close together, sharing warmth.

The next day was a shopping day, as tempting as a repeat of the day before was. Ronan had already got the essentials before Adam had got there, but they needed a few extra flourishes, snacks and drinks.

When they got back to the Barns and unloaded the car, Ronan stopped before reaching the porch steps. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath, eyes closed.

“It’s going to snow,” he said.

Adam looked up at the sky. It was undoubtedly cold and grey, but there had been no snow forecast. He remained dubious.

“You think?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

Ronan grinned. “Because I really, really want it to snow.”

It didn’t snow, not for the rest of the day, nor was there any sign of snow when they awoke the next morning. Ronan’s good mood was unaffected, however, and as he set about farmyard chores, Adam took over the kitchen to make gingerbread cookies.

He’d found a recipe that seemed simple enough online, and there were Christmas themed cookie cutters in one of the drawers, so he was all set. The dough didn’t take long to bring together and while it was chilling in the fridge, he went outside to help Ronan.

Ronan was almost done so Adam just waited for him to finish tidying up one of the barns and then they leisurely walked back towards the house. Halfway back, Ronan complained that he was tired and couldn’t possibly go on, so Adam gave him a piggyback, which involved a lot of swaying and almost overbalancing as Ronan was pretty heavy.

When they reached the porch, Adam dropped Ronan unceremoniously and went to lean against the railing, looking out at the grounds. There was a crispness in the air, and Ronan’s cheeks and nose were pink from being out in the cold for a while. Adam could see his breath mist in the air as he took in the view. It struck him that he’d never seen the Barns in snow, but that he’d very much like to.

Strong, sturdy arms enveloped him from behind, and he felt Ronan perch his chin on Adam’s shoulder. He twisted a little, enough so that he could reach to kiss Ronan’s cold cheek.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ronan asked.

Adam smiled. “I’m just wishing for snow.”

“It’s coming, Parrish. Trust me.”

Adam pressed back, snug in Ronan’s arms. “I do.”

Back inside, Ronan went to shower to warm up, and when he didn’t reappear, Adam found him napping, half-dressed on top of the bed. Adam threw a soft blanket over him, pressed a kiss to his temple, and left him to it.

Reasoning that his cookie dough had chilled long enough now, Adam set about rolling, cutting, and baking. There was enough dough to fill two baking trays full of cookies of various shapes; Christmas trees, snowmen, reindeer, and stars.

When they were out of the oven and cooling, Adam made some icing to decorate. There were only two food colourings to be found in the pantry, but luckily they were red and green, which seemed appropriately festive.

Using those two colours, plus a plain white, he set about decorating. They weren’t the neatest, but they were bright and cheerful, and clearly very homemade, which was exactly what he had been going for. He was just finishing icing his last one, a nice red star, when Ronan walked into the kitchen, pulling on a hoodie.

He yawned and smiled at Adam, adorably sleep-rumpled. Then he clocked the iced cookies on a plate.

“Oh, jackpot.” He grabbed a Christmas tree one and took a giant bite before Adam could stop him.

“Hey, I’ve only just finished them, the icing won’t even be fully set yet,” he said.

Ronan grinned, unapologetic, then took another bite. “S’good, Parrish,” he said with his mouth full.

“Good. Save the rest for tomorrow when your brothers get here.”

“Yes, boss,” Ronan said. He’d slowed down chewing his second bite, and he gave the cookie a closer look. Then he put it down, unfinished, and got himself a glass of water.

Adam frowned. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Ronan said airily, then cleared his throat a couple of times. “Just…they don’t have cinnamon in them, by any chance, do they?”

“Of course they do, it’s gingerbread. Why?”

“No reason. I’m just like, mildly allergic to cinnamon. It’s no big deal.”

“Did you just say you’re allergic?”

“I said ‘mildly’.”

“Fuck, Ronan! Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Ronan was rooting through the cupboards until he finally found a little packet of tablets. “Nah, it’s fine, I’ll just take an antihistamine.”

He swallowed a tablet with water, and Adam watched him warily. “Your throat’s not gonna close up then?”

Ronan shook his head with a smile. “No. I told you, it’s a mild allergy. It just makes my throat itch and maybe irritates my eyes a little or makes me sneeze. But I only took two bites of one cookie so it’s fine, it’s not like I ate a whole fucking spoonful.”

Adam crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you ask if there was any cinnamon in them before you took an enormous bite? And for that matter, why, when I said I was making gingerbread cookies, did you not say not to put any in because you’re allergic?”

Ronan cocked his head to the side, crooked smile on his face that would have a different effect on Adam if he weren’t already annoyed. “Do I look like I know what goes in gingerbread cookies?”

Adam sighed. “Ronan it’s a pretty standard festive spice, it’s in almost everything this time of the year. And anyway, why didn’t you tell me you had an allergy? Is there anything else?”

Ronan shrugged. “No? Don’t think so. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t even think about it. It’s not a Gansey allergy, it’s not gonna kill me.”

“It better not, because if it does, I’ll kill you.”

“Fair.”

Adam finished the cookie Ronan had half eaten, pleased that it did actually taste nice. He’d have to make some normal sugar cookies now as well, that Ronan could eat.

“You wanna help me make some more cookies?” he asked. “I promise I won’t poison you this time.”

Ronan mulled this over, finishing his water as he did. “Do I get to decorate?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

Baking, Adam discovered, was more fun when Ronan was there. It was messier, and it took longer thanks to impromptu powdered sugar fights followed by make-out truces, but infinitely more fun.

He went to bed that night feeling full and festive and excited for the next few days.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and Declan and Matthew arrived at around midday. An hour later, it started to snow.

Ronan ran outside, whooping delightedly. “What did I tell you, Parrish? What did I fucking say?”

Declan looked up at the sky with a frown. “I hope it doesn’t stick. I need to be back in DC on the 27th.”

Adam looked across to where Ronan and Matthew were chasing each other around, slipping where the snow was starting to stick. The flakes were thick and fluffy and falling fast with no end in sight. He shrugged. “That’s three days away, I’m sure however much sticks will be gone by then. And you’ve got nowhere better to be now, right?”

Declan was watching his brothers too, and he half smiled. “No, I guess not.” He turned to Adam. “By the way, were those gingerbread cookies in the kitchen? Because Ronan can’t have one, he’s allergic to cinnamon.”

“God, yeah, I know that now, he took two giant bites of one before he realised what was in it. It wasn’t actually my intention to poison him for Christmas.”

Ronan and Matthew had circled back around, and were in earshot again so Ronan caught what they were talking about. He hopped up to the railing of the porch where Adam stood and kissed him on the cheek.

“For the last fucking time, I’m mildly allergic.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Adam said fondly, catching his hand in Ronan’s collar to pull him close and kiss him properly.

Back inside, Declan made hot drinks and Ronan made a fire, and they all settled down in the living room to watch more Christmas movies

“Can we watch Home Alone next?” asked Matthew after they’d finished The Muppets Christmas Carol.

“No, because otherwise Parrish will literally never shut up about medical inaccuracies.”

But they did watch it again, because it was Matthew’s favourite, and Adam napped through it anyway, cozy under a blanket with Ronan’s arm around him.

Declan disappeared for a while to make them all dinner, and after they’d eaten they played a few old board games that Ronan had found buried in a cupboard somewhere.

It grew late, and everyone started yawning, and eventually they all trickled off the bed.

And all the while, the snow continued to fall.

On Christmas Day, they woke up to picture-perfect views outside, pristine snow that had been undisturbed. They spent the morning eating Adam’s homemade cookies, drinking coffee, and opening presents under the tree.

Ronan had got Santa hats for everyone that he insisted they all wear; Adam’s was green, Matthew’s was red, Ronan’s was black, and Declan’s was blue. There was music and laughter, and wrapping paper crushed into balls and thrown around for Chainsaw to chase. There was thank you’s and hugs and headlocks. Given that there were only four of them, cooking dinner wasn’t particularly an ordeal, and they all helped, and they all cleared up afterwards before finally piling outside to make their mark on the snow.

It had been stopping and starting again all day, and was already very deep. They didn’t venture far, sticking close to the house as they built snowmen and had snowball fights. Adam ducked as Ronan threw one at him, and it instead hit the shed behind him. A whole chunk of snow from the roof of the shed dislodged with the impact, fell forward and cascaded down over Adam, getting freezing snow down his coat and soaking his hat.

He dusted himself off and glared at Ronan, shivering. “You’ll pay for that.”

Ronan laughed, but it faltered a little when Adam started rolling up a giant snowball. “It was an accident, babe, I’m sorry — Parrish, truce!”

When all four of them were soaked through with chattering teeth and it was starting to get dark out, they traipsed back inside for warming baths or showers, and by the time they were all, the snow was falling heavily again. Declan made them all leftover turkey sandwiches, and then it was another night in the warm living room with movies and games and stories, and laughing so hard it made their stomachs hurt.

It was a family Christmas, the way Adam had always imagined family Christmases to be.

It snowed all through the night, and Boxing Day greeted them with snow that was well over Matthew’s knees when he went out to investigate. The cars in the driveway were well and truly covered, and Declan spent a large part of the morning trying to dig them out, and also clear some of the driveway, before they heard on the radio that the road beyond the Barns was currently impassable, so there didn’t seem much point.

Matthew and Ronan were very keen to go sledging down one of the hills that backed onto the property, but it was incredibly difficult to try and wade through the deep snow, and when one of Matthew’s wellington boots got caught on something resulting in him accidentally stepping out of it, they decided to give up and try again when some of the snow had thawed.

They went back to the house, cold and wet with freezing, soaked jeans stuck to their legs.

“Whose bright idea was that?” Ronan said as they all stood in front of the fire, getting some warmth back into their bones.

“Pretty sure it was yours,” Adam supplied helpfully.

“What? Nah, all my ideas are fucking great. This has Matthew written all over it.”

“That’s fair,” said Matthew sagely. He looked up at Declan. “Do we still have to go tomorrow? I don’t want to leave before we get a chance to go sledging.”

Declan ruffled his brother’s curls amiably. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure you’ll get your chance. Looks like we’re stuck for at least another couple of days.”

Ronan looked up sharply before schooling his expression. Adam thought he was trying not to look too invested in this development. “What about work?” he asked carefully.

Declan shrugged. “I already emailed them. Not much I can do about the weather, is there?”

Ronan nodded, then looked back to the fire, a tiny smile on his face. “Guess not.”

“There’s not something you can do about the weather, is there? Magic up a heating fan for me?”

Ronan snorted. “A heating fan big enough to melt enough of the snow to get you to the interstate? I mean, I could try, but I’m not gonna.” He elbowed Declan playfully. “Think you should stick around here and have fun instead. It’ll do you some good.”

“Yeah, Declan,” Matthew said.

“Yeah, Declan,” Adam added.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, point made. Now,” he clapped his hands together, “who’s up for a game of Monopoly?”

“Oh finally, Fun Declan has entered the building,” Ronan said, and Matthew burst out laughing.

“What? It’s the Pokémon edition, it is fun.”

“Really?” Ronan said, suddenly serious. “Fuck yeah, let’s play Pokémon Monopoly.”

After two games, of which Adam won both, he and Ronan wrapped up warm and went outside again.

It took them the better part of the afternoon, but they managed to build a pretty stable little igloo, just big enough for two. They crawled inside, careful not to accidentally take out part of the ceiling, and Ronan pulled a bunch of dream lights out of his pocket and threw them into the air.

They hung there, giving the space a warm glow entirely at odds with how goddamn cold it was. Ronan wasn’t wearing gloves, so Adam covered his hands in his own and rubbed them gently.

“Is this romantic as fuck or what, Parrish.”

“It’s romantic as fuck,” Adam agreed. “You should probably kiss me now, before we get frostbite.”

Not needing any more encouragement, Ronan leaned forward, cold noses on cold cheeks, smiling into kisses, huddled close for warmth.

Adam pulled away with a lazy smile. “Ready to go in?”

Ronan sighed. “I guess.”

“I can kiss you better in the warmth.”

“You’ll have to prove it to me.”

