#weak from being used to relieve my nail pressure but all of a sudden ALL the needles are gone. fuckin mêmêkwêsiw i stg.

[i-am-thevoid]

I BROKE MY FUCKING BEADING NEEDLE AND THE REST OF MY NEEDLES FUCKING DISAPPEARED?!????

[five-rivers]

Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. “Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?”

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

.

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

I don't think people are giving lavinia enough love so allow me to start: could someone write a fic where mc gets hurt by someone and lavinia just sort of...snaps? Afterwards she comforts mc making sure she's alright? Thank you in advance!

You had never seen so much rage in Lavinia’s face, not even when she had discovered someone had trampled with the spell on her heart. You squint, dazed, mind too numb to remember what was wrong but still alert enough to recognize her expression.

There was something unhinged about it now, nothing but a murderous avalanche, and for a second you feel something spark within you at the sight. Your body is already moving, automatically seeking to match Lavinia’s rage with pure stubbornness, before your mind finally registers the fact that her ire isn’t directed at you at all.

“Oh,” you mumble, logic trying to pierce through the fog ruling your mind. “Why—”

Lavinia’s saying something. No, she’s screaming it, body heaving with the force of it, and you wonder why you can’t hear her until the raging wind that you had been somehow ignoring until now hits you with its full, frigid force, and what the hell is happening why is Lavinia so mad why is your side hurting so damn much—

“Rebecca!”

You fall into someone’s arms. It takes a second for you to recognize Nora, her expression marred by sheer terror, eyes wide and trembling like a crumbling autumn leaf under the first snow of winter.

She holds you absentmindedly, focused on something behind you before your yelp of pain draws her attention, magic already swirling at her fingertips as she murmurs something under her breath.

“You’re going to be okay, I swear,” she says — her hands are quivering. Maybe it’s from the cold. You hope it’s from the cold, and not something else, someone else.

“Lavinia, why is — what happened?”

“You got attacked by someone and—” she freezes for a split second when she sees the yellow glow on her hands before frowning, her earlier fear melting away by her usual laser-sharp focus. “No wonder you’re so out of it! The blade she used was cursed!”

“Oh, yey, another curse.”

“This is going to sting.”

“What? Wait, what are you going—?”

Nora is always prepared, it seems. Your gaze locks on the potion she’s suddenly holding, worried by its grey color, but Nora has already turned it over before you can express your concerns. For a second it feels as if someone has injected atmosphere-cold into your veins, and your mouth opens in a soundless scream before everything suddenly becomes clearer.

Right, right, you had been in the forest with Lavinia, trying to get through her — for the third time this week, by the way, because the Ice Queen was determined to avoid you and was being frustratingly successful in doing so — when there had been this flash of red and blinding pain. Nora must have been close by… collecting herbs, maybe?

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to ignore the pain coating your side, and turn your head at the right time to see Lavinia slamming another woman onto the floor as if she were nothing but a broken doll, specks of snow thrown into the wind by the impact. At some point during the fight, Lavinia had turned the forest clearing into an ice ring, adding a whole blizzard on top. The snow swirled around her like angry, tiny knives, and you had no doubt the other woman hadn’t stood a chance.

A small shiver ran down your spine, not of fear, but of the pure awe, rushing into your soul like spring water.

“This is all I can manage. My magic is limited here,” Lavinia had explained not too long ago, blue eyes twinkling soft and distant like moonlight, and you wonder how much she is really capable of if this is all she can work with right now. What would she be able to do in her world? What could she do with the sheer force of winter at her beck and call?

You can’t help but marvel over the thought, at how your body feels light and small when you contemplate it.

But then her eyes snap in your direction, two tiny pinpricks of pure rage, her gaze carrying the power and danger of a natural disaster. There’s a small flicker of a season change — of a thaw — when she sees you’re okay, but it disappears when she focuses on the person beside you. Time seems to slow down.

For a second you think the situation is going to escalate horribly. For a second you think the blonde might have mistaken Nora’s help for another attack, and by the way Lavinia’s hand twitches that’s her first impression, but she remains frozen on her spot like a faraway, pale star. She’s still half-crunched over her opponent’s unconscious body.

Slowly — very, very slowly, as if fate threatened to cut her string as soon as she made a sudden movement — Nora edges away from you. “I— I’ll just… go.”

Lavinia’s shoulders lose their tension as if hit by summer’s heat. She nods, stiffly. “Thank you.”

Nora spares a look at you, laying on frost-coated grass and propelled by your elbows like a bad model from some cheap magazine, and seems relieved you’re no longer in danger, disappearing a second later.

Lavinia is next to you immediately, frowning at the gash there. It isn’t bleeding, even though you both know it should. The Ice Queen leans forward ever so slightly, her touch feather-soft, and you’re struck by how different she is now. A moment ago, she had been a merciless avalanche, a Wendigo wreaking havoc, but now the genuine softness and worry in her eyes make you want to melt. You can’t help but lean into her, letting her act as your anchor.

She pauses when you flinch at her gentle touch near your wound. She frowns.

“She used a Velbetro infusion? But that would mean you were—”

You catch the way her eyes flicker towards the discarded weapon that had injured you, a dark shadow falling over expression. You guess what she’s going to say. Your hand cups her cheek, applying just enough pressure to make her look at you again, and the sweet surprise that thaws any dark thoughts she was about to have makes your skin buzz with energy.

“Slowly amassing an impressive collection of curses? You bet I am.”

She blinks, taken aback, the twitch at the corner of her lips indicating she found your snark reassuring. “Might want to dial it back a little, then, chaos girl. Good thing the Velbetro neutralized this one.” She focuses on your side, again. “How’s the sting?”

Truth be told, with her so close — too close — the pain had taken a secondary priority. Now that she reminded you of it, the pain crawled back with a vengeance. Once again, Lavinia remains an anchor as your hand tightens on her arm, nails digging into her skin. To her credit, the blonde doesn’t even blink.

“That bad?” She asks, tone surprisingly kind. “Let’s wait a moment, then. We need to go back to your house and dress the wound before the effect disappears though. You’ll start bleeding then — and badly.”

“Yey, yet another thing to look forward to.”

“…I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I would have been able to prevent—”

“It’s fine.”

“It should have been obvious, though. Of course she’d take the chance to hunt me down when my magic is weak, and of course she’d target you—”

“Your magic isn’t weak at all, you totally schooled her!”

“Only because she was too distracted gloating. I—”

“I’m fine, Lavinia. C’mon, help me get to my house.”

Her eyes are faraway portals of grief, but she nods anyway, falling quiet as she helps you up with extreme care. The way back is silent, fast. You hadn’t been too far from your house to begin with. Lavinia loops an arm around your waist and presses you to her, expression stony and neutral, but you’re still eternally grateful to her.

[the-silentium]

Home Sweet Home

Masterlist - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 7569 words

Warnings: Angst, sexual innuendos.

A/N: Last “soft” chap before the action come back ~  

**Words in bold are words said in French, which means the clones can’t understand it.**

Taglist: @clone-rambles / @mandaloriandin / @apathetic-catastrophie / @jenstar1992-2 / @haloangel391 / @lightning-wolffe / @cherrydemon5​ / @and-claudia​ / @lackofhonor​ / @gaymasonjar​ / @depthsreturn​ / @koskareevesismyqueen​ / @leonidas-banana-phone​             

____________________

Nothing changed. Not the obnoxious people, not the earthy smells, nor the heavy atmosphere. The loud locks of the gates closing behind your group still resonated through your ears, sounding too much like the last nail sealing your coffin shut and not like a protecting device. Was it your instincts telling you that you made the wrong decision? Or was it just the dread of returning somewhere you never wanted to return? Either way, it was clear that you didn't feel any bits of nostalgia at being back between these rocky walls. 

Hells, even the council's room was giving off unpleasant vibes with its tall bookcases carved directly into the walls that protected way too many old books that weren't all redacted in French nor in Basic. A map of the planet hung on the furthest wall of the room, the different villages identified with their respective symbol to help with trades, hunts, fights. Frabas' name crossed out in blood-red ink to remind everyone of the overnight genocide that happened there. 

The lanterns were the only nice things in the room. The soft green and blue crystals contained within the glass enclosure bathed the whole room in their light. Maybe if you focussed on them long enough their glow would soothe your mind. 

"Excuse me? You spit on it?" Tech's sudden high pitch tone was surprising enough to pass through your incessant flow of thoughts 

"Yeah. Right there." He pointed at an intergrown knot close to the far extremity of the table where the heads usually sat. "What? Did you want me to piss on it? That's a bit too animalistic." Kayden added as soon as he noticed Tech's offended expression that quickly morphed into a disgusted one. 

"Honestly, with you people, I wouldn't have been surprised." Crosshair's jeer traveled the room in a second. It took even less to drop Kayden's mood.  

His hand tightened around yours and without losing a single second, you matched his grip to keep him from expressing his frustration through anything physical. Now wasn't the time to start a fight between your own team members when several other players might want to hurt you. 

If tonight's bad luck could turn into good fortune at least once, now would be the time. The 'diplomats' were out of harm's way, Kayden had technically done what he was told and thus was not considered a traitor, leaving you alone on the spot. 

"Look who just found his voice again." He caught your message and used his words instead. "I was sure you'd swallowed your tongue when you ran like a chicken back there."

"And who ran the fastest in the group eh?" The sniper walked to the table. His hands fell flat on the wood to support himself as he leaned forward, daring the brunette at your sides to make a move. 

"The fastest is usually the one to survive." He pointed out as he scratched at his clothed chest with his free hand, his right one still prisoner of your grip. 

"Crosshair." Hunter slightly pulled him backward by the pauldron and away from the incoming confrontation. "Enough." He added with a growl, clearly remembering how this wasn't his brother. Not fully. 

Against all expectation, Crosshair did back off, although he quickly moved his animosity towards the new source of irritation, clear proof that this wasn't the man with whom Hunter had shared so many memories, good or bad. He was a total stranger that didn't respect him at all and lived to push his buttons. Why he stayed with you all was a mystery, although you weren't complaining. Keeping him restrained while in the jungle would have been a true challenge. 

It was like waiting for a storm to explode. The dark grey clouds were there, the strong winds blew away everything in their wake, the thunder resonated in the distance, yet there wasn't any droplet of rain. The men faced each other just like in the cave, mere centimeters separated their chest plates and anytime now, the first blow would mark the start of a colossal downpour. 

It was nerve-wracking. Even Wrecker and Tech were watching, clearly pondering if they should intervene or if by doing so they would aggravate the situation. You started getting up as the door opened and startled you into seating down again. 

Never had you thought that seeing Arlan enter a room would make you feel relieved, yet, this was exactly how you felt at the moment. It seemed like the sudden entrance of an outsider was enough for Crosshair to back off. You subtly crossed your fingers that he wouldn't lash out at the leader even though the scene would very probably make you feel so much better. The consequences of going against Arlan just weren't worth it.  

Before the dark-haired leader could notice it, you separated your hand from Kayden's, both your backs straightened and your unbothered masks came back on. Wearing the well-worn suit of this fake cocky personality was deeply uncomfortable but truly necessary. Over the years it became your best shield and Kayden your best ally. 

"Take a seat." Arlan waved towards the table as he walked deeper into the room, passing Hunter and Crosshair like they weren't even there. It took years to be able to read the black-haired leader, but it definitely came in handy now. 

His calm tone hid a deep irritation that showed through the tightness gripping the muscles around his eyes. He quickly tamed his features as he took place at the end of the table, his elbows immediately meeting the hardwood of the armchairs to allow his fingers to interlace before him. 

Soon the 4 seats opposing you were occupied with rigid troopers. Their helmets still firmly on would have been seen as an enormous lack of respect if only Arlan's attention wasn't already focussed on two nasty boots dripping mud onto the piece of art that was the table.

Arlan only needed one look to communicate thoroughly his thoughts. The hard gaze that could easily be misinterpreted as a constipated one transpired enough threats that Kayden removed his boots without any further delay. The ultimatum was clear and you both knew that there was nothing Arlan despised more than repeating himself. Well, maybe you two were the firsts on his list, but that was especially because you loved to make him repeat himself. 

If only he didn't look like there was an entire fire-ants colony in his pants, Kayden would have kept his feet up for a bit longer just to raise the man's blood pressure a little. You swore he got more grey hair each time he had to talk with the two of you. 

The disapproving sigh accompanying the stormy grey hues boring deeply into yours was a true gift to Kayden whose smirk widened in consequence. 

"Do you know why you're here?" The question resonated within the room with utmost seriousness, a seriousness that you forced yourself to shrug nonchalantly in response. 

"Surely not because you missed me." You placed a smirk on your lips to copy your sidekick and complete the infernal duo act. 

His dark-grey sleeves rode up his arms as he bent forward, his elbows now resting on the table, to get a closer look at you, 3 chairs away. Whilst being very tempting, flinching under his hard stare was out of the question. Four months in a medbay with kind people almost made you forget what the world was really made of; selfish people who always looked out for weaknesses to exploit and were eager to beat others down in hope to raise themselves up. 

"We are here to talk relations between the Republic and your planet." Hunter sharply stated, cutting short the staring contest. "My team was sent in a preliminary manner to inform you of the Republic's intentions seeing as your representatives couldn't be reached through official channels. In the following days, two senators will be coming here with adequate troops to talk in the Senate's name." 

How the room got hotter in a second was a mystery. All you knew was that even though his tone was borderline too crisp to be qualified as diplomatic, Hunter's words were so perfectly chosen that you wondered if he'd done this kind of job before. 

As the silence following Hunter's declaration stretched, Arlan's gaze moved to the hard visor of the commando trooper. The intensity of his stare left you thinking that maybe he was able to see through the shade. Unfazed, Hunter stared right back as you did just moments prior. 

You nearly missed it. If you hadn't been watching Arlan as intently as you were doing, the minuscule flash in his eye would have been overlooked. A muscle jumped in his jaw, filling you with dread. Something was wrong. Somehow he had the upper hand and he was internally relishing his win. 

