#... just to make it clear this is only partially canon for him. >_>;

[glutengoblin]

The Anatomy of Trust (Part 1)

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Reader

Summary: Training under Gothi to become the village healer, Y/N often found herself alone on Berk. It didn't help that her icy personality (and dragon to match) seemed to chase everyone away. But, when a plea to a childhood friend is finally accepted, Y/N finds herself in for the ride of her life.

A/N: This is my first time writing for HTTYD in... years. So please forgive me if I get some details wrong and feel free to correct me in the comments! It's been ages since I've watched the shows.

This fanfic is set around the time frame of Race to the Edge, although I want to age up the characters to about ~22 just because of some mature themes I'm planning on including later on.

Anyway, please let me know if you enjoy this and if I should continue!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Aged Up Characters, Canon Divergence

Even though everyone knew it was almost impossible to see a nightfury, it didn't stop Y/N from squinting up at the night sky.

Well, she personally hoped that she wouldn't see one flying towards her, Y/N was hopeful she would at least catch a glimpse of Toothless. At least something to let her know that they were alright and they had finally made it back safe.

As she stood with her arms wrapped around her to protect herself from the chill of the wind, she hoped she had remembered the date correctly.

“We'll leave the day after next, then return about 5 from then,” Hiccup had shared a week ago, as she had carefully wrapped his arm from his last misadventure.

Nowadays, infirmary visits seemed to be the only way she would even see him. He and his posse were too busy off exploring for him to have time for someone as simple as the town medic. Someone so independent, who always made it clear that she could survive on her own.

That didn't stop her from looking for him though. Staring at the night sky when she knew he was supposed to return, hoping to catch a peek of him when he finally did.

The cold was starting to truly seep into her bones when her dragon, Snowmist, tried to nudge her back inside the small building that housed the infirmary. Y/N and Gothi had worked together to design it when it was clear that Gothi's hut wouldn't be enough to house the injuries that came with the increase in visitors and misadventures.

Despite Snowmist's incessant bothering, Y/N just stood there stubbornly and took another sip of her tea, which had gone cold from the snow wraith's nearness.

“I'm fine Snowmist,” Y/N said, rubbing her dragon's snout exactly where she liked it. “I'm just worried about them, that's all.”

Snowmist gave her a look, as if to say ‘we both know it's more than that.’

And somewhere, stored deep inside, Y/N knew she was right. She had had feelings for Hiccup since they were children, playing tag amongst the wildflowers on the hills towering over their town. She had always wished for him to be something more than a friend, but in the wake of him bringing dragons into their lives, she had tried her best to shove those feelings down.

The Hiccup whom she had once lamented with about not fitting in with the other kids had turned into Hiccup, future chief of Berk. She knew that at his core he was still the same kind, funny, and clever boy she had first cherished… but something had definitely shifted within him. With the sudden adoration of the entire island had come a confidence, one that helped him make new friends and leave her in the dust.

She did know that it was partially her fault too – the fact their friendship seemed to have all but disappeared. She was stubborn, like most of Viking kind, but to the point where she had a tendency to ice people out, act as if she didn't need anyone else in her life to feel fulfilled. Just her dragon and her work with Gothi, becoming the village healer.

But still she stood, watching the early winter night sky for any sign that a nightfury may be approaching. And eventually, she saw it. The sudden disappearance of stars from the sky, a dark shape moving ever closer. She set her mug down on the table, and rolled up her sleeves, unsure of what state she may find them in.

Toothless sat down gently on the ground, carefully avoiding the trees that littered the outskirts of the infirmary. As Y/N drew nearer to the familiar dragon rider, her eyes traveled over his figure.

Hiccup Haddock sat still strapped into his saddle, hair tousled from the wind and breath gone from his chest. While his armor looked completely intact, his face became etched with pain as he reached to unlatch himself.

“What on earth have you done to yourself this time?” Y/N demanded, as she raced over to his side and offered him her hands to help him down.

Hiccup let out a pained laugh, as they began to move through the field and towards the infirmary, as Toothless trailed close behind. “Nothing that you can't patch up, for sure.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at that, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You know one day, you will do something to yourself that I can't simply ‘patch up’. Have you thought about what you're going to do with yourself then?” She shouldered open the door, and led him over to the small bed in the center of the room, helping him lie down slowly before moving a step back.

“I don't think you have enough faith in yourself, Y/N. I've never seen you stumped before.”

She stared at his leg as if in argument.

“Okay, well that's different. There wasn't anything left for you to work with.” Hiccup let out a laugh which quickly turned to a pained cough that rattled his form. Y/N quickly brushed off the heat that his flattery had caused, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Care to show me what my challenge is this time?” Her eyes traveled once again over his form, but she still couldn't see what the issue was. She always wished that she had something more than just fire light and few measly lanterns to work with.

When Hiccup began to peel off the layers of his armor, Y/N quickly closed in to help him. Mentally, she did her best to will herself to not think of the implications these actions could have in another context. No, they were not two lovers helping each other out of their constraints – Hiccup was her patient, and he deserved her undivided attention just like anyone else.

When he finally had pulled his shirt up to reveal his torso – and the lean muscle that definitely had a crimson crawling up her cheeks now – she saw what was causing so much pain. He had two large bruises, marring his torso in an ugly black and blue splotch.

“How did this happen?” she asked as she reached out to feel the spots, checking for signs of broken ribs. Thankfully, she didn't feel any signs, but the yelp that Hiccup let out definitely indicated his ribs were bruised.

Once she finished her examination, she moved across the creaking wood floor over to her workbench, beginning to prepare a salve to lessen the pain as Hiccup answered.

“Got hit by the tail of a bone snatcher, unfortunately. We stumbled upon its nest by accident, and before I could try to explain that it was an accident, WHAM, straight to the torso. Thankfully, Astrid was there to help; otherwise, I may have also become part of the collection.” Hiccup let out another soft laugh at his own joke, but Y/N's spine stiffened at the mention of her name. Astrid. She had never disliked the girl for any tangible reason, other than the claim that she seemed to have over Hiccup's heart. He had confessed his feelings for her multiple times when they were children. But for some reason, now, even after Hiccup had become the most eligible bachelor on the Isle, they still weren't together. Y/N wasn't sure why, but it wasn't exactly her place to go asking questions. Thus, she just returned to her rhythm, grinding until the paste-like consistency she was looking for was achieved.

When she didn't answer, a silence overtook them. Y/N was used to it at this point. Despite the popularity Hiccup had gained, he was still quite awkward, sometimes lacking the right words to fill the situation.

It was only when she moved back over towards him and began to apply the salve that he finally made noise again. A whimper escaped his lips as her fingers trailed across the wound, applying a thick layer.

As soon as she was done, she pulled up a stool to his bedside and perched, eyes analyzing his form for any other signs of injury.

“Any other mortal wound you'd like to share with me?” A small, rare smile twitched at the edge of her lips – prompting Hiccup to return the expression.

“Not at the moment, but I'm sure I'll have some more in no time.”

Y/N snorted as she stood up, and began to collect his armor from the wooden table she had placed it on. She watched as he began to dress himself again, the firelight illuminating his figure as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Just… try to be more careful Hiccup. Or, maybe, actually consider my offer.”

Hiccup stiffened at that, as if he was expecting the argument that was bound to ensue. As he finished pulling his armor on, he finally dared to look her in the eye.

The infirmary was still relatively small, and thus only a few feet separated them. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, the sort of posture that meant she was on the defensive.

Hiccup knew what she was going to push for again.

“I'm just saying,” her voice cut clear, with its typically icy slice, “that bringing me with you makes sense on multiple fronts. Having a healer at the Dragon's Edge would ensure that you don't have to ride so long in pain.” Hiccup still looked unconvinced, so she quickly added, “also, you know Gothi and I have been running low on supplies. I can use the Dragon's Edge as a jumping-off point to find more resources. I might even be able to find and research some new medicinal plants.”

Hiccup sighed, running another hand through his hair. At this point, it had to be a nervous tic of his. “I'll consider it. But it's dangerous and I–”

She quickly cut him off. “What? You're afraid I'll hurt myself? Let me remind you, Hiccup, that I completed the trial of flame just like the rest of you. I just decided I wanted to be a healer more. And don't you dare say that it's because I'm a girl, because we both know you let Astrid do whatever she wants.” Y/N couldn’t help the vitriol that tinged her voice.

The flabbergasted look on Hiccup's face might have been humorous, if she wasn't so angry at the moment.

“I–It's not that at all,” he sputtered, “I know you're strong Y/N… I just get worried–”

“Well don't.” She cut him off with a snap. “I can handle myself. Just let me know when you decide.” She turned away from him again, packaging up the leftover salve before handing it to him. “I would suggest reapplying that every 6 hours until the wound heals.” She began to clean her hands with a cloth that was attached to her apron, anger obviously painting the movements. “Come see me if you need more.”

Hiccup left silently with a nod, making it evident that words still escaped him.

“And if you ever decide you truly want me back in your life…”

Her softly whispered confession followed him out the door.

⋆｡°✩

The next day in the Great Hall, Y/N sat at her table.

Her table, which she was usually alone at in most instances, including now. The silence truly didn’t bother her, given that it just gave her more time to read.

Books were sometimes hard to come by on Berk, but thankfully the recent increase of trading had caused an influx on the island. Y/N often found herself bartering with traders, hoping to get her hands on any new pieces of medical literature she could find.

It was something she enjoyed immensely, but not many other vikings seemed to take a liking to. She could occasionally talk over some of findings with Fishlegs… But that was more so if they had to do with Dragon’s. While Y/N enjoyed knowing how to help dragon kind, for some reason she found herself drawn towards helping her human companions more.

She had helped herself to the majority of Gothi’s library at this point, so having access to new knowledge was always a special treat – one she thought was best served with lunch.

The hall was rowdy as ever, given Vikings were never a group to keep quiet. Thus, Y/N didn’t notice that someone had sat down in front of her until a hand waved between her nose and the book. It was it.

It was a hand she was ashamed to admit she’d be able to recognize anywhere. Long slim fingers, strong wrists with visible veins that appeared just enough to get her heart thrumming. It was Hiccup’s hand, alright. The only question was: why was he sitting at her table?

Y/N furrowed her brows and shut her book, looking up at him with confusion written across her face. “Is something wrong? Do you need more salve?” The expression he wore only served to confuse her more. His jaw was uncharacteristically tense for Hiccup, and he thrummed his other hand on the table, as if unsure about what he was going to say.

“I considered your request… About going to Dragon’s Edge.” Y/N’s eyebrows raised in surprise. After a couple of years of begging, she hadn’t expected him to finally relent after the tense conversation that they had had last night. If anything, she half expected his next words to be no, and the decision was final.

Hiccup swallowed nervously before spitting the words out. “You can go, but so long as you agree to one condition.” Y/N found herself nodding vigorously, in a way that was much too enthusiastic for the cool facade she often maintained. “You need to stay with me the entire time.” Hiccup only met her eyes then, in a look much too timid for the future chief of Berk – as if he was afraid that she would say no.

Instead, Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise before she blurted out, “That works for me but… why?” While she was worried that her question didn’t make sense, Hiccup seemed to catch on right away, his green eyes locked on hers.

“I just want to make sure you stay safe.”

[thecheshireprincess]

The Game Itself

Chapter VI: Does This Place Change People?

A Chishiya x childhood best friend reader (Niragi's sister!) AU Series

Content Warning: Canon-typical violence, killing, mentions of blood and injuries, curse words, mentions and reminders of an abusive father/childhood, Niragi is an absolute problem in this one

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Isn't it intriguing how quickly your mind can change about a person? Just yesterday you had thought that Takeru might not be as bad as you'd originally thought, having left your shopping expedition with him feeling even kind of fond of him.

And that still may be true for Takeru, if he even existed in his true form anymore. But you can be certain that Hatter really was as bad as you'd thought, after all. Maybe even worse.

You are absolutely seething. Agitation courses thickly through your veins, jaw clenching so tightly your facial muscles were at risk of snapping. You had been crystal clear about your boundaries; about the one singular rule you had when agreeing to join The Beach. We don't play games together. Hatter had carelessly cast this rule to the side, assigning you and Aguni to the same playing group as Chishiya tonight. And for what? What benefit was it to him to put the two of you together against your wishes?

You huff in irritation, anxiously wringing your hands and softly rocking backward on your heels. Trying anything to release the dark energy that was building under the surface of your skin without drawing attention to yourself. Chishiya stood silently, clearly unbothered by the situation, as always. His steady hands busied themselves with a pair of headphones he had found and fixed earlier in the week. Though his non-chalance should have calmed you, it only served to fan the flames of your frustration further. You want to shake his shoulders and ask why the fuck - how the fuck - he acted so emotionless all the time; you want to force a reaction from him.

Aguni stood across the dimly lit lobby from you with a militant he'd selected from his ever-growing pack. The man had unruly black hair only partially tamed by a bandana and was dressed in all denim. You knew he thought he was cool. You glared daggers into Aguni for good measure, if only for his association with Hatter. If the man noticed your wrathful gaze, he didn't show it - relaxing back against the wall, eyes lazily studying the cracked ceiling. Bored. You're really quite on edge today, you notice, finding a reason to be upset with absolutely everyone. Probably because your brother had murdered someone last night in cold blood, and you felt guilty for it.

Before you can grind your teeth into dust as a result of the emotions thundering around you, you're distracted by two guys entering the lobby. The scrawnier of the two has shaggy brown hair; the other blonde, an orange Hawaiian shirt draped over his thin but muscular build. It was obvious they weren't new to playing these games because they snatched up their phones without question and settled into an empty space to wait with the rest of you.

The shaggy haired guy speaks in a low voice to his friend, "Look how many people are here! Do you think one of them is a doctor?" Your eyes snap to his face at this, instinctively moving closer. Why did they need a doctor? Should you help?

Chishiya drags you back to stand slightly behind him, lifting your hood over your head as a reminder to keep it reigned in. Emotionless, remember? "Don't even think about it," he murmurs, not even looking up at you. After a moment of silence, he hands you one of the headphones he had been fidgeting with previously.