Crunching footsteps outside sounded, approaching fast, before Matthew called out, “Oh, an igloo, cool!”

“Matthew, wait!” Ronan yelled quickly, but Matthew was already trying to crawl through. He wasn’t as careful as Adam and Ronan had been, and, bear of a boy he was, his shoulder barged through one side of the entryway, and then the whole damn thing caved in, collapsing snow soaking them to the skin yet again.

“Oops,” Matthew said. “Sorry! I’ll build a new one.” He stood up and reached a hand out to both Adam and Ronan, helping them up from where they were now half-buried in the snow.

“You fuckin’ better,” Ronan said, then lunged for his younger brother, who leapt away with a delighted laugh. Ronan chased him back towards the house, Adam following at a slower pace as he dusted himself free of as much snow as he could. Cold and soaking wet was a feeling he was becoming entirely too familiar with, but he couldn’t find it in him to mind. Not when fun was the cause, and when warming up again was so nice.

The next day, the sun came out, and the thaw began.

They finally had the chance to go sledging, although making it over to the hill Ronan had in mind was still a bit of an ordeal as the snow was still fairly deep. There were only two sledges, a traditional looking wooden one, and a red plastic one. Ronan had also brought some plastic bags with him, stuffed into his coat pocket, which apparently worked just as well. Adam wouldn’t know; he couldn’t remember if he’d ever been sledging before.

Declan went first on the wooden sledge. He picked up speed so fast that when the ground leveled off he went flying over a small bump in the ground and into a copse of trees, disappearing. A moment later, he emerged looking sheepish, holding the now very broken sledge in his hands.

It took him a couple of minutes to get back up the hill to the rest of them, and Ronan just raised an eyebrow in question.

“I crashed into a tree,” Declan said matter-of-factly.

Ronan laughed. “See, this is why I should always drive.” He clapped Declan on the shoulder. “It’s all good, that sledge was fucking ancient anyway. Who’s next. Matthew? Parrish?”

Matthew held out a hand. “Bag me.”

“You don’t want the red one?”

“Nah. The bags are faster.”

Ronan handed him one, and Matthew arranged it just so, sitting on it so that the handles could act as a steering wheel. Adam was curious to see how well it would work, and to be fair it really was incredibly fast. The only problem seemed to be stopping, but Matthew handled this by rocking over onto his side until he eventually skidded to a halt.

Adam gave Ronan a knowing look. “This is going to end in scabs and bruises, isn’t it?”

Ronan grinned. “All in the name of fun.” He put the red sledge at the top of the hill. “Wanna ride with me?”

“I am not getting on that thing with you.”

“Parrish.” Ronan patted the seat. “Get in there.”

Adam sighed. He got in, as he always did. Ronan immediately hopped on the back and his momentum rocketed them forward and down the hill. Ronan’s arms were around him and holding onto the little rope that passed for steering, and he let out a happy swear as they sped down the hill. Adam laughed, exhilarated by the speed and caught up in Ronan’s infectious enthusiasm.

When they approached the bottom and didn’t seem to be slowing down, Adam yelled, “How do we stop?”

“Good question!” Ronan yelled back, but he managed to turn it enough to slow down the momentum, and soon enough they’d dropped enough speed to bail out without causing any injuries.

Ronan lay sprawled on his back in the snow, still laughing. Adam crawled over from where he’d ended up and hovered over Ronan.

“Happy?” he asked.

Ronan grabbed Adam around the waist, and hugged him close. “Yes, Adam. I’m fucking happy.”

They kissed messily, joyfully, both cold and warm at the same time. Ronan leaned back and smiled. “Have you had a good Christmas?”

“The best,” Adam replied, kissing Ronan again, because he could and he wanted to. Then he abruptly got to his feet and started running. “Last one up the hill does all the washing up!”

“Parrish, wait up, no fair!”

#the raven cycle #pynch #tumblr prompts #trc fic #trc

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hypnosis-micrpohone-things · 5 years ago

Text

Fling Posse vs. S/O Hypmic Battle!

Not going to directly answer this because it was submitted anonymously, but they put their blog name in. But, you know who you are! (And thanks so much!) The question is:

“It's nice to see a new Hypmic blog! Although I run one myself, I'd like to request some headcanons for how Fling Posse would react to their S/o and them having a Hypmic battle, calling a truce because neither of them holding up very well; shortly after, their S/o collapses as they're stubborn and wanted to hang on until they won, taking each hit and acting fine even though they're at their limit? And if you'd like a promo or boost, just give me a shout!!! Thanks!”

Ramuda

He is not the type to hold back in either a real or practice battle, even if it’s against his s/o.

I also can’t see Ramuda falling for anyone that couldn’t match him 1 for 1 (in battle, careers, the bedroom, etc).

So you know this is going to be one heck of a fight.

I’m going to assume this is a private battle, like a hardcore practice.

They are somewhere away from other people, but not necessarily private, you know? Like, an empty practice studio or something.

But that doesn’t mean people can’t hear them, oh no. The walls are shaking with the force of their attacks. You can bet anyone in the vicinity can hear them loud and clear.

And it’s a struggle for both of them.

Ramuda and his s/o know each other very well. Too well.

Both are able to use what they know about the other to hit where it hurts.

Although, it’s hurting a bit more on one side than the other.

While his s/o has some good attacks, it’s not enough. Ramuda is a very secretive and hard to read man. It’s likely that even someone he loves very much won’t know as much about him as he does them.

This fight, though...he’s starting to second guess all that. I mean, his s/o is standing there seemingly unfazed for crying out loud! And those attacks are starting to really hurt...

He would feign boredom and say he was tired of it. He’d call the truce, though not before promising to beat them next time!

As as soon has he does his s/o collapses.

No warning, no visible symptoms, just the horrifying thud of a body hitting the floor.

He’d be in shock for about 1 second before his cutesy facade fades.

He finds his inner super strength to pick them up and rush them out of there immediately. And, of course, he goes straight to Jakurai.

When the good doc patches his s/o up and tells Ramuda they’ll be fine, the fury sets in for him.

Why would they pretend like nothing was wrong? Why wouldn’t s/o tell him to stop? Of course, he knows them well enough to know why.

Jakurai wouldn’t let him in to see his s/o until he’s calmed down. When he finally is allowed in he is still in serious Ramuda mode, deep voice and all.

He’d tell his s/o that while he admires their strength and resolve, they should never do that again.

He doesn’t want to seriously hurt them. And he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ended up doing something worse.

Even if his s/o is reluctant to agree, he will make them. Once they have, cute Ramuda returns to dote on his s/o as they recover.

Gentaro

This would most definitely be a private battle. A way to test both of their strength without seriously endangering themselves.

Or so they think.

I think Gentaro would have an s/o who is quite intelligent, or at least highly literate.

This leads to some...interesting...and highly accurate and effective attacks.

I mean, is there one word for throwing someone or something out of a window? Yes. It’s defenestration. And you bet it was used by one of them.

(Also, don’t ask how I know that...)

Wherever the battle is, the building is structurally sound and everything is intact. Passerby probably don’t even know what’s going on.

But the two of them are a freaking wreck.

Their ears are ringing, their clothes are torn, their legs are shaking, they can barely breathe anymore.

And Gentaro’s saving grace is his habit of lying.

I don’t think he would be completely honest with his s/o. Not for a very long time.

I also don’t think it’s a conscious decision, though. It’s become habit, it’s natural.

And trying to use those lies against him doesn’t hurt him because they’re not true. But his s/o does know him well enough to get a bunch of good blows in.

He would call it off when he could tell the both of them were on the brink of collapse.

Both would heave a sigh of relief. Then he would see his s/o start to topple forward.

He would do his best to catch them, but it’s unlikely in his state.

He’d panic as they hit the floor, then immediately find a phone to call an ambulance.

They’d both be treated for their injuries, but s/o would have to stay overnight.

Gentaro wouldn’t leave. He’d go to your room and wait for you to wake up, if you weren’t already awake.

Then he’d apologize and ask suggest the two of them not do that again. At least for a while.

Dice

Impromptu street battle!

Seriously, he’d just suggest it out of the blue, stopping right in the middle of the sidewalk while grabbing his hypmic.

And of course his s/o would have to oblige!

It would be a fierce, firey battle with a lot of bystanders watching and cheering them on.

Naturally they’d be taking bets as well...Dice has a lot of unsavory interesting gambling friends who would jump at this opportunity.

Unlike the other two, Dice doesn’t hide much of his life or personality from people.

This gives his s/o a lot of material to work with. They hit him with great attacks that send him reeling, causing his friends to get quite nervous (because of course they bet on him...well, most of them).

But...he’s just so damn lucky.

Even in his beat up state he’s somehow able to hit his s/o with some powerful attacks.

It goes on so long that both end up on their knees, barely able to get a word out anymore.

A bystander - who had somehow become a referee of sorts - called out a draw. The echoes of a mob of angry gamblers can still be heard on that street today.

Dice wouldn’t notice his s/o collapse at first as he would be too caught up in the hype of the moment.

It would be a spectator screaming for someone to call an ambulance that would grab his attention.

He would rush over immediately and hold them close, shaking them slightly, yelling for them to wake up, to open their eyes.

An ambulance would show up a few minutes later and take them both to the hospital. The EMTs would learn from the spectators that the two are a couple, so the hospital staff would put them in the same room overnight.

He’d wake up first, trying to move, to walk over to the other bed, but he’s in too much pain.

So, instead, he would watch his s/o carefully until they finally woke up.

When they finally come to he would apologize profusely and promise on his 9 lives that he would never hurt them like that again.

His s/o would just laugh it off, though, and just tell him to focus on recovering.

He bet he could heal faster.

#hypmic #hypnosis microphone #hypnosis mic #hypmic ramuda #ramuda amemura #hypmic gentaro #gentaro yumeno #hypmic dice #dice arisugawa #fling posse

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unsprouted-seed · 2 years ago

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I’m back home. I don’t really know what I expected from mum...but I’ll tell you what I GOT:

Motivation!

New goal: Stay the FUCK out of mum’s house.

It’s not that she’s ...... a terrible person or anything. Like... I honestly could’ve rolled much worse. She’s not like my dad. She’s not like my step dad. She’s not like a lot of people’s parents I know.

But she IS controlling. She IS confusing, oblivious, anxiety provoking, exhausting, LOUD, and just... unbearable.

I didn’t know how she’d react to finding out about my disorder. She was ... well, she was her, I suppose. She accepted what I said, but was totally unempathetic. Confused and didn’t really know how to support me. And I found that being there actually made ana worse, even harder to cope with. Because I had this new pressure to “prove” myself in front of my family, to “eat like an anorexic” and “act like an anorexic” and constantly like... the idea of even contemplating recovery around them was just exhausting, I’d be 1 step forward and 2 back all the time.

So I had to come home for a month anyway, because there’s no room there. I was on the couch the whole time. The idea is that they’re rearranging shit (was gonna happen anyway) and there will then be space. And if I can’t handle my shit then I will go and move in. But if I CAN handle my shit, I can stay independant.

SO! MOTIVATION! Stay...the fuck....out of there.

While I was there I made a couple steps. Firstly, when I called mum I actively shifted into a recovery mindset. Like, nothing...... happened that day. I was just ... so exhausted and ready to try to move towards something better. First it was tiny tiny baby steps. Three meals a day. Of ANY size. Got that down. Then as I neared coming home, I started to think “Well, if I can get up to 1500 cals I can legit go back to exercising properly, then that way I can placate ana. It’s still disordered, but it’s harm reduction, and it’s WAY better than starving.”

So yesterday after I got home I managed to hit 1500 cals. Reactive hunger kicks in. And I knew it was coming, so I just accepted it and told myself “Look, it’s a reality, it’s short term, it’s just building my strength, giving me fuel to exercise.” and I stayed calm. My friend (who doesn’t know abt my disorder) asked me to go out to dinner. I said “yes” and had my first REAL meal in AGES. And I didn’t even freak out, didn’t leave any leftovers, just ... ate it. Craaaaazy.