"A very well executed lie, but I am sorry to announce you that the Republic won't come here, Sergeant. Not after the Jedis signed a treaty to never come on this planet ever again." You were sure he paused just to get a reaction out of the commando. Hunter's helmet hid his expression perfectly. If he'd reacted or not was totally lost on everyone, unfortunately, it wasn't the same for Kayden whose eyes grew as big as saucers. "No Jedi, no clone, no senator, no Separatist, no outsider is welcome here." 

Say what now? Never before had you ever heard of Jedis ever landing a foot on Fors, even less signing a treaty. 

Hunter's helmet slightly dipped in your direction, surely to get some answers through your body language. Surely, he got the message when you gulped, wariness filling your eyes as you continued to stare at the man in his mid-50s. His message had been pretty clear from the very beginning. That he felt the need to add that the clones weren't welcome caused doubts in your village ethics to creep into your mind. 

As far as you knew, no one had ever been executed in cold blood. Sure, you'd heard stories as a child about how people who were a tad bit too disturbing in the community would vanish overnight, obviously thrown out into the jungle to be feasted on by some hungry creature. Without knowing if they were true events or simply a way to make children behave, you took a habit of sticking with Kayden as soon as the firsts Furants that created their nests in the crooks of the walls circling the village entered the gates to hide, signaling that 7 pm had recently passed and the Nightmares would show up in under an hour. After all, there was no better nuisance in Alryan than the two of you. 

Knowing that Arlan's smugness was carefully hidden under layers of practiced indifference, a very tantalizing urge to break your knuckles once again send tingles into your dominant hand. Breaking his nose for a second time would definitely help your mood as well as everyone else's in the room, you were sure of it. 

"The- the Jedis? But they never-" 

"It is not common knowledge." Arlan archly cut Kayden short and rolled his eyes with that very particular expression that made you feel like the stupidest idiot in the galaxy. In response, the tingles in your hand intensified. "This treaty is way older than me after all. We never needed the Republic's help in any way, not then and certainly not now." He at least had the decency to meet his eyes as he talked.

"And what do you think of the Nightmares? Frabas-" You piped up, the image of a traumatized red-head girl shaking in her bloody clothes popped in your mind. "They could've helped with that."

"They are protectors." He closed his eyes in exasperation and pinched his nose like he'd repeated the concept over and over again to a child that never retained anything. 

"They don't protect shit! They kill us!" 

Where had he been his whole life? Every night they came and howled, screeched, hissed, yapped and laughed on the other side of the gates in hope of having some juicy flesh and fresh blood to appease their hunger and thirst. Some even went as far as hitting the gates repeatedly in hope of breaking their way in. 10 hours per night, 368 nights a year, every year.

"They protect the Core that's in you--" He interrupted himself as soon as he noticed the irritation breaching his mask, allowing venom to drip through the closing cracks. His rage fit only lasted a second but it was a second too much. He gave you more than he wanted you to know. 

"What do you mean? In me?" You could feel yourself starting to shake. In apprehension, anger or fear you couldn't tell. There was too much going on at the same time, assaulting your already tired mind. 

"Nothing that you need to know." His tone was definitive, his grey eyes conveying the same message. 

"Bullshit!" You jump to your feet just as he pushed his chair to get up. "If it's in me like you say, I deserve to know!" 

Your yell must have triggered something, because as soon as the words flew from your mouth, Rhian and his troops entered the room, bows fully bent and ready to shoot in your direction. Elijah had his hammer in both hands, fully prepared to use it against a clone- your money went on Wrecker- if needed and Pete was ready to blow a tranquilizer- or it could easily be a fast-acting poison- into someone's neck. 

The answer to the intrusion was immediate. Wrecker's chair went flying behind him at the impact of his legs when he followed his CO's movement. All four troopers stood on their side of the table, imposing and totally ready to enter a fight if need be. You and Kayden though? Totally not ready. You were unarmed and by the time you took hold of Kayden's bow, at least three arrows would have found their way into your body. 

"All you really deserved was to die on Murphy Day." He snarled in your direction as his impatience once again showed through his slipping mask. "Throw them in the slammer."

That's it. Goodbye knuckles. Always the perceptive, Kayden grabbed your upper arm, right below the Algax's clean-cut, and pulled you back to his side even before you made the first step towards the bastard. Always there to keep you alive for another day. What a nice friend. 

"Hands behind your head." Rhian barked as he approached you and Kayden from behind. 

Doing as you were told, you noticed the troopers hesitating before doing as ordered when you nodded at them. Tech lifted his good hand, the other keeping hold of Crosshair's cage. One of the archers went to seize it, but a sudden shoulder to the sternum kept him away. 

He's not just a nerd. You smirked as the archer stumbled. 

"Let them keep it." Rhian waved off the fuming archer who definitely wanted to go back and win his fight. Too bad. "Walk ahead. You know the way." Rhian nodded towards the door after getting a hold of Kayden's bow and quiver, his very own bow aimed at the floor. The string was stretched just enough to cause serious damage if he needed to defend himself quickly, but he seemed to know that it wasn't needed. 

Kayden led the way with you in tow, Elijah and Pete moved away from the door to let you pass at a safe distance. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed Rhian breaking formation to move up to Arlan, who surely waved him over. 

You sighed as you remembered that he didn't even tell you why he wanted you here. 

The clone's boots resonated against the rock floor at each of their steps, close enough to appease your mind. 

"Do you know a way out of here?" Hunter's voice emanated softly within your ear. 

You moved your shoulder blades in a circular motion as if you were stretching the muscles and nodded your head at the same time as to not look too suspicious to the archers escorting the group. Good thing that they didn't notice your earpiece yet.

Wrecker must have been the one right behind you because he relayed the message to Hunter through the private line. 

"Now?" You rotated your head from side to side like when you needed to crack your neck. 

"No." Came Wrecker's whisper. 

"In the slammer?" A small nod. 

"Yeah." 

"Then we wait and we get out as soon as possible." Hunter told his half-plan to the Batch who hummed their approvals. 

Once again the unusual parade that you formed along with the armored men attracted many curious eyes. Ignoring them was easier this time around, the familiarity of their chary gazes finally coming back to allow you to concentrate on something else. 

This part of the village was carved so deeply into the mountain that even the occasional howls coming from the jungle couldn't be heard. There couldn't have been better protection for a population of more than 700 people than a natural barrier of rock. Sure, this very convenient refuge could easily become a tomb for a lot of villagers in the event of a breach, but several emergency tunnels were created for this very situation. They were maintained at a perfect condition in case a repeat of Frabas' catastrophe ever came to happen. 

Every Alryan learned the location of every single tunnel at the youngest of age. They were only to be used in emergency cases and right now, it was an emergency. It all depended on the perspective. 

"It never changed." You stated quietly as the slammer's entrance came into view, the dark purple glow emanating from its depths was a stark contrast to the lively colors of the main area. 

Goosebumps rose on your arms as you followed Kayden down the tunnel. The nearby natural well raised the humidity in these parts of the mountain and thus caused the air to become colder. Just my luck, you thought as the fresh air infiltrated your clothes by the multiple tears in their fabric. 

"In there." Rhian speed-walked to catch up with Kayden and direct him to a cell carved into the wall on his left. 

You were locked up with him, Wrecker and Hunter got situated in the cell facing yours, Crosshair and Tech on the one right beside theirs. 

Right as Tech got in after a growling Crosshair, Rhian took hold of the cage and kicked Tech inside who landed in a yelp. You weren't even gripping the bars yet that the heavy door closed behind the engineer. 

"Give him back!" 

"Sorry 'bout that." He threw the cage in the air twice, the flame within shaking frantically as it hit the bars. "Orders are orders." He ignored the yells of his name bouncing in the detention center and walked out unbothered, his men in tow. 

"How quick can you get us out of here?" The urgency in Hunter's tone only added to your own raiding anxiety. What would Arlan do to Crosshair? He was totally defenseless. 

"Couple of minutes. But we'll need Back-Up. I hope you have it." You turned to Kayden who scoffed in mocked offense. 

"You have back-up?" Tech wondered out loud, tilting his head. "I thought no one would help you here." 

"Jeez. Thanks for the vote of confidence." Kayden held his heart before reaching for his chest pocket. "Back-up is my Godot." He pulled a hand-sized lizard from his pocket to show the Batch. 

The Godot's orange scales shone softly at Kayden's contact, their light reflecting onto the soft line of baby blue leaves growing on each side of its spine. Its three-fingered paws grabbed fingers and clothes to remain in place while two black eyes moved independently from one another to take in what was happening around. Its long tail wrapped around Kayden's wrist as he lifted it up to show off, the small leaves at its end shining brightly in surprise. 

Wrecker gasped and lifted his helmet to get a better view of the animal. "That's what I saw the first time, Tech! It's the lizard that disappeared!" 

"Nothing disappeared Wrecker. There was nothing there." Tech rebuked.  

"Don’t be so sure about that! They can camouflage themselves, right Back-Up?" At the half-baked order, the tiny lizard shut off its light and changed its skin pigmentation to copy its environment to perfection. 

"It disappeared Tech! See? That's what I saw and you didn't believe me!" Wrecker's tone raised as he pointed to Kayden's seemingly empty outstretched hand. 

"Wrecke-" You tried to warn him to keep his voice down but heard steps coming your way. 

"Back-up, go get the master key at home." Kayden hurriedly whispered to the Godot and quickly kneeled to allow it access to the ground so it could wander away and get the required object. 

A guard appeared at the end of the corridor just as Kayden got up and threw himself onto the upper hammock fixed to the walls. He moved around to get comfortable and into the right position, hands under his head. 

"So, I've heard that Stockholm syndrome was hard on you." Brett, a particularly annoying scout, mocked from behind his beard. 

"Nope. Still don't like y'all." You replied nonchalantly despite the urge to punch him through the bars. 

"I was talking about them." He pointed to the two cells containing the clones and you lifted a single eyebrow. 

"Tech, definition of Stockholm syndrome please." You asked, maintaining eye contact during the whole process. 

"Stockholm syndrome," You saw the genius perked up at your request. Sadly, he didn't lift a finger in the air while he recited the meaning of the word. "Is a psychological response wherein a captive begins to identify closely with his or her captors, as well as with their agenda and demands." He ended with a nod and the movement satisfied you enough to let the lack of a finger go.  

"That means you dumbass." You spat as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I'm with them willingly." 

"Get fucked!" Kayden shouted with a laugh that got half a smile out of you. 

"You? Our captive? It sure felt like the other way around." He finally switched to basic and the hate coating his words told you that he wasn't talking about the pranks and snarky attitude, no, he was talking about something bigger than that. 

"What are you talking about?" Maybe you could get more answers out of him than you did with Arlan. 

He scoffed. "Stop trying to play the idiot. Between the two of you, Kayden's the best at it." 

You ignored said idiot's thanks to press the matter. "Okay and let's imagine I really don't know what the hell you're talking about. What in the damn world did I do?" You remembered Arlan's word and almost added what is wrong with me? but Brett was already dropping the three medicine canisters to the ground, out of reach from either your cell or the clones' and went away. 

"You live." 

You sat on the ground, drained of every ounce of energy you once had. What was wrong with you? Why did everyone want you dead? The fear you felt at Arlan's words came back as you thought about what it could all mean. The Nightmares who stopped appearing when you left and came back when you did. Whatever the Core was that supposedly resided in you and the fact that the Lumsin knew what it was while you didn't. That the villagers never saw you as an annoying brat but a vile oppressor. 

You faintly heard Kayden talking with Tech about Back-up, but couldn't make out the exact words, your own thoughts being way too loud for you to clearly hear anything outside your head. 

"It's alright. Don't worry about it." An arm fell on your shoulders and pulled you into Kayden's side who now sat next to you on the ground, successfully pulling you out of your own mind. Yet, as comforting as his gesture was supposed to be, you only felt guiltier. Even when everyone else pointed their fingers at you, he was still there to keep yourself up even after you'd vanished on him. 

Kayden scratched the clothes over his heart again and cut off your incoming guilty declaration. 

"Question. If the half-skull one was to break my jaw or somethin' and that you didn't see it happen, would you believe me if I told you it was him?" Kayden asked, frowning too deeply for you to brush the question off as one of his stupid ones. 

"Wha-?" Then it dawned on you. "Did you threaten him?" You asked Hunter, voice raising in octaves. 

You knew Kayden probably deserved it, but he was your best friend. You've been helping each other for more than 15 years and there was no way you'd let him get beaten for a stupid jealousy tantrum. 

An invisible hand squeezed your heart as you felt Kayden relaxing against your side. He doubted that you'd listen to him. More importantly, he doubted that you'd trust his word over someone else's. Sure it was Hunter's word, but you knew the Sergeant was not in his right mind and not only because of the irrational feeling. 

"He wouldn't stop talking." The unbothered tone in which he answered shocked you. 

"Yet you've never threatened Tech." 

"That's not the same." Why must he sound like he truly believed that he did nothing wrong? 

"You may not value his life and health, but I do. A lot." You emphasized the last word so he got the message. "And his word is the only single one in the galaxy that I never ever doubted." 

Kayden's breath sharply filled his lungs and Hunter's fingers curled into fists. You still deeply loved the dark-haired Sergeant and seeing him frustrated at your words made a real number on your insides but that rational part of your brain told you that he would tire of you someday and would leave, whereas Kayden had shown countless of times that he'd be there to hold your hand, push your back and pull you up whenever needed. 

"Good to know." 

Why did his acknowledgment of your words make you sick? You'd said those words yourself and they were true, so how could they hurt that much? If it wasn't of the half-circles traced on the back of your right hand, you certainly would have had a physical reaction. It could have been hiding in your hammock or tears leaking from your eyes, you didn't know. 

"You don't trust us?" Wrecker's hurt translated in his low, nearly inaudible tone if it wasn't of the earbud deeply pushed into your ear canal. 

"I do Wrecker. I really do. It's me that I don't." Damn. For someone who wanted to avoid feelings-talks like the plague, you found yourself right in the middle of the deepest one ever. 

"I don't understand." He admitted. 