The gesture makes you chuckle a little bit, realizing how normal this interaction is; how you had previously taken soft moments like this for granted. You could almost imagine the two of you waiting at the train station instead, heading off to class or the library. Maybe even shopping if it was the weekend. You suddenly miss the mundane aspects of your life before, where the most you had to worry about was passing your physiology exams. And being comforted by your brother when you nearly failed. The memory of that day, only a few weeks ago, pressed itself in your mind and made your heart squeeze in melancholy. Remembering how Niragi had babied you that day, trying to press his hand against your forehead when he thought you were sick. And how you'd pushed him away.

Now that that version of your brother was gone and may never return again, you wish you had let him stay close for a just little bit longer.

You sigh dejectedly, tentatively laying your head against Chishiya's shoulder while you continue waiting for the game to start. You expect your friend to tense up, or maybe even push your head off of him - he's never really cared for public displays of affection. Never really had any reason to. And that was even when it was more platonic between you than you suspected it had become. What exactly was going on between the two of you, anyway?

You're amazed when he doesn't move an inch, not reacting in any discernable way. You're even more amazed when the man silently reaches his right hand to take your left one in his, soothingly running his cool thumb over your knuckles.

It's a rare moment of peace you're afforded with your friend in this place, and you're grateful for it. Your tired eyes flutter closed, allowing the soft rhythm of the song you know Chishiya has chosen specifically for you to wash over your entire being, transporting you from this place, if only for a moment.

You drift in an ethereal space, cultivated by the breathtaking lyrics and gentle melody of your favorite song. Though your friend hadn't necessarily intended for you to hear what he said early this morning while you were drifting back off to sleep, you had.

Don't give up on him yet, Koko. Just keep playing the game, and we'll be home soon enough.

You weren't sure what to make of what he said, and it honestly gave you more questions than answers. So it was a game that Niragi was playing, and somehow he must have dragged Chishiya into it. That could explain the tension between the two of them, because you knew your friend would be uncomfortable hiding anything from you. But it felt like more than that.

Your relationship with Niragi was definitely questionable at this point in the game, but you trusted Chishiya with your entire life, your entire heart. He'd never do anything to betray that, right?

[Registration is Now Closed] Your eyes blink open, marking the end of your tranquil moment. You stand up straight, stretching your neck out slightly as the cheerful voice you hadn't missed the last couple of days rings out around you. Chishiya wraps the headphones up, sticking them safely in his pants pocket. The man then kneels to pick up his newest invention from where it lay on the concrete floor, charging. You hadn't asked about it, you honestly didn't really want to know.

Another player, one wearing a blue ballcap and acting flighty, frantically starts asking the two guys from before what's going on. He is obviously a new arrival in this world, about to play his very first game. Your condolences. You find it strange how you've been here so long and there are still new people starting their journey here every night.

You hear the shaggy haired guy - the one who had been asking for a doctor - start to tell him about the game you'd soon be playing, only to be cut off by his friend. You understood, Chishiya had done the same to you in your very first game. Don't react to the others, they could hold us back.

[Difficulty: Five of Spades] Relief floods your body, at least it isn't a Hearts game. A fit girl with a bob cut starts stretching her legs out on the floor where she had once been standing. Not a bad idea.

[Game: Game of Tag] Sharing a quick glance with your friend, you wonder how a simple game of tag could earn a rank five. And who would be the tagger? You hoped it wasn't another game of player vs. player like your second game had been - what if you and Chishiya had to play against each other? This was why you didn't want to do this!

[Rule: Run away from the Tagger.] Simple.

[Clear Condition: Discover the safezone hidden in one of the building rooms within the time limit. You clear the game when this objective is fulfilled.] A little more challenging, but still simple.

[Time Limit: Twenty Minutes]

[Game Over: After twenty minutes has passed, a time bomb hidden in the building will explode.] A time bomb? Fuck.

You scan the room briefly, the large group of players who had previously been chattering amongst themselves had now fallen stoically silent. With just twenty minutes to stop a time bomb and hide from the Tagger, everyone seemed to realize that this might be a little more on the challenging side. Especially housed in such a sprawling building.

Chishiya interlaces his fingers with yours once more, pulling you gently in the direction of the centrally located elevator. No time to lose, you need to choose a starting position with only two minutes until the Tagger is on the move. The rest of the group seems to be kickstarted by your motion, players anxiously scattering and yelling amongst each other to figure out where to go.

"Where are we going?" You decide to ask your friend, watching as the elevator slowly rises upward, the red number shining above you getting higher.

"To the perfect vantage point, of course. We get to choose our starting position, so the best course of action is to get to the highest place to see everything happening below us." As always, you're glad Chishiya is on your side and not your enemy.

When the dusty elevator chimes at floor seven, the top floor, Chishiya leads you out to the far corner of the concrete banister to look out over the apartment building. A cool gust of air brushes along your exposed cheeks, causing a chill to run down your spine and making your body shiver. Chishiya steals a glance at you, suddenly pulling you closer to him to help block the chill in the night air. He pulls your back to be flush against his chest and cages his arms gently around you; one hand settling at your hip and the other resting easily on the wall on front of you. He looks down at you, you tilting your head a bit to meet his gaze. "Better?" he hums in question.

Your lips quirk up in a smirk. "Much better," you whisper. You wonder briefly how inappropriate it would be to suddenly kiss your best friend in the middle of a death game, but you miss your opportunity once again. Chishiya's gaze is pulled from you to someone across the building - Aguni and his militant partner.

The blonde waves empathically, almost making you laugh at how uncharacteristic it is, only to be met with a stone cold stare from the muscular man.

"What? That's nasty!" Chishiya remarks, causing you to snort. You grin at Aguni, giving a small wave of your own. Aguni smiles slightly back then winks at you, before turning on his heel and heading back towards the central staircase.

Chishiya sucks in a breath and instinctively pulls you closer, causing you to let out a full laugh this time. "Jealous again, are we?" You tease with a lilt in your tone. The man simply grumbles incoherently, shifting both hands to hold your hips now. Possessively.

You lean your head back against Chishiya, head pressed into the crevice between his neck and shoulder. You feel the way his breath catches and heart pounds against his pulse point - so maybe he's not so emotionless after all. THIS you could work with, this got you feeling a little excited.

Obviously trying to distract himself, your friend remarks with a smirk, "Let's see. . . everyone looks like they're about to die, as usual." The corner of your lips tilt slightly, "Oh come on, give them a chance." You both study the playing field in a comfortable silence for a few beats, quietly making bets in your heads on who would be making it out of the arena.

[The Tagger is on the move] the robotic voice informs you, accompanied by an obnoxious fanfare blasting throughout the arena. Game time.

You lean forward again, still tangled safely in Chishiya's arms, his touch helping to ground you and keep you calm. You had to say, you were kind of enjoying playing this game with him, now that you knew you could both survive it.

You inspect the people running through the apartment complex, feet pounding loudly against the cement flooring. Most of them were panicking already. No clear sign of the Tagger yet. The tension around the complex is buzzing like an electric field; you were just waiting for the first person to get electrocuted.

You don't have to wait for long, because suddenly a round of gunshots echo out across the concrete, startling you back from the railing and further into the blonde's arms. He wraps both arms tightly around you, squeezing you tight as he looks for the source of the gunshots. Being tagged in this game evidently equated to being shot to death. Brutal.

The two guys from the lobby burst into the hallway of the third floor, a massive horse masked figure following them slowly, but menancingly. The Tagger. You felt your heart stop briefly - now that's a terrifying sight. They are smart enough to hide in a doorway outside of his vision, allowing them to escape with their lives for now; the Tagger moving back towards the stairs to find more victims.

You watch in horror as the sketchy guy who had been with the boys at the start of the game runs screaming down the hallway on the first floor, bullets being pelted into his back. The Tagger had found him. Another man, witnesses this and gives up immediately, exiting the boundary of the game arena and being greeted by the red laser from the sky.

Your eye twiches slightly and you feel kind of guilty for standing around watching, while everyone else searches for the safezone. Losing their lives. You don't dare go against Chishiya's strategy, though, the man squeezing his hand against your hip in reassurance.

You are surprised out of your skin when the shaggy haired guy suddenly appears again sprinting down one of the hallways, shouting at the top of his lungs, "everyone! The Tagger is currently at the second level of the central area! The Tagger has bad vision because of his mask! Let's inform each other each other of the Tagger's location and search for the safezone together!" You watch with widened eyes, the man bravely risking giving up his location to help the others, as his blonde friend frantically tries to silence him.

Chishiya looks on, "It's a good idea, but no one will respond." You smirk, twisting in his arms to look at him, "Some people are good, Shiya. Watch." You are certain that someone will respond, they have to. You need them to, you need to continue to have hope in humanity.

"The tagger is moving from the fourth level of the central area! Anyone nearby, run!" A feminine voice calls out, from a location you cannot see. Your heart soars and you grin widely at Chishiya, who glances down at you in quiet astonishment. "Really?"

The girl who had been stretching in the lobby suddenly darts down the long stretch of the building, attempting to get another player out of the area. Unfortunately, the Tagger is not far behind, and you suck in a deep breath awaiting their inevitable executions. The girl jumps up on the water spout and scales the building to get away, having to leave the other woman behind. You gasp, absolutely floored by her skill.

"Oh? A climber," Chishiya notes, a small smile gracing his face. "She's good." You continue staring, lips parted. "Amazing, actually," you breathe, stunned.

Your attention is caught by the guy in the blue baseball cap again, checking doors for the safezone. As he gets to one close to the central area of the building, bullets suddenly rain down upon him. You're surprised, unable to see the Tagger. He must be shooting from across the building at a long distance - but why would he? You think on this question for a minute or two, eyes locked on the blue metal door to the apartment. Chishiya smiles, knowing you had figured it out too.

Eventually, your friend pulls his phone from his hoodie pocket to show you the time remaining - [6:35]. He spins you delicately in his arms, removing your hood from your head and fixing your hair, "shall we begin?"

You and Chishiya approach the door, seeing the shaggy haired guy from the lobby about to twist the silvered knob. Arisu, you think you remembered hearing his friend call him when he was helping the boy in the baseball cap.

"So you realized that too?" Chishiya applauds him, tone cold and mocking.

The guy nods once, "yes. The safezone is in this apartment." He hesitates a bit, still hanging onto the door knob. Chishiya stares at him, eyes shining with a hint of amusement.

"Aren't you going to open it?" You ask him, tone as cold are you were capable of, though not necessarily mean.

"Why did the Tagger chase us?" The man muses, "They could have just waited here." You had thought that too. What if there was a trap waiting inside? But what could you really do? Time was literally ticking down.

Chishiya hums from beside you, eyes still amused, "seems like there's something else we don't know. However, if you don't open it . . . " He trails off, lifting his phone again to show timer flashing on the screen.

[03:06]

The man steels himself with another nod and opens the door, the metal groaning loudly as it swings open. The three of you peek in carefully, seeing nothing obvious awaiting you in the darkness. Arisu and Chishiya step through the door, you at their heels. You're all looking around quickly, searching for the button that will stop the time bomb from detonating and clear the game.

You hear a slight creak in the old flooring from behind you, spinning around and letting out a yelp when you see a second horse head Tagger approaching your group. Arisu pushes all three of you to the ground, Chishiya reaching out with his new contraption to shock them. You and Arisu look at Chishiya bewildered as you return to standing, him simply shrugging, "it never hurts to be prepared."

Prepared, you were not. The Tagger haphazardly rains bullets towards the three of you from the floor, Chishiya's arm finding your waist and pulling you with him back out of the front door, and Arisu proceeding forward into the other room and slamming the door. You hear bullets collide with the metal of the door in front of you as it closes; that had been a close brush with death.

Dazed, you find yourself sprawled in Chishiya's lap, both of you panting desperately for air. He leans the side of his body against the door, quickly cradling your face in his hand. He runs the other hand over your body, eyes quickly searching for injuries. Chestnut eyes suddenly wild and face contorted into an expression you didn't recognize on his face.

"Are you hurt?" He asks, though still checking over you for himself. You shake your head, mind still reeling. "Good," he says with more emotion than you think you've ever heard from him. He pulls you closer to him, arm looped around your shoulder and kisses your forehead, wrapping his arms tightly around you as you both stand back up.

You peek at Chishiya from your peripheral vision, wondering what that had been about. Though he has since returned a neutral look to his face, you quickly realize that the unrecognizable emotion in him had been fear. Fear for you. You had never seen Chishiya be afraid, not of anything. This causes your heart to race a little faster, you needed to clear this game.

It's then that Arisu's voice calls out, "Someone please come over! The safezone is in apartment 406! It's impossible to clear the game alone! We need two people to do this!"

"Seriously?" Chishiya sighs, and you instinctively try to open the door again, but Chishiya holds you back. Glaring at him, he relents, "we have to time it right. There's still a Tagger in there with a loaded gun. We have to be strategic about it." The two of you wait for a moment, straining your ears to hear what's happening inside the room. Once it sounds like the Tagger has gotten into the second room with the man, you enter quietly, ready to strike.

The climber girl simultaneously busts through the window to help Arisu, "You called?" she asks. Arisu continues struggling with the Tagger, and Chishiya tosses the taser to the girl. She moves swiftly, pressing it into their leg and knocking them to the floor once more. You move into the second room now, kicking the gun out of the Tagger's grasp. You hold your breath as the couple leaps towards the buttons situated on either side of the room, hitting them just in time.

[Game Clear - Congratulations] You glance down at your phone in shock, reading the time remaining - 00:01. You had cut this one way too close. You loudly exhale the breath you'd been holding, shoulders sinking as you release some of the tension.

Another phone in the room chimes, signaling a Game Over. You spin around to the Tagger, who was now slumped against the wall, horse mask discarded on the floor. You find yourself kneeling down towards her, revealed to be a normal looking woman, someone who was eerily familiar. You know those brown orbs, you'd recognize them anywhere. Even when they stared back at you in terror, defeated. Your own eyes widen at the magnitude of your realization. Himari. Your neighbor is here, had been forced to play these games just like you, but on the opposite side.

"Himari, you're a player too," you whisper to the older lady, the collar you'd just noticed clasped restrictively around her neck suddenly beeping rapidly. You feel your breath catch in your chest, the familiar lump in your throat forming once again.