New rule: I count to 1500 cals, minimum, but then I stop counting. Reactive hunger’s my reality, and 1500′s the min not the max. I have to count so that I don’t undershoot it, but if I obsessively keep track of every cal I’ll just freak myself out, so it’s 1500 then it’s just tick or cross, hit the mark or missed it. I’ve NEVER done anything like that before, it feels like progress.

New rule: Don’t eat when full. No matter what. Reactive hunger’s intense, but allowing it to force me to overfill only leads to bingeing, which leads to freakouts. Better to tollerate the hunger until I know I can handle eating again. Leaves me feeling in control.

I’m trying really hard not to overdo it. I’m not tracking nutrients - I figure I need EVERYTHING because malnutrition. So I’m just going with what my body wants. But I’m also checking in with my disordered voice regularly, like, negotiating shit. Because I know that I can’t just decide that everything’s fine... I have to make a truce. Hence the exercise. So like... I’m still freaked out by oils. Fine, I can have a sandwich without butter. Long term that doesn’t hurt me to make that concession. I can challenge that later. Old me would go “No, you have to do it PERFECT or NOT AT ALL” and freak out. I’m trying to find the middle ground.

It’s not easy...

But I really REALLY want to stay out of mum’s house. And the hospital. And ideally the morgue.

I do not want to regain weight. I want to keep losing. I want to keep goals. I want to keep control. I’m not yet ready to give up everything, and it feels like... anorexia’s been this HUGE crutch of mine for ages. If I throw it away, I just fall over because that’s what crutches are - they help you stay stable. So I’m not looking to fix it today. I just want it to stop killing me right now.

Feels like progress.

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journeysintowebcomics · 7 years ago

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Worm Liveblog #43

UPDATE 43: Betrayal

Last time Skitter got fully healed and tried to escape the hospital, but she accidentally encountered Shadow Stalker’s unconscious form and found out her real identity. Long story short: it’s Sophie Hess, one of the much dreaded bullies at her school. Let’s continue.

Skitter’s first thought is to try to determine if Emma is a cape too, but quickly dismisses the thought on grounds of she not being in costume when she’d be needed -- for example, during the dinner the Undersiders crashed. This does explain why Emma suddenly changed her opinion of Taylor, though.

A sick feeling in my gut told me that Emma knew about Sophia and Shadow Stalker.

I could even guess that Emma had found out sometime before high school started, while I was at nature camp. It would have been an exciting revelation, a juicy secret, being a part of the cape community. Seduced by that drama, Emma would have turned her back on me, became Sophia’s best friend. The civilian sidekick and confidante to the young heroine; it was cliche, but cliches had their basis in something.

That’s rather callous, but I think it makes sense. Compared to everyday, kinda gloomy Taylor, a superhero must be really enticing. I’m in no way condoning what Emma did, but I think I see why she’d throw Taylor aside as if she was yesterday’s trash. Sophia’s personality and influence can’t have been of help either, she’s far from being a good person and would have brought Emma deeper into the dark side.

It’s nice to have read a reason why it happened, instead of just handwaving it away or something. Makes this betrayal feel more real. Emma really sucks, eh?

Skitter doesn’t have much time to ponder Emma’s betrayal before a hand grabs her by the back of the neck, as if she was some sort of cat. It’s Armsmaster. Guess just how bad is his mood right now? Not only he lost an arm and got his ass kicked by Leviathan, he also found a villain staring at an unmasked hero. It’s no wonder he’s so angry.

It was looking increasingly likely that I would get arrested, but my thoughts turned to the trio, and their crime and punishment. Had Sophia, Emma and Madison had gotten off easy because Sophia was a superhero? I had my suspicions that the schools worked alongside the Wards, things wouldn’t work if they didn’t, and the schools were a government institution just like the Wards were. Did Sophia get easier treatment? Two weeks suspension when she deserved expulsion?

Uh...no, I don’t think so. What does that maxim say? Don’t assume malice where stupidity could be the correct explanation? Sophia and Emma are one thing, but I’m not sure Madison getting off easy had anything to do with Sophia being a superhero. She’s way too unimportant to receive such perks. Who is Madison, really? Maybe Skitter is onto something about the school knowing about Sophia and therefore showing preferential treatment, but they still hit her where it hurts, taking her off the track team. That’s definitely not a punishment as tough as it should be, but it ticked Sophia off. That’s...a little consolation.

Armsmaster pretty much drags Skitter to the nurse’s desk, throwing her on top and immediately informing Miss Militia and Legend about how Skitter saw ‘one of the blue tags’. I suppose the blue tags belong to those heroes who are unmasked – needing higher clearance, I guess -- while the red tags belong to villains in general...maybe? Well, the point here is that Skitter just made a pretty big faux-pas, and not even intentionally.

Once anyone without clearance was placed to work somewhere else, the heroes started discussing what will be done. Legend wastes no time in making sure Skitter understands just how serious the situation is. Even though Skitter tries to justify her fleeing attempt, it doesn’t seem to me her reasons will hold much water. The thing when dealing with dangerous people is that you need to always err on the side of caution. Even if they believe Skitter, they’ll have to be very cautious, and the odds they do are...pretty low, because Armsmaster is here. Who will be more believable? The villain who has caused a lot of trouble, or Armsmaster?

“I would ask you to keep your voice down,” Legend spoke, his voice hard, “There’s very few ways a situation like this can go, with a cape’s civilian identity at stake. If you start shouting, specifically shouting what you know, it would severely curtail what options you have left to you. Understand?”

I have the feeling none of these very few ways Legend is mentioning will be inconsequential and harmless. Once Skitter chuckles about how they’d extend the same courtesy to her if her identity had been found out – excuse me if I doubt that, guys – she’s told what the worst case scenario will be.

“If you were judged to have used an Endbringer situation to your advantage, you would meet the most serious penalty we can offer. Those who violate the Endbringer truce are almost always sent to the Birdcage,” he let that last word hang in the air.

So she’d be locked away for good. I see. I don’t think Skitter would be able to escape, knowing Dragon and her prison, there’ll be zero bugs in there. She’d be, for the hundredth time since Worm started, helpless against people, this time because she wouldn’t be able to find any bugs. It’d be as good as a death sentence; wouldn’t it be? I wonder what the exceptions to these rulings would be. Does it mean there’s a precedent of someone not being sent to the Birdcage? How many times does someone take advantage of an Endbringer situation? Way too many, I guess.

When Skitter says it was an accident, Armsmaster jumps to give a metaphorical kick to the shins, saying Skitter is proving to be an adept liar, even fooling instincts and hardware. Since when she does that? She’s not transparent, but she’s far from being an adept liar, I’d say. Armsmaster is throwing dirt on her.

“Another option would be for you to join the Wards. We were willing to offer you this when we got around to talking to you, before seeing you on your way. You would be placed under varying degrees of probation based on your past crimes, but you would earn a paycheck, you’d have a career-”

Okay, the restraints and all really were no more than a precaution. Good to know that. So Skitter would have been someone on the same level than Shadow Stalker. There’s no way she’s going to accept. Skitter’s own pride and disgust at being on the same situation than Sophia will make her reject it, right? Aha, there it is, she rejected it immediately!

And when I did think about it? No. Not with Sophia there. No way, no how. If I stepped on her turf, I suspected one of us would kill the other. Besides, there wasn’t one thing about joining the Wards that was even remotely redeeming.

So as long as Sophia is there, the Wards isn’t an option for Skitter. Guess the last chance to have a hero career just went down the drain, because I doubt Sophia will be leaving the Wards anytime soon. It also doesn’t help that, from Skitter’s point of view, the heroes look less and less appealing. Not that the villains’ side is much better in terms of moral standing, what with Dinah being kidnapped and everyone in the Undersiders accepting it.

“Just… no. I’d sooner go to the Birdcage.” I was surprised that I actually meant it. My contempt for the heroes was growing. Armsmaster had refused to cooperate with me on any level. Glory Girl and Panacea hadn’t done anything to earn my respect when I ran into them. Topping it off, they had a personality like Sophia’s on their team? I couldn’t even imagine joining them, now.

Okay, you have a point with Armsmaster and Sophia, but I don’t think Glory Girl or Panacea had any reason to get you to respect them. You’re a villain, they’re heroes...of course they’d treat you with contempt and treat you as if you were the scum of the earth. What differentiates them from Armsmaster is that they don’t know about Skitter’s original turncoat plans.

When Skitter tries to find what other options there are, Armsmaster yells, stopping the conversation because he’s being too loud. That’s when the rest of the Undersiders arrive. It’s everyone, including Tattletale. She’s okay! That’s a relief!

The Undersiders are told that if they stay and Skitter blabs about anything, they’ll be as liable for punishment as her. Good thing she’s not going to say anything, eh? But this is the chance for a reconciliation, for Skitter to return to the Undersiders. What better way than them helping Skitter avoid what’s likely to be a trip to the Birdcage?

Grue replied, “So you want us to leave a teammate in your custody, here? No. That’s ridiculous. I can’t speak for the others, but I’m staying.”

Teammate. He’d said I was his teammate.

Grue can be hella noble when he wants to. It’s pretty much reserved for his friends and for his sister, but he really can be a great guy sometimes. Since it’s not like anyone can grab them and kick them down the hall, everyone around begrudgingly accepts their presence.

Skitter describes her teammates. Everyone looks worse for wear – well, she doesn’t know how Grue is because he’s covered in darkness and looks larger than he actually is, but I suppose he’s okay. Tattletale looks much better than I thought someone who fell from the top of a building in middle of a fight with an Endbringer would be. Lucky gal! And Heckpuppy...uh...well, you can guess how she feels from losing several of her dogs. I’m a bit surprised she is here, I thought she’d be mourning and unwilling to be anywhere else than with some of her dogs. Maybe Skitter did manage to get through her walls!

The first two options are repeated so the Undersiders know about them, and a third one is offered:

“Or, as a final option, some sort of collateral.”

Aha. I suppose Skitter won’t even receive the benefit—

“That option is generally reserved for capes we can trust,” Armsmaster spoke, his voice low.

It’s as if there never was a third option! Join us or get sent to the Birdcage, it’s an ultimatum. I think the heroes of this city would be more than glad to bury Skitter into that superjail, so yeah, if nothing is done, she’s definitely being sent there.

Grue doesn’t do what I did of supposing she won’t even have that as an option and asks what they mean by ‘collateral’. It’s based on a situation that happened back when the other two options hadn’t been available, so a solution was arranged. No word on how well it went.

“So he agreed to reveal his real face to the other cape, so that any abuse of the knowledge on his part could or would be just as damaging to him.”

Oh hell no, that won’t fly here. I can pretty much feel Skitter’s disgust at such thought.

To the heroes it seems like Skitter is being difficult on purpose. At this rate she is definitely being sent to the Birdcage, and the rest of the Undersiders will have to break her out of the truck that’ll take her there, which would be incredibly difficult to do. I can’t see a way out of this problem. Man, I sure am awful at improvisation, I’d be horrible in situations like these.

Since Legend is an outsider he’s not aware of the details of this group, so Armsmaster explains that Tattletale is a master manipulator and likes head games. Okay, that is...accurate, actually. No exaggeration here, nothing to protest. That’s enough for Legend, who demands them to be escorted away because he doesn’t want to leave any chance of getting manipulated.

“You start a fight here,” Grue spoke, “You better pray to some higher power that you can fucking spin this well enough with all those others looking, because it’s an end to the truce if you don’t, too many eyes on this.”

Looks like he is right. It’s true the immediate perimeter was cleared, but there are capes and other people at the end of the hallway, Trickster is even recording the events. Wonderful, so the result shall be known by everyone before the day ends. Everyone will know if Skitter gets sent to the Birdcage or not. I’m not sure how much the bystanders have heard, but what they can see doesn’t look good for Skitter.

Legend isn’t worried at all, but at least he requests Miss Mlitia to escort them away without making much noise? Or at least he’s not...encouraging a confrontation? Better this than giving Miss Militia carte blanche to fire. The Undersiders walk away with some protests and giving Skitter assurance everything was going to be okay. Oh, jolly, they must have something in mind already!

“We’ve given you three options. Pick one or I’ll choose for you.”