"I-" You sighed, trying to find the words that would explain something you didn't know how to explain. "I don't myself Wrecker. I make people despise me and-" The words escaped you. Out of exasperation, your free hand moved up to rub your closed eyelids and drag the pads of your fingers down your cheeks. 

"When they don't you persuade yourself they do and you tell yourself that they'll give you up so you start to doubt them even when there's nothing to worry about." Kayden shrugged at your wide eyes looking at him. "Don't be surprised I know you better than yourself. You did the same shit with me but I didn't let you." 

"Then why did you doubt yourself against Hunter?" 

" 'cuz you love him." He answered in your native tongue and you were grateful for it. You weren't ready to say the words out loud and if Kayden, the person who just demonstrated that he knew you like the palm of his hand, said those words himself, then he'd throw your feelings out in the open and you couldn't have that. Not when your brain still expected the Bad Batch to get back to their ship and leave you on Fors, where you belonged. 

"You were there longer."

"Yeah, but that was because you couldn't escape me. Give them their chance. You might be surprised." He patted your shoulder like an old man who gave advice to a youngster. 

"We wouldn't give you up. You're our friend!" Wrecker added once the conversation in a foreign language died. 

"If you still doubt our friendship, then you might want to remember that we passed hundreds of hours training you to be our pilot and that we lied to our superiors to keep you." Tech pointed out, this time with the finger in the air. It brought the tiniest of smiles to your lips. 

"Or remember the moments shared." Hunter surprised you with his quiet words that Kayden definitely couldn't hear without a comm device. Had he realized that he was fighting a non-existent enemy? Or did he feel as bad as you following your exchange?

"Or you can remember that you're a freak." Tech slapped his lean brother's shoulder 

"So I belong with you guys? Yeah, I'll- I'll do my best to remember all that." A chuckle escaped your lips. "Thanks." You added under your breath, to which the boys nodded and Wrecker smiled brightly. 

"Is your chest okay?" Tech asked and pointed at Kayden who was still scratching his torso. 

"Yeah, 's just itchy. I think Kerth put some poison Ivy in my clothes. I wouldn't be surprised." He pulled his shirt forward to look at his skin. He winced. "That does look like it." 

"You never get tired of looking at yourself?" A soft feminine voice chuckled from down the hallway. 

Soft brown eyes shone behind fiery red locks, their owner walking straight to your cell where she stopped to pass you a hot container. You'd recognize that smell everywhere and apparently so did your stomach who growled loudly in anticipation of receiving some soup. 

"Good timing, I see." She chuckled, put her pack on the ground and offered you a container. "It's not poisoned, I promise. I did it myself." She assured in basic when you kept watching her hands without making any move towards the food. 

Still unmoving, Kayden took it upon himself to grab two containers and let the redhead give the clones their servings. 

"They wanted me to only feed the soldiers but I slipped some for you two as well. For all the spare crusts." She nodded at you, who kept watching her in silence. Before turning around to go back to where she came from, the woman had the kindness to grab the discarded medicine canisters and offer them to Kayden. "Take care." 

Wait. You had to tell her. It was like your brain forgot how everything worked. Opening your mouth wasn't hard compared to finding what to say. Even then your throat constricted in an attempt to shut you up, but you couldn't let her go without telling her. 

She deserved to know. 

"Fleena." Was all you managed and it was enough to stop her in her tracks. When she turned, your hand was already fishing around in your pocket for the small piece of wood. 

She came back as you brought your closed fist forward and dropped the dirty necklace on her open hand. 

She stared at it, surprise taking over her soft features in a flash as soon as she recognized the symbol. She turned it to inspect the back and now was the right time for the earth to open beneath your ass and take you away. 

"Where did you get that?" The tremors in her voice send a knife through your heart. 

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you made sure to choose your words better than with Hunter. "Nixon was a Wanderer."

"He-" She started with hope until she registered your sentence. "Was?" 

There it was. The moment to own what you did finally arrived. 

"What did you do?" She pressed as you kept silent, unable to say it out loud. 

"It wasn't him anymore, Fleena. He hadn't grown up and kept walking in circles on his bleeding feet. He was tormented." 

You freed him. You helped him. Now that her horrified hazel eyes bore into yours, Crosshair's words that were so helpful before held no sense. 

"He was still my brother." She clutched the necklace to her chest, tears running down her cheeks. 

"Nixon was gone." 

"I don't expect you to understand. You don't know anything about having a sibling." 

The silence following her retreating steps was even heavier than before. No. That wasn't true. The boys spoke in the background and in your ear, prompting you to remove the device to have some peace. 

"You're right, I don't." You grumbled in your knees that were now up to your face to hide your features, your arms tightly wrapped around them to keep them close. 

"That's the biggest bullshit that ever came out of your mouth." Kayden scoffed next to you. "What do you think I am then? Your friend?" He puffed like it was the stupidest joke he'd ever been told. "Fuck no. We've been family ever since your dad died so cut the crap or I'll hit you." 

I should be punching you for saying such stupid stuff. 

"For real. I'll hit you so hard you won't ignore me again." He shuffled around to better position himself, arm lifting-

"I've abandoned you." You spat more at you than at him. 

"Siblings sucks but we love them anyway." He shrugged. "You're no exception." 

Tears gathered in your eyes. Even after leaving him alone to fight for himself, Kayden still loved you as much as before and never once held a grudge against your actions. He was a true god-given gift and you'd treated him unfairly. 

Pain exploded into your shoulder and you found yourself colliding with the ground. 

"The fuck?" Four spots on your shoulder hurt so deeply that it didn't take long for you to realize that he'd hit you with his knuckles. 

"My monthly quota was not yet achieved." He smirked, watching you massage the beaten skin. 

"Don't you think I'm hurt enough already?" 

"Stop whining, we have Biogel." He shook the metallic container before your face. 

"That thing hurts like hell." You groaned, pushing his hand away to sit straight. 

"When did you become such a baby?" You shot him the deadliest glare you had in reserve. "Hey. It's a very small price to pay for completely healed wounds in under 30 minutes." 

"Completely healed?" Tech inquired, eying the matching container in his hands that Kayden pushed him. 

"Yeah! One good layer and bye-bye! Works for sprained stuff too, just takes a little longer." Kayden answered as he helped you apply the cold sticky gel onto your arms. "Little tips: let someone else put it on you." He added as you hissed and groaned under the burning feeling that came with the product. 

Your hands closed and opened repeatedly to keep from hitting Kayden in retaliation for the pain he was putting you through. The raging fire led to intense stinging that you could describe as white-hot needles poking your damaged skin. 

"Please remember that you love me." Kayden said right before he dropped a huge blob of Biogel onto the hole in your leg. Had he not jumped away, your elbow would have connected with his chest at high speed. Instead, all that got injured were your nerves, your vocal cords and Hunter's head. 

"I'll murder you if you do that again." You whimpered while clutching your upper thigh in hope of cutting every pain transmission from your leg to your brain. 

"Good thing it was the last one!" He laughed from his side of the cell, Biogel discarded to the profit of the warm bowl of soup which he was already drinking like he'd been starved for a week. 

Wrecker's gasp and groans filled the air. A quick glance his way showed Hunter applying a coat of the translucent substance on his burnt hands and neck as well as on the cuts on his arms. Then came Hunter's turn who covered some scratches from the Yappians and after some thought applied some of it on the side of his forehead. No sound escaped his throat, the only proof of the pain assaulting his nerves being the scrunching of his face, unlike Tech who yelped when Crosshair carelessly applied the gel on his wrist and arms. Then, like pain didn't affect him at all, he splattered some on his swollen ankle and it was done. 

"I'm sure no one really wants to eat right now, but it'd be good to eat the food until Back-up comes back and we have to leave." Kayden reminded. 

"What's that?" Crosshair asked, more worried about the soup than Wrecker was. The tank was already slurping the soup down, mindful of his sensible fingers. 

"In basic I guess it translates as bone soup." Wrecker stopped abruptly, mouth still scotched to the bowl. He eyed you in distress, pondering if it was safe to swallow or not. "It's good, despite the name. Hunters usually eat that before a hunt to boost their systems, right Y/N?" Just for the sake of the game, you nodded. It was true anyway. 

"And eh… what's in it?" Tech moved the container in small circles to try and identify what was floating in the light yellow liquid. 

"Roots, meats, some veggies, guts and ground bones." You kept your poker face as Kayden enumerated the 'ingredients' and Wrecker lost all colors. "Where do you think the name comes from?" 

Wrecker spat his enormous gulp and you laughed to the point of tears, soon joined by your best frie- brother. 

"He's just fucking with y'all, Wreck. It's called bone soup because there's bone marrow in it to help with our joints. And there’s no guts. We're no savages." You did your best to control your laugh before digging into your soup eagerly. How Kayden always managed to get your mood up was a total mystery, but it always worked and you were grateful for it. 

"Could've fooled me." Crosshair taunted. 

"Ya can choke on it." You said at the same time Kayden did, getting a laugh out of it. 

The delicious soup filled your stomach in less than 10 gulps and it wasn't until you put your bowl down that you realized how good it made you feel to fill that emptiness in you. The soup wasn't enough to make you sleepy after a nice meal and provided just enough nutrients for everyone to be able to face the fast-approaching escape without a problem. Mixed with the Biogel, you were back at the top of your games. 

Arlan really made an error in taking care of the group. 

"What now? What's your plan?" Hunter wondered, posing his container on the ground. 

You met gaze with Kayden and he nodded confidently. "How well can you all swim in your armors?" 

"In calm water, we are fine but slow. We can't go in strong water. The current will catch in the plastoid and will drag us down." 

A hum resonated from within your throat and you pucker your lips. "You can't give them up. That scratch out the underground well and the waterfall." You taped your lips in thought. Watching Tech who still drank with only one hand, you knew that hiking wasn't an option as well. For now at least. 

"Then it's the dark pit." Kayden pointed out. 

It indeed was the last possible option. The other remaining one would be to use the front gates and it was the least possible one. 

"Yeah. The other tunnels would take too long to get out and then we'd lose too much time walking back at the Old Man's cave." You recalled from your mental map of the jungle. "I'm fairly sure we have two hours until dawn. The Old Man's Cave is 15 minutes away from here if we run." 

"Then we run." Hunter agreed. 

"Now, to get out… Hey, big guy." Kayden called. "What's the name?" 

"Wrecker." He answered proudly, almost puffing his chest out. 

Kayden scoffed. "Obviously. Should'a figured." He turned to you. "Is it too late to change my name?" 

The moron was too far for a shoulder slap, so you showed your exasperation with a roll of your eyes. "Stop screwing around and tell us your idea." 

"Yeah yeah." The childish tone wasn't surprising on his part. He turned his attention back to the tall clone. "So, Wrecker, I bet you're experienced with big shafts so how good are you with pulse-hammers?" In a flash, you threw your empty container at his head with utmost precision that you knew Crosshair would be proud. The flying object was as unexpected for him as the inappropriate sentence was for you and hit him square on the forehead. 

"I'll strangle you." You threatened. 

"Kinky." He winked while nursing his forehead. 

"With what?" Wrecker inquired, too focussed on the unknown term to pick up at the dirty joke.

"Her han-"

"Not that, morron." You cut him off. "The big hammer that exploded that tree back at the pit." You clarified for Wrecker. 

"Oh! I've never used one before, but I'm sure it can't be that hard!" Excitement glimmered in his eyes at the perspective of using the powerful weapon. 

"Oh believe me it's hard." Kayden smirked way too smugly for your taste. 

"Okay. Time out. Planning is paused." You poked the palm of your hand with the fingertips of your other hand. "I call pervert veto card." You deadpanned. 

"Oh hell no you can't!" Was there panic in his voice? Yes. Definitely. 

"Oh heck yes I can! Once a year for 24 hours and I'm using it now." Thank the gods you'd not used it before. 

"But-!" 

"No but or butts. No sexual reference in any form, implied or not. 24 hours starting now." He glared at you from his spot two meters away. You could have laughed at his face that perfectly mirrored a kid who just got his Christmas gift stolen directly from its small weak hands. 

"You're fucking me in the ass." He grumbled like an overgrown petulant child.

You lifted an eyebrow. "Try again. You can do it."

"Party pooper." 

"There you go." As you turned to the rest of them, a laugh escaped your lips at the clones’ expressions. 

Crosshair, despite his feelings blockade, was covering his mouth, Wrecker was laughing his ass off, Tech looked relieved behind his horrified eyes and Hunter chuckled. He appeared to be pleased and somewhat totally used to the situation, which grabbed your curiosity. 

Later. You forced a cough to get everyone's attention. "Let's continue. To answer your question, Wrecker, handling a pulse-hammer is not hard. Only remember to not touch the head," You had to stop to point at Kayden in a threatening manner when you sensed a perverted comment about to escape his idiotic mouth despite the veto card being used. "And hit with the glowing side. If you hit with the other side, you'll damage the hammer and it'll be useless." 

"I can do that!" Wrecker enthusiastically nodded. 

"So we plan into exploding our way out of here? What do we do about Cross?" Tech pointed out what he thought was a flaw in your plan. 

Right at this moment, Back-Up appeared before Kayden, its fluffy leaves puffing out in pride as Kayden removed the Master key from its belly pouch. What a marvelous creature they were. Being able to fit your own size in an extensible pouch that covered your body from your collarbone to your pelvis was truly amazing and more than practical. 

"We'll split. Kayden will guide you guys to the emergency tunnel and I'll go get Cross. I'll meet you all as soon as I can." 

You nearly hadn't finished that Hunter inevitably rejected your plan. "No. We stay together."

"We can't. You guys will be the decoy I need to sneak around and find him and having one of you with me will catch attention and slow me down." You cut Hunter as he still looked like he was about to be opposed. "I still have my comms and earbud. I'll contact you every 5 minutes." You offered in an attempt to compromise. 

Silence stretched and you got up, already ready to depart. The tingling in your arms and leg had subsided some time ago and to your sweet surprise, applying weight on your leg didn't hurt as much as before. 

Kayden unlocked the cells and a hand softly grabbed your forearm. "Fine. You comm every 5 minutes and you take this." He moved to Tech to rummage through his belt and hand you a pistol. "Use it if needed." 