"No, no, no, no!" you shout in distress, eyes crazed and hands flexing and un-flexing. Trying to figure out a solution quickly. What could you do? The woman who had always been kind to you simply says your name, "keep winning."

The obnoxious beeping gets faster still, before finally detonating. You jump back as the poor woman's blood splashes everywhere, coating the previously white wall, Chishiya who was standing in the doorway, and you. You allow yourself to fall backwards onto the cold, hard floor absolutely shocked and shaking.

Arisu and the climber girl that had been standing behind you watching the exchange slowly approach, concern etched on their faces. "Are you okay?" The man asks slowly, holding a shaking hand out to you. You can't bring yourself to react.

"She's fine, you can leave now," Chishiya tells them coldly, coming to stand protectively over you, latching onto the hood of your jacket. You weren't sure if that action was to comfort you or him. You don't move, still staring, eyes unfocused at the gruesome scene before you. She had been a player too. Are all the dealers of the games just like you? Fighting for their lives? Who would take care of Himari's cats?

The two leave the apartment, though hesitantly. You were grateful because you didn't feel like socializing at this point, covered in someone else's blood. Someone that you had a hand in killing. Someone who you had known for years. Had shared cookies and tea with.

Chishiya kneels down next to you, one hand resting on your knee comfortingly. He begins checking the pockets of the camo tactical suit Himari was wearing with his free hand. You wanted to be aghast by his actions, but it was probably smart. You needed to know everything you possibly could about this place, and a game dealer might have valuable intel.

He finds a crumpled piece of white paper with a circle and several squiggles. What could those markings even mean? A map? Chishiya holds it up in front of both of you for a moment before tucking it away into his pocket.

He turns to you, attempting to wipe some of the blood from your face with his sleeve. He sighs when it presumably makes it worse, instead taking your hands and pulling you up with him. He must see your usual signs of crying, because he shushes you, "Not now. Not here, okay?" Cry later, we need to get back to The Beach.

Chishiya leads you into the elevator and presses the button to return to the lobby. You lay your head against the shiny surface of the wall, completely numb and unable to hold yourself up any longer. The cold press of the metal barely registers in your mind, as you allow yourself to drown in the shock of watching Himari die in front of you, her blood coating your skin.

The two of you exit the elevator when it chimes too cheerfully for your liking, re-entering the lobby where you had waited anxiously just half an hour ago. How quickly things can change. Your eyes find the Five of Spades card set mockingly on the table where the phones had been set up earlier. You snap it up into your blood soaked hands, annoyed that you'd once again be handing a bloodied card to Hatter.

Aguni catches up to the two of you outside the apartment, his partner nowhere in sight. Another casualty, you presume. You don't look up at him, and he doesn't say anything to either of you. He gets into the driver's seat of the car, looking only mildly surprised when you fall into the backseat beside Chishiya instead of sitting in the front with him. You're so tired. So cold. So numb.

You sit upright, face forward, body shaking. You will yourself not to freak out right now. But Himari's face was permanently etched in your mind's eye. It was all you could see, especially when you closed your eyes.

"Are you okay, little one?" Aguni asks, looking at you through the rear view mirror, concern etched on his features. You briefly realize that he's been injured too - a gash across his eye from some kind of knife? You couldn't lie, it would leave a badass scar one day.

You attempt to hum as an answer to his question, but it comes out more like a whimper. His question, so soft and sweet struck you to your core. You were not alright. You allow your body to slump down in silence, head falling into Chishiya's lap, face still forward and staring blankly at the old leather seat in front of you.

He clicks his tongue, brushing your hair from your face carefully, comfortingly. No one says anything as you drive home through the cold night air.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

When you enter the conference room that you love to hate to find Hatter, you still say nothing. The man looks up at your group expectantly and you place the card down in front of him, tapping it with a bloodied index finger as punctuation. His face lights up to see it isn't a duplicate, and you step away from the table allowing him to see Chishiya and Aguni behind you.

"And what about Riku, Aguni?" Hatter asks distractedly, twirling the card in his long fingers. You are certain he doesn't really care, it honestly comes out as more of a taunt. Aguni straightens a little, "a casualty." You hum internally, the denim-clad guy's name was Riku and he definitely died during tag.

Hatter nods knowingly, "That's too bad," he mumbles, "I know you liked him. Guess you'll have to find a replacement now." Aguni simply nods once, not giving anyone much to work with.

You hadn't noticed initially in your haze, but Ann is also sitting at the table, studying you carefully. As you attempt to retreat, she calls your name, "are you hurt? Can I help you?" It's a genuine and sweet offer. But you can't handle sweetness right now. Not when you'd just watched your neighbor explode in front of you, her blood now drying on your features.

"It's not mine," you say frostily, "just leave me alone." And despite everyone's shock at The Beach Princess turning into an ice queen suddenly, they do leave you alone. You turn on your heel and walk swiftly from the room, Chishiya at your heels.

You find yourself sat in front of the vanity in your bathroom, now wet hair dripping occasionally down your shoulders. Chishiya is behind you, working your brush delicately through the strands. Your silence somehow made Chishiya the talkative one, saying everything and nothing all at once. Attempting to bring you back to yourself. To distract you from the death of Himari and the cold realization that you weren't just playing for your lives. You were playing for your lives at the expense of someone else's.

You hear the soft click of the outer door to your hotel room opening, not bothering to react. It's probably just Kuina returning from her game and coming to check on you. More than likely, the entire Beach was aware that you'd returned from your game soaked in blood and acting weird. You're certain they'll all be talking about you soon enough; word travels fast around here.

You continue to stare blankly at your tired eyes in the mirror when a surprising figure joins you in the bathroom. In your current state, you don't bother to look up at your brother who was studying your appearance in the mirror.

"I heard you returned to The Beach coated in blood," the man starts, taking the brush from Chishiya's hands. Aguni must have gone to him.

"It wasn't mine," you spit, more venomously than you've ever dared to speak to him, "besides, I wasn't aware that you still cared." If Niragi is surprised by your attitude, he doesn't show it, and he doesn't correct you either, still gently - more gentle than you've seen this Niragi act - brushing through your hair.

"I do care, as a matter of fact," he clicks his tongue, "but somehow you seem to not realize just how precarious of a position we are all in." His voice is low, measured; as though he is at war with himself to not say the wrong thing. As if it would be easier for him to not be speaking with you at all. And maybe that's true.

You look incredulously at your brother through the mirror now, "yes and whose fault is it that we were brought here, Niragi?! You forced us to come here, forced the others to hunt us down for you. And for what? To be treated like shit and ignored and, and whatever you've done to Chishiya! You've quietly dictated my every move here, not telling me the rules to the game that you are playing and it isn't fair. Do you even understand how scared I am? You're a horrible brother for this." You finally tell him what you really think. How you really feel.

You probably should have left at least that last part unsaid, because Niragi does react now, sharply grabbing ahold of your jaw and forcing your gaze to meet his in the mirror. He brings his face down right beside your ear, "Enough," he growls dangerously. A tone that feels sickeningly familiar, yet strange coming from him all at once.

Your brother snarls your full name for the first time probably ever, "You have no idea what's going on here, no idea how dangerous our position is. I can't have you compromising things - do not come back to The Beach looking weak and terrified again. You need to be acting like you are at the top of the food chain, I have worked hard to ensure your position there. Do you hear me?"

You look at him with confused eyes. You don't understand any of this, not even for a second. He pauses, focusing on a knot in your hair, still, despite his cruel words and angry demeanor, attempting to be gentle.

"I don't want Aguni coming to me again telling me that you're falling the fuck apart. Even if you are physically falling apart, you keep it together," he commands, voice leaving no room for you to argue. Niragi snaps his head to Chishiya then, "And you are supposed to be ensuring that she does." Your friend just blinks slowly at your brother, the two suddenly engaged in a silent standoff.

You break their tension with your quiet voice, "But I trust Aguni." Your brother scoffs, eyes shining in amusement, "Oh you trust him, do you? That's sweet." He rolls his eyes, mocking you. "Well I fucking don't! Why do you think that Chishiya was at your game with you tonight? Because I made it so! You will be playing with one of us from now on, sweetheart."

You stared, mouth agape at the man standing behind you. And so it had been Niragi that had carelessly disregarded your only rule. He had crossed a clearly set boundary and shattered your trust. Looking carefully at his reflection, you barely recognized him as the man you'd always known. Everything about him was different, from his cold, blackened eyes to the way he carried himself, more cocky now. He'd even pierced his tongue, a thought that made you shiver in disgust. You didn't know this person, and now you weren't sure you could even trust him.

Chishiya stayed locked in on your hair, jaw clenched tightly. His fingers silently braided the right side of your still damp locks, Niragi focusing on the left. You looked to him for help a couple of times but noticed that he wouldn't meet your gaze.

When the boys were finished with your hair, you rise from the stool you'd been perched on heading straight to the bed. You weren't a fan of the tension in the room, and a part of you wished for Niragi to leave so Chishiya could relax. So you could relax? But the bigger part of you has to know, if you ask your brother to stay, will he? Niragi always stays.

You slide your body under the still way too scratchy blankets, in the bed that was still way too hard for your liking, pressing your tired head into the pillow. Chishiya comes to sit on his side of the bed, making no move to actually go to sleep, nor look at either of you. Just staring at the pattern on the comforter that always seemed to be more interesting than anything else to him.

Your thoughts are swirling, and your heart can't get past it. You need to tell Niragi what happened or it will haunt you forever. It probably would anyway. You feel your eyes filling with tears, biting your cheek and looking down at your still shaky hands, "Himari was one of the game dealers tonight. A collar around her neck exploded when we cleared the game, it was her blood on me."

You see Niragi's eyes soften slightly, the man letting out a slow breath through his lips. He knew that you were close with Himari, that this would be difficult to get past. He approaches the bed hesitantly, holding something you hadn't noticed before. When he drops the soft, folded article in your lap, you get a scent of nostalgia. Of home. "Thought this might help," he says quietly, still measured. Unsure.

You look down, unwrapping it to find it was your favorite blanket from home. The blanket that your brother had always wrapped you up in in the aftermath, snuggling you close. The blanket that had been your mother's. Niragi had brought it here for you.

You stare down at it, eyes shining. You hold the worn, silky material between your fingertips, the texture alone soothing you. You smile lightly up at your brother, "Thank you."

Niragi nods simply and then turns to reunite himself with his rifle, his absolute pride and joy. He must have leaned up beside the door when he entered the room; how thoughtful of him to not wave it around in your face in the bathroom.

You can see that Niragi is trying to leave, back facing you and approaching the door. You sit up again slowly to look at him, you had to know. "Niragi?" You say tentatively, not unlike a younger version of yourself, "Stay?"

You see him freeze, his entire body tense, before he lets out another heavy sigh and turns back around. Taking slow, uncertain steps toward you again, you hold your breath. The man drags the puffy red armchair from the corner of the room to sit next to your side of the bed, flopping his body into it. You get a good look at him now, the man is exhausted.

This wasn't exactly what you'd had in mind when you asked him to stay, but it was something. He was giving you just enough to keep you from breaking entirely.

Niragi turns the lamp off, not unlike that very first night you'd spent here. The night you barely remembered through your fevered state and agonizing pain in your side. Oh how you hoped to never have to feel like that again. But in this place? You knew it was only a matter of time.

You try to allow sleep to overtake you, focusing hard on the loud rumbling of the air conditioner. That thing was on its last leg, and working way too hard to cool the air around you. The minutes tick past, but every time you close your eyes you can see Himari looking at you in fear, you hear her last words to you, you feel her blood spattering messily over your skin. Keep winning. Without realizing it, your cheeks are wet with tears, silent sobs escaping your body.

Your brother isn't easily fooled, even in this form and even in the dark, of course he knows you're crying. You try to stay quiet, not really wanting to be yelled at again. You probably should have let him leave when he wanted to, Chishiya would have let you cry openly. But you had to know, had to test that you still had a piece of the Niragi that you knew.

Surprisingly, Niragi finds the blanket he had just given you, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders, swaddling you the way he used to. He then reaches his hand out to find yours in the dark, squeezing it gently but firmly, "go to sleep, I'm here." You wrap both hands around the one he has offered you, holding on for dear life. You feel your body finally start to relax, peacefully finding slumber now.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

The sun is high in the sky by the time you finally wake up, light filtering in through the ratty curtains that you wanted to rip down and burn. You could hear Chishiya quietly tinkering with something - the man had probably been awake for hours by now. If he had even gone to sleep at all. Of course, Niragi was nowhere to be seen, the chair he had sat on pushed back into the corner. He had probably left you as soon as your breathing evened out.

The door creaks open, causing you to sleepily sit up, blankets pooling around your waist. An excited squeal - Kuina walks in, grinning at your still zombified state. "You're finally awake, I'm so excited! I brought you back a present from my game last night!" She holds up an emerald green bikini triumphantly, "isn't it adorable, and so you?!" She squeals again. "I knew it would bring out those gorgeous, sparkling eyes of yours," she gushes.

You can't help but smile as you sit up, taking the soft crocheted fabric between your fingers, studying it. "I love it, thank you," you murmur. You really had never had a girl friend like her, and the feeling of receiving this gift was unfamiliar territory. You liked it, wanted to keep Kuina around forever. You just hoped that was possible.

"I felt bad about the red one," the girl says sheepishly, rubbing her hand on the back of her neck. Chishiya snorts at this, finally turning around from what he was working on to take in your tired appearance and see what Kuina brought you. In all the excitement, you had very nearly forgotten what had happened a few nights ago.

You pout jokingly, but hold it up to your friend proudly, "Look, Shiya!" The corners of his mouth twitch up and he blinks slowly at you, "Very cute." You feel your face turn a slight shade of crimson at this comment, looking down at your lap flustered. Kuina takes notice and glances rapidly between the two of you with raised eyebrows.

"Ooookay, love birds!" Kuina says, breaking the quiet tension, "Get up and get ready now! We're going to spend the whole day together." She claps her hands together animatedly. You chuckle a little bit, nodding in agreement. It would be nice to spend more time with Kuina and be out of the room. You knew that her energy would rejuvenate you, washing the bad feelings from last night away.