Birdcage, then. Thankfully for Skitter, they don’t even have time to say more before a transmission is heard through the armbands a lot of people may still be wearing.

For those of you who don’t have a front row seat, the very well armed Miss Militia is currently doing her best to point a Beretta 92fs at my head. If this broadcast ends prematurely, you can all rest assured that the Protectorate is willing to kill and break the truce if it means censoring its dark, dirty little secrets.

Tattletale, you’re the best. Skitter really had nothing to worry about, the Undersiders managed to create a standstill in no time. With the right moves, the Undersiders can take advantage of this, make the heroes listen to what they have to say. I’m still not sure of what could be said to stop Skitter from being taken away, and if they want to keep the broadcast up while they talk they’ll have to choose their words carefully, buuuuut this is a start. Things could go well.

A lot of capes are watching, maybe not listening, but they’re watching. The Travelers, New Wave, some that come from other places. No villains other than the Travelers? I suppose no other villain would have a reason to stick around.

Tattletale stops the transmission and asks to negotiate, giving her own three options. One is to shoot them and confirm there’s something to hide. Good move. Even if they don’t have something to hide, shooting them would give the impression they do have something to hide. Tattletale pretty much eliminated any chance of getting attacked.

The second option is that Tattletale finishes her announcement. Um...what would she say, exactly? Would she announce the Protectorate’s dark secrets? Maybe. Without proof it’s unlikely anyone would believe them, but planting the seed of doubt into people with some aspersions could be worth it. The third option is that Skitter is freed. Yeah...that’s where this is going. Definitely.

Armband, find the largest break in casualties and read the notifications from there on.

Manpower deceased, CD-6. Aegis deceased, CD-6. Fenja down, CC-6. Fenja deceased, CC-6. Kid Win down, CC-6. Skitter deceased, CC-6. Kaiser deceased, CC-6.

Hm. If only it mentioned how much time passed between Kid Win being down – I’m pretty sure I heard that notification – and Skitter being reported deceased. Can’t have been too long. This must be the moment her armband broke, shortly before Kaiser got torn in half. If I remember right, she was...she was looking for a place to hide.

“Did it? Or did someone break it?” Tattletale’s gaze went to Armsmaster, her voice dropping in volume to ensure that our ‘audience’ didn’t hear.

...wait, what? No way. Is she saying Armsmaster broke Skitter’s armband? How? I don’t remember him being close enough to Skitter to do that at any point, especially after Kid Win was knocked out. Well, if Tattletale says Armsmaster broke it, then it’s very likely he did do it, but I’m not sure how he did it.

“What are you implying?” Armsmaster growled.

“I’m implying that you set things up to guarantee yourself a one-on-one fight with Leviathan. Who cares, after all, if some villains get murdered in the process, if it means stopping an Endbringer?”

...hmmm...the scary part is that it’d make sense. It’d be Armsmaster’s last chance of shining before being sent away to be part of a team in some other place, and not even as a leader. If he did well here, he could stop that from happening. I can see him setting this up so he had a chance to kill Leviathan. His speech during all that...it fits with this possibility. He really was trying to put himself as the one and only hero who killed Leviathan. Oh man...

This accusation is so serious Legend is willing to listen to the known manipulator. Tattletale has no need for manipulation of any kind. She’s saying speculation, but it sounds rather plausible. Armsmaster was the one who directed people around, he’d have the chance to put Kaiser, his valkyrie bodyguards and Skitter at the spots he wanted. Damn it, it never crossed my mind he had ulterior motives...

“Oh no,” I heard Miss Militia mutter under her breath.

Someone has received an epiphany! I still remember the last few lines of her interlude, she must have remembered for Armsmaster looked back then!

Of course Armsmaster denies everything and argues that heroes died too. That was an accident, it’s not like Armsmaster wanted heroes to die. Right? But if these accusations can be proven, it’d definitely fit the definition of wanting to benefit from an Endbringer attack and putting others in danger to do it. He’d fit that much more than Skitter does. Would he be sent to the Birdcage? Eeeeeh...honestly I doubt it. Sending the leader of this hero team to the Birdcage would be a huge scandal. If they do, they’ll hide it from the public. Good thing there’s an excuse readily available, what with him maybe moving to another city.

Either way, Leviathan did as you wanted, followed the path you plotted. You used a directed EMP blast to nuke Skitter’s armband, ensuring that she couldn’t report Leviathan’s position and call in reinforcements, buying you time to take on Leviathan one on one.

I see. Heck, Skitter mentioned the EMP not too long ago! I’m somewhat surprised Dragon’s bracelets would be vulnerable to EMP. Quite the big design flaw for a tinker of her caliber. Then again, why would she imagine someone would use EMP at the bracelets? I suppose it’s forgivable she didn’t prevent that somehow.

Looks like this is the kind of thing that can be checked. I’m a tad nervous about leaving the checking up to the heroes. They’d have a chance to bury this if Armsmaster truly did it, and they’d throw Tattletale into the Birdcage – because that’s what she’s doing, she’s offering herself in exchange of Skitter’s freedom while the results arrive. True, people like Miss Militia would be fairer, and Legend maybe would keep tabs on these developments, but...I don’t know, it still makes me nervous.

Thankfully for Skitter, Armsmaster pretty much undoes the possibility this is buried away, because he slaps Grue aside and tries to reach Tattletale. Clearly the behavior of someone fully innocent! It’s so bad it makes Legend and Miss Militia turn against him.

“I know you were tired, that you hadn’t slept all last night,” Miss Militia told Armsmaster, ignoring Tattletale, “Frustrated, your dream taken from you. But to go this far?”

“It was for the greater good,” Armsmaster replied, without a trace of shame or humility, “If it had worked, Leviathan would be dead, the man holding Empire Eighty-Eight together dead. All of us survivors would have been legends, and this city could have risen from the ashes, become something truly great.”

Welp, he used the ‘for the greater good’ defense. That never works. He doesn’t even have any regrets, apparently. It may be a bit naïve of me to think it, but if he keeps digging himself a hole, maybe he really will be sent to the Birdcage! At this point he...well, he does deserve it, right? Endangering and pretty much letting a couple people to die, even if they were dangerous villains...it put the truce at risk. If it gets out, it’s all over, and it was all done for selfish motives. This seriously needs the Birdcage punishment.

When Tattletale tries to explain it was factually impossible Leviathan could be defeated, Armsmaster gets desperate. Um...

“Shut up!” Armsmaster raised his head to shout at her. He stopped, eyes flickering to me. When he spoke again, his voice was almost calm. “You don’t know everything.”

Wait what? So soon, Mr. Wildbow? It’s just the eighth arc! Are you revealing this now? I thought the deceit would last longer than this! Golly, just when everything was starting to be mended between the Undersiders and her. Well, I suppose there’s a chance this will be mostly overlooked, but if it isn’t, well, this could cause a really big breach of trust among the Undersiders.

Yep, it’s time for this. Armsmaster tells everything about what Skitter had wanted to do, how they met, how she wanted to get info about the boss to him. He even implies she hasn’t found that out. Maybe that could be used as a point on her favor? She has known about Coil for several days already, if she still was willing to betray them, then she’d have told Armsmaster. Someone will think that, right? Maybe? It’s flimsy, but it’s better than nothing, right?

Wow, that’s kicking her while she is down, Armsmaster.

Grue asks Tattletale to confirm, and the reply comes rather quickly: affirmative. Welp, it’s over. Needless to say, the reactions aren’t of understanding and support Heckpuppy is furious, Regent is disgusted, Grue...who knows how he’s feeling, but I’m guessing he regrets calling her his teammate just a few minutes ago.

Tattletale was the only one who didn’t look surprised.

So she really did know! Skitter didn’t fool her power! It’s interesting she kept silent about it. I wonder why she did that? Because she felt Skitter could turn sincere and join them as their teammate for real? Well, if there’s someone who can convince the rest, it’s her. Things wouldn’t be the same – I’m pretty sure Heckpuppy wouldn’t ever trust Skitter again, and the odds of achieving a relationship with Grue are six feet underground by now – but maybe not everything is over.

Since so many people heard what Armsmaster said, I suppose everyone in the cape world here at Brockton Bay will hear about it. Is Trickster still recording everything? Skitter was badly received by some people already, this won’t help. Not many willingly ally with someone that supposedly could betray them anytime.

The chapter ends with Skitter running out of the hospital. You know, I didn’t think the betrayal would be revealed in this chapter. The Endbringer fight was a very big and important event, Skitter’s separation from the Undersiders was another big and important event, and now this happened. It’s a lot to process, a lot happened in just one arc. What’s more, now that this happened, I’m not sure in what direction Worm will go now. Maybe...she’ll try to rescue Dinah by herself? That’s a possibility. I also hope Tattletale and Skitter talk about this, since it seems Tattletale already knew about Skitter’s intentions. There’s some good development potential there. I hope it happens at some point.

I think I have time for another chapter, so I’ll start it now.

The chapter starts with Taylor reflecting about how a city like Brockton Bay would pay its respects to everyone who dies in the line of duty. Collective funerals? That was the usual...but there were a lot of problems. To summarize: damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Bad if someone speaks in favor of a villain, bad if nobody does, bad if there’s attention, bad if there isn’t...that’s why there are no funerals anymore. All the city does now is stick all the names on a memorial and call it a day. Sure, that works. How much time has passed since Leviathan attacked? Do they have a memorial ready?

It took only five days for the memorial to be ready. It’s just an obelisk, simple enough, and it has the names of everyone who died – or at least their cape name. It has been a week and half since the scene at the hospital happened, and Skitter has come to maybe present her respects. Some capes named here don’t have their real name attacked. Perhaps they’re from those who came from somewhere else?

Gallant was dead. Unsettling to think that I’d met him and fought him. Or, rather, I’d fought against his team in the same skirmish, even if we hadn’t actually paid attention to one another in the fight. Now he was gone.

Okay, he did die. Glory Girl lost her boyfriend. It’s...honestly it’s a shame. I don’t like Glory Girl, but losing your loved one hurts, doesn’t it? It’s the kind of pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

The missing names are missing because the city couldn’t get permission to put them here, for one reason or another. Most of the names here are complete enigmas for me. Skitter inks Iron Falcon with the teenager she had helped, the one with the crushed leg. So he died...it’s not guaranteed he died because of his leg, he may have died from other causes. Don’t blame yourself, Taylor...she’s not sure how to feel, apparently. Numb?

More names. I recognize the Pelham last name. That’s Lady Photon’s family. It’s good that nobody else from that family died.

It was shorter than the other lists, the last list of names, so there was space at the bottom. Someone had used the empty space to etch words into the marble. It was crude work, with scuff marks around each notch where the tool had been off target. The letters were all in capital letters, all straight lines – the ‘o’s were squares, the ‘B’s two triangles joined at one corner.

KOOROW BULLIT

MILK STUMPY

BROOTUS JOODUS

AXIL GINGIR

...I just felt this pang of pity deep inside me. Rachel did this, no doubt. So...Brutus and Judas are dead. She still has Angelica, but still, this must hurt a lot, and even more that they died to save someone Rachel will perceive as a traitor from now on. Dang, this is poignant...

At least Taylor still defends Rachel’s work when someone says it’s vandalism, and not just because Lisa is here too. She really means it.

“You getting by?” She asked me.

I shrugged, “I’ve got a cot in one of the shelters for people who lost their homes, and I have some of the cash I brought with me, so I have the basics of what I need. Not sure if Coil cancelled my bank account or what, but I might have that too. I’m surviving.”

Okay, Taylor didn’t go back home despite what happened. It’s not like Dad Hebert lost the house...maybe? They’re still not together, shelter or not. I hope she at least took the time to try to contact him, he must have been terrified during the attack, and not because he was in danger.

Lisa, bless her soul, wants to know if Taylor is okay, and she isn’t talking about having a roof over her head. Taylor hasn’t been sleeping well, and she’s feeling so angry she explodes in outbursts towards people who don’t deserve it. Tough times.

There are apologies, and not from Taylor. Lisa’s the one apologizing.

“But you didn’t. You changed your mind. Me? I had an idea of what you were up to, I lied to you, misled you. Manipulated you. Kept it all a big secret. And I’m sorry for that. Really.”