You took the pistol with a steady grip despite the uncertainty shaking your guts. It was the very first blaster you've ever had in your hand and it was heavier than you thought. "Don't worry. I will." You assured him, voice strong and unwavering. 

But… could you really?

[just-horrible-things]

[Continued from here]

The door slams open and Ariadne flinches painfully. The cultists laugh as soon as they see her, raucous voices loud after the long hours with only her own hoarse voice and the silence. “Weren’t you hurting enough?” they mock. And “Aww, Imperial dog’s been trying to get out. She wants to go home.” Ariadne twists her head back, trying to see, but with the stupid angle she’s got herself into, she can’t. She can only listen to the scrape of hobnailed boots against the floor as they come closer. She’s acutely aware of how vulnerable she is.

One pair of boots stop within the edge of her field of view, and someone crouches down over her. There’s a hint of foetid breath on the air. Fingers tangle in her hair, and grab hard. Then her head is yanked upwards, and she can’t help but let out a cry as the motion pulls against the spikes through her wrists and jolts her damaged shoulders. She squirms, trying to flatten herself back against the floor, but to no effect.

“Would you like another chance to give me what I want?” “Fuck you,” she snarls bitterly at the smirking cult leader. “What a shame,” the woman drawls, and she doesn’t sound disappointed at all. She drops Ariadne back to the floor, where she shudders, waiting for the pain to subside far enough to permit thought. She doesn’t get that chance. “Get her up,” is the order. Within seconds, there are hands on her wrists, and she’s howling again as the flesh is ripped free of the nails that pinned her to the floor. She dangles weakly from the hands on those mangled wrists. Her knees are folded beneath her, but she can’t find the coordination to sit upright. When they pull her hands round in front of her, she flops sideways, eyes unfocused from pain. The tension on her shoulders makes the joints crack and grind, and the movement relights the web of fire across her back.

While she struggles to regain her senses, the enemy leader brings chains tipped with heavy metal hooks. Like those used for hanging meat. No, Ariadne despairs. She prays that she didn’t let that desperate word slip aloud. But she doesn’t have much time to dwell on it. One hook is pushed through the hole in each wrist. Somehow, it doesn’t hurt as much as she’s expecting. She’s torn the wounds wide by struggling, and the cold metal slides through without doing much further damage. It still hurts.

Her arms are released, and she keeps them as still as she can. Out in front of her as if pleading. Shaking with exhaustion. She hates it. But she can’t bring herself to pull against the chains. And now what? Will they drag her around? String her up like this?  She stares up at the enemy apprehensively.

“Now what, my brave little trophy?” the cultist purrs. “Will you fight me now? Or will you walk where I lead?” Ariadne hesitates. It’s really very clear that her choice is between walking and being dragged. On the one hand, she should make no concession to the enemy. On the other... The chain hangs in a shallow curve between her outstretched wrists and the woman’s hands, just a little tension on the wounds. Every twitch of the fingers is communicated to Ariadne as a flare of pain. She feels her face prickle with a weak flush of humiliation, and knows what her answer is before she can force the words past her gritted teeth. “I’ll walk,” she admits. Though she doesn’t know if she can. “Up you get then,” smirks the cultist. The slightest tug on the chain emphasises the command.

Ariadne’s skin is slicked with cold sweat and quickly-cooling blood. She moves carefully. She puts her good foot up first, then tries to ease herself up onto the other. Every movement makes agony ripple across her body.  Her ankle grinds and crunches as she tries to put weight on it. The pain is lightning-sharp, blinding. But it doesn’t give way. The break isn’t that bad. She tries to ignore the knowledge that it will get worse if she keeps stressing it like this. She doesn’t exactly have good options, here.

Once she’s up, she lifts tired eyes to her captor, trying to glare but mostly grimacing with the pain. She can’t stand how smug the woman looks. But she can’t do anything about it either. So when the cultist turns and tugs her forwards, she walks. Or rather, she limps. Faltering, clumsy, struggling to hold back the little gasps and groans of pain that slip past her lips at every hesitant step, every tug of the chain. If they set a faster pace, she would certainly fall and need to be dragged. But the cultist walks slowly, letting her stumble and fight to stay upright.

Ariadne is lead out of the cell, and into the corridors of the cult lair. When she was dragged in here, she was too insensate to see the banners decorating the walls, stitched with horrific scenes and eye-watering symbology. Now she keeps her eyes down. Both unwilling to look, and needing to concentrate on placing her feet. The lackeys that follow the cult leader laugh at her flinches and jeer insults. It only barely registers past the effort of walking.

At the end of the corridor is a great hall. The sculptures and finials have been defaced and defiled, the Emperor’s iconography replaced with the dread marks of Chaos. The air is thick with pungent smoke. Benches are crowded with idle cultists gathered to see their leader show off her newest acquisition. Ariadne’s shame deepens.

The closest stand up as she’s led in, sneering and hooting. They press close, pawing at her back and snagging handfuls of her hair. Suddenly she is back in the nightmare, struggling to breathe. But Caleb is dead, and she is here and now, suffering. Rough hands pull and shove and laughter ripples through the room every time she stumbles, every time she cries out and nearly falls. “Look!” someone announces her, “The Imperial dog walks on the leash!” Her world is narrowed to the fight not to trip, not to let her arms pull on the cruel hooks, not to put too much weight on her ankle. The short distance up the centre of the hall feels like a trek of kilometres.

Then she stumbles too hard, and suddenly excruciating pain rips up her leg from the ankle. She loses all balance, and even the sudden tearing in her wrists barely registers past the white-hot pain of snapping bone. When she is next able to think she finds she is on the floor, curled round her knees, gasping breathy moans of pain to the delight of the onlooking crowd. The insistent tug tug tug in her wounded wrists demands that she get up and continue. But when she so much as tries to uncurl, agony flares again.

Her ankle is at an unnatural angle now. It definitely won’t take her weight. But the tugs are getting harder, more demanding, more violent, and she does not want to be dragged. She struggles up to her knees, just trying to alleviate the tension. And when she’s still tugged onwards, she shuffles clumsily forwards on those knees, gagging on waves of nausea. Like that, bloodied and shuddering, she is lead the final few paces to the centre of the hall.

“Good girl,” the cult leader purrs. “Perhaps we’ll make an obedient thrall of you yet.” Ariadne is almost too absorbed in her pain to hear the mockery and resent it. Almost. “Alright my lovelies. String her up.” For a long second, she doesn’t understand. Somewhere a crank whirrs, and her wrists flare with pain as someone takes the chains and lifts them. And clips them to more chain that descends from the vaulted ceiling above.

Horror is hot in the back of her throat, followed fast by fury. Of course they are going to string her up anyway. How stupid she was, to think she could avoid this through compliance. She should know better. The chains are pulling taut, and her arms lift to try and put off the agony for a few seconds longer. She should never have obeyed. In the back of her head, Riven’s smug voice whispers “I lied”.

As the crank rattles and the chains pull higher and higher, she struggles frantically to get her good leg back under her, to relieve the horrible, grinding pressure against the bones of her wrists. The irregular trickle of blood is increasing to a steady flow, hot down the freezing skin of her arms. She’s making involuntary noises, cracking cries of pain as she does everything she can to avoid the inevitable. Her broken ankle knocks against the floor and the white-hot flash knocks the strength from her limbs. With a raw voice, she screams.

[Continued here]

[artificialqueens]

Pressed for Time (Branjie) - Anonymous

A/N: This is part of a larger verse I cooked up in order indulge my love of all of the most cliched tropes in existence. All you really need to know right now is that Brooke owns a burlesque club and Vanessa is a college senior. There will probably be more of this verse, hopefully some backstory coming soon! I just have a habit of skipping to the porn. Helps me get the feel of the world.

This whole thing is a direct result of the fact that Brooke refuses to stop calling herself mommy on Twitter. Does she know what that’s doing to us? Does know she’s killing me? Does she care?

CW for mommy kink, D/s dynamics, public sex, and mild exhibitionism.

This story is also on AO3, if that’s your preferred viewing method: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069117

—

“Hey baby girl.”

Vanessa starts at the voice in her ear, but quickly relaxes as Brooke’s arms slide around her waist.

“Hiya hot stuff…”  Vanessa says, craning her head back to plant a kiss on Brooke’s jaw. “You looked good up there.” Brooke didn’t perform much nowadays; the day to day operations of the club are more than a full time job. It’s nice to see her on stage, though, in her element. It’s where she belongs.

Vanessa turns, stepping back to give her a once-over. The purple caftan with the gold bikini is always a crowd pleaser. She looks like an actual goddess in it, the chiffon flowing behind her, her body moving like water, absolutely commanding the attention of the room. Vanessa doesn’t get out to the club as much as she’d like anymore, but it’s fun, sometimes, to sit in a room full of people who are equally as captivated by Brooke’s every move as she is. It reminds her that she’s not insane; Brooke really is that good.

With Vanessa in her scuffed up Converse and Brooke in 5 inch stilettos, Brooke towers over her, even more than normal. It makes Vanessa feel tiny, makes her wish Brooke would maybe move a little closer, maybe press her back against a wall, cage her in, pin her like a butterfly… she catches herself chewing on her lip, breath quickening in the space between them.

Twirling a strand of long, white blonde hair in her fingers, Brooke purses her lips knowingly, eyes twinkling.

Stepping closer, she reaches out and curls her long, slender fingers around Vanessa’s hips, pulling her in so Vanessa has to crane her neck to look at her.

“How much time you got before you’re up again?” Vanessa asks, her whole body heating up. She’s already turned on and Brooke hasn’t even done anything.

Brooke shrugs, “Long enough to get you off and maybe answer a few emails.”

Vanessa’s breath leaves her in a gust, “Not gonna take me long.”

Grinning, Brooke takes her hand, pulling her down the hallway towards the back exit.

“You gonna fuck me in the alley?” Vanessa says, confused, “Let’s go to your office.”

Brooke shakes her head, “Nina’s using it.”

“So? It’s your office!”

“Not when I’m dressed like this it’s not,” Brooke says. “She who runs the show gets the big desk.”

Brooke pokes her head into the main dressing room to grab her phone and tell the other performers that she’s going for some air.

“Let’s go get into trouble, huh?” She smiles, taking Vanessa’s hand and tugging her down the hall, through the heavy metal door and into the dark alley.

The space behind the club is no stranger to a spot of public indecency, so Vanessa is relieved to see that the conveniently located alcove next to the door is unoccupied save for the omnipresent empty condom box and the pair of red panties that have lived there for the past 6 months.

“Now,” Brooke says, her voice taking on that low, stern-edged tone that always makes Vanessa’s knees weak. “Mommy’s got some emails to catch up on, but that’s no reason for you to be ignored, right?” She backs Vanessa into the brick wall, using her height to box her in.

Gasping, Vanessa feels a hand gliding up under her frayed denim skirt, her legs parting almost unconsciously, opening herself up for Brooke’s touch.

“There’s my good girl,” Brooke says with a smile, studying Vanessa’s face as she runs her fingers over the damp cotton of her panties. Vanessa has to bite her lip, trembling, barely able to keep her hips still. She wants to grind down against Brooke’s fingers, but she knows better than to try to dictate the pace.

“Did you get a little hot in there, baby? Did you like watching mommy dance?”

Vanessa nods, a breathless whine escaping her as Brooke starts to stroke her through her panties, fingers playing over her clit, the most infuriating tease.

“You looked so sexy, mommy…” Vanessa says, scraping her nails over the brick behind her, grasping at the last tendrils of her self-control.

Brooke glances at her phone, “Fuck, I’ve got like five minutes.” She says, pulling Vanessa’s panties to the side and pressing two fingers against her clit, rubbing in circles. “Tell mommy what you want, baby,” she scrolls through her inbox and selects an email, then turns her eyes back to Vanessa’s flushed face. “Do you need to be fucked?”

Vanessa’s whole body burns at the question, at the thought of Brooke’s fingers inside her, at how much she needs it. The fact that she’s soaking Brooke’s hand should be answer enough, but she knows it’s not.

“Yeah,” she starts, her voice low and breaking. She clears her throat, “Yeah, mommy, I fuckin’ need it so bad… please?”

Brooke’s eyes are on her phone again, but she smiles.

“Good girl,” she says, as two of her long fingers plunge unceremoniously into Vanessa’s pussy.

“Fuck,” Vanessa whines, clenching around the sudden intrusion and then quickly melting into it, rolling her hips against Brooke’s hand. Brooke wastes no time, pumping in and out at a pace that makes Vanessa’s head spin, the slick sound of it amplified in the small space.

“So wet for mommy,” Brooke murmurs, eyes on her phone and a smirk on her lips. She gives a particularly deep thrust, wiggling her fingers and causing a full body shudder. “You were a good girl today, huh?”

Vanessa nodded, heat pooling in her belly. They don’t have any permanent rules, mostly because Vanessa can’t remember to follow them, but Brooke did like to forbid her from touching herself every now and then, when the mood struck her. Never more than a few days, but that’s a lifetime for a girl like Vanessa. She’s got needs.

“Mommy’s good girl,” Brooke says, and there’s the wooshing sound of an email being sent, and then Brooke tucks her phone into the strap of her bra, turning her full attention to Vanessa. She’s opening her mouth to speak when the door swings open.

“Brooke?” Comes Nina’s voice, an edge of panic there that only a stressed out stage manager could possess.

“Over here!” Brooke calls cheerfully, and Vanessa groans, burying her face in Brooke’s neck. She knows she’s all but invisible behind her, but she’s also acutely aware of Brooke’s hand between her legs, which has barely slowed, fingers still thrusting, that obscene noise still echoing off the alcove walls.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Brooke!” Nina exclaims as she rounds the corner. “I need you in costume for the next number in three minutes or I swear to god–”

“Oh, this won’t take long,” Brooke replies, smiling over her shoulder at Nina. As she speaks, she presses the heel of her hand against Vanessa’s clit, and it’s all she can do to keep from screaming, rolling her hips against the pressure, fucking herself that much harder onto Brooke’s fingers. “See?”