A sharp knock comes at the door, just as you're coming out of the bathroom dressed in a lavendar polka dotted bikini for your day with Kuina. All three of you exchange a look, not expecting a visitor that was outside of your small group. You pull the door open toward you somewhat nervously, but are pleasantly surprised to find Aguni waiting there patiently.

The muscular man says your name and then continues, "You're with me today, come along. We're going out." Your eyes brighten in exhilaration - you were leaving the resort to look for resources. You could probably even find more stuff for your project too! You loved getting to leave the prison-like walls of The Beach for things other than games.

Nodding, "I'll be ready in just a minute!" You rush back towards the bathroom to pull on a pair of high waisted denim shorts. You didn't really want to walk around outside of the resort without covering up a little more. Your mind races back to your brother for a moment, hadn't he insinuated that you weren't to be alone with Aguni anymore? Maybe he had changed his mind. Or maybe, what Niragi doesn't know won't hurt him.

"Oh, and Chishiya you're with Niragi," the man adds, causing the blonde to sit up rigidly. He huffs in irritation, uncharacteristically slamming his newest project down roughly. As you pass, you grab his hand and squeeze, attempting to offer some comfort. Chishiya takes the opportunity to wrap his lithe fingers around your wrist and pulls you back into him whispering, "Remember what we talked about last night. I doubt that you're supposed to be with Aguni today so be discreet." You feel a chill run down your spine, but nod anyway. He had put your exact thoughts into words.

You offer Kuina an apologetic look on your way out the door, promising to catch up with her as soon as you were done with your errands. You really did want to spend more time with her.

You find yourself mapping an unfamiliar ward with Aguni, kicking small pieces of gravel along in front of you for entertainment. It was an area not unlike Shibuya Station, filled with abandoned shops and even an outdoor market. In your old life, you would have skipped through the brightly colored stalls, soaking in the delicious scents and sounds without a care in the world. Would you ever get that back?

Aguni is always a quiet presence, though one that was somehow very comforting to you. You were having a hard time understanding why Niragi no longer trusted him, having originally assigned the man to you himself. As you shuffled along the vine and moss covered streets, you couldn't help but feel like something was bothering the man beside you. This wasn't his usual brand of quietness.

The man sighs suddenly, stopping in his tracks. You glance back at him curiously, something is definitely upsetting him. He's looking down at the ground, but you notice a vulnerable look etching his features. You bring your left hand to fidget with your earring anxiously, his energy starting to constrict its way around you like a snake and making you nervous.

His eyes find yours once more and he says your name quietly. "Can I talk to you about something private?" He asks, shocking you. You had never expected to have a heart-to-heart with the ex-SDF officer. You nod, approaching him slowly as if moving too quickly would frighten him off like a wild deer.

He cuts right to the chase, "Do you think this place changes people?" You tilt your head, trying to understand his question. Does this place change people? You had certainly seen a change in Niragi, even a small one in Chishiya; though you expected that had a lot to do with Niragi too. Then there was the change in you, as well. The darkness.

You nod again slowly, now picking at your fingernails. You'd have to see if Kuina could paint your nails for you later. "I think . . . this place has a way of bringing out the worst in us. Of dragging us so deeply into despair and draining us of hope, that we resort to using the darkest parts of our souls that would not normally see the light of day." You look down to study the greenery below your feet, hoping Aguni didn't notice that you were talking about yourself too. This place hadn't grown the darkness, it had always been there. It just cultivated it, allowed it to take root in your soul and grow if you allowed it.

Aguni looks astonished at your wisdom for a moment, but hums in agreement. "It's just that . . ." he trails off, "I'm worried about Takeru. I know that you've seen him in his normal state - that he was vulnerable with you. This persona . . . it's taking him over. Making him crazy. The Beach, the power. It's making him crazy." Your breath catches in your throat, so your hunch had been correct. Everyone was playing a game that no one else understood.

You don't know what to say, was there even anything to be said? You simply nod sadly, understanding exactly what Aguni was going through. Because you were going through it too, weren't you? Niragi.

The man says your name again, this time carefully, measured how Niragi's had been last night, "You're smart. I know that you're aware of how dangerous this place is, how thin and perilous our positions are. Things are changing, rapidly." He pauses for a moment to glance around, as if there could be people listening. He sighs tiredly, lowering his voice a bit, "This might be the last time I can be around you without compromising your safety, so I want to warn you now. There will be a power struggle at The Beach very soon. Do your best not to get caught up in it."

Your heart is in your throat, and now you are scared. This is way more information than you can digest, and you don't know how to handle the thought that you might not get to be around Aguni anymore. Plus, a power struggle at The Beach? What could that even mean? Instead of asking questions, you reach your arms around him to hug him, "thank you for protecting me for so long, and for being a friend to me." He hugs you back, squeezing once before deciding it's time to get a move on. You still have errands to complete, after all.

There was not one, but TWO convenience stores left in this ward still completely untouched by other players. The two of you gather as much of the canned goods and non-perishables as you can fit in the car, marking the stores on your map as ones that still have a lot of resources for whichever Executives would be doing next food restock expedition.

You silently hoped it would be you, because there were a bunch of stores in the district that looked like they would have great stuff for continuing to re-decorate the resort. You wanted to spend hours combing this place, but the man alongside you seemed antsy to get back to The Beach for whatever reason. After some tactful doe-eyed pleading, Aguni conceded in letting you check out just one shop - one that housed tons of colorful, sprawling faux plants. You really wanted to add some greenery to the lobby and conference room spaces, insisting this was an absolute necessity today.

Aguni taps his foot, almost anxiously as he waits for you to choose some pieces. Finally he says, "Don't take too long, I need to get you back to The Beach and return you to Ann. You were supposed to be with her today, and I expect your brother won't be happy that I've stolen you." Your eyebrows shoot up, head whipping to lock your gaze on the man, "What?" He looks sheepish, an odd look on his normally stone cold face, "I had to see you one more time. I needed to make sure you would be okay."

So Niragi didn't know, and you were supposed to be with Ann right now. Aguni had taken Ann's place on this trip to make sure you would be okay with the events that were threatening to brew in the future. Your brain was working in overdrive to put pieces of this massive puzzle together, trying to figure out who was trustworthy to you. Could you trust anyone? Could you even trust yourself?

The car ride back to the resort is quiet, filled with an electrified tension not unlike the one you usually felt in a game arena. You knew that once you stepped out of this car, you and Aguni would be playing two opposite ends of a game that you still didn't understand, and that frightened you. How could you survive in this place without trusted allies?

Through the side mirror, you see Ann approaching the now parked car to take over the duty of carrying things inside with you, and you know it's time. Aguni whispers lowly to you one last time before retreating into the building for good.

"I don't know what game your brother is playing, but should he lose himself in it like Takeru is, don't let him drown you with him."

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Several days pass without significant event. You find yourself in a comfortable routine, soaking up the presence of Chishiya and Kuina - deciding that they were the only people you could trust.

Each day, you wake up to the blonde tinkering around with scraps or pieces of broken technology that he was dead set on fixing. He allows you the space to wake up naturally, usually offering food whenever you've fully stretched and decided on what you wanted to wear for the day. After brunch, you usually have an Executive task or two to take care of - Chishiya was now your permanent partner for those things. To your chagrin, you don't get to return to the shopping district that was filled with colorful shops this week.

Afternoons and early evenings are dedicated to Kuina; sometimes playing around with makeup, doing mani/pedis together, or hanging out by the pool. Chishiya always lurks quietly in the background, never too far away. Every other night, you are forced to accompany a group to a game; Hatter has split the Executives into two groups, ensuring that The Beach collects cards as quickly as possible. Together, you and Chishiya clear two more games, a Four of Clubs and Ace of Diamonds. On the nights that you aren't playing, your friends help you realize your artistic vision for the resort, painting walls, hanging new artwork, and moving furniture around your direction. It wasn't your old life, but honestly it wasn't so bad either.

Aguni had been right, the last errand you went on with him had been the last time you saw him. You missed playing games with him and being within his soothing presence. In fact, there was a strange lack of militant presence around the resort, as Hatter had become more vicious about accusing people of being "traitors to The Beach". The militants were obviously busy doing all his dirty work - a thought that made you shiver. What horrible things was your brother being forced to do? Or even worse, was he enjoying it?

Today was already starting off differently than the previous few have - an insistent knock at your door wakes you aggressively from a deep slumber. You roll over and groan in protest, yanking a pillow over your head. The bed shifts beside you, Chishiya pushing the covers back and padding towards the door. It must be early enough that the blonde had still been sleeping too. Fuck that.

Their voices are hushed, so you don't hear who it is or what is being said, but you remain laying with your head under the pillow. Hoping like hell that whatever it was could wait a few more hours. You hear the door click shut again, holding your breath.

Your friend returns to the bed, yanking the covers off your body, "Time to get up, sleeping beauty." You cry out, the chilled air of the room hitting your skin like needles, attempting to steal the covers back from the man. "Noooooo, just five more minutes, Shiya pleaaaase," you whine. "Sorry, baby," he coos mockingly, "Executive business. Some people were caught sneaking around, and Hatter wants to "welcome" them."

You groan again, rolling onto your back and staring up at your friend with doe eyes, as though he can do anything about it. Chishiya looks at you in warning, as if daring you to try getting out of it further. Instead, you throw your body to the side, climbing slowly out of your cocoon.

A cobalt blue bikini calls to you from inside your wardrobe; you decide on that and a pretty pink beaded kimono-style cover up. You take a couple of minutes getting dressed and brushing your teeth before allowing Chishiya to pull your hair into a single French braid down your back.

You're still grumbling and rubbing sleep out of your eyes as Chishiya leads you down the hallway on your way to the conference room. You had to admit - you were excited to see it in the daylight; you and Kuina had spent hours last night while the others partied painting the walls a stunning shade of ivory and adding some green leafy foliage around the space.

Ann, Mira, and Kuzuryu stand waiting along the pocket wall that split the room in half, hiding the playing cards Mira had spray painted there at the very start of The Beach.

You and Chishiya join them just as two militant guys you don't recognize show up, carting in the two people who had supposedly been sneaking around, their heads covered with cloth bags. You look in shock at this fact, why were they being treated as war criminals? Hatter was getting just that much closer to snapping, you realized. The two are pushed into chairs, facing you. When the militants lift the material from their faces, you have to bite the inside of your cheek to hide your surprise - it was Arisu and the climber girl from your Five of Spades game. You briefly wonder what had happened to his blonde friend, and whoever they'd been trying to get medical help for. In a place like this, it's probably best not to ask.

Their eyes light up as they scan you and your friend standing beside you, but are smart enough to say nothing right now. Mira is the first to speak, "good morning!" she chirps, grinning at the couple.

Kuzuryu follows directly after, "I'm sorry that we were so rough. We heard that there were some people sneaking around the place."

Ann stalks across the room, arms crossed. Very detective-like. She does not bullshit around and simply wonders, "What are your motives?" You frown, feeling like this was more of an interrogation than a welcome, but you know better than to say anything.

Arisu swallows, taking just a moment to answer, "We heard that we'll know the answer . . . if we come here. What this game is about and where all the people who disappeared went."

Then the massive wooden doors swing open, Hatter making his grand entrance accompanied by his two muscular body guards, "Exactly! We know the answers to the questions you both have. Welcome to The Beach, the utopia." He opens his arms widely, placing himself between the two newcomers to speak directly in their ears. You feel your eye twitch at the fakeness of it all.

The man, acting once again like a cult leader, then gestures forward toward the pocket wall. "This . . . is the answer." He snaps dramatically, drinking in the power he holds over everyone in the room. His guards move forward to move the wall out of the way, presenting Arisu and his friend with the wall of playing cards for the first time.

"I'll tell you the truth. There's only one way to end this hellish nightmare," the man says, walking toward the wall, both arms reaching toward it in a grand stance. "We clear the games and collect all the playing cards."

Arisu looks astonished and confused, and honestly you don't blame him. You aren't certain that you believe a word that comes out of Hatter's mouth either. He speaks, albeit softly, "All the playing cards?"

The girl interjects, "So if you collect all of them, will the original world return?" You wished wholeheartedly for that to be the case.

Hatter turns slowly to look back at them, very serious now, "The original world will not return. Only one person can return to the original world." Yep. There it is. The thing that no one likes to address around here. You shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Only one person?" Arisu clarifies, obviously horrified. As well he should be.

Hatter hums, "It's impossible for a single person to clear all the games and gather all fifty two playing cards. You can't leave this country by working alone. That's why everyone unites as one in order to let that one person leave the country. This is The Beach's objective. I've heard that the two of you possess good cards. I'll have both of you play your part and help us gather the remaining cards." Your stomach feels sick hearing Hatter's speech again after so long, and you're thankful that you hadn't had anything to eat yet today.

Arisu is akin to your own heart, you realize. Asking now something you had also wondered weeks ago, "And if we refuse?"

Hatter has sat down on the heavy wooden desk by the window that you now notice has belongings scattered across it - the pair's belongings - he grins, reaching out wildly again, "You can't reject me." He lifts a piece of scrap paper from the pile, holding it up between two of his fingers, "Your visa is expiring today." He taps the index finger of his other hand aggressively to the paper, "You have no choice but to participate in a game, don't you?" Your lips part slowly, realizing that Hatter would leave them tied up until their visas expired if they decided not to stay. They would be killed by the laser.

Arisu looks disgustedly at the man that you were also back to hating, and then back to his partner as she cuts in, "We can return if we gather all the cards. Is that really true?"

Hatter stands again, walking across the room dramatically in front of the rest of you, "I can't reveal everything yet, but I have a credible source for that information. Before both of you entered this world, we already thoroughly investigated everything about this country."

Arisu interrupts his tangent again, "You've been referring to this place as a "country"."

Hatter points at Arisu, as if proud he had caught that little detail. "The fact that we've been issued Visas means that this is a country. The people in Tokyo didn't just disappear. It's hypothesized that we've entered another country accidentally. If that's true, then there must be a way to return." You realize now that Hatter had fallen more deeply into his delusions in the last couple of days, truly believing the words that he was spewing. In fact, the country you were residing in, was now being referred to around the resort as 'Borderland' after a group of players had heard someone at a game arena call it that.