Maybe it was for the better, maybe it wasn’t. But in the end, what’s done is done. If only they had talked about this with the rest, though...sure, it wouldn’t have been much better, but it’d have softened the blow. Taylor wouldn’t have been very trusted, and Rachel maybe would have tried to maul her face off, but she’d still be part of the team, I think. Taylor asks from how long ago Lisa knew about this.

“Since before we met.”

...wait, what?

The city’s being reconstructed. The lake in the downtown can’t be moved for obvious reasons, they’re waiting to see what happens with that. Dad Hebert’s house is mostly intact; Taylor hasn’t passed by. The Undersiders’ loft...it’s gone. Are they staying at Coil’s complex, then? If it’s still intact and not flooded, I mean. Being underground and near storm sewers can’t have been good.

No more secrets – between them, because they’ll be secrets to hide from the rest. Yeah, this better not bite you in your behind later. Lisa tries to explain what I think is a way her power works. She knows something will happen, it seems, it’s just information she got, but she can’t say for certainty what to do with it. That’s what I understand here, explained through crossroads.

No, nevermind. She’s not talking about herself. She’s talking about Coil. That was stupid of me, sorry.

“What if you could choose both? Choose both A and B, so your A self knows what your B self knows and vice versa. When you know path B is the right choice, you can make it so. The world where you chose to go down path A is gone, vanished, so when you comes to the next choice, you can do it again.”

I had already heard that was how Coil’s power worked, more or less, but it’s nice to see it confirmed here in the story. Coil’s power is really useful. At this point it’s the power I’d want the most.

Coil has been using his powers several times during the events of this story, to ensure the best possible result always happened. During the bank robbery, he did it and achieved...well, they succeeded in both timelines, but in one Rachel got injured and maybe Dinah wasn’t captured, so the timeline we’re at right now is the one he chose. During the fight with E88, he saved them by getting Tattletale to push everyone to be careful. Who knows what happened in that other timeline, but whatever it was, we can be sure it wasn’t good for anyone involved. Total and complete obliteration, I guess.

He also had used his power back then, when they were going to confront Lung. What happened in the other timeline was...well...

“We go, we take out a contingent of ABB gangbangers and scare off Oni Lee. Then I get a call back from Coil. The other reality? We left earlier, went a different route. Got in a fight with Lung before you showed. You decided to attack both our groups while we were occupied fighting each other, worn out, only Lung was stronger at that time, too strong for you to do too much. By the time you realized you’d have to work with us to stop him, which wasn’t long, it was too late. Lung was too tough.”

Taylor and the Undersiders would have been horribly killed back then. For someone who is prudent and thinks twice before acting – most times – that sure was a stupid move. Fighting a group of like five capes at once? That’d be difficult for an experienced cape, for a cape that was getting into her very first fight that’d be absolutely impossible. She’d be dead. Tattletale managed to survive in that timeline, and she told Coil what happened. Hm. Guess Coil kind of saved your life, Taylor. Not that it matters, he’s still a major jerkass who used you and the rest to steal a girl and keep her drugged. That’s irredeemable in every way possible.

Tattletale hadn’t made any kind of plan; she was playing by ear. She never thought Grue would think Taylor was a villain, and she saw the chance to recruit Taylor, so she went ahead with it. Was that for the better? Who knows...maybe yes, maybe no. It’s hard to know. Taylor isn’t blaming Lisa for anything, so this matter is...kind of pushed aside. That’s for the better, kind of late to talk about regrets and the such.

“We can’t take back what happened,” Tattletale said. “But we can try to fix it. Some of it. You could go back home. Face the music. Tell your dad some or all of what happened. You could go somewhere else, or I could convince the others to leave you and your dad alone, if you wanted to do that.”

Even though Taylor is not a villain right now, by now I think it’s unlikely she’ll ever tell Dad Hebert. If he finds out, it won’t be through Taylor. In a way that’ll make it harder to deal with. Their relationship is already strained and about to break despite how much they love each other, this could break it permanently.

The difficult thing to do now is to know that to do. Taylor doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life. Continuing her normal life is...not an option, yeah. Becoming a hero is not an option after meeting several of the existing heroes. Working on her own...how would one even start doing that? I have no idea, and I doubt Taylor does.

Lisa thinks the reason why Taylor doesn’t know what to do, is because what she actually wants to do is return to the Undersiders. Oh, definitely! No doubt about that. Even if Taylor doesn’t realize it, of course what she’d want is to return to her friends. Or...former friends.

“No hard feelings if you want to go that way. Again, I can talk to the others, ensure they don’t go straight for revenge or any of that. We don’t hate you, now, hurt as some of the others might be. Except maybe Bitch. She probably hates you.”

Despite everything, I’m pretty sure going for revenge isn’t their style. They’d be more likely to continue forward and try to forget Taylor was ever part of the team. Even Rachel would refuse to do anything else related to Taylor in any way. I’m pretty sure she hates her, though. The ways Taylor tried to get closer to her...they must look real bad now.

Well, returning to the Undersiders isn’t impossible. It’d be really tough, but it’s not impossible.

“Probably not. I mean, even if they took you back, you’d have to eat crow, accept a few concessions, like Coil’s ‘pet’. There’d be no more playing around. You’d have to go all-in, from here on out, if you expected to convince them you were legit.”

So...as I see it, as long as Dinah is in trouble, Taylor’s not going back to the team. There’s no way she’s going to accept that, and anything that looks less the villainous will keep the rest suspicious of her intentions, even if Lisa supports her. She really doesn’t have any other option than go full-time villain.

“You want to be forgiven for what you did? It’s not going to be easy. There’s going to be a sacrifice on some level. And that starts with giving up that stubbornness, being willing to talk to them. To talk to me. You might even change your mind, find yourself able to look past thing with the girl, for the sake of having friends, doing the things you want or need to do in other areas.”

You have to get some more character development, Taylor! Start with it! Hah! But yeah, in her current state, it’d be useless. It’ll be a while before she even talks to the Undersiders, then, because such changes don’t happen quickly. What’d she do now, though? That’s the big enigma. Can’t wait to see what Mr. Wildbow plans to do!

Lisa’s power tells her Taylor just took a decision, while she was staring at the ruins of like half of the city, thinking about how unfair people like Sophia and Armsmaster are heroes. If I had to guess, I suppose Taylor has gained the determination to try to change that. Best of luck, young lady, you’re going to need it. Good thing there are like twenty arcs left for you to achieve it!

“Yeah,” I replied. She turned to glance my way.

“And does this plan feature the Undersiders?”

I gave her my answer.

Oh, pffft, screw you, Mr. Wildbow! Haha! But yeah, the answer definitely is ‘yes’, that much I’m sure. No way she won’t include them! How exactly...I have no idea. I also don’t know how she’s going to convince the others to help her. Everything will be harder now that she doesn’t have a team of friends to rely on. But...you know, I think she’ll achieve it. She has been capable of a few impressive feats so far, she can do more. I have faith on Taylor.

That’s the end of the arc. What follows is another Interlude, so I’m stopping here. Thank you for reading!

Next update: in four updates

#worm #worm liveblog #liveblog #book liveblog #story liveblog

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bellarkefanfiction · 7 years ago

Text

You Steal the Air out of My Lungs (You Make Me Feel It)

*click through to read on ao3

written by: Emily | @prosciuttoe

prompt: ‘I know that you think I hate you but I swear to God I didn’t mean to hit you with my car.‘

word count: 2815

The funny thing is, under entirely different circumstances, Clarke’s pretty sure that she and Bellamy Blake could have been friends.

The first time she meets him, Kane is introducing them and he’s supposed to be showing her the ropes, since it’s her first day at the bookstore. He has a well-worn copy of Howl’s Moving Castle sticking out of his bag, freckles, and dark, messy curls that Clarke really wants to run her fingers through. (She’s... pretty intrigued, if she’s being entirely honest.)

But then he opens his big, stupid mouth, and suddenly all of her feelings of goodwill go up in smoke, because Bellamy Blake is, undoubtedly, a massive asshole.

He won’t stop calling her Princess, for one, and makes a face every time she so much as asks a question about the cash register. The constant jibes about her having gotten the job due to nepotism (so their boss may also be her mom’s fiancé, sue her) certainly don’t help either, and he actually laughs when a book display falls on her foot.

Suffice to say, he is definitely not her favorite person. On particularly bad days, she entertains a fantasy or two of shoving him down a flight of stairs. On worse ones, she dreams of pushing him down a manhole.

Still, murderous tendencies aside, Clarke doesn’t mean to actually run him over with her car.

“Oh my god, Bellamy,” she breathes, dropping down onto the ground next to him. She can already feel her brain going into overdrive trying to assess the situation before her, all while holding back the urge to empty the contents of her stomach on the street. There’s no blood, from what she can tell, but the sickening crunch of him landing on her windshield still rings in her ears. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

He groans, his head falling back with an audible thump. “Everywhere.”

“That’s — not helpful, if I’m being honest.”

That actually pulls a scowl out of him, which Clarke takes as a promising sign that he’s not grievously injured. “You ran me over with your car , Princess. Forgive me if I’m not exactly in the most accommodating of moods.”

She can’t quite help her scoff at that. “My bad,” she snaps, throwing up her hands frustratedly, “I just assumed asshole was your default setting.”

“Only for you, Princess,” he says dryly, his expression morphing into a wince as he pulls himself up by his elbows, waving away her yelps for him to keep still, “Now, if we’re done here, I believe we have a shift that starts in fifteen.”

“Work,” she gapes, “I just ran you over with my car, and you want to go in for work.”

Bellamy gives an unimpressed sniff at that. “Well, not all of us have trust funds to live off now, don’t we?”

And just like that, all the residual sympathy and worry she has for Bellamy Blake evaporates into non-existence. “You know what?” she scoffs, stomping after him, “Consider this a lesson learned. The next time I run you over with my car, I’ll —”

He doubles over in pain then, effectively ending her tirade as she rushes forward to steady him.

“Is it your ribs?” she demands, pressing her fingers tentatively against his side, making him hiss in pain. “Shit. Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” he says mulishly, gingerly lifting at the edge of his shirt. A dark, shapeless bruise stares back at her, wide enough to cover the expanse of his stomach. “See? No blood, no foul.”

Biting back a snappy retort, she sighs instead, assumes the most pleading expression she can muster under the circumstances. (To be fair, it’s not that hard. She hates the guy, but it’s not like she wants him dead.) “Bellamy, please. It’ll make me feel a lot better if you’d just let me take you to the hospital to get it looked at.”

He narrows his eyes over at her, sizing her up. “Aren’t you pre-med?” he shoots back, “Shouldn’t you be able to tell if I require medical assistance?”

It’s hard to keep her surprise from showing at that, considering she didn’t think that he was paying attention in the first place. He remembered. (She’s not sure what to make of this, really.) “Used to be,” she says instead. “I dropped out to do art.”

He makes a small, noncommittal noise in response. “So, that’s why you’re working at a bookstore? Because you’re in some sort of Eat, Pray, Love phase where you think you need a change from your usual humdrum life to get over yourself?”

“That’s— no.” She frowns, shaking her head. Then, with barely concealed impatience, “Look, that’s not the point. Will you please just get in so I can take you to the hospital?”

“Fine,” he says after a beat, hobbling over to the passenger side all while muttering lowly under his breath. “That is, if you can get us there without running over someone else.”

She slams the door shut behind him, hard enough to make the windows rattle. Dick.

Bellamy’s not much of a talker, so she’s expecting the ride to the hospital to be in sullen, albeit much welcome , silence.

What she doesn’t expect is for him to reach into his bag and pull out a pair of glasses, breathing a sigh of relief as he slides them onto his face.

“What?” he snarls, when he catches her staring.

She flushes involuntarily, turning away to keep him from spotting it. Objectively, glasses are a good look on him, but she’d rather put splints under her nails than say that to his face . “Nothing. I just didn’t think you wore those.”

The tip of his ears go a little red at that. “I wear contacts, normally,” he says gruffly, turning his face away from her. “But then again, I didn’t really think I was going to get run over on the one day I decided to wear my glasses out.”