Nina gives a longsuffering sigh and turns back towards the club. “Have fun, Vanjie,” she calls as the door closes behind her.

Brooke turns back to Vanessa, meeting her eyes with an intensity that makes her feel like she’s paralyzed. Being the focus of Brooke’s full attention is dazzling, even overwhelming at times. She has the ability to reduce Vanessa to incoherency with nothing but a look in her cool grey eyes, a quirk of her beautiful lips, a twitch of one perfectly arched brow. Vanessa couldn’t be more smitten if she tried.

“Mommy’s got stuff to do,” Brooke murmurs, running her fingers through Vanessa’s hair with a gentleness that belies the fervor of her other hand, fucking Vanessa so hard and so fast she’d be a puddle on the ground if Brooke wasn’t pinning her to the wall. “You almost there, baby?”

“M'gonna come…” Vanessa whispers, nodding, voice quaking, hands coming to rest on Brooke’s shoulders, gripping the delicate chiffon as hard as she dares. “Oh, fuck, mommy, fuck–”

She has to snake her arms around Brooke’s neck for support as her orgasm hits, rolling over her like a tidal wave, tearing a rough-edged cry from her throat.. Brooke fucks her through it, meeting every jerky motion of Vanessa’s hips, flicking at her clit and smiling when Vanessa lets out a whine, hypersensitive but still eager.

It feels like literal minutes pass before her muscles relax, aftershocks still buzzing through her as she feels Brooke’s long fingers leave her body.

She almost blacks out as she watches Brooke bring her fingers to her lips, sucking on them one at a time, eyes closed, sighing in pleasure.

She opens her eyes with rueful grin. “Well that was just a tease,” she says, grazing her eyes down Vanessa’s body like she’s actually trying to calculate if she has enough time to eat her out before she has to be on stage.

The door creaks open again.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, if you’re not in that fucking leotard in thirty seconds you’re going to have to hire a new stage manager.”

“And you know how much I hate interviews,” Brooke says over her shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to Vanessa’s cheek, careful not to smudge her lipstick. She swipes her thumb over Vanessa’s lips, pulling the bottom one down, smiling when she flicks her tongue out at it. “Mommy’s sweet girl.”

With that, she turns and heads back into the building. Vanessa hears her heels clicking down the hall until the door closes with a bang, and then there’s nothing but the relative silence of the alley. She tries to push herself off the wall, but finds her knees can’t support her.

She’s gonna need a minute.

[old-read-all-about-kpop]

Anonymous: Hi! Sorry if I'm annoying but I'm new to your blog and I really like your oneus scenarios so if you don't mind, could you please write a hwanwoong scenario that's like you were best friends but he started acting different and distancing himself because he liked you but you magically end up together:) Sorry, I'm not very creative but you can write whatever you want since my idea sucks😂

A/N: Don’t even worry about it my love! 😂 This idea is cute. Luckily I have some experience of writing something like this for Keonhee. But, just a warning, I have been having the urge to write angst so prepare yourself. If you happen to not like how I went with this then please request again and I’ll do something better for you. I’m sorry for the long wait and I hope you enjoy reading it 💓💓💓💓

Shivers ran through your body, causing your balled-up body to shake violently. Tears slithered down your face, gathering at your chin, and dropping onto the material of your sweatpants. Just like the stress that has squeezed your heart, the teardrops would expand, bleeding into the cotton material.

You tried to get a hold on a proper breathing pattern, not wanting to risk hyperventilating. But, as you tried to regain composure, your breaths just grew more shallow. You were sinking too fast for your liking. It was consuming you to the brink of no return. You needed help.

You needed him. 

Hwanwoong knew that your stress got the better of you, triggering your anxiety levels. As you went through it, he would be there for you, holding your hand so you knew that he was there for you but not wanting to suffocate you more than you already were. 

But, even though you yearned for his presence, your best friend was not trying to be around you. Such a thought kicked you in your heart, leading you to almost swallowing your tongue from how hard you gasped for air. Another sob ripped at your chest.

You struggled out of your pullover, eventually whipping it off and away from you before resuming your balled-up position. Tears burned in your eyes. You were sure your eyes were blood red from the constant crying. 

You glanced at your phone. It laid innocently on your comforter, enticing you. You licked your lips, internally cringing at the cracked skin you licked. 

With a shaky hand, you reached for your cell. Your mind was unraveling the longer you suffered. You didn’t think you could possibly deal with these emotions any longer. You needed your lifeline. 

You tapped your nails against the back of your phone. Anxiety was waiting to snatch you up into its sick world like creepy hands that could resemble branches. You choked on a sob as you tried a second time to call him, praying to God that he answers this time. The hands approach you slowly. Time was running out. Your heart stuttered, skipping a beat or two.

Before you lost hope and succumbed to your stress and anxiety, he answered. And through the speakerphone, you were blessed to hear his calming voice.

“H-hey...y/n,” Hwanwoong conveyed, stammering as he spoke. You didn’t understand why he seemed nervous. You could understand him being off guard but, for him to be nervous was strange. First of all, you never heard this man stutter in the ten years that you knew him. But, the anxiety that lingered near you pushed away the thought to question him, leading you to stammer yourself as you fished for something to say. It felt a bit awkward, something that originally didn’t exist in you two’s friendship.

You and Hwanwoong, despite your ten-year friendship, had become distant. However, it wasn’t a consensual decision. Hwanwoong decided to pull away from you and your friendship strangely. It was a bit of a sudden change. From talking every day to talking when you two saw each other to not talking at all unless you were the one to initiate a conversation was an earth shattering experience to endure. And then he began making excuses on why he couldn’t drive you to school and take you home. Such alterations to you two’s relationship had your mind going haywire. You were worried that you were the cause of his sudden change of character. You sent him tons of messages and voicemails stating you were sorry. Eventually, he calmed your worries by texting you and saying that you committed no crime. Then, when he went to ask for the reason behind his odd behavior, he didn’t respond. The calm mindset you obtained shattered within seconds, becoming anxious and worried ten times more than you were before.

“Y/n? Y/n?” You heard Hwanwoong call for you. His voice sounded worried. You could visualize his big eyes getting even bigger as he waited for your response. You wished to giggle at the likely sight.

“I need you,” you said. Your voice was small, weak. It was like you just dug your voice out from six feet of gravel. You hated it.

There was a pregnant silence. Your heart was being squeezed so tightly that you were almost certain that it would explode from the painful pressure. 

Finally, he spoke. “I’ll be there in five.” Your ears caught sounds of shuffling and the slamming of something hard. The door? Was he already outside?

You didn’t care to ask him where he was coming from as you choked on sobs, feeling the utmost gratitude to your best friend. “Thank you, Hwanie!”

“I’ll be there soon, alright?” he stated. The familiar purring of his car confirmed his words. “Just focus on your breathing. Maybe even use that pendulum swing you bought years ago, yeah?”

At the mention of your useful purchase six years ago, you turned your teary eyes over to it as it stayed on your bookshelf. You chewed on your bottom lip, mentally apologizing to it for neglecting it for these past few weeks. “I will.”

“Good,” Hwanwoong said, sounding relieved. “I’m a block away so hold tight, okay?”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly, you two hung up. Then, as quick as possible while you possessed a blank mind, you reached for your pendulum swing and placed it carefully on your nightstand to not disturb the sand too much. Then, with a slight poke to the instrument, the pendulum began to swing.

Left...right...left...right....

Next thing you knew, you heard heavy knocks at your front door. Startled, you jumped into a sitting position on your bed. And the moment you took your eyes off the pendulum swing, all the nausea and shivers you felt before returned with a vengeance.

You ran to the door, even skipping the last two steps of the stairs. You grabbed at the doorknob and unlocked the door with the uttermost urgency. And then, upon yanking the door open, you are met with the lovely face of your best friend.

Instantly, you felt like you reached your oasis.

You launched yourself into Hwanwoong’s chest, burying your face into the soft fabric of his T-shirt. Immediately you were engulfed by the rich and earthy scent of his cologne. You couldn’t be happier in feeling the weight on your shoulders disperse in an instant as all your senses are overpowered by him.

You sighed deeply. “I’ve missed you.”

Hwanwoong’s posture was stiff. But quickly, for your sake, he loosened up and hugged your body, hoping that his tight embrace could gather all your pieces and stick them back together.

You guys eventually settled down onto the couch. Silently, you both took each other in, as if jogging your memories on how the other person looked like. And how the other’s presence was so significant in your lives.

Hwanwoong was the one to break the silence. “So...how do you feel now?”

“A lot better now that you’re here,” you stated, not thinking before speaking.

Hwanwoong’s eyes widened but, just as quickly as they did, he brought them back to normal size. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

You quickly processed the change in you two’s relationship and blanched. You brought your knees to your chest and put your arms into your shirt.

“Sorry.” Your voice was faint, barely above a whisper. You felt the familiar burn in your eyes. You focused on the toes of your socks to keep from crying. You wished things could go back to the way things were.

You heard Hwanwoong take a deep breath before letting it out slowly. And then you heard him say, “No. I’m sorry.”

You peered at him slowly, observing him closely. “What could you be sorry about?”

He whipped his head around and looked at you like you lost your mind. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

You merely blinked at him.

Hwanwoong chuckled, but he was unamused. He ran his fingers through his hair before sighing heavily. He then shifted in his seat and put his full attention on you. You were taken aback by how serious he looked.

He wet his lips with his tongue before speaking. “Y/n, I’m sorry for being a terrible friend. Here you are going through struggles in your life while I’m avoiding you every chance I get cause I’m in love with you.”

You gasped. Your blood ran cold as Hwanwoong’s words sink in.

He’s in love with me? You thought.

“You’re in love with me?” You asked in a whisper. You hoped that you heard wrong but, at the same time, you hoped you didn’t.

Like before, Hwanwoong’s body went stiff after realizing what he just revealed in his rant. Here he was trying to win his best friend back, and he goes ahead and puts his foot in his mouth. Now he was sure he was gonna lose his best friend and the greatest friendship he could ever be blessed with.

Screw it. The cat’s out the bag now, he thought.

“Yes, y/n. I’m in love with you. Totally head over heels for you. And, of course, your amazing personality. You have an adorable laugh that always brightens my day no matter how horrible is was. You’re very outspoken when it comes to the people you love and the things that you want. And then you have an amazing perspective when it comes to unorthodox subjects. You’re just amazing all-around and I can’t imagine not having you in my life. But I can imagine I ruined everything with me confessing my feelings for you. I’m sure I’ve made this awkward between us.”

You batted your eyelashes at Hwanwoong, mulling over this brand new information that he just plopped onto your lap.

“I’m not going to go ahead and say that I’m in love with you as well but, I do have some strong feelings towards you,” you stated. “But give me some time to fully assess myself and do some self-care, and then maybe I’ll be able to be your loving partner. Just let me love myself first before we change the dynamics of our relationship, okay?”

A big smile appeared on his youthful face. His eyes shined with happiness and relief. “Of course.”

The rest of the evening resumed with your friendship being restored. It was as if you two never spent a day apart. You finally had your best friend back, and, in the future, your boyfriend.

A/N: I know more than likely the person who requested this is no longer expecting this but I hope that, if they do read it, they enjoyed it like how I enjoyed writing it. I really didn’t want to end this scenario with a cliché ending so I did something completely different. I hope everyone has a great day/night/evening 💓💓💓💓

[what-the-buckybarnes]

Mellow Yellow

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Fic Summary: You had were yellow, always had been. Until the fateful day when you were red.

Warning: getting shot, blood, pain, angst

A/N: Happy New Year! Gelukkig Nieuwjaar! The first post of 2019. It was about time I finished this. It’s been half finished since like September. ;-;

MASTERLIST

For as long as Bucky could remember, you had been yellow. You weren’t physically yellow, obviously. You just radiated the feeling of being yellow. Every time Bucky was around you, he felt yellow. He felt everything yellow inside him. He could feel the yellow converse you wore, and the yellow hairband that kept your hair in the ponytail. He could feel the yellow sunflowers you kept in your window and adored. He could feel the yellow sun, that you liked to bask in whenever you were free. His favourite yellow was the little buttercup you kept tucked just behind your ear, hidden by your curls. He was the only one who ever seemed to notice it. Yellow just surrounded you, and you felt no shame in it.

You were in a meeting with him, getting briefed on a mission you would be going on. You were fiddling with a yellow string you kept around your wrist. Bucky had put it there. It was a small thing, but he liked giving you very mundane things, and you seemed to enjoy them. You always returned the favour, giving him a particularly shiny coin, or a tiny pressed buttercup, or a feather. He kept them in his mother’s old jewellery box. You had gone with him to the old house and found that it was abandoned with most of his belongings still there, which was a miracle in itself. Now he had bought the house and sat in it sometimes when he felt particularly down. Sometimes, you joined him, just touching his fingertips with your own, the short, yellow painted nails making a small tapping sound on the old flooring. They were always yellow, Bucky noticed.

Bucky was staring at those yellow nails. He was sat opposite you, on your way to the mission. You were in full black tactical gear, but you were still yellow. Your knives had a yellow hilt, and your nails were still yellow, and you still had a yellow hairband, and you still had your string around your wrist, and Bucky could just see the yellow flower peeking out from behind your hair. And you were still yellow in emotional ways. The way you traced lines between freckles was yellow, and your soft-almost-inaudible humming was yellow, and your gaze was yellow. You were the newest Avenger, still fairly inexperienced. You didn’t go on many missions with the Avengers, but the ones you went on were always the most enjoyable ones for Bucky. He loved turning to see you tie up one of the enemies with your vines. He loved staying with you while you made yellow flowers grow in the fields outside of the bases. Yellow flowers were something you always left behind, even if it was just one.

The quinjet landed and the doors opened. Steve was the first out, his shield already out. Natasha had her knives ready to go and Bucky had his gun cocked. You clenched your fists briefly and Bucky saw you pick a small senna flower out of your palm. You reached out to him and tucked it behind his ear.

“For luck,” you whispered. Bucky smiled at you.

“Thank you.” You smiled back at him before stepping out of the quinjet.