You felt a wave of relief rush across your skin when a note is brought in by Hatter's long-haired guard - the fueling team needed Executive escort to proceed with their tasks for the day. Hatter nods to him and looks to you, "Princess, take Chishiya and escort the maintenance team today, won't you? I'll take care of things here." He winks over his aviators at you. You nod, relieved to be able to leave this hostile environment before anything bad happens to these two. In case Hatter calls upon Niragi to kill them.

"Good girl," Hatter praises, making your skin bristle and causing Chishiya to stiffen slightly beside you. Jealous. You glance one final time at Arisu on your way out, willing him to make the right choice.

He didn't really have one, after all.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

You lean back with a sigh, relaxing into the plastic beach chair set in front of the glittering pool packed with bodies. The sun has all but disappeared from the sky, and the citizens of The Beach are happily drinking in the mood of twilight. That's not the only thing they're drinking in, mind you - it's early evening, and the party is absolutely raging. The music is bumping, the drinks are flowing, and the people are doing what people at The Beach do best - celebrating life. It may seem macabre, to party the days away when you're forced to face deadly games by night, but honestly it feels kind of right when you aren't really sure how much longer you have left to live. The longer you're here, the more you're understanding that.

Chishiya sits at your feet, one arm draped lazily over your bare calves and the other holding him upright on the chair. As usual, his face is devoid of any emotion, but you know he is enjoying the opportunity to people watch and get some fresh air.

You spend a few moments studying the people yourself - many splashing around drunkenly in the refreshing pool water and others dancing uninhibited around its edges, everyone looking free as can be. How must it feel to not have to worry about anyone in Borderland but yourself? How easy it must be to not have the two most important people in your life stuck here with you, wondering if today is the day they're going to die. Or the day that they finally lose themselves.

You feel the familiar tight feeling in your chest start to build, and force yourself to shake away those suffocating thoughts - you simply cannot afford to panic here. Niragi had been clear - keep it together no matter what.

You turn your attention instead to playing with the beads adorning the straps of your emerald green crochet bikini. You were finally wearing it outside of your room for the first time today. It was special to you - a gift from Kuina a few days ago. The gift made you feel loved, and the suit made you feel sexy.

Rolling the wooden beads between your fingers seemed to help settle your nerves. When your breathing finally returned to normal and the simple anxious task was no longer needed, you sigh loudly, covering your face with your arms and flopping further back into the chair. Bored.

Chishiya smirks, raising an eyebrow. The man very nearly laughs at the dramatic habit that was very you. "Bored already, hm?" He hums, "Coming down here was your idea after all."

"Yes, but I thought there would be more excitement" you whined, flailing your arms widely to accentuate your point. Chishiya sweeps his eyes over your form, looking at you with amusement.

He's about to say something more when he's interrupted by the arrival of two familiar figures - a nervous looking guy with shaggy brown hair, and a fit, muscular girl with a cute bob cut. Chishiya squeezes your calf to get your attention, flicking his eyes toward them as they sit down apprehensively on two beach chairs across the pool from you. Arisu and Usagi.

"So they decided to stay after all," you muse, sitting up in interest and folding your legs underneath you. You scoot your body closer to your friend, your thigh brushing against his, as you continue to observe the couple.

The blonde turns his head to study your face, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear as he does, "I can't imagine that it would have gone over well had they declined Hatter's offer." You feel a slight shiver run down your spine at Chishiya's intimate touch. You hum distractedly, still staring at the pair, but suddenly feeling very far away from the events taking place around you.

You grin brightly, then, having noticed Kuina skipping over to them. She plops, likely uninvited, down on the chair beside Arisu, her unlit cigarette hanging characteristically in her mouth. There is no doubt in your mind that she was already teasing them about the relationship between them, despite having just introduced herself.

Kuina was confident like that, and you loved that about her. Well, except for when she was teasing you and Chishiya. You blushed slightly just thinking about it, wondering when you had started becoming so flustered about your best friend. When you had started wanting so desperately to press your lips against his. You duck your head at these thoughts and pretend to study the sparkly manicure Kuina had given you last night.

How long were you and Chishiya going to continue pretending to be just friends?

Within a minute or two, the air had turned from relaxed to tense, and your neck snapped up to find out why. Your discerning eyes land on the militants, of course, you really should have guessed. The hostile and generally power hungry group of The Beach's "personal protection unit" were filing into the party, sure to flash their weapons at anyone looking. You don't think you had seen them congregated as a group like this, they really were becoming overpowered. The smart people were avoiding their gaze entirely, and the stupid (drunk?) people were openly gawking. You rolled your eyes, how typical.

Leading the charge onto the pool deck was Aguni, looking cold and calculating in a way you didn't like, with your brother following close behind. Your eyes narrowed, having not seen either of them for a few days.

"Looks like you're about to get your excitement after all," Chishiya whispered, his breath tickling your ear. You took in a sharp breath in anticipation; the full militant corp was standing at arms looking ready to fight, at the pool. Could this mean the power struggle you'd been warned about would be coming sooner than you expected? Anxiety swirled heavily in your stomach, fingers subconsciously finding the wooden beads again.

You look to Niragi, the one person who would normally soothe your frayed nerves with just a glance, but feel even worse seeing the wild look in his darkened eyes. Had your relationship truly deteriorated so much in a matter of weeks?

Being all the way on the other side of the pool from them, you're unable to hear Aguni's request, but Niragi was quick to obey. He moved towards Usagi, pulling her roughly up to her feet.

You watch with widened eyes - had Aguni asked for Usagi? What would he even want her for? Nothing good, certainly. The Aguni you knew would never want to hurt someone, or take them against their will. Had you been mistaken about him from the beginning? Or maybe this place really does create monsters out of men - you could certainly see that in the long-haired man across the pool from you, once soft and caring, now swinging a gun around without a care in the world and physically threatening a girl not much older than you. Hell, you see it even in yourself, having been happy enough to let everyone but Chishiya die from the second you landed in this wretched place and started playing.

You're shaken from your reverie when Arisu springs up from his place beside Kuina to help Usagi. You groan in despair, knowing full well that your brother would only be further provoked; Borderland-version Niragi has an extremely short fuse. Kuina also looks displeased, as though she'd literally just told them not to mess with them, which she probably had.

The people of the party are now definitely watching, but openly pretending not to be. If you didn't feel so anxious at the situation, you'd probably laugh at how nosy and indiscrete drunk people truly are.

You find yourself standing instead, ready to close the distance between your perch and where Niragi has now thrown Arisu to the ground, kicking him repeatedly in the stomach. You felt like throwing up watching the display. Memories flooded your mind of watching your father do the exact same thing to the tall man who was now delivering the blows. It was taking everything in you to not curl up in a ball crying like you always had when the two men in your family were fighting. No, this time you had to put an end to it. This time you would be brave and fight.

"You're going to try to save them, aren't you?" Chishiya mumbles in concern, knowing this scene was likely triggering to you. You knew he wanted you to stay out of it, but you just couldn't help yourself.

"I can't sit back and play victim anymore, Shiya," you whisper. You move swiftly around the pool, before you could lose your nerve or Chishiya could stop you.

"Niragi, please. They're my friends," you plead with the violent man, grabbing onto his forearm as he delivers another crushing blow to Arisu's ribcage. The people of The Beach were now actively watching the scene, fully invested in your family drama. You're unsure of why you called the couple your friends, when you just barely know their names. All you know is that you don't want to watch your brother kill the poor guy, and you definitely don't want to find out what Aguni had planned for Usagi. Or was it that you couldn't stand to see your sweet brother hurt someone the same way he had been hurt so many times in his life?

Niragi ceases his assault on the boy and rips his arm from your grasp. He gives you a full once over in the process, his cold eyes meeting yours for the first time in days. You feel real, raw fear filling your system, something you haven't felt since leaving your father's house for the last time eight years ago. You'd never felt smaller in your life than you did now, shrinking under Niragi's brutal gaze.

Taking a shaky breath, you muster the shiniest, prettiest puppy dog eyes you can, peering up at Niragi through long eyelashes. "You won't hurt them, right? I'm friends with them."

Niragi continues glaring intimidatingly down at you, in what you realize is disgust. He doesn't address your concerns, but instead has something else to say.

"Put some fucking clothes on, you look like a slut" he spits fiercely, his pierced face now just centimeters from yours. The tight feeling in your chest had returned in full force, threatening to suffocate you.

You stumbled back as if he'd struck you - Niragi had never spoken to you like that. Your stomach dropped, and it took all of your willpower to maintain your composure. You obviously couldn't cry in front of all these Beach idiots, gaping at the two of you like you were the best soap opera in Borderland. You turn your head to escape his intense gaze, and put your tongue in your cheek to keep the tears from spilling over. You want soap opera? I'll give you soap opera.

Looking back up at your brother, you cross your arms over your chest. "What are you going to do, make me?" you implore him brattily. Niragi seethed, pierced eyebrow arching, looking like he was seriously considering slapping the attitude right out of you. You stand your ground, the way you should have every other time you've faced a monster like this.

As you and Niragi stare each other down, the initial cause for your dispute long forgotten, Aguni and the others have become distracted by Hatter's arrival. One side demanding peace, and the release of the newest members of the beach; the other begging silently for chaos to ensue. The tense atmosphere surrounding you indicates the balance of power between the two leaders was indeed in jeopardy. Do your best not to get caught up in it. Sorry, Aguni.

After what feels like hours of strained silence, Aguni ultimately yields to Hatter. The Beach seems to collectively release their held breaths as Aguni and the militant corp flock away to another part of the resort. Usagi quickly tends to Arisu, leading him back into the building to treat his wounds and get to safety. Meanwhile, you have your own struggle for power going on.

Niragi still stands towering above you, obviously not in the mood for your games. He unbuttons his black and white collared shirt, draping it over your shoulders, "Go. Change. Not a request." His fingers wrap tightly around your forearm, aggressively yanking you towards the entrance to the hotel. The force that Niragi had exerted on you nearly sent you careening into the pool still glistening mockingly at your feet, but luckily Chishiya had appeared in just the right position to catch you. Unbeknownst to you, the two exchange a brief look before Niragi skulks off to find Aguni and his other lunatic friends.

The panic within you threatened once more to boil over and your brain simply shuts down - this week had been too fucking much. In your daze, you barely register Chishiya dragging you inside, away from the curious and scrutinizing glances of The Beach citizens. You were embarrassed, confused, and fucking mad.

Just as you passed through the swinging double doors and into the air-conditioned building, Kuina fell in step with you two. She let a reassuring hand fall on your shoulder, squeezing it for comfort. At her kind touch, you feel your carefully crafted resolve finally crumble to the floor. Chishiya knew immediately that you were done for, lifting you easily into his arms and allowing you to ground yourself in him. He carried you protectively the rest of the way to the room as your thoughts thundered around in your head like a wild storm.

You had been lying to yourself your whole life, Niragi had been lying to you your whole life. He promised that your family wasn't broken, that you weren't broken. You guessed it was too much to ask for you to remain untouched by your father's special brand of cruelty. That one day, you'd likely both become just like him.

And now Niragi had. He called you a slut, degrading an outfit that had made you feel beautiful. He embarrassed you in front of an audience. He grabbed you so hard you could see his fingerprints etched in your skin. He was just like him and this time you knew you wouldn't escape.

It was then that you knew - this game that you were playing was much more dangerous than you could ever have realized.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

You don't know why you'd allowed Kuina to drag you back to the pool after what had happened yesterday, after the absolute humiliation you had faced at the hands of your brother. You find yourself sitting again on a stiff, plastic beach chair between her and Usagi. "A girls' day", they had insisted.

Your body was with the girls, but your mind was tangled up elsewhere; it didn't matter what Chishiya had said. It didn't matter what Niragi himself had said. You were certain that the cracks Aguni had seen in Hatter, caused by the pressure of playing a game far too dangerous for him to win, were now appearing in your brother too.

But it was worse than that, you feared. His game was still ongoing, everyone still playing their part. But Niragi? He had lost himself. He had let his darkness in, the same darkness that you saw in yourself. The darkness that you were so afraid to succumb to, because this. This is what could happen if you let it out.

It wasn't just a game that he was playing anymore. This is who Niragi is now.

"We should get drunk," you say suddenly, surprising the women on either side of you. "Why not?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. They both looked skeptically at you, obviously thinking that alcohol was the last thing you needed right now.

You don't wait for an answer before standing and traipsing lazily over to the bar. You had to get your mind off of everything that was going on. Tatta stands behind the slab of driftwood, mixing drinks for a few others that were waiting, watching you curiously. You ignore their stares, knowing they had likely seen what happened with you and Niragi yesterday. You pull your ivory cover up more tightly around you as you wait for Tatta to approach.

He grins when he sees you, saying your name warmly, "I'm surprised to see you drinking, are you even old enough?" He asks with an eyebrow raised. You laugh, obviously not old enough, "Does it really matter here?" Tatta laughs too, shaking his head. You explain that you are getting drunk with Kuina and Usagi, having a "girls' afternoon". He nods, "I know exactly what to do for you, then," he says mischievously. You had been glad when the man from your Five of Spades game had made his way to The Beach. He really was a nice guy and a fun friend to have.

You carry three very fruity, bright pink glasses of alcohol back to your friends, remaining standing facing them as you bring all of your glasses together in a cheers. You wish briefly that you had your phone to be able to capture this moment on Instagram. You'd always wanted girl friends like this in your old life.

You take a small sip of the cocktail, the taste causing you to shiver just as a shadow is cast over your form. At first, you don't react, assuming it was just someone passing by. When both girls look up at someone, though, faces contorted in confusion, you feel a bit of anxiety fill you.

"Hello, my little butterfly," a sickly sweet voice sounds from behind you, the person standing much closer than your senses had detected. Your stomach sours immediately, your pulse entering your ears. You feel your tactile senses dull, and the martini glass slips from between your fingers, shattering on the ground at your feet.