“They’re fine!”

“Only because I had the foresight to take them off when I was getting off the bus,” he huffs, resting his forehead against the window pane. “I honestly thought the worst thing that could happen to me was fogged up lenses.”

“So that’s why you just stumbled onto the road out of nowhere,” she says, with a pointed shake of her head, “because someone didn’t have their glasses on.”

The noise he makes is distinctly disbelieving. “How is this my fault now?”

“Because you walked out onto the open road, half-blind,” she retorts, hitting at her blinker with more force than necessary. “I get that you hate me, but trying to get me to commit vehicular manslaughter? That’s a whole new level, buddy.”

It’s a pathetic attempt at riling him up, really, but Clarke never claimed to be the bigger person in this situation anyway. Strangely enough, he doesn’t rise to the bait, just says in a odd-sounding voice, “I don’t hate you.”

She can’t hold back on her snort at that. “Could have fooled me.”

“I don’t,” Bellamy insists, glaring over at her. “What I do hate, though, is that you pretty much sauntered in here and got a job without even trying. The rest of us don’t share the same privilege, Princess. Some of us—”

“I did the interviews and tests, just like you did,” she interrupts, working to keep her voice steady. “And not that it matters, but I didn’t even realize Kane was running this store when I submitted my application. He might have taken me in, but not as a favor to my mom considering she’s the one who cut me off in the first place.”

He looks like he wants to say something to that, but she keeps going instead. “I need this job just as much as you do, okay? I’m trying my fucking best to keep myself afloat here, and you making my life a living hell every single day doesn’t help things.”

That seems to stun him into silence, at least. Satisfied, she turns away, keeping her gaze fixed on the road ahead. A few more minutes and he’ll be out of her hair, hopefully, and then she could forget that any of this ever happened.

Ten minutes stretch out to fifteen, and he finally breaks the silence just as she’s turning into the hospital’s driveway. “Milk.”

She rubs at her ears, casting him a searching gaze. Maybe Bellamy acquired a concussion, and he’s only showing the effects now. Still, the right thing to do would be to humor him, right? “What?”

“Milk,” he repeats, slouching lower in his seat. “It’s why your cappuccino’s don’t foam up whenever you’re on coffee duty. You don’t put enough of it.”

Clarke gapes, only manages to regain her composure a few minutes after. “Oh.”

He nods, dropping his gaze back to his lap.

She throws the car into park, holds out for another two minutes before she tells him, tart, “Atonement really shouldn’t be sorted under Historical Fiction when it’s clearly a romance.”

The corners of his mouth twitch at that, as if holding back on a smile. “So you think tragic, doomed relationships are considered romance?”

“God, it is just like you to say that.”

(They have an… understanding, after that, which is strange to say the least, but she supposes that’s what happens after you’ve spent four consecutive hours sitting with someone in a hospital waiting room, fighting over the legitimacy of health pamphlets. She wins, but only because he gets grossed out by the pictures of ticks on page six.)

Three months post truce, it’s almost too easy to fall into a friendship with Bellamy Blake.

She discovers that they have differing tastes in literature, for one, so she ends up spending an inordinate amount of time trying to convince him into reading her favorites. He likes thrillers and mythology and basically anything that looks as if it had been printed in size six Times New Roman (ugh) but she gets him to try out Austenland, which he admits to liking after much prodding on her part. She tries out The Odyssey, too, at his insistence, and has to spend the rest of the day after, listening to him grouch about it. (It’s hard to mind, though, considering how he’s pretty cutewhen he’s agitated.)

She learns that he’s a history major, that he prefers tea to coffee, and that he likes taking caring of people. Scratch that, he loves it. He is a big brother through and through, and it shows in the way he nags at her whenever she skips lunch, or how he brings in extra umbrellas to work every time it rains because he doesn’t want anyone else getting wet.

“That’s not even the worse of it,” Miller points out, after he catches sight of the numerous protein bars Bellamy had left by her station accompanied with a post-it note reminding her to eat, Princess. “One time, I told him I got a C for a paper that I didn’t really care for, and he proceeded to give me a rousing, forty-five minute long speech on how grades really meant nothing anyway.”

“Yeah,” she manages, sneaking a surreptitious peek over at him. He’s sitting cross-legged by the Children’s section, engrossed in a game of Tic Tac Toe with one of the kids, and she has to bite back a smile at the sight of it. “Sounds like him.”

(It’s unrealistic, at this point, not to have any feelings for him whatsoever, but she’s just— actively trying not to think about it, really.)

The sound Miller makes is distinctly disparaging. “Wow. You have it bad, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” she hisses, swatting at him as he ducks nimbly out of the way, sniggering. “Don’t you have better things to do? Like your job?”

“How am I supposed to when you’re still here?” he retorts, grabbing at his nametag before fixing it onto his shirt with a grimace. “Get going, Griffin. The stockroom is calling your name.”

Scowling, she pockets the protein bars, flipping him off as she goes. Everyone hated stock-keeping and spending hours in the musty, too-small space of the storeroom, but it was a necessary evil that they all had to go through at some point.

Clarke didn’t hate it, really. Kane didn’t mind whenever she got the radio going, and besides, it was nice to be alone with her thoughts for a few hours.

She’s fixing price stickers onto their latest shipment of dictionaries when she hears it— the beat of a familiar tune, punctuated by a crackle of static or two. Laughing, she throws her hands up, shaking to the beat as she reaches over to turn the volume up. She used to dance to this song with her dad all the time, to the point where he had to buy the vinyl for it.

Shimmying her hips, she hums along as she grabs at the price gun once more, spinning on her heel—

Only to collide straight into someone, making her shriek in surprise.

“Jesus,” she gasps, and she would have lost her balance if two hands didn’t catch at her elbows, hauling her back upright once more. “What the— Bellamy.”

He grins down at her, shaking his head. “Watch where you’re going, Princess.”

“You’re the one that came in out of nowhere,” she huffs, arms winding around his neck instinctively as she sways on the spot. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use a little pick me up.” He shrugs, jerking his chin towards the brown bag on the shelf. “Croissants and coffee. But you know,” his lips quirk up into a smirk, then, making her flush, “I got a little distracted by the view.”

She sniffs, grazing a hand against his chest. “Please. I’m a great dancer. Better than you, probably.”

“If you say so, Princess.”

“Well, I recognize a challenge when I hear one,” she says, backing up slightly and tossing her hair exaggeratedly, making him laugh. “C’mon, Blake. Show me your moves.”

He gives a mock-solemn nod of his head at that, sighing, “You know, I’m not sure if you’re ready for my moves, Clarke.”

“Chicken.”

The next song starts up, a faster one, and she bursts out into giggles when he begins to dance, twirling clumsily and nearly knocking over a shelf in his haste. She grabs onto his shoulders to steady him before he can fall over, his hands going to her waist as she laughs, pressing their foreheads together.

“I think I would have warmed to you a lot sooner if you’d just danced at me like this the first time we met.”

He chuckles at that, his breath warm on her face. “And embarrassed myself further? No thanks.”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in, and she frowns, arching a brow over at him quizzically. “Further?”

He glances up at her from between a dark fan of lashes, his expression inscrutable. “Yeah,” he says tightly, his fingers twitching slightly at her waist. “Look, I may have hated your guts, but I respected you, okay? I thought you were fucking smart and determined and gorgeous and I guess— I don’t know. I just didn’t want to make more of an ass of myself than I already did.”

It’s near impossible to hear anything over the wild thumping of her pulse, her breath catching when he meets her gaze. “Oh,” she says stupidly, biting at her lip.

He manages a nonchalant shrug in response, shooting her an easy, half-smile. It feels like he’s trying to give her an out, somehow, already drawing back as the song comes to an end—

She tightens her grip on him instead, keeping him close. “Do you still feel the same?”

He blinks over at her, throat bobbing as he regards her. (It’s possibly the longest minute of her life.)

“I couldn’t help it if I tried,” he says finally, his voice breaking slightly on the word, and it’s all she needs to push up on her toes and kiss him, twisting her fingers in his hair and sighing into his mouth when he returns it with equal fervor, his hand coming up to cup at her cheek.

She pulls away when the need to breathe gets too much, leaning into his touch.

“So,” she laughs, twisting her neck slightly to kiss at his palm.

“So,” he parrots, bumping his nose against hers affectionately. He’s smiling so much. “That was something.”

She groans, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well, suffice to say, I’m glad we don’t hate each other more.”

He makes a impatient noise at that, the sound a laugh more than anything, making warmth bloom in her chest. “For the last time, Princess,” he murmurs, before leaning over to kiss her senseless once more. “I never hated you.”

#bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #bffwritingteam #wt: emily #prompts #a: prosciuttoe #title: you steal the air out of my lungs (you make me feel it)#oneshots #enemies to friends #friends to lovers #coworkers #modern au

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blacksailsandredhair-blog · 8 years ago

Note

Alt!

Send me “alt!” and I’ll introduce you to a character I’ve rped in the past, want to play in the future or are currently playing somewhere else!

[Because I figured if I’m going to butcher two of my favourite characters, you might has well have them in one hit, here are two of my old accounts.]

Character- Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver ( Proudspeedster on twitter)

New Attilan. Not a place Pietro had ever expected toset foot in again, nor had he ever had any intentions to do so. Things wereunderstandably still difficult with the Inhuman royal family after his divorcefrom Crystal, and the threat of war was only exacerbating the problem. Theywere under truce, but neither side seemed to be under any illusion that this new-foundpeace would last for any real length of time. Pietro, ever the sceptic, wouldnot have been surprised if Black Bolt himself had destroyed him as soon as hehad stepped foot on Inhuman territory. But no one had even been there to greetthe mutant as he entered the grounds, the place was strangely silent. Hehad been sent there to collect information from Beast, who was working in thelaboratory within the palace under Medusa’s watchful gaze. Pietro had been oneof many mutants working on rescuing his kin before the mist struck them down,in a similar but far more efficient way than his ex-wife, he needed to be keptupdated with information on the cloud, vastly preferring to collect thisinformation in person in order to avoid any tedious miscommunications thatwould waste his time. Or at least that was the official line he had decided totell the Inhumans, should they deign to ask him of his purpose. In reality, hispurpose was threefold: Part was truthfully to acquire information, another wasto scope out the palace's defences as much as he could without blowing hiscover, and the third was far more personal. He had not been granted the chanceto see his daughter Luna since she had run away from home to visit him backwhen he was working with Lorna for Serval. That short space of time wasbittersweet in his heart, the memories were dear to him, some of the few withhis daughter that weren’t irreversibly tarred by misguided attempts to rectifya situation that did not in fact need remedy, but the time he was granted withher was woefully short. He believed if he was actually on Inhuman territory,there would be a higher chance that he would be granted a visit, and if he wasnot, then he could almost certainly attempt to steal a glance of her, justenough to settle in his mind that she was being cared for correctly while shewas out of his reach.

Character- Remy Lebeau/Gambit (Old twitter account, not active enough to bother with a URL)

Remy was itching in his own skin again. Even though it hadn’t been long at all since his last heist- the one that had gone so spectacularly wrong that it had forced him to head to this place, to cover his tracks, but he just couldn’t stop himself. He needed the adrenaline rush that came with thieving, and he needed to keep himself sharp in case he needed those skills again in the future. Thieving was something he’d been training all his life to do, ever since he was stolen himself from that hospital all those years ago.