You were having the time of your life. Vines were tying up Hydra agents faster than they could come and you were tearing through them to the room where the intel was supposedly held. You didn’t even have to think about it anymore as you got rid of them. Bucky was close behind you, putting a bullet in the head of anyone you tied up. You grew a flower in every bullet wound; you didn’t like death and always grew beauty where there was ugliness. Bucky found it cute and hoped you wouldn’t stop. You made it to a room full of computers. Bucky slammed the door shut and you grew vines over it to lock it. You knew close to nothing about computers so Bucky dealt with that while you stood guard. You played absentmindedly with your powers, growing a small buttercup on your palm. Buttercups were your favourite simply for their tiny stature and innocent yellow colour. You heard fighting through your earpiece and winced slightly every time you heard a gunshot. Beyond that, though, it was silent. To any other, it would have been suspicious, but to you, it just meant you had done your job right. Being the least experienced came with that sort of naïvité. It was to be expected that someone with as little experience actually in the field wouldn’t pick up on that sort of thing.

That’s why it came as no shock to anyone but you when the sudden storm of Hydra agents appeared out of nowhere, guns blazing. You yelled for Bucky, holding out your hand, the yellow buttercup still there. Thick, green vines erupted from your body, crawling out from your shoulders and chest and running along your arms until you directed them at the agents. The vines pierced their hearts and you felt a tear creep down your cheek. You never wanted to kill people with your powers, but you didn’t have much of a choice in this situation. You needed to protect Bucky. Bucky was fully aware of the situation, but couldn’t risk the sensitive information the mission depended on. He looked up every now and again to make sure you were handling it and felt overwhelmingly relieved when he saw that you had resorted to building an enormous dome around the two of you.

You grunted slightly as you built the dome around yourself and Bucky. Building domes were not usually your first choice as they took so long and used up so much energy. You had just about finished it when a Hydra agent slid under a desk, gun ready.

There was a shot.

Your chest burned as something ripped through it.

You fell, and for the first time in your life, you weren’t yellow; You were red. Bright, bright red.

Bucky screamed. This wasn’t right. He dove over to you, kicking the Hydra agent hard enough to elicit a snap from the man’s neck. The man fell to the ground limply, just as you had done moments earlier. Your hand was resting next to you and Bucky saw the small buttercup, tainted with red. He couldn’t help but see you in the tiny wildflower.

“Bucky,” you groaned, hissing through the pain.

“Hey, I’m here. You’re alright. It’s okay,” Bucky whispered gently, pressing a hand to your chest. Your back arched in pain. “Steve, I need medevac. We’re in the intel room. (Y/N)’s been shot.” You heard a faint crackling from his comm, which you assumed was Steve replying. You felt the ground beneath your back, the dirt and small rocks from the bottom of well-worn soldiers’ boots. You felt the warmth of a single stream of light that penetrated the dome. You felt Bucky’s fingers grabbing desperately at your wound, begging for the hole to close miraculously; for you to pull through.

“Come on now,” Bucky whispered. “You’re alright.” You blinked up at him, trying to make sense of the world around you. You weren’t used to such hyperfocus. You’d never been shot before, how were you supposed to be accustomed to the rush of adrenaline that came with it? You gasped out another breath, realising it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Bucky increased the pressure on your wound and you released a low, whining sound.

“Hey, you’re alright. Just gotta wait for Stevie is all. He’ll cover us and we’ll get you some proper help, hmm?” Bucky promised, speaking softly. As if on cue, there was the sound of footsteps and a loud cracking as Steve used his shield to break through the vines.

“Oh my God,” Steve exhaled, bending down next to you. Bucky glanced up at Steve.

“Can you cover us while I carry her and run back to the helicarrier?” Bucky asked. Steve nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve called Bruce, so he’s ready for her. Cho also knows,” Steve said. Bucky nodded and stood up, you in his arms. The red of your blood mixed with the yellow of your soul, basking Bucky in a sunset orange. Sunset, the end of the day. The end of a life. Bucky was suddenly more determined to get you to Bruce. He started sprinting.

You opened your eyes, blinking blearily as you took in your surroundings. White walls. White ceiling. White sheets and white bandages around your chest. You glanced to your right and saw Bucky. His soft hair hung over his face and he was slouched awkwardly in a position that could only bring pain. His breaths came in a steady rhythm as he snored softly.

“Bucky?” You asked softly. His head shot up and his eyes snapped open. You felt bad for waking him up, but he really needed to get some food and sleep in a proper bed.

“Y/N,” he breathed. “Oh god, you’re awake.” You nodded slowly.

“How long has it been?” You asked.

“A-about three days. They had you hopped up on painkillers and sleep meds,” he admitted.

“You’ve been here for three days?” You asked him. He nodded sheepishly.

“Couldn’t leave my best girl all alone, now could I?” He grinned at you. You shook your head.

“Buck….” He stared at you. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you accept him and want him there when she was weak. He was still getting over the fact that you would let his black leech on your yellow.

“Kiss me,” he said suddenly. You looked up at him.

“Now?” You asked. He nodded.

“I mean if you want to. I just...we’ve known each other for like two months but every time I see you I just feel this surge of-“

“Bucky.”

“-and I just needed to get that out-“

“Buck,” you laughed slightly at his rambling.

“-but if you don’t wanna then that’s oka-“

“Bucky. Stop. It’s okay. I wanna kiss you too,” you interrupted. That stopped him. He made eye contact with, properly this time.

“You….you do?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. A grin crossed his face as he leant forward, letting his lips meet yours. You had been yellow, and red. Perhaps Bucky had even turned you a little bit black for a while. But now you were something you had never been. Now, you were white. Now you were pure, untainted, whole. You were radiant and new. You were the white wildflowers and the fluffy white clouds. You were white like Bucky was black.

Taglist: @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes​

[sp-aceagecrystals]

Divine Oasis (part 1)

There is a certain sense of unreality that comes with walking through a room of thousands of quietly seated student, their matching uniforms blurring together near the edges. This feeling comes with knowing that against almost absurd odds, your name was picked from the ornate glass bowl sitting on a marble pedestal before the crowd of your peers. It comes with the sudden realization that you will die very, very soon.

Word count: 1785

Warnings: death (by drowning)

Author notes: this is my first finished long creative writing piece, and I’m really proud of having finished it! This is going to be the first part of probably a 6 part series, as it’s the origin for all my Reborn OCs! (Also, the character uses multiple sets of pronouns, so I shifted between them throughout the piece)

———————————————————————--------------------------------------

As Joan sat on a bench at the edge of the expansive room, her eyes focused on a small knick in the hard stone floor. Her caretakers flanked her on either side, two lovely old ladies who had treated her like the little daughter they never had. She had never been interested in these ceremonies; it was always the same speech, the same crushing silence as a name is drawn, and the same somber-yet-anticlimactic finish of some kid getting sent to their own special deathbed. Not to say they didn’t find the process itself interesting, this was just always the most boring part. She was almost entirely zoned out when they felt Ms. Heather lean towards her. She didn’t really process what the woman said, but she quickly noticed the silence that had fallen over the room. The administrator on the podium shifted on her feet slightly, the wait for some sort of response was now getting uncomfortable. One of the four Reborn lined up beside her - an older boy with curly gray hair - reaches over and plucks the name that had been drawn straight from her hand. He clears his throat before repeating it, his tone growing a bit impatient.

“Joseph Harper, please come to the stage.“

Maybe because of the name they called, or the fact that she had missed the name getting picked, but something doesn’t click for a moment. She feels stuck, like all her bones and joints were suddenly concrete, nailed to her seat. Eventually, though, she finds the will to stand. The loud clack-clacking of her formal shoes seems to echo through the entire room as she makes her way to the stage. To ignore the thousands of eyes trained on her, she focused in on the details of the Reborn. The aforementioned boy, a chubby black-haired girl with a warm smile, a red-haired kid who seemed to be shivering, and a younger skinny boy with borderline iridescent eyes. They all looked happy, bored, or some combination of the two. As she comes up the steps, the gray-haired boy helps them up, an indecipherable look of concern in his eyes.

She forces herself to sit still on the stage, simply turning to face the crowd and folding their hands behind their back. The administrator has started droning on again, and soon enough she’s being lead out of the room. Everything feels numb, like all the sound and movement is on another plane, physically close but mentally distant. Someone tells her to sit, and someone says the wait won’t be too long. She listens obediently, trying to drag her mind back to the present. They look towards the closest Reborn, the older boy. Joan notices the way hair seems peppered with a darker gray at the tips; this soot-covering followed throughout his outfit, most notably on the dense black coating on his leather boots. He must notice her assessment, as he glances over to her. With a readjustment of his position to face them, he offers out his hand. She smiles blankly and shakes it, only vaguely processing being informed that his name is Mirror. “A bit of an odd name?” She wills herself to say, though it comes out quiet and empty. He grins slightly and chuckles, “Well, my power is smoke control, so that might help it make a bit more sense? You know, like ‘smoke and mirrors’?”

“Ah, that... works.”

“Yeah.”

And like that, the conversation is just as dead as she will be. He opens his mouth to say something, but the loud slam of the old office doors cuts him off. The two turn towards the source, where three figures cloaked in pure white robes approach. On the top of each hood is dual sets of wings, silky blue embroidered in silver. Their steps are silent, making their very presence seem ethereal and unnatural. Of course, that is fitting for the Holy Hands.

One holds out a pale manila envelope in their hand. Joan takes it, easily prying open the weak adhesive. Unfolding the paper inside, a message is clearly printed inside:

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SACRIFICE FOR MADARIS

YOUR DESIGNATED METHOD IS DROWNING

She stares unthinkingly at the letter, unable to process it, until one of the cloaks’ lowered voices cuts through her thoughts.

“Whenever you are ready…?”

She nods, and the group parts to allow her out of the hall. Hesitantly, she makes her way through, until she turns the corner and freezes in awe. In the past, the main hall had always been surrounding a tall, circular wall, intermediately supported by ornate marble pillars. Now the pillars stand without walls, exposing a flourishing oasis of plants with a small lake (or a large pond, however you want to see it). The spaces once walled in now let soft daylight spill into the main hall, breathing a sort of life into the now empty space. Approaching the edge, even the smell of such untouched wildlife was almost suffocating. Taking a step in feels somehow invasive, as if this sanctuary will be corrupted by their presence. As Joan makes her way to the water’s edge, they spot a small pier nearby. Vines and moss fill the gaps between the sun-bleached boards, wood creaking so loudly she was honestly considering the chances of it snapping under her. The toes of her shoes poked out over the glittering blue-green ripples. They forced a few deep breaths in and out of their lungs, a pathological survival instinct screaming in her mind to reconsider.

Maybe a more dramatic end would have been more fitting; reeling back and taking a running jump, or diving in with the elegance of a natural-born swimmer. They were neither that brash nor that graceful, though, so instead she simply tilted on her toes further and further, until she could sense her weight shift. For a split moment, they processed the sensation of falling, a primal panic jolting through every nerve in her body. But just as quickly as they had started falling they had hit the surface, cold and oddly invigorating. Her clothes were immediately soaked, their too-tight shoes like leather bricks flailing blindly above them. The water stung their eyes and her lungs burned in her chest. Having never learned to swim, Joan was unusually relieved by their inability to save themself at this point. Finally, after battling against every instinct she had, she opened her mouth and took a desperate breath.

The pain was unimaginable. Her throat was being ripped open, shredded from the inside; or at least that’s how it felt. They couldn’t really comprehend whether they were breathing in or out now, not that it made much difference. The water seemed to fill her instantly, her stomach and lung convulsing in some last ditch effort to live. Vision doubling, the deep murky teal of the lake faded into a pure, divine white. Everything they ever knew flashed before them; names, places, colors, voices, sensations. Their final thought was a single statement. Not in a sense of hope or reflection, but a triumphant and bitter promise.

I’m going to live, dad.

•••

They didn’t know how long it’d been once they open their eyes. For a brief moment, she even wondered if she was dreaming. Silt from the spongy floor rises in plumes as they shifted, slightly at first, then attempting to sit up. The cerulean shade surrounding them seemed foggy, almost suffocating. It’s this thought that drew her into a startling awareness that she wasn’t breathing. Not that they were drowning either; no, she was long past that point. Her lungs expanded and deflated uselessly in her chest. They went through the motions to stand, balance practically nonexistent against the water’s pressure. The only interruption to the turquoise landscape was the dark silhouette of one of the pier’s support poles. Lost for a better way to reach the surface, she slowly made her way to it and began the climb up.

The journey was uneventful and seemingly endless. Beams of light cut through the liquid atmosphere, giving hope to a coming end. Finally, their hands gripped over the flat, splintered surface of the pier. Despite not necessarily needing oxygen by this point, the energy she exerted to bring herself atop the boards left her desperate to take a breather. Naturally, her first reflex was to cough up the water now entrenched in her body. This was about as painful as it had been earlier, a fiery hot pain cutting through their esophagus for what must have been forever, until they felt unnaturally empty. To her shock, there was no blood. She desperately wanted to lie down and sleep for the next hundred years. Somehow, though, they found the will to stand, legs so shaky she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk. They only had to stumble for a moment before their body fell back into the rhythm of the living. Only at the edge of the oasis do they realize that the walls had resealed in the time they were underwater. Too drained (both literally and metaphorically) to try and find another way out, she simply pressed a hand to the ivory wall, leaning into the cold surface for support. In an instant, it began to shake and, with a loud groan, slide to the side. She jumped back in surprise, wrapping her arms around herself. Instead of the coarse fabric of the academy uniform, though, their hands met bare skin. A glance down showed them that they were now wearing some sort of dress, made of a smooth, water-resistant material. The front went down to right above their knees, while slits on the sides separated it from a longer back section that, while rounded, reached halfway down her shins. The dress was sleeveless, the top rounding off below her collarbone and connecting to a matching choker with a black fishnet. Besides the fishnet and matching black leggings, the whole outfit was a similar murky teal to the water they had died in. The cacophony of sound from the wall had stopped, bringing their attention back to what was in front of them.