For what must be the thousandth time since entering Borderland, you feel panic tightening your chest. There is only one person who has ever called you that, and you truly don't want to believe he is somehow right behind you. You had just begun to think that you could be okay in life without Niragi, but you knew now that you absolutely needed him. That this was not something you could handle without him.

Your father was here at The Beach.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

The Game Itself Masterlist

The Game Itself Tag List: @moonchild323232 @princesskatxo @lovelygias @carlgrimesfuturegf @audiiix @maxinehufflepuffprincess @aeristocrats @unhinged-sorcerer @potato-vagina @kimsrie @mocchii-writes @rillianeswife

Please never hesitate to let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) the tag list! Also, my asks and messages are open, PLEASE reach out, I would literally die to interact with you; ily guys endlessly 💕✨️

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 7.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: Now we're getting into the nitty-gritty! Soldat is ready to start carrying out her mission, but will it be successful? Will Bucky catch on to what she's doing? Who knows! BTW, you can read it here on my archive account as well!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 6

The next few hours had been relatively uneventful. After the soldier had pledged her compliance, the people surrounding her within the lab had slowly back off. The Fist and Shuri were exchanging seemingly heated words just outside the lab behind sound-proof glass that the soldier could not hear through.

While the Soldier could read their lips partially, she couldn't discern exactly what was being said. The only thing the soldier could comprehend was that the Fist was seemingly offended by Shuri pledging to help finish the mission.

When they were done exchanging words, they both came back into the laboratory and stood in front of the chair that the soldier was sitting in. Shuri greeted the soldier, asking politely despite the frustrated furrow within her eyebrows.

"When was the last time that you ate a meal?"

The soldier immediately frowned, glancing down at her knees as she tried to remember. There were no memories that came to mind, and when she couldn't answer, the soldier clenched her fists.

"I...don't remember."

Her voice was shaky, unused to the English that slipped from her tongue, but Shuri's shoulders relaxed with hope as the soldier spoke. The Fist squinted his eyes, however, and the soldier almost winced.

He was not convinced.

Truly, it was to be expected. Just hours ago, the soldier told him that he was her mission. The Fist was right to be cautious, but it did not matter to her.

She would complete her mission no matter what the costs were.

"That is alright. Would you be willing to eat?"

"How does this help me to complete my mission?"

The Fist and Shuri shared a look with each other before the Fist stated, making the soldier look up at him with an unconvinced sneer flashing across her face.

"You want to take me in, you need to be strong enough to do it. The more you starve, the weaker your body becomes."

His voice was slightly annoyed, his posture revealing his unease, and the soldier glanced back down at the untouched food. It was a different meal than what Shuri had attempted to give to her before, and it was extremely simple. The Soldier tilted her head slightly, and she leaned forward slightly to sniff it.

"It is called Isidudu. It's just porridge with some brown sugar, butter, and sweet milk."

The soldier simply frowned at it, and Shuri hummed gently, crossing her arms.

"You have permission to eat."

Flicking her gaze to Shuri, the two of them shared a look before the soldier glanced back down at the food. Slowly grabbing the spoon, the soldier scooped up the creamy food and began to hesitate.

Her hand was hovering over the plate, some of the porridge dripping off of the spoon. The soldier's body began to stiffen; her hand trembling as she held the handle of the spoon tight enough within her grasp to bend the metal.

There was a lump in the back of her throat, nausea beginning to plague her, and the soldier couldn't help but to glance at the door; waiting for her Handler to come in and punish her for even touching the spoon. She was unsure of why her tongue felt so heavy and thick-as if it did not belong to her, and the soldier became nervous.

The soldier could not help the tears that filled her eyes as she stared at the food, shaking and unsure, and she was slightly startled when Shuri sat down across from her; her tone gentle like a mother comforting their child.

"Isithunzi, it is alright. You do not have to be afraid. We will not punish you for eating."

The soldier was confused and unsure, her brows furrowed, and the soldier glanced back down at the spoon within her hand for another long pause.

The soldier could not deny that she was waiting for the reprimand; the hand raised in warning to strike her for having the audacity to even acknowledge the hunger, but her stomach was rumbling painfully to the point the soldier could no longer refuse.

The soldier swallowed thickly before she slowly took a bite, and flavor burst upon her tongue. The porridge was sweet and creamy, the milk adding a flavor that the soldier could not describe, and she carefully swallowed.

Despite the taste and enjoyment that soldier found from the meal, there was guilt eating away at her; cutting through the fog of her mind. She shouldn't have done that. She shouldn't have eaten this. The soldier began to tremble more, and Shuri encouraged her.

"You're doing great, but you don't have to eat if you don't want to. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

The soldier glanced up at the Fist briefly, and she noticed that he was gazing at her with a slightly far-away look within his eyes. When the Fist noticed that she was looking at him, though, he seemed to tense. The soldier looked away, and she slowly began to eat despite the guilt that was eating away at her like maggots eating an infection.

"Isithunzi, I would like for you to answer some questions for me if you can. Are you up for that?"

The soldier was quiet, rolling the food around within her mouth before swallowing; warmth blooming within her belly as the food began to satiate and ease the hunger and pain. She nodded, then, making Shuri smirk at the Fist with a haughty look that made the man roll his eyes.

"Do you have any memory of who you were before you were with HYDRA?"

The soldier paused, shaking her head slowly after careful consideration of her answer.

"I was...born into HYDRA."

Shuri tilted her head slightly, and the Fist sat down after a moment, asking her instead with a sassy tone to his voice.

"Is that what they made you believe?"

The soldier could tell that he was frustrated and becoming hostile, making alarm bells sound off, and Shuri scolded the man in Xhosa before glancing back at the soldier.

"He has not had his daily bottle today, I am sorry."

The Fist shot Shuri an annoyed look, but Shuri did not pay attention to him. Instead, she brought up a couple holographic images that made the soldier pause in eating, eyes wide with wonder. It was a list of CIA emblems for every directorate the agency had, and there was one that stood out to the soldier, though she did not indicate as such.

"Do any of these emblems look familiar to you?"

The soldier frowned for a moment, perplexed by the question, but slowly pointed to the emblem of the Directorate of Science & Technology. The Fist became intrigued, asking her as he leaned forward.

"What do you know about this?"

The soldier looked away, whispering shakily.

"I...dreamed. Places...a-and people...I...I don't...know..."

Her voice trailed off. She was not supposed to dream; to remember. She was frightened; afraid to mention this in fear that they would take the memories away, and the soldier became closed off. Shuri noted the way that the soldier became uncomfortable, and she praised her gently.

"That was good. You did well, Isithunzi."

"This is not relevant to my mission."

The words were almost robotic, and there was a strange feeling of shame that came from the words. Shuri and the Fist shared a look together, and Shuri shook her head.

"Oh, but it is relevant. We will explain to you why in due-time. Would you...be able to explain to me why it is difficult for you to eat?"

Traumatic memories flashed through the soldier's mind, and the tears welled up in her eyes again as she stared down into the porridge below.

"Hunger...is weakness. It serves no purpose to the mission. It is not to be indulged in unless given permission. It is strictly allowed only due to performance decline. There are...consequences...for displaying such weakness outside of absolute necessity."

Shuri shook her head slightly, and the soldier could see the Fist clench his jaw. The soldier could not tell if her answer pleased or upset the woman, but the soldier was aware that Shuri was becoming heated by the way her lips pursed.

"Well, you are allowed to eat whenever you would like to. In fact, eating more will help you to become stronger, which will allow you to complete your mission when it is time."

The soldier stayed quiet, staring down at the empty bowl in front of her before she whispered, her tone shy and unsure.

"I...am allowed to eat...whenever?"

"Yes. Whenever you want to."

The soldier then slowly pushed the bowl towards Shuri, which made the princess smile with amusement.

"May I...have more?"

Shuri nodded, and she stood up along with the Fist.

"Of course. Sergeant Barnes and I will be right back. It should not take long."

The soldier did not respond, however. Instead, the soldier was gazing long and hard at the emblem she had pointed out; looking perplexed as she tried to place the symbol within her memories.

(Y/n).

Who was (Y/n)?

Who was she?

-WITH BUCKY-

"I'm not really convinced."

Bucky was standing with his arms crossed as him, Shuri, T'Challa, and Okoye stood within a room just beyond Shuri's lab. There was a live hologram of Steve, Natasha, and Tony situated across from them, the three Avengers looking annoyed.

Tensions were high as the group discussed the soldier; topics ranging between her rehabilitation to her apparent mission and how Bucky wasn't entirely convinced by the soldier's behavior.

"She went from trying to throw knives into our heads and fighting to suddenly being complacent and accepting of our help. Seeing as I used to be her, I can tell you that she is bluffing. She's only trying to win our trust so she can strike when the opportunity arises."

Natasha nodded gently, quirking her eyebrow up as she responded.

"It's a good strategy."

Steve gave Natasha a dirty look before turning it towards Tony as Tony spoke, the man looking nonchalant and shrugging as he popped a couple blueberries into his mouth.

"Okay, then why not just call her out on that? The woman's already in captivity, so you might as well pop that cherry."

Shuri shook her head, muttering.

"I am the only smart one here. What a burden!"

Bucky did not miss the way Okoye snorted to herself, and the princess spoke firmly to Tony, stating.

"If we call her out on her lies, there is a possibility that she will become hostile enough to retrigger the programming. While I have placed blocks to ensure that it won't occur so soon, it would be senseless to place safeguards for nothing, and I am not wasting such complex yet delicate work."

She then huffed, crossing her arms while popping her hip out sassily; glaring at Tony with no hesitation.

"The best plan that I have is to rehabilitate her enough to give her a sense of self outside of being a Winter Soldier, and I am doing that by manipulating her into believing that what we are doing is to help her complete her mission."

Steve asked, frowning.

"What exactly is her mission?"

Bucky answered, shrugging.

"We don't know. She didn't say. She just indicated that I was her mission and that was all."

Bucky didn't miss the recognition that came across Steve's face, and the Captain asked.

"Do you think HYDRA put a hit on you before they disbanded and she's following that blindly? Is she aware that HYDRA is mostly eradicated?"

T'Challa cut in before Bucky could respond, shaking his head slightly.

"If she was given orders before she was put under, then it is possible that there is someone else that is waiting for her return. This is the best way to gain information without giving Sergeant Barnes to the enemy."

Bucky nodded, adding with a clench of his fist.

"In one of her memories, I recognized someone: Jack Rollins. He seems to be her handler."

Natasha and Steve shared a look together, and Tony stated.

"Okay, that's a start. If we can find Rollins, maybe we can find out who our Winter Soldier actually is. Do we know where Rollins was last seen?"

Natasha replied, shrugging.

"At the World Security Council at the Triskelion when Fury and I busted Alexander Pierce for being HYDRA. He was supposedly arrested, but given HYDRA's amazing ability to be everywhere and nowhere at once, I wouldn't be surprised if he was broken out."

T'Challa nodded, an expression of dread ghosting across his face before he quickly corrected himself, giving the three Avengers a determined face.

"I shall have Shuri run her biometric recognition programs while we continue to monitor and rehabilitate the woman. We now have confirmed that she knows the Directorate of Science & Technology, so that narrows our search down considerably."

Natasha muttered to Steve quietly, not realizing the mic was still able to pick up her voice.

"Scientist from the CIA? That always gets HYDRA's rocks wet."

"Natasha, we can still hear you."

Bucky was annoyed, and Natasha just made a face of mock surprise before shrugging, a ghost of a smirk on her face.

"I'm sorry, I thought I would lighten the mood."

In the back, Okoye muttered to herself.

"Americans."

Tony clapped his hands together, swallowing a large portion of blueberries as he surmised.

"Alright, so we get to Rollins, see what the deal is with this woman, get our Manchurian Candidate 2.0 no longer wanting to kill people, and we live happily ever after. Sounds like a good plan. Good talk, everyone, your participation is greatly appreciated."

Tony left the frame, and it was only Natasha and Steve left. Shuri couldn't help but to ask.

"Is that what he is like all of the time?"

"Unfortunately."

Steve replied before sighing, rubbing his temples before he said.

"While getting to Rollins is a good idea, it's not likely that he will talk when we do find him. If HYDRA is good at anything, it's keeping information as hidden as possible. I don't doubt that Rollins would be willing to do anything to make sure the information about the Winter Soldier, and any other possible ones, is kept quiet. We'll go ahead and keep looking through the data that we have here while Tony runs his facial recognition programs as well."

Shuri nodded before offering as well.

"If it's any consolation, we did make some great progress with our soldier, so I do believe that we are on the right track. We just need to be careful about how we move forward. If we can just establish some sort of trust, then perhaps the road to rehabilitation will be easier."

Steve nodded and he praised gently.

"You're doing amazing work, Princess Shuri. I really appreciate what you're doing, and what you did for Bucky, too."

Shuri smiled and waved her hand dismissively.

"Please, this is not only fun but a learning experience as well."

T'Challa nodded before he added.

"As we stated: we must move forward carefully now that progress has officially been made. While Shuri's safeguards are in place, they will not last long, and we do not know what will happen if they disintegrate before Isithunzi is rehabilitated enough to understand that what she is doing is wrong and HYDRA is not the good guy here."

Natasha then asked, a curious look upon her face as she stared at the King.

"Okay, then how long do we have until those safeguards disappear?"

"Without extreme emotional duress, the safeguards will be active up to a month. However, if the soldier experiences any duress during her time here, it can weaken the safeguards enough to last only a few weeks. Truly, it is dependent on Isithunzi...as well as a few other factors."

Bucky knew that Shuri was referencing him, and he could feel his shoulders drop slightly. Natasha just nodded along while Steve responded with a hopeful expression.

"Hopefully it doesn't have to come down to a fight. I just know that we're going to be successful....we have to be."

"What if you are wrong, Captain?"

T'Challa challenged Steve with a pointed look, and Steve sat back in his seat a little.

"What if you are wrong, and there is nobody beneath the rubble? What will you do then?"

"Keep digging."

Steve was firm, and though Bucky wanted to disagree, he knew that Steve was set in his plan. That's just who Steve was: fighting for the little guys. Bucky couldn't help but to shake his head, muttering affectionately and quietly.

"You're such a punk."

"Right back at ya, pal."