Being raised in the thieves’ guild was a far cry from a normal childhood. His first memory was the first time he’d learnt to slip a pair of handcuffs. He’d been attached to someone’s porch rail, while the thieves that he called family tied up an angry looking alligator a few feet away from him. The test was to see if he worked out how to slip out of the cuffs before the gator chewed through his ropes, and attempted to turn the two year old mutant into a gator sandwich. Remy didn’t just learn how to slip out of cuffs that day; he also learnt a valuable life lesson- that there was no one on this earth that you could trust through and through. You could love, and live life full of sunshine and happiness, but you had to be aware that at some point, the people who you care about most could turn on you. Maybe that was why he was so damn twitchy lately; there were too many people here. Too many to get attached to, too many to let his guard down around, which could lead to mistakes. And if there was anything that his training had shown him, it was that mistakes got you killed in this line of work. Not that it’d ever really stopped him before, there had been plenty of times that he’d stuck his neck out for no real benefit. Maybe this was a lesson that he could never quite bring himself to learn. Maybe he really needed to stop thinking about all this. It was time to concentrate on the damn job at hand. Remy wasn’t sure if it was just him, but every time he came up against new tech designed to keep thieves out it made him feel that little bit older. Back when he was still training, the worst you had to consider was the odd security camera, or a guard dog on patrol in the area. Of course, back then he wasn’t trying to rob one of the most secure buildings in New York, just to retrieve some mouldy old box of cards for one of his clients. There must’ve been something really special about these cards, if they were held in a vault deep below the biggest bank in the city, but it wasn’t Gambit’s job to question that. His priority was to get in and out before any of his costumed friends showed up. Getting in was the easy part, it was just a hop skip and a jump into the control room to incapacitate the guards and turn off the cameras, and a few quick guesses at a passcode (Made infinitely easier when he could play around with the energy fields to show the fingerprints on the keypad) and he was in. Remy knew there was probably some sort of back-up system that would be kicking into gear any time soon, so he had to work fast. He bypassed multiple vault doors, relying on his instinct as he scanned his surroundings, looking for his mark. He knew better than to check every vault, there wouldn’t be time and it would be a waste of effort. People are all too easy to read sometimes, with the way they set things out. It doesn’t matter if it’s a house, or a bank, they’re just like the people that own them. By which he meant they have a lot of empty space where there should be something. It’s easy to get distracted by the things people show off, but what you really want to look for are the empty spots, where there could be a hole they’re trying to hide. Sometimes if you look in these empty spaces, you find secret rooms or safes, all by just looking for those empty spaces where walls come up too soon, or bookcases seem too far from the wall. Sometimes whoever owns the place doesn’t even know they’re hiding something. But Remy always did, finding these hidden spots had become a talent of his over the years. He felt the space, the emptiness; it seemed to call to him where others would miss it. Which was a convenient trick to have at a time like this, when there’s so much to look at, so many places to get lost in and waste precious minutes. Gambit found his spot quicker than he thought he would, finding a wall that seemed a little too far forward to him. He gave it a push, and sure enough it slid away, revealing a small safe. The number had been given to him earlier, intel from one of his friends, and he typed it in carefully-6074. [ACCESS DENIED. ALARM SYSTEM ACTIVATED.] “L’enfer. Guess we’ll have ta do this the hard way.”Remy grinned, flicking a glowing charged card at the safe as he ran backwards. Sure enough, it detonated cleanly and the thief grabbed his prize, tucking it into his coat. He ran as fast as he could for the stairs, dashing up them and turning towards the back rooms, hauling himself up and out of the skylight just as police began to flood the bank, only to find no one there. By the time they thought to check the roof, the Cajun thief was long gone, having made off over the rooftops.

#anon #answered ask #So this isn't exactly the best example of how I used to write pietro #Often he was a cynical asshole but this was the best I could come up with right now #I am not even going to comment on Remy #I am sorry friends #Anonymous

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voresmithing · 8 years ago

Text

Truce: Chapter 14.2

Get outta here, Deadeye.

He hadn't listened.

So now he sits handcuffed to a metal table and on the wrong side of the law.

The Law, it turns out, looks like Commander Fucking Reyes. Or Ex-Commander. Or whatever. Jesse wasn't military and only knew as much about Overwatch as a couple of blockbusters and gossiping through smoky nights with the gang had taught him. But he'd seen the posters, the papers, the magazines, the comics, the action figures, so when Reyes walks into the narrow room with corrugated walls he's been held in for the last hour, Jesse doesn't much manage to bury his surprise.

The thing is, when you meet the Real Person, they're supposed to be smaller than the movies would have you believe. No one is really larger than life. No one can be six-foot-one and feel nine feet tall. And maybe it's just the skull fracture he's still recovering from or being handcuffed so that he can't stand, but Reyes just kind of reads as huge, at some base and instinctual level. The same part of Jesse's brain that tells him when to pull the trigger so that three bodies all hit the floor simultaneously lets him know that this guy could put Jesse through one of these thin metal walls if he wanted to, and that he just might. The interrogation room's stale air coalesces around Reyes like a fist, and he isn't doing anything other than looking at Jesse over the rim a dark blue tablet.

"Huh," Reyes' voice is deep and deceptively mild. His eyes dart back to the screen of his computer. "No wonder it took admin so long to find you."

"Find me?"

Jesse had about ten thousand expectations on how this might go, and thus none at all. He'd been a 'criminal' all his life, but you weren't really a criminal in the Post-Crisis Southwest. There'd have to be laws for that, and authority to enforce them. Deadlock did what they did wanted because no one was there to stop them. So he'd been tied up by other gangs a few times, and he'd drawn lines in the sand that the uninitiated had to walk, but that was it out here. The rest of the country had given up on New Mexico, Arizona, a good half of Texas, and all of south Cali. And hell, that was fine by him.

But it also means he's only seen how this goes in movies and, much like how films always got gunfire and blood-spray and bodies wrong, he's been doubting their validity when it came to setting his expectations on being brought in by Overwatch.

So when Reyes mentions finding him he wonders if somehow the reputation of Deadeye had preceded him to a national level. Flattering and terrifying all at once. He forces a grin. "Who were you looking for?"

"Jesse McCree, that's what you're calling yourself, yeah?" Reyes pulls up a seat as he speaks, tone conversational, and drops the tablet on the table where Jesse can see it. It's a file for a Jessica McCree, born 3/4/2037 in Las Cruces New Mexico. Sex: Female. Parents: Anne McCree and--

'Jessica' doesn't have any photos, but Anne does. Jesse feels something like being squeezed along a bruise that happens to cover his entire chest and looks away.

"So you could only find my sister? Sorry, I was born off the books, so--" Jesse lies automatically.

"That's what admin figured. Not all that uncommon, though you're a little old to be a Crisis baby." Reyes drags the tablet back, taps the file closed. "Til they talked to the hospital."

Jesse grimaces. Thinks about waking up in a smock, in a white room, no gang or gun anywhere in sight. He'd done his best to charm the nurses, at least when he was able to string two words together without drooling, and he'd more or less succeeded. But it wasn't like that meant they'd be keeping his secrets.

He scowls and says nothing. He's learned a lot of self preservation, growing up in Deadlock, and keeping your mouth shut is his number one survival technique. Reyes seems thoughtful and unperturbed, waiting like he expects Jesse to come up with another lie, maybe argue, but after about ten seconds of silence unfurling between them, Reyes speaks as if there had been no gap in the conversation at all.

"So, Jesse," and yeah, Jesse's surprised to hear Reyes make a point to use his name, "What happened to your parents?"

"What do you think?"

"I think," Reyes responds with an effortlessly unruffled tone that reminds him of Dolly, "you should answer me."

Dolly'd always kind of tweaked his tit with that. He grumbles, "Awfully full of yourself, demanding my sob story when you haven't told me your name."

"You can call me Reyes."

He says it like it's nothing, like that information comes unbound from context or questions, but Jesse can't stifle an urge to shift uncomfortably. "...are you really him? The guy in the movies?"

"The guy in the movies is named Charlee Mena. I'm just the guy doing my job. And right now, my job is to figure out what to do with you. So let's try this again, where's your family?"

Somehow, Reyes makes him feel ridiculous for even being interested. It's not like he was even a fucking fan, obviously everyone's favorite was Reinhardt anyway. So he shoves the fact that this guy is that Reyes aside and answers the question shortly, "dead."

"During the war?" Reyes asks, his tone just as neutrally invested, and Jesse nods. There's nothing special about his story, and he doesn't remember much of it anyway. "Anyone who isn't? Cousin, uncle, grandparent?"

Jesse shrugs, and the handcuffs clatter against the table with the movement. "What's it matter? You gonna shove me off on someone instead of sticking me in a cell?"

"Hah, with how marked up your arm is?" They both flick their gazes to Jesse's exposed left arm. The forest of black crosses has grown from his wrist to halfway up his bicep. A territory war had broken out with Bonewash and he'd been busy the last eight months. "You don't even have a chance in hell of even getting tried as a minor, forget parole. Nah, you might be able to fight it a while if you get a good defense, but one way or another you'll go in for life, kid."

That he might get let up on for his age hadn't occurred to him. And life probably won't even be that long. He makes himself grin, cocksure and uncaring. "Sounds like your job is pretty easy then."

Reyes purses his lips. It's the first sign of a temperament being tested, and Jesse has to guess it's because the wrath of the law doesn't inspire any fear in him.

But it only lasts a few seconds before Reyes sighs and stretches, getting to his feet. "Before I hand you over to the feds, I've got a bet to settle with a friend of mine. How's your head feeling?"

"Like shit," he answers honestly. The drugs wore off hours ago, and the throb behind his eyes has been perpetual since.

There's a clacking sound as Reyes removes a set of plastic keys from his pocket. "Can you still shoot?"

"I..." Jesse feels his heart stop, confused and hopeful at the same time. It occurs to him suddenly that no one's going to give him a gun in jail. Life sounds a lot longer when it means bored out of his mind and completely useless. "I can always shoot."

Reyes unlocks his handcuffs, they pop open with a subtle hiss.

"Alright then, let's see you shoot."

It turns out Reyes' friend is Ana Motherfucking Amari.

They find her stretched out in the sun, stripped down to a tank top and combat pants and lining up her sights on remote targets zipping around at what must be a thousand yards out. Jesse can only see them because Reyes hands him a set of binoculars to observe her batting the steel grey disks around like she's playing kick-the-can with bullets. When her magazine is spent and the echo of gunfire has faded, she rolls to her feet and shoulders her rifle in a single unbroken motion. She grins when she sees them, a bright and hard humor flickers across her face as she looks over Jesse, then Reyes.

"Decided to take my bet, Gabriel?"

Jesse swallows, thinking movies really just never stop lying, because once again Hollywood just couldn't can this and reproduce it for a screen.

She's not like anyone he's ever seen. There's a raw, cracked look to people raised out here. Edges like glass, skin like sandpaper. The New Mexican sun will give you the texture you need to hang on through anything. But she's smooth like titanium; not unscarred but merely nicked by blows he thinks might've cleaved someone lesser in half.

He holds his breath. He wishes they hadn't taken his fucking hat so he could take it off. He curses not getting the chance to look in a mirror in days.

"Bet?" He echoes.

"She thinks you might be half as good as your reputation." Reyes crosses to a blue and weather-beaten munitions trunk, popping it open with another tap from his key ring.

Jesse keeps his eyes on Reyes, afraid of what expression might form if he looks at Amari. "You don't?"

"Nope."

It's not a surprise, really. Jesse's lost track of how many times he's been asked to prove himself. Hell, for the boss it'd basically been a game. Showing off his young hot shot, telling Jesse to keep sleeves off his left arm as the tattoos crawled further up it. It had always filled him with two parts smug pride, and one part a buried humiliation whenever he remembered he was performing tricks like a well trained dog.

But frankly if someone like Amari pat his head and called him a good boy he figures maybe there's worse ways to use his talents.

Reyes returns with a pistol, warns him to not get any stupid ideas because it's loaded with low-impact rounds, and holds it out.

Jesse hesitates, hand hovering over the butt, trying to figure out how this might be a trap. But his fingers itch to find a trigger, and after a few seconds he yanks the gun from Reyes' unresisting grip. Whatever, he's fucked anyway.

The gun in his hands feels too light. It is clean and new but worn around the grip in a way that says it sees a lot of use anyhow. Immaculately kept. He doesn't recognize the exact model, but it has full and semi-auto settings, shoots twelve .30 caliber rounds, and is feels almost fragile compared to the modified old Desert Eagle he was used to using these days.

"This isn't my gun."

Reyes has rearranged himself next to Amari, and tips his head in her direction with his arms crossed. "Your gun is evidence. That's her gun."