All the other Reborn stood or sat idly in the main hall. Aside from the younger boy, who had fallen asleep, everyone’s attention had shifted to her. Mirror (was that what he said?) stepped up first, eyes silently taking them in. His gaze met theirs and, offering out a hand, a crooked grin came to his lips. “And who might be joining us?”

They hesitated briefly, mind racing to create a new identity. A single word repeated, again and again, in her head until she smiled back and shook his hand confidently.

“Maritime, at your service.”

[4jimin]

18 + jikook

Send me a pairing + a number: “Fuck. Off.”

canon compliant | well :)

“Fuck. Off.” Jimin ponctuates, attempting to get Jungkook away from him by pushing his shoulders back – with more strength than initially intended, maybe. “Get off.”

“Why?” Jungkook presses harder, though, not a single sign on his annoyingly beautiful face of pulling away. He has one knee in between Jimin’s thighs and a pair of elbows pressed against the wall behind them, in a very successful way of preventing the older from escaping, “Give me one good reason.” His tone has been increasingly dropping since he started pinning Jimin against the red brick wall of their building’s terrace, to the point it was now just a soft murmur blown in the cold air of the night – and inside Jimin’s hot mouth.

They are so close to each other it sends a sudden awareness of nostalgia up Jungkook’s lips – a kind of longing he hadn’t witnessed himself feeling since… Well, never. Their chests warmness and oxygen are all mixing; Jungkook’s nose is touching Jimin’s and he can breath in Jimin’s scent so well it’s fucking driving him insane. Jungkook wants to kiss him so bad it’s physically absurd – and so it is how long he had resisted before finally ending up here, staring down at Jimin’s lips with a need it clenchs his stomach and burns his chest.

He still remembers the first time he kissed them, in the practice room, three months ago, for accuracy. Not that he had counted or anything stupid like that. But he remembers. How they felt so soft, and warm and right against his own. Well, at least for the first five seconds, before the dizzy spur of their tired – and mildly sexually induced by the song they were previously dancing to – minds hit them like a violent wave in the shore, crashing upon them and making them drown. He remembers how Jimin began to kiss him breathless, and how he kissed back until they were both lightheaded and panting. Jungkook’s hands gripping Jimin’s ass and pressing him down where he so painfully needed, Jimin’s own hands roughly tangled on Jungkook’s hair, pulling hard and making the younger moan.

“I swear to god, if you don’t back off, I’m going to fucking deck you in the face.” Jimin threats and Jungkook leans down, so they’re eye-level and Jimin doesn’t have to look up to talk to him. This, however, only seems to riles Jimin up more, his hands crumpling the fabric of Jungkook’s tshirt and consequently pulling it up slightly, exposing some inches of his lower belly to the cool air.

“Why is that?” Jungkook repeats, pressing their chests harder. They didn’t have sex, back in that night, thanks to Jimin’s phone going off when they were about to lose their pants. If Jungkook was relieved or frustrated, he couldn’t differ. It’s not like he didn’t want it to happen, he just didn’t want it to be… In a stuffy room, with both of them too tired and too horny to be thinking straight about decisions they were surely regretting the other day. Although, from that day forward Jimin had been blatantly avoiding him, acting like nothing happened and shoving the subject away whenever Jungkook tried bringing it up. Now, three months later, Jungkook seriously can’t take it anymore. “Because I’m finally having the guts to properly talk to you about this? I’m tired of playing games, hyung. If you hated it so much just straightforward tell me so I can apologize for kissing you, instead of pretending I don’t exist whenever we’re alone. It kinda hurts.”

Jimin’s fingers soften it’s grip on Jungkook’s tshirt and he looks down, a frown molding his features.

Jungkook wants to kiss his pout away. But he doesn’t.

“I-I didn’t… hate it…” Jimin mutters, fidgeting the cloth. “It’s just…” he lifts his eyes and meet Jungkook’s gaze for a second before diverting it again. “Aish, I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“Why not?” Jungkook asks, an ache menacing to show up on his voice.

It’s kinda unfair, he thinks. How Jimin is dealing with everything like it means nothing, when Jungkook can not not think about it for a single day. How Jimin is not shifting his gaze down to Jungkook’s lips, like Jungkook has been constantly doing for the past minute, dying to catch Jimin’s lips on his own. Or how he seems almost restless to get away from Jungkook, when all Jungkook wants to do is hold his body on his arms and not let go.

“Because…” Jimin nearly whines, frustrated. Their chests are still tightly pressed together, but it feels softer, the atmosphere having made Jungkook faintly pull away, scared of Jimin’s answer. “I don’t want to serve as a reckless experience for you to kill your curiosity only and then–“

“What?!” Jungkook chokes out, shocked. “What the fuck?! Who ever said you were–“

“No one needs to say it, okay?” Jimin snorts, looking everywhere but Jungkook’s face. “This already happened before. I’m sure of my… You know. But you’re not and I’m just sick of being used as an–“

“Shut up.” Jungkook cuts him off. He feels irritated somehow. “With what right do you go out carelessly making assumptions about me and comparing me with the assholes from your past?” Jimin is silent all of a sudden. “Goddammit, hyung! Three months! Seriously, this is absurd, why couldn’t you just talk to me when I tried to?”

Jimin is eyeing his left hand on Jungkook’s t-shirt, so the younger angles his head to be on Jimin’s field of vision and force him to stop avoiding his stare. “Look at me.” he says, and this time he is able to hear the hurt on his voice, his brows furrowed as if that would help him read Jimin’s mind.

“I…” Jimin starts, lips pursed and Jungkook’s chest aches with how much he wants to kiss it, but he somehow expects for Jimin to do it first. He doesn’t want to push himself on him, just to be rejected later. “I…” They’re holding eye contact and it makes kind of hard for Jimin to properly think with such a short distance between them. “It makes me feel awkward.” He finally lets out, gulping.

“Why?” Jungkook asks, and feels like it’s the thousand time he is repeating this question.

Jimin fists his tshirt harder, before his hands go cup the sides of Jungkook’s neck, the cold palms against his warm skin making his breath slightly hitch. “Because…” he seems to be painfully trying to form words and Jungkook’s heart is beating so fast he is sure Jimin can feel it against his chest. “It’s your fault. You make me feel awkward.”

Jungkook had unconsciously tilted his head to the side, the angle rendering difficult for him to pretend he can’t feel Jimin’s breath hitting his lips anymore.

“You make me feel awkward too.” he whispers.

Jimin is bitting his lips, and it takes him a whole second to close his eyes and tangle his hands on Jungkook’s hair after the younger’s words fall out of his mouth, pulling him closer. Their lips are brushing and Jungkook is happy Jimin is somehow holding him in place, because otherwise he’s sure his legs would be betraying him – but still none of them is moving further and Jungkook is so fucking frustrated, because what the fuck is still holding Jimin back?

(Jungkook’s pride is holding himself back, because even though he is sure Jimin’s hands fisting his hair means a lot more than just consent, he still doesn’t want to be the first to give in – considering he had been the first to do it the last time. He needs a stronger reassurance Jimin wants that as much as he does, and he is determined to get it.)

That’s what impells him to part his lips and allow the hot air from his throat to curl around Jimin’s lips, the red flesh of their mouths skimming and providing both of them a tingling feeling on the tip of their stomachs. Jimin is still motionless and Jungkook is so damn impatient, he sinks his teeth on Jimin’s bottom lip with force and no previous warning, making Jimin hiss and then moan when Jungkook pulls it forward just to let it softly slide from his teeth back to its place.

Something clicks inside Jimin’s mind and he chases Jungkook’s lips with a hunger he has no idea he possesses, their mouths finally, finally clashing with an eagerness built during months.

Jungkook’s lips fits under Jimin’s so naturally well that it’s almost surreal, as only the pressure of their mouths against each other is able to make Jungkook feel on the verge of exploding – longing washing over him and proving his imagination is such a weak representation of reality. He could never truly recreate this feeling, it didn’t matter how many scenarios he pictured.

It’s when Jimin licks his lips – almost demanding for Jungkook to let him in – that he melts, their tongues meeting in a simultaneous warmness and thirsty that needs no further actions to demonstrate how desperate for each other they actually are. Jimin wraps his arms around Jungkook’s neck, angling his head in a way there’s not an inch of air between them, standing on his tiptoes and sucking Jungkook’s lips with just the right amount of pressure to drive him crazy. He takes his elbows off the wall and envelops them around Jimin’s waist, in an impossible attempt to pull him closer, needing to completely intoxicate all his senses with Jimin and Jimin only. Not that it took a lot of effort.

“Mhm…” he hears the whine falling out of Jimin’s lips and feels the vibration on his mouth and chest. His arms tighten around the older’s waist in response and the clenching on his stomach urges him to lick in Jimin’s mouth more intensely. He does, and on the second time, they moan together, Jimin’s hands gripping Jungkook’s shoulder so hard, his nails are sinking on the skin.

They pull apart for lack of oxygen, both panting and with swollen red lips.

Jungkook kisses Jimin again for a second, not resisting to stay away for too long. He watches as a shy smile appears on Jimin’s lips, so he kisses it one more time. And then another, and another. He keeps on pecking Jimin’s lips repeatedly until he is giggling and blushing. Jungkook smiles, burying his face on the older’s neck and sucking his scent to his lungs.

Jimin’s skin smells the sweetest.

“You’re so dumb.” He lets out, voice muffled.

Jimin chuckles. “So are you.”

“Yah!” he pulls back offended to look him in the face. “I was the one trying to fix everything up, why am I dumb?!”

Jimin brings his face closer to Jungkook’s. “You should’ve caged me against a wall and kissed me breathless three months ago.”

He smiles before catching Jungkook’s lips on his again.

“Hey! You kissed me!”

“Shut up, asshole.”

[imagine-it-like-this]

Title: Hurt & Comfort – chapter 02: Comfort Characters: Rowena, Sam, Dean, Castiel, reader, British Men of Letters OCs Relationships: Rowena/reader Genres: Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Whump

Previous chapter

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For a moment it was as if the entire room froze. Or perhaps it was you that froze; you couldn’t quite tell for the only thing you could do was breathe in and out in an erratic manner as your eyes tracked the source of the voice and settled on the face you never would have thought you’d be relieved to see.

From that point on it was decided – Dean Winchester was your hero! It didn’t matter that he annoyed you sometimes; it didn’t matter that Rowena considered him a manner-less brute or that he and his brother had chained her up more times than you could count.

All that mattered was that he was here, the gun in his hand pointed directly at Blondie’s head.

Sam stood behind him, pointing his own gun at Scruffy, who now held onto you so tightly that you could barely breathe; he turned to Sam in a swift motion in hopes of using you as a shield. It hurt to breathe, hurt to go from deep, uneven breath to short and shallow ones, and you tried, once again, to struggle against the restraints of Scruffy’s muscular arms, but just as all those previous times, all your attempts were in vain.

“The Winchesters,” Blondie scoffed. “I’d love to say I’m surprised, but I’m really not.”

Dean grinned. “What can I say? We’re not ones to disappoint.”

Blondie scowled at him. “You think yourself a comedian?”

The elder Winchester shrugged. “Been told I’m hilarious.”

You doubted that.

And so did Blondie. “False flattery.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll take what I can get.”

“I can see that,” the Brit retorted, looking from Rowena to you before settling his eyes back on Dean. “Witches? Really?”

“They’re allies.”

“They’re monsters! How can you even stand to be around them? Aren’t you afraid they’ll hex you? They aren’t exactly a trustworthy bunch.”

“Funny, one could say the same about you. And from what I see, they aren’t the ones causing trouble here.”

Your heart swelled with joy at Dean defending you. Maybe you could learn to like this hunter.

“She killed my brother!” Blondie snarled, pointing at you with his gun.

“I’m sure she had a good reason.”

Yeah, I did, you thought. He fucking tried to kill me! “Self-defense,” you wheezed, struggling the utter the words.

Dean smirked. “See?”

“Don’t do that,” Sam said as Blondie pointed his gun at Rowena.

“Why not?” the Brit challenged. “They’re not like us. Their lives… they aren’t worth shit. They’re beasts. Inhuman abominations.”

“Your brother wouldn’t want you to do that.”

You almost rolled your eyes at Sam’s attempt at a sympathy card. Really? He was going with that?

“You have no idea what my brother would have wanted!” Blondie snapped, face twisting with rage. “That bitch killed him and now I’m gonna return the favor and kill her lover! It’s only fair. Isn’t it, sweetheart?”

He turned to Rowena as he said it, giving her his sweetest fake smile that made you sick to your stomach.

She sent him a look of pure and utter detest, prompting him to chuckle. “You’re adorable. It’s almost a shame you’ll have to go.”

You exchanged one final look with Rowena before turning away and closing your eyes as Blondie’s finger found its way to the trigger.

The gunshot startled you, making you twitch, urging tears to fall from your eyes in a never-ending stream of sadness. I’m sorry, you thought, your fondest memories of Rowena playing in your head. I love you.

It was only when the second gunshot sounded and Scruffy screamed that you allowed yourself to open your eyes again.

The first thing you noticed was the lack of pressure on your chest. Looking back, you saw Scruffy laying on the ground, a bullet wound adorning his forehead as blood pooled around his head.

“Y/N, you okay?” A hand on your shoulder startled you and you quickly turned around, ready to fight what you assumed was a new threat.

You sighed in relief when you saw that it was only an extremely worried-looking Sam.

Without taking a few moments to get your breathing under control, you wildly looked around, only letting out a shout of: “Rowena!”

“She’s fine,” Sam assured you, but you ignored him, pushing him aside to look at your girl.

She was laying on the ground, trembling, bloody and bruised, but she was alive, and it was that realization that finally allowed you to calm down. Blondie laid motionlessly beside her, his forehead bearing a similar wound to that of Scruffy’s.

Without wasting another breath, you ran to her and knelt down next to her. “You’re alive,” you whispered, smiling brightly. “I thought I lost you.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” she commented, lips twisting in a pained grimace before forming a smile of her own.

“You dug the claws in, didn’t you? Just like Crowley said.”

“Aye.”