The video feed disappeared, and T'Challa glanced back at Bucky. Bucky looked up from his feet to meet T'Challa's gaze, and T'Challa sighed slightly; relenting his gaze to look at Shuri.

"While you work with Isithunzi, Sergeant Barnes and I will work on finding Rollins. Okoye will stay with you."

Okoye immediately stood next to Shuri while the princess hummed, raising a brow.

"You mean you are going to use my programs without me in the room? Am I nothing to you?"

"Oh, stop."

Shuri and T'Challa shoved each other gently before doing the Wakandan salute, and Shuri glanced at Bucky.

"I will let you know if there is any progress or issues alike."

Bucky nodded before he shrugged.

"Alright, let's get to work then."

-

STORY NOTES: After pledging her compliance, Shuri and Bucky seem to have a heated discussion about Shuri agreeing to help the soldier with her mission. When they both reconcile and come to an understanding, they decide to try to get the soldier to eat a meal again. When Shuri questions the soldier and asks her when she last ate, the soldier cannot answer. The soldier retaliates, asking how eating would help her with her mission, and Bucky replies that she needs to be strong if she wants to bring him back to HYDRA. The soldier then relents, trying an Xhosa meal called Isidudu.

The soldier then attempts to eat, though her bites are filled with hesitation and regret for her actions. She becomes afraid, unable to hide her fear of eating, and Shuri comforts the soldier before beginning to question her about her previous identity before HYDRA. The soldier indicates that she was born into HYDRA, which Bucky quickly quips about much to Shuri's chagrin.

Shuri then shows the soldier a list of CIA emblems for each branch, asking if any of them are familiar to the soldier, and the soldier points out the Directorate of Science and Technology emblem. Bucky becomes intrigues, but when he further questions the soldier, the solider becomes withdrawn in fear of being punished for remembering.

She becomes hostile after Shuri praises her, stating that what they are talking about isn't relevant to the mission, and Shuri vaguely replies in turn. Shuri then asks why the soldier is nervous when it comes to food, in which the soldier explains that HYDRA has instilled into her that food is a luxury that must be earned. Shuri encourages the soldier to eat whenever she wants to, indicating she has autonomy and freedom to eat, and the soldier shyly asks for more food after.

After retrieving another portion of food for the soldier, Bucky and Shuri attend a meeting with T'Challa, Okoye, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff about the soldier. Bucky reveals that he isn't convinced by the soldier's act, and points out that the soldier is only bluffing so that she has an advantage to complete her mission. Tony then asks why they do not call her out on the lies, and Shuri reveals that she is manipulating the soldier as well. She explains that if she can establish some sort of trust and get the soldier enough rehabilitation to formulate a sense of independence and autonomy from HYDRA, then the soldier may be more likely to leave HYDRA.

Bucky recalls the man from the soldier's memories as Jack Rollins, who Natasha and Nick Fury had run into during the Project Insight incident with Alexander Pierce. Since he was last known to be alive, Tony and Shuri elect to run biometric recognition programs all around the globe to try to find the man.

The avengers further discuss the safeguards that Shuri has placed, and she reveals that as long as the soldier doesn't experience extreme emotional duress, the likelihood of her programming being triggered is low. However, the safeguards are not meant to stay active for long, and there is a maximum of a month until the safeguards wear off.

TRANSLATIONS:

Isidudu - a creamy porridge made with mealie meal. It is a common breakfast in Xhosa and Zulu households.

Isithunzi - Xhosa for shadow/shade, the Soldiers nickname

TAGLIST: @mgchaser @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @aash3

[quizzicalwriter]

i really love ur writing especially with any matt dillon character <3 i feel like u improved sm with ur recent fics too (or maybe i just like the angst HAHA) but uve always been a great writer, i love how u also include canon details and like realistic details (if that makes sense) but u just r really good with expressing ur words!! id love if u wrote smut like dally bothering fem!reader working a shift at the diner or something idk nonetheless ur writing is sosososgood

Cherry

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dallas makes everything better after a shitty day at work, most of which had been his fault in the first place.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Pain in the ass Dallas. Make-up sex, fingering, oral, all that good stuff.

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind words! And thank you for the request!

Word Count: 4.5k

Working at a local diner wasn't necessarily the high point of your life, working the closing shift even less so. Dealing with inebriated patrons, groups of teenagers, and the occasional male who stayed well past the hours of operation was your usual.

It was a cute thing, the diner, owned by a man who'd inherited the land from his grandfather. His wife had based the menu on her recipes, along with a few from her mother, grandmother, and so on. You'd worked there long enough to gain their trust, and if you were honest, you saw them more as your grandparents than you did your employers.

Dallas accompanied you on the busier nights, whenever he passed by and caught sight of the unruly nighttime crowd, he'd duck into the diner and give you a crooked grin before making his way over to the counter. You fed him, or gave him drinks, just as you did the remainder of the guys whenever you could get away with doing so. It was calming, and made you feel safe having your guard-dog of a boyfriend waiting by the front counter until you flipped the sign that hung on the front door.

While his presence was welcome, the attention it drew was not. Possessive streaks weren't something you prided yourself on. You trusted Dallas as anyone would their boyfriend, but you weren't blind to him either. Dallas was a man, a cocky man at that, his cockiness flared whenever a woman looked his way for longer than a second. Had he ever truly pursued someone other than yourself? No, but, you couldn't help your jealousy whenever a woman approached him with glossed lips and bright eyes.

Internally you thrived on him turning down each woman that came his way, although, much to your dismay, some women took longer to disperse than others had. Whether it was due to Dallas's charm, or their persistence, you weren't sure, nor did you have the ability to check during busy shifts, especially when a man who looked as though he'd seen conflict in the Civil War whistled from the other end of the diner.

"Miss!" He called, waving his hand higher than he had seconds ago. Truthfully, you weren't ignoring him, you'd had to run two other checks to nearby booths and had simply forgotten about him. "Miss!"

With a feigned smile, you peeled your attention from the woman all but draping herself over Dallas, her thin fingers splayed over his forearm. He smiled back at her, the sight made your stomach sour enough for you to partially crumble the bill you'd written up moments prior for the increasingly impatient man.

"Here's your bill, sir. I'm sorry for the wait, busy as all get out tonight."

Your apology was met with a gruff laugh, but he seemed to understand your plight as he followed your line of sight back toward the front counter. While he signed the bottom of the receipt, he cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to him.

"Ain't no sense in apologizin'." He responded with a lift of his hips as he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. "I get why your attention's elsewhere."

You opened your mouth to apologize, only to be met with the raise of his hand as he placed a few dollars down on the table, enough to cover the tab and your tip. It was generous and kind enough to leave you mentally berating yourself for not having given him better service. But, you ventured by the kind, almost apologetic smile upon his face that he had been in a similar situation in his youth.

Incessant laughter bubbled from the opposing side of the diner, the noise boisterous enough to pick away at your fading patience. You pocketed the cash, inwardly begging whatever deity listening for the grace to clean up shop and kick the girl out without causing a scene.

Their conversation continued, words muffled by distance and the clatter of putting away cutlery, although you tried your damndest to overhear it all. You began your routine of cleaning up house, a wet rag over your shoulder with a bottle of cleaning solution in your left hand. As you spritzed a nearby table, her laughter kicked up a notch, yet again.

"We're closing!" You called, giving her a feigned smile as she turned her head to face you. She returned your smile, just as you had given it to her, coarse and fake. You bit at your inner cheek as she turned back to Dallas, her hand lifting to rest against his shoulder.

"Hey, we're closed!" You shouted, tone louder than before. Dallas peered at you from behind her shoulder, face a mixture of shock and amusement. You were having none of it, not her bold and brazen behavior, his cockiness - none of it. You tossed your rag toward the counter, slinging the bottle alongside it as you moved toward them.

The woman, for what it was worth, met your eyes as you approached. The sudden eye contact left you stumbling over your thoughts, but as you caught sight of her hand still lingering upon his shoulder, all sense of humility left you.

"He's taken, did you know that?" You asked as you grabbed her wrist, quickly shoving it back toward her. Her smile faltered then, her eyes flickering between you and Dallas as she backed away. "No, I suppose you didn't."

All anger you had directed toward her vanished with each step she took toward the door, instead raising and flaring at the man sitting beside you. You turned, meeting his gaze with a scowl and a shake of your head.

"Seriously, Dallas?" You asked, although you knew no response he could provide at that moment would abate the growing ache in your chest. "You're an asshole. A real - fuckin' - asshole."

Each pause was accentuated with a shove of his shoulder, jealousy seething in your mind, burning your eyes with tears you refused to let him see. You could tell from the sudden switch of emotion on his face, albeit blurred from your tears, that he hadn't meant to hurt you. His hands grabbed your forearms, holding you steady whilst simultaneously shielding himself from your jealousy-fueled tirade. You were in no mood for his touch, so you pulled away from it with a grunt.

The sooner you finished closing up shop, the sooner you'd be away from him. Those words rang in your mind as you walked away from him, repeating with each step as though it were a mantra.

It was shitty; your jealousy, his cockiness, it was a toxic mix that neither of you relished in. You had known going into your relationship with Dallas how he handled interactions with women, you knew where his loyalties were, yet some part of you continued to twist and sour with each look his way.

Maybe it was the extra shifts you'd taken at the diner, the fewer hours you were able to spend by his side, being reassured by his touch and his words. Whatever it was, you hadn't the patience to linger on it, all you wanted to do was wallow in your anger - so, you did.

"Doll!" He called, although he was met with no answer as you tossed unclean plastic menus onto the countertop. You could hear him walking toward you, swearing under his breath, yet you continued to ignore him as you snagged your house keys from underneath the counter.

"Christ's sake, I didn't say a damn thing to the broad!"

"That's not the point." You sighed, shaking your head as you spoke, fingers blindly fumbling with your keyring as you neared the front entrance. "Not the point at all, and you know it."

Once your fingers had found the key to the front door, you hastened your pace, not necessarily wishing to have an argument with Dallas in the middle of the night. Dallas, however, absolutely seemed up to the challenge. He stood behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, a heavy scowl on his face as he watched you lock the place up.

"Explain it to me then." He whispered, and for a second you believed him to be apologetic. "'Cause this attitude, it ain't helpin' your cause."

And then he ruined it.

You swirled on your heel, months of pushed-aside irritation bubbling to the surface. You weren't one for confrontation, never had been, it was a sore point for you. You quickly pocketed your keys, hands gripping the middle of your jacket, tugging it snug around your middle.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" You asked. "You could've shooed her away, told her you were with someone. And yet, you- you entertain it."

The words would've rung home for anyone willing to listen, but Dallas, with his stubborn ways, only cocked his head to the side and gave you a lopsided grin.

"I'm not interested in other women." He responded, taking a step closer to you. "I can't help who talks to me, doll. I ain't entertaining anything, you know that."

Did you? Maybe, but in your jealousy-fueled haze, you refused to admit your part in the misunderstanding. He lifted his right hand from his pocket, placing it against your upper arm, thumb gently rubbing along the fabric of your jacket.

"Do you worry about me?" He asked with a duck of his head, trying to center your attention back on him. "Worry about me talkin' to other girls?"

You nodded, and instead of snickering, he pulled you forward. You thudded against his chest, the sudden move knocking a bit of wind from your lungs. His arms wrapped around you as he laughed out an apology, the sound soft, the words genuine.

"Still an asshole." You murmured, resting your cheek on his chest as your hands grasped onto the back of his jacket. You felt him nod, chin atop your head, his hands smoothing up your back.

"I know." He replied. "At least let me drive you home, alright? Even if you're pissed."

"Not pissed." You assured, leaning back from the embrace to meet his gaze. "Might have overreacted."

Dallas clicked his tongue against his teeth, eyebrows screwing together as he nodded his head back. "No," he chuckled. "I would've done the same if some guy talked to you."

The thought made you smile, not that you hadn't seen Dallas's protective side flair. You were both territorial over each other, and there was nothing necessarily wrong with that as long as the feelings were reciprocated - which they were in their entirety.

"Ever notice how empty this lot is at night?" He commented, snapping you from your mind with a gentle squeeze of your hip. "Hardly any cars pass by, somethin' I noticed after a few nights sittin' by the counter."

Dallas hadn't been wrong, not in the slightest. In truth, you would've been surprised if you'd caught anyone lingering in the parking lot after closing. Your town wasn't quiet by any means, but the diner had been built around, years of infrastructure hiding it amidst a cluster of run-down businesses.

With a hum, you leaned into his side. "Guess you're right." You replied, tilting your head back to give him a squinty-eyed smile, on account of the nearby flickering lot light.

"Could make you feel better." He whispered. "On account of earlier, or whatever."

You snickered, rolling your eyes at his blatant suggestion, yet for all its crudeness, you couldn't deny the stir you felt in your lower stomach.

"You're filthy." You chided, nudging his side with your elbow.

Dallas huffed out a laugh, his arm looping around your back. "C'mon," he urged as he began walking, leading you toward his car. "Ain't wasting the opportunity to make you feel better."

Mere moments had passed before you were both clamoring into the back of the Thunderbird, limbs bumping into limbs, soft laughter echoing inside the vehicle as Dallas reached over your middle to pull the door shut. As soon as the door had shut, your lips were on his, your hands blindly fumbling with the front of his jeans.

You'd just gotten the button undone when his hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them back as he pulled away from your kiss. You were left pouting, the sight adorable and pitiful enough to pull a laugh from Dallas as he set your hands down in your lap.

"This is for you, not me. Let me make you feel good."

Dallas focusing his sole attention on you? On pleasing you, no less? How could you refuse? Elated laughter bubbled in your chest as his hands slid up and underneath your skirt, the fabric bunching up around your hips. You helped him with a gentle lift of your hips, allowing him to hook his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, before slinking the fabric down your legs.

"You're going to cum on my tongue." He stated, tone full of nonchalance as he tossed your underwear toward the front of the car. "And, I want you over me when you do."

"You want me to sit on your face?" You asked, lips quirking up into a smile as you bit back laughter, truly believing he was joking. "Is that what you're asking me?"