Looking at them both at the same time feels a little like standing right up on the edge of a cliff so that all you can see is endless, exhilarating sky, and so he only darts a glance at them from under his tense brows. "You can't just give me a new gun and expect--"

"What'd I say, Ana?" There's a smug note to Reyes' voice. "Kid's a con artist not a murder sava--"

Jesse knows his cue.

The first bullet explodes through a thick cardboard silhouette fifty yards out with a rapport that is quieter than Jesse expects but still loud enough to punctuate the end of Reyes' goading statement.

"Ohh, not a bad shot." Amari croons behind him. "Last chance to back out, Gabriel. I won't let you off cheap."

Jesse wonders if they have something going on, in the movies they kept it professional.

"Suure, one bullet into a stationary target. He's a natural. Ana, were you always this easily impressed?" He hears Reyes' smooth sarcasm on his left. Jesse can pick his shape up in the corner of his eye. "Come on, kid. I want to know why they call you Deadeye."

Jesse sucks in a steadying breath, says nothing, and shoots.

He's handled a lot of guns, there were a lot of options when you work for arms dealers. And he's learned to impress with just about every type of pistol he can get his hands on. This one is new, fancy, too quiet and absorbs so much recoil he can't feel the shock in his joints the way he is used too. The trigger depresses so smooth each bullet emerges like a surprise. He empties the clip perforating a line down a single target, nose to groin. The vertical spacing is uneven in a few points, but goes straight down the silhouette's spine.

"Hn. Tight aim, alright, but--"

There is a sharp click from Ana on Jesse's right. "Don't try to weasel out of it. I don't think Jack has that kind of consistency without aids."

"We're not rating Morrison, Ana. This is about if a sixteen year old has seriously been showing up every wanna-be cowboy in--"

"I'm not done," Jesse interjects quickly, shoulders hunching when he realizes he'd interrupted, then presses on anyway. "Give me two more clips."

"Two?" Reyes asks, and Jesse turns to face him, chest puffed with what he hopes reads as confidence.

"Two, if you want to see why I got named Deadeye." He forces a smug grin, "Less, if you're just afraid of losing to her." He tips his empty hand toward Amari.

Reyes rumbles, appraises him with a gaze that makes Jesse feel like his veins have turned brittle, and then gets two more clips.

Jesse reloads, finds his hands are trembling.

He still gets anxious about it, usually when there are lives on the line, but sometimes when it's just his reputation. He breathes, so long and slow that he can feel the warm desert air seeping into him from inside. Shooting is easy, he reminds himself.

He pulls the trigger twelve times in under three seconds.

The sound of gunfire can be soothing, if you hear it enough. If you control it, so it reverberates like music notes in your bones. Echoing from finger to wrist to elbow to shoulder. He can feel it in his jaw, his inner ear. The familiar violence shimmies all the way up his right side.

The bullets rip a large hole in the center of a target twenty-five yards out. He expects to hear something smart from the audience, something about how he should have just fired in auto, but Reyes and Amari are both silent fixtures behind him, and he loads in the last clip.

It's late fall, and the almost-cool temperature is rare and perfect. The light isn't so bright that it increases his headache, and the terrain that unfurls around the temporary buildings serving as Overwatch's base of operations is filtered pastel under the October sun. A half a dozen targets remain untouched, sticking out stark and rigid among the thigh-high shrubs; two at fifteen yards, easy, one more at twenty-five and fifty each, and a couple of real long shots out at seventy-five.

Jesse inhales and cracks his knuckles. Exhales and drops his hand with the gun down near his hip. Goddamn unprofessional, he bets, but it's not about aiming. It's about mapping the pattern into his muscles. Get the thinking out of the way before he even lifts his gun so that when it's time to shoot there's nothing but reflex.

He takes in the range with eyes so wide he can feel the sun pricking the insides of his retinas, jerks the gun up clicks the trigger down four times. His left hand rests level just beyond the rear sight, and each blast sends the gun bouncing up against his palm only to be immediately steadied, fired again.

Four holes bloom into the four nearest targets, starting right and moving left but so fast they seem to appear simultaneously. Eye, eye, nose, mouth.

Jesse's heart races and hands ache like he'd been there shooting for hours. He swells and can't stop a grin that he's afraid to turn and show his captors.

A hand lands on his right shoulder, small but deceptively heavy, and squeezes.

"Nice shooting, kid." Ana Amari says, then, with a grin in her voice Jesse has to turn to get a look at, she walks away, slapping a stone-faced Reyes in the waist as she goes. "Next time we're in Bengaluru, Gabe. My favorite place. You better be ready to drop two weeks pay on it."

Jesse decides he doesn't care that Reyes isn't impressed. The sound of Amari praising him was going to echo between his ears for weeks. Not a bad final shoot.

But when he is handing Amari's pistol back to Reyes (safety on, magazine detached), the momentary elation buoying him putters out and leaves him in a free fall. He turns away to look back out at the desert for as long as he can while Reyes is locking up the weapon. He tries to etch the landscape into memory but finds the idea that he might not see it for a while, might not see it again ever, distracting in its unbelievably. The desert is always there; out every window, at the end of every long road, beyond every mountain stenciled against the horizon. Love it or hate it, you diffuse into it all the same, until only density distinguishes you from the dust in the air.

What could prison do to change that?

Maybe he wouldn't even live long enough to need to worry about it.

There's something brewing behind him, a disquiet in Reyes percolating toward confrontation that Jesse can feel like a thunderstorm charges the air.

In some ways, Reyes reminds him of many men in Deadlock. Guys who hold themselves like they're made out of gunpowder, all dangerous but still inert energy. Some of them will never go off, but Jesse's not fool enough to trust that, and so he's learned to track them with a gut instinct that holds him in an even orbit just outside their potential blast radius.

Jesse makes himself turn, tries to read the meaning in the set of Reyes' shoulders, but can't settle on anything other than 'pissed off'. So he loads up a weak grin, almost self-effacing. "Guess she really got you, sounds like you had a lot riding against me."

"Heh," there's a gravel to Reyes' voice that wasn't there before. "Figured I'd at least get to call it even. But you didn't leave me a lot of room for debate there."

Despite the tense anger, a wistful amusement plays on Reyes' face, and Jesse again wishes he had a hat to fuss at. Mixed emotions can be hard to navigate, especially when he can't figure out the origin. Reyes doesn't actually seem all that burned about the money.

"Are you two, uh... you know?" He asks, mostly to distract, partly to know.

That catches Reyes by surprise, and his bushy eyebrows climb up to his near invisible hairline. "With Ana?" He laughs, a low roll with none of the earlier texture. "I'm married, kid, but not to her."

Jesse doesn't point out that even a kid knows marriage doesn't mean faithfulness, especially not when you're friendly with a lady who looks like that. It doesn't matter anyway, really. The dangerous energy in Reyes has dissipated, leaving the man only frowning at him in puzzlement, and Jesse looks away from the scrutiny, reaches for a hat he doesn't have.

"You ever been arrested before, Jesse?"

That sounds like a trick question, so Jesse stays quiet, waiting to spot the tripwire.

"Didn't think so." Reyes nods, sussing out the truth effortlessly. He leans back against a table with his arms crossed, the table legs scrape over packed sand at his weight. "Going off what I heard from your charming Deadlock pals, half of you have never seen anything but this wild west bullshit. So let me explain how this plays out."

Reyes waits and Jesse says nothing; listening but feeling a hundred miles out. Reyes's low voice harmonizes well with the melancholy settling in his chest.

"You've basically got a few options; you can confess to every life you've allegedly tattooed into your arm there, or try to convince the judge you've just been playing around, that there's no way you've actually put four dozen men in the ground in the last, what, three years?"

"Four."

Jesse doesn't expect to hear Reyes pause at that, but there's a sound of him sucking at his teeth, three beats, and then an exhale. "Mary mother they start 'em early out here." Jesse watches a lizard skitter jerkily through the dust a few yards out and waits for Reyes to continue. "And you know what? If you'd kept your head down, that might've gotten you a sympathy verdict. Toss the kid a lifeline while the adults rot out of sight for the rest of their lives. But nah, you had to go be a show off. So what's everyone going to think when they find out about you making yourself an easy bet in the local death games down here? Trading ears for to make yourself a hot shot?"

Jesse had almost gotten lulled into it; a comfortable, detached acceptance that this was effectively the last day of his life. But the mention of the game jerks him back into the moment, and he stares at Reyes whose lips have curled on the sour story.

"Don't look so surprised. What did you think was going to happen when you and a few hundred other geniuses were handing a woman proof? Expected us to just never hear about it? Hell, soon everyone in the country's going to. Someone's case study is going to get famous, maybe one of your friends writes a book. Next you could be the one appearing in movies."

It feels like his heart has sunk all the way down into bowels. It's disorienting to realize that the idea of having his story in movies actually makes him feel nauseous. Jesse forces a smile but feels it curdling, "Hope they make me hot."

"Would that make it worth it, kid? Get yourself a household name? You sure got it spread out pretty far down here."

"I didn't ask for that," Jesse grates out without looking Reyes in the eye.

"Sure you didn't, just branded your arm up so everyone would know."

"So what?" Jesse spits as his back goes up, more cornered than he'd felt handcuffed to a chair thirty minutes ago. "I live here, asshole, I might as well be good at it."

"How's that working out for you now?"

"I'm still alive!" The shout emerges hoarse and already tired, the effort of raising his voice lights up a pain behind his eyes from the remnants of the injury that had put him in the hospital. "I get to eat every night, I get to shoot all I want, most of the people who'd want to kill me are too scared to try."

Reyes isn't surprised by the outburst exactly, Jesse can't imagine Reyes ever looking like Jesse managed to get one up on him. But his mouth stays closed so Jesse keeps letting his flap.

"Must be nice to just get to ride up in a place you've never given a shit about, toss everyone in prison, then drop by D.C. to collect your medals from the President for taking out the trash. Nice of you to clean up the place for everyone who got to abandon the rest of us when the omnics hit." Not that Jesse remembers when they crossed the border, rolling north in from the Sonora omnium, but he'd heard the story enough from people who hadn't been toddlers at the time that he pictures it as a tidal wave of uneven metal, glinting bright enough to blind as it breaks across the desert. "Maybe you'll get another movie out of it. Sure would help out your public image about now, right ex-Commander?"

As soon as the words pass his lips he feels like they shouldn't have, but the blood is too hot in his head to care now. He steels himself for a fight, fists rolled, ready to give back what he can against the raw force he'd felt coiled inside Reyes since he first saw him.

But Reyes responds with an unimpressed and unperturbed frown. "Yeah, no one came to save you so you can't be held responsible, that's how it goes? Bet you've learned all kinds of lines so you can sleep at night while kids younger than you are killing themselves and each other with the guns your buddies put in their hands."

Jesse glares, struggles not to lose eye contact then does anyway. The problem isn't that Reyes is right, the problem is that he doesn't know the fucking half of it.

The blood rushing through his temples has cooled, but it does nothing for the splitting pain electrifying the space behind his eyes. Abruptly he just wants to be shoved into a cell so he can call it a day. Maybe it would be dark and quiet. Maybe he'd had more than enough sun in his life by now and spending whatever time was left in a place without windows wouldn't be so bad after all.

"What do you even want, man?"

Jesse meant it as a dismissal, and a snotty one at that. Like being called kid over and over by strangers had made him want to live up to it. Whatever it takes as long as they can be done here.

But there is a loaded silence following Jesse's complaint. Jesse feels it coiling his gut like Reyes has his hand on the trigger and is deciding whether or not to pull, and has to double check that the man isn't really pointing a gun at him.

Reyes decides to fire.

"I want you to work for me."

The suggestion catches Jesse like he's finally found the ground after shooting for legends took him high into the sky and then shoved him into the air without a parachute. A visceral pain crushes his diaphragm, making it impossible to breathe. The only sound he manages to get out is a weak and started "Oh."

And though he knows he must have a thousand questions, the only response to come to mind is okay.

Full fic on ao3

#fanfic #overwatch #au #Truce #Truce: Chapter 14 #Jesse McCree #Gabriel Reyes #Ana Amari

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