“You guys okay?” Dean asked.

“I am, but she…”

You enveloped Rowena in your arms, careful not to press on the injuries on her back, and raised her into a sitting position, letting her lean onto you for balance. She hissed, barely holding back the cries as the sudden movement disturbed her injuries.

“Oh, god,” you gasped. The wounds looked so much worse up close, and you could barely hold back new tears. You didn’t dare imagine what she must have been going through. If that were your back, you wouldn’t be able to stop screaming.

Sam and Dean grimaced as they took in the condition of her back. Looks of sympathy crossed their faces, but they were quick to hide them; they knew Rowena enough to know she’d mistake them for pity and take it as an offense against her dignity.

“Is it that bad?” Rowena asked weakly, head pressed into your chest.

“It is,” you replied. You didn’t have it in you to lie to her.

“It hurts like a bitch,” she said.

“No wonder.” You turned to the brothers. “Can your angel do something?”

You had nothing against caring for her, but having to watch her suffer for weeks until the wounds healed on their own would shatter you. You couldn’t bear the thought of her being in pain for that long.

Sam nodded. “Cas is right outside.”

“James Bond wannabes angel-proofed this place,” Dean explained. “Can you walk?”

“I can try,” Rowena said honestly.

Nodding in acknowledgment, he took his jacket off and handed it to you. You wrapped it around Rowena, muttering an apology for her pained flinches.

“Don’t force yourself,” you told her.

You wrapped one arm around her waist and let her take hold of the other one as you slowly rose to your feet. Rowena doubled over at one point, cradling her bruised ribs; you offered to try carrying her, but she insisted she could do it. You didn’t dare question her when she was that determined.

She took a few moments to get herself steady on her feet before linking her elbow with yours for support and taking slow, careful steps. She held onto you as if her life depended on it. For someone who had just minutes ago been viciously beaten and whipped, she had a lot of strength left in her. But you didn’t mind; not when she grabbed hard enough to leave bruises, not when her nails pressed into your skin. She had no intention of hurting you, and besides, it was nothing compared to the pain she was in.

As soon as you were out, squinting at the sunlight, Castiel approached you. Sam and Dean were quick to clue him in on what had happened while you led Rowena to the Impala, helping her sit on the hood. Normally, Dean would have snapped at her for disrespecting his precious Baby, but now he looked as if he didn’t even notice.

Or maybe he just pretended not to. After all, Rowena’s wellbeing was most important.

“Let me see,” Castiel said.

You removed Dean’s jacket, exposing Rowena’s injured back.

“Looks like I ruined yer jacket,” she commented, motioning to the blood-soaked fabric.

“It’s just a jacket,” Dean said, sending her a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can you heal it?” you asked Castiel.

He frowned, sympathy alike that of Sam and Dean’s crossing his face. “Not everything. I can heal the worst of it.”

“I’ll take it,” Rowena said eagerly, prompting the angel to nod.

He gently laid a hand on her chest, closing his eyes for a short moment. You squeezed Rowena’s hand for support, shooting her an encouraging smile. She could do it. Even if the angel doesn’t heal everything, you firmly believed she had it in her to get through it. She was strong, your girl. She wouldn’t have survived for over three centuries had she not been tough.

When Castiel removed his hand, Rowena took a deep breath, swallowing hard as she brought her free hand to her stomach and pressed lightly, feeling the wounds hidden underneath the torn dress.

You cupped her cheek, turning her head so you could look her in the eye. You noticed the bruises on her face had faded. Light shades of yellowish-green still adorned her skin, the last traces of painful welts.

“How are you feeling?” you asked.

“Better,” she replied. And she sounded it, too. Her voice was weak no more; that signature strength was back and kicking.

“Happy to hear that.”

She looked down to her stomach. “It hardly hurts.”

You smiled contently. “Let me see your back.”

Lines were still visible on her skin. They were red in color and looked as if they stung, but there were no painful gashes, no torn skin or bleeding cuts. Each was closed, the only reminder of them the caked blood adorning her pale skin.

“How’s it look?” Rowena inquired.

“Better!” you beamed. “No cuts.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Does anything hurt?”

“A bit,” she replied honestly. “But nowhere close to how it hurt a moment ago.” She gave Castiel a grateful look. “Thank ye. All of ye.”

Castiel, as well as Sam and Dean, looked taken aback by her thanks. Not that you blamed them; Rowena wasn’t a pleasantries kind of person. She was probably the last person they expected gratitude from.

“Yeah. Thanks,” you said.

“You’re welcome,” the angel said awkwardly.

“We were just doing our job,” Sam said, unsure how to properly respond.

“Yeah,” Dean added.

“Still, we appreciate it,” you told them. “We owe you.” Rowena elbowed you in the ribs. “I owe you.”

Dean chuckled. “It’s kinda our fault you were in this mess in the first place.”

Sam nodded. “You were making a potion for us.”

“About that… Think you guys could wait a bit?” you asked. Your main priority was taking care of Rowena. “I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” Rowena said, rolling her eyes in an overly dramatic manner. “Don’t know if ye missed it, but the angel just healed me.”

“You’re most certainly not fine,” you chided. “After what those assholes did to you, I’m not letting you overexert yourself.”

“I’m not a child, Y/N. Ye can’t tell me what to do.”

“In this case, I can. You’re not doing this. End of discussion.”

She shot you a pointed look. “Have ye forgotten who ye’re talkin’ to?”

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” you countered, having had enough of her stubbornness. “I love you, sweet girl. I love you so much and I can’t let you get hurt again. You say you’re fine? Good for you, ‘cause I’m not! I watched him do all those things to you, and I could do nothing – nothing – to stop it. But now I can – and I will. You’re not getting hurt on my watch again. You can hate me for it. You can think I’m weak. I don’t care. But you are not getting hurt!”

Tears spilled from your eyes and Rowena was quick to pull you into a comforting embrace. “Oh, darlin’.”

You held onto her as if your life depended on it. You never wanted to let go of her again.

“The potion can wait,” Sam said. “Y/N’s right, Rowena. You need to get some rest.”

“Want us to drop you off somewhere?” Dean offered.

“That would be nice,” Rowena said. “Thank ye.”

“My apartment,” you said. “It’s not far from here.”

The brothers nodded.

“Hop in,” Sam said.

For the entirety of the drive you had your arm linked with Rowena’s, as if she would vanish if you were to let go. After what happened today, you weren’t going to that that chance.

If this horrible experience had taught you anything, it was that you were taking Rowena for granted. Instead of appreciating her, you just assumed she would always be here. How could she not? She’s already survived for three centuries; she could live for three more.

Only, it was more complicated than that. She was a survivor, yes, but she was also vulnerable and fragile (even if it usually didn’t seem that way) just like everyone else.

Just like you.

The first thing you did when you arrived at your apartment, after locking the door, was run her a hot, soothing bath. Despite her protests that she could do it on her own, you helped her out of her dress and threw the ruined thing in the trash.

You cringed as you took in the condition of her body. Underneath all the dirt and dried blood there were bruises upon bruises on her abdomen. They were all in their late stages of healing, barely visible, but still there. The sight almost brought tears back to your eyes.

“I’m fine,” Rowena said, noticing your tormented expression. “They’ll be gone in a few days.”

“They shouldn’t be there in the first place,” you said, turning your head away from her downtrodden face. “Come on.”

You took her by the hand to help her into the bathtub. She sat down between your legs and you began to wash her, making sure to be gentle as to not hurt her. Despite her injuries being almost completely healed, pressing onto them still caused her pain – insignificant pain, but pain none the less. She’d been through enough for one day. The last thing she needed was for you to hurt hr.

Again, you thought, swallowing back the tears of regret.

As if she read your mind, Rowena broke the silence that had fallen between you: “What happened today wasn’t yer fault.”

“He tortured you to hurt me,” you said, Blondie’s words echoing in your head like an ominous prophecy. If you’d just gone quietly, he wouldn’t have hurt her. You’d have been dead, but Rowena would not have suffered.

“He was a sick bastard,” Rowena said venomously. “Even if you’d never thrown that hex bag, he would’ve found a reason to torture us. They’re the British Men of Letters – that’s what they do. Simply killin’ isn’t enough for them. They want us to suffer for bein' inhuman. This wasn’t about ye, darlin’. It was about them.”

The sane part of you knew that was true. That entire organization consisted of monsters in human clothing; even the seemingly nicest of their sort had an unimaginable darkness to them.

But still, the fact remained that the only reason Blondie had tortured Rowena was your murder of his brother. He made you watch. He made you listen. He made sure you would always remember the torments he inflicted upon her.

“But he made me watch, Rowena.” Everything you’ve been holding in came pouring out in a fit of sobs. You put your arms around her, pulling her close to you, letting your chin rest on her shoulder as you wept. “He made me watch.”

“My sweet girl,” Rowena whispered, clasping her hands over yours in an attempt at comfort. “Don’t cry. It’s over now. I’m fine. These bruises will heal in no time and soon I’ll be as good as new.”

“I can’t get it out of my head. Whenever I close my eyes, I see him doing those things to you. And I just watch and I… I can’t do anything to help you. They didn’t let me help you, Rowena! I couldn’t protect you!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Rowena said softly, herself on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Ye didn’t do anythin’.”

“Exactly! I didn’t.”

“You couldn’t,” Rowena corrected. “What happened is entirely on them. Don’t dwell on bad memories. It will do ye no good.”

“I can’t get them out of my head.”

“They’ll fade with time. Just remember I’m here and I love ye. Nothin’s ever goin' to change that. I will never leave ye, darlin’. ”

You nodded. Her words didn’t make you feel that much better, but it was progress. Just knowing that she would always be there was enough to make you feel at peace again.

“Let me hold you,” you told her. “Let me be by your side for the next few days. I need to make myself believe this is real. Because right now it all feels like a dream, and I’m scared I’ll wake up any time now and you won’t be here.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m all yers, darlin’. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Thank you, Rowena.” You laid a kiss to her neck. “I love you.”

She smiled. “And I love ye.”

Editor: @apritelleorai

[lyndsssssss135]

I feel like the last 6 months of my life have been the worst. But also the best. I realised how unhappy I was being surrounded by toxic people. For feeling the pressure to live up to an expectation and being punished for when I didn't live up to it. I didn't like who I was becoming as a person. I felt weak and embarrassed at the thought of needing help. Days were I felt normal became less frequent. At my lowest I even questioned why there were any days at all. I carried on with the mindset that this "bad mood" couldn't last forever, things would always be fine in the end. I had no reason to be this stressed and miserable. I had a well paid job, I bought my brand new car, a beautiful girlfriend and a great family. Throughout this I was too blind to see that the person I truly love more than life itself was suffering just as much as I. I was absent. I was no longer the girl they knew. I now know they felt alone and I became unapproachable. I palmed off my moods on my pre-period cycle every time they brought it up. But still they held on to what we had in hope that I'd get better. That we'd get better. But it just wasn't happening. Even though they knew I was still myself deep down. I knew it too. I vowed to them at new year that 2017 was going to be different. I had a gut feeling. Fast forward just 18 days into the new year, I was told that I was being "paid off" from my job. The job I accepted after said employer practically begged me to take it, which uprooted me from a job I was already happy and settled in. The challenge and the benefits appealed to me so it felt right. Boy was I wrong. It became a very bittersweet 6 months. They claimed their financial troubles were the ultimate cause of having to lose me, but again, my gut instinct told me otherwise. No evidence to back it up, not open to understand I was willing to take a cut in salary, and the fact it came after a time of uncertain feelings towards the manager. I was told to leave half way through my shift as it was effective immediately. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to the staff I had grown bonds with and the customers who made me feel so welcome and loved. To this day, they still haven't told everyone the real reason as to why I "left". I sat in my car and I sobbed. I literally sobbed. I had one full months pay coming in 7 days and that was it. I was £1400 away from being in big trouble. I hadn't been unemployed since I was 18. The thought of having bills to pay and debts and having to find another job made me feel ill. This year was meant to be better, now it just got even worse. I eventually calmed down and drove home. My "father in-law" was waiting for me with a cuddle and I sobbed for a little while more. The strangest thing then happened. All of a sudden it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders when it sunk in that I never had to go back to the root of the problem. I then organised myself financially. Ive always been good with money, luckily with savings and always being a month ahead of myself, I now had myself covered for at least another 3 months, surely I would find a job in 3 months? I started to feel like everything could be okay, maybe even better than okay. That night I applied for what felt like a million jobs. I hadn't seen her all day since this happened due to work. She came home and I knew we were gonna have to talk. I broke down and poured my heart out. I addressed the problems from the previous 3 months and she finally told me that she was unhappy. For once we were finally opening up to each other. A long and bittersweet conversation lead to us knowing what we both needed to know: things had to change and fast. I don't make promises lightly, but I promised her that the worst of it was over. In hindsight, I was definitely correct. The next day, we got to spend some time together. One thing that made me relieved was that I now had time to myself again and time to spend with her, our days off when we both worked very seldom matched. That afternoon, one day after getting let go, I received a phone call. I was asked to interview for a job I had applied for, and it was one of the ones I wanted most. Surely it wasn't going to work itself out this fast? A day later I went to the interview, personally nailed it and was impressed with what I saw. I knew as I walked out after it I wanted the job even more. This was about to be the longest 3 day wait ever. Tuesday came and the phone rang again. I got the job. My new boss knew she wanted to hire me as soon as the interview was over. I was the happiest I had been in what felt like forever. So in the space of a week, my life felt fucked, then fine, then great. Everything always works out in the end. Fast forward to now, i finally feel like myself again. I have settled into my job great, my team are amazing. Ive also been losing weight and becoming healthier which has also been beneficial to my mental health, I now know the importance of you get out what you put in. And most importantly I now know how lucky I am to have my girlfriend, my best friend, by my side. She could have walked away from me so many times, but she didn't. She believed in me. She believed in us. I know there is still a long way to go, I have a lot of making up for lost time to do. But every day I make sure she knows how she makes me feel. The thought of losing her was too hard to take. I know literally no one is going to read this. But I definitely needed to get it out. I needed closure. I am finally myself again.