Dallas only nodded, and only then did the realization of his request register in your mind. Heat prickled at the nape of your neck, spreading forward until it encompassed your chest in a deep blush. Sensing your nerves, Dallas's thumbs rubbed gentle circles above your hip bones, his head ducking down to meet your avoidant gaze.

"Hey," he whispered. "Ain't nothin' I haven't seen before. It'll feel good, doll, promise."

So, you allowed him to help you into a position that didn't have both of you groaning in discomfort. Maneuvering into a position where you straddled his shoulders, in the back of an already narrow car, wasn't exactly the easiest to accomplish. Somehow, you both managed, mostly thanks to Dallas's hands keeping you steady as you moved over him.

The chill of his silver rings bit into your thighs, keeping you sunk in the present, hovered over him as he looked up at you from below. There was nothing other than pure, unadulterated lust pouring from his eyes, pupils blown so heavily there was only a crescent of color visible. His fingers tapped, once and then again, a nonverbal request for you to lower yourself.

So you did.

He met you halfway, tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt, delving between your folds to collect your essence against his tastebuds. He wanted to savor you, that much was readily apparent by his hardened grasp on your thighs, all but cementing you atop his face. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as a plethora of broken-off moans tumbled past your lips.

You begged for him, murmuring his name between praises lost on your ears, but not his. Each word, no matter how garbled by pleasure, left his hips rutting up into the air as he circled his tongue around your clit. Your hips moved in synchrony with his tongue, adjacent swirls, and he let you. He had always favored dominance, being in control of the situation, but having you atop him had him praising every divine figure he could conjure in his lust-riddled mind.

“Dallas-“ You crooned, the noise so sweet it pulled a moan from his chest, the vibration left directly against your aching cunt. You smiled, a mixture of a laugh and moan leaving you as your hands raked through his hair, tugging at the short strands. “So good, Dal.”

With an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, he pulled away. It was for a fraction of a second, needed to slip his right hand between your thighs, but you were left whining and pouting. He tutted from between your thighs, lips, and chin glistening with your cum.

“C’mon, doll.” He whispered as his middle and ring fingers pushed inside of you, delicately curling to brush against a spot that had your thighs clamping down around him. “It'll feel good, I promise.”

His left hand squeezed your hip, guiding you just as he would if you were riding him. You unconsciously followed his guidance, sliding down onto his fingers, before raising yourself, only to repeat the motion over, and over. Lewd squelches sounded from between your thighs, your cunt dripping a mixture of cum and saliva down onto his palm.

“See?” He asked through a breathy laugh, quickly resuming his position between your thighs. “Told ‘ya I’d make you feel better.”

You wanted to berate him for his cockiness, you truly did, but the feeling of his lips encircling your clit left you breathless. If anything, any ridicule would’ve turned into a garbled mess of his name.

A groan of a laugh reverberated in Dallas’s chest, yet he never pulled away. His tongue lapped at your clit, intervals of swirls and sucks following each grunt he managed to sound out. The sounds were carnal, stoking the steadily building flame in your lower stomach. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair, pulling him closer, yourself closer. In truth, you weren’t sure if he could breathe, but neither of you moved from where you were.

“That’s it, doll.” He rasped, words hardly audible, muffled from your cunt. You managed a sighed moan in response, your hips rolling, sliding your cunt against his tongue. His fingers thrusted into you, mimicking the tempo of his eager tongue, each lap and circle of the muscle pushing you closer to the edge.

The uptake of an octave, your head rolling back as your eyes squeezed shut; Dallas knew each instinctual move of your body by heart. His eyes stayed locked on you, memorizing the sight of you coming undone above him, riding his face like a woman starved. His free hand lifted from your hip, curving around the plush of your ass, knowing he needed a tight hold on you to keep you steady.

“Dal-“

There it was, the familiar beckon of his name. His cock strained against the confines of his boxers, tip leaking precum, smearing against the now dampened fabric. His thighs tensed as his hips rolled, desperately seeking some form of reprieve as your cunt twitched around his fingers. Instead of verbalizing his reply, he squeezed the swell of your ass, wordlessly urging you to cum.

White-hot pleasure seared your veins, unconsciously twitching your limbs, tightening your hold on his hair. Your cunt spasmed, clit throbbing against his circling tongue. You cursed under your breath, eyes squeezed shut, mind solely focused on the ecstasy overtaking your body. Dallas grounded you with slow brushes of his hand along your thigh, fingers still inside of you, lips placing gentle kisses on your oversensitive clit.

“Alright?” He asked, tone rough enough to pull a surprised laugh from you. You nodded, threading your fingers through his hair.

“More than alright.” You replied. “Way more.”

Instead of hovering over his face for another second with wobbly legs, you moved yourself back, giving Dallas enough time to situate himself upright. His hands found your hips quickly after, gently guiding you back to his lap.

In an almost instinctive move, you lowered yourself to place your lips on his. His hands slid around your back, fingers absentmindedly grabbing at the fabric of your uniform as his lips moved with yours.

You braced yourself against the rear windshield, the slick condensation gathering in the palm of your hands, smearing your fingerprints down the pane as your lips moved against his. If anyone had passed by, anyone at all, they would've gathered what you both had gotten up to.

Neither of you could bring yourself to care, not when Dallas slipped his hands underneath the back of your shirt, his fingernails scraping along the curve of your back to have you closer as he sucked your tongue.

Your lips curved into a smile at the move, the lucrative, nearly addictive slide of his tongue against your own. He knew you, knew your body and how to make it tick. Your hips rocked against his lap, causing his already hard cock to twitch and pulse against the confines of his jeans.

"You're still hard," you rasped into the kiss, "I can make you feel good, too."

He groaned, his eyebrows knitting together as his hips bucked up into you. You bit at your bottom lip as you moved your hands from the rear windshield, letting your now cool skin slide down his front, keeping your eyes locked with his as you unzipped his jeans.

His lips parted in a silent moan as your hand slipped underneath the hem of his boxers, your fingers curling around the thick base of his cock. You could feel each twitch of his cock beneath your palm, the skin slick and warm, coated in his precum. You slid your hand up, leisurely pumping him, the act enough to have him grunting out your name.

You savored each lecherous moan that fell from his lips. With a shift of your hips, you centered yourself over his thigh, rolling your hips down in tandem with each stroke of his cock. You knew you were dampening the denim, soiling it, yet all you saw reflected in Dallas's eyes was the same debauchery you held heavy in your mind.

“Fuck me.” You begged, tired of the hassle, of denying yourself the most innate of pleasures. He relented with a lift of your body, allowing his hard cock to slide along your folds, catching against you. You watched as he lowered you onto him, his cock sliding into you deliciously slow.

Thin, red lines followed his nails as they dragged up the skin of your thighs, coming to a halt at your hips where he steadied you. You could feel his cock pulse inside of you, twitching just before your cervix. You watched him with bated breath, allowing him to guide each movement of your hips, and he did so with precision.

"So tight," he murmured, eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of pure lust and concentration, as though the mere sight of you atop him would undo him if he gave into it. "So fuckin' good."

All you could muster was a moan in response, your hips rolling forward, each forward motion brushing your clit against his lower stomach. Your thighs strained, muscles burning, yet you paid them no mind in favor of the persistent push of Dallas's cock, the way his tip brushed against your g-spot with each shift of his hips.

His eyes flitted, sight torn between your breasts and the needy, desperate look in your eyes. He shifted beneath you, planting his feet against the floorboard, giving himself enough stability to thrust upward, pushing himself deeper than before.

The shift in position forced the air from your lungs, a pitiful, broken-off mess of a moan passing your parted lips as you grasped his shoulders. He whispered something to you, but whatever it was had been lost on your muddled mind in favor of the budding feeling of ecstasy coiling in your lower stomach.

"Dallas-" You whined, the urgency in your call not lost on him. He nodded, wetting his lips as he rolled his hips upward. You could feel your arousal dripping between your thighs, smearing along your skin as well as his, coating his lower stomach in your cum.

"That's it, doll." He whispered, his left hand moving between your thighs to circle his thumb around your clit, rhythm syncing with each pump of his hips. "C'mon, cum for me."

Ecstasy coiled tight in your stomach, and with each swirl of his thumb and pump of his cock, you felt it twist tighter and tighter. Your hands moved from his shoulders, fingers threading through the back of his hair where you pulled. His mouth fell open, eyebrows lifting as an expression of shock-induced euphoria crossed his face.

So, you pulled harder, the harshness of your hold mirrored in the desperate way you fucked yourself on his cock, movements so frenzied you felt your muscles burning beneath your skin.

A deep, almost sinful moan rumbled in his chest. You swallowed it with a kiss to his lips, hands moving to his jaw as your tongue moved with his. His thumb was slick against your clit, and with a gasp of his name, your cunt spasmed around his cock.

"Fuck, that's it." He groaned, words strained as he teetered on the edge of his orgasm. "Let it out, doll."

Your lips moved from his, kisses trailing down his cheek, onto his jaw, before you settled your cheek to his shoulder, simply choosing to give yourself over to the onslaught of pleasure Dallas had you wrapped up in. Dallas's hold on your hip tightened as his head fell back, his eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched as his cock twitched inside of you, each pulse filling you with his cum.

You both shared the blissful silence that came afterward, the only noises being the occasional breath and whispered praise, the brush of his hands against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, words muffled by the press of his lips against your throat. "I'm sorry."

Apologies weren't common with Dallas. To his benefit, he hadn't done much to call for one, but this - this you appreciated. You nodded, leaning into his touch, his lips, with a thread of your fingers through his hair. He continued murmuring into your skin, you drank in each word, heart slowing in your chest, calming with the promises he spoke only to you.

His hand moved from your hip, thumb, and forefinger resting against your chin, tipping your head up to meet his eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed together, skin coated in a thin veneer of sweat. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, yet his eyes never left yours.

"You're my girl." He whispered, and you nodded. "I'd never do anything to hurt you."

You placed a kiss on the pad of his thumb, the sincerity in his words causing you to smile. He smiled in return, fingers splaying against your cheek where he held you gently.

"It won't happen again, alright?"

His words were soft, the sentiment mirrored in his eyes. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He met your embrace with one of his own, wrapping his arms around the small of your back, hands gently caressing between your shoulder blades.

"Good apology, been workin' on it for a while?" You joked, placing a kiss on his jaw with a soft bout of laughter. You felt him laugh, the vibration of his chest against yours.

"Nope." He admitted, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "You're worth a genuine apology."

"Sap." You teased, but your tone gave way to your true feelings, how much you appreciated his honesty, his words. He caught on, but never made it known, instead choosing to reply with another kiss to your skin.

"Yeah, guess I am."

A/N: Siri, play "Lover, You Should've Come Over" by Jeff Buckley, please! No, but seriously, I finished this piece with that song on repeat. Alas, I am not dead! I won't lie, I've suffered with pretty damn bad writers block. Somehow, I finished this. I hope you all like it! Thank you for your continuous support of me and my work, I value you all more than I could ever put into words! I hope this piece makes up for my time gone, see it as an early Valentine's gift!

[b1rds3ye]

hi!! this is my first time doing a request so idk if I'm doing this right haha but uh, I was wondering if you could do like. yknow the masked one you made for the 141 (I can't remember the name rn💔)? I thought of like, a sequel idea. like, what if during combat an enemy manages to take reader's mask, and so reader panics and like, rips the enemies throat out with their teeth (or if that's too violent, just goes basically rabid on them lmao) and how they would react?? if this is too violent or specific dw you don't have to!! anyways, I love your content it's totally awesome ur writing is amazing! have a good day!!

YES I LOVE THE BADASSERY AND THE UNHINGEDNESS!! If I'm your first request I'm so flattered anon pls do feel free to drop by again <333 Also just going to do general rabidness because ngl the throat thing sounds like an infection speedrun and we want our masked reader to stay nice and healthy <333

Word Count: 1.2 (it got a little long WHOOPS)

Warning: Canon typical violence, reader does get a lil sadistic and unhinged <333

Beyond Task Force 141 and Laswell, many - if not all - allied soldiers wondered about what lay under your mask. Obscuring even the eyes, your visage was more unreadable than Ghost's. Larger than life, a soldier among men.

There was a running joke that there was just nothing under your mask, perhaps an eldritch horror of sorts. You let the new recruits entertain the thought, it kept morale up as they conjured more myths of you. They said that no one has seen you without your mask. They were partially right.

It simply was that no one lived to tell the tale.

You were never one for close combat, but fighting terrorists was never smooth sailing. The chaos of battle had all of the 141 separated against the tight streets of Las Almas. How uncanny that you could not see your allies but hear their gunfire. Running out of ammo, you couldn't lament at your misfortune as a shoulder pummeling into your chest, sending you to the ground and the air out of your lungs. Head bashing against the floor you groaned as you furiously clawed up to whatever heavy weight was crushing your body. You were starting to make up the figure of a man hovering over you through the blurry haze of a concussion that filled your sight. The distant static of Price's voice through the radio, probably asking where the hell were you but you had more pressing issues at hand.

Through your struggle and flailing limbs you managed to wring the enemy's pistol off of them with a painful twist of their wrist. And they retaliated tenfold, a large sweaty hand reaching down and pressing your head back against the ground. Your adrenaline makes you writhe further, he was going to suffocate you, or worse, poison you with how fucking awful his hand smelt as the stink of burning gunpowder replaced any of your oxygen. But no, he committed a far worse crime.

A singular pull and the grating tear of fabric as your mask is pulled off of your face.

A heavy moment where your enemy looks down at you and his gaze is not like before. It's clear, it's deep. It is not looking at your facade but at you and you are no longer a soldier. You are merely a human, so fragile, so weak. One that is on the verge of death in a foreign land surrounded by bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike. One whose mythos is all but lost at the victorious and leering smirk of an enemy as they take in your face.

That simply won't do.

Pulling your knee up to create space between you and the man, you pull out your tactical knife from your waist and drive it into his torso. His smile falls only to land at settle on yours below him, just like his blood that trickles as forbidden crimson down your hands and seeps into your uniform. It's disgustingly warm. He grows heavier as he loses all control over his body and you heave to throw his figure off to the side. You stab him once again for good measure. And then again. And again. Quick, short jabs down with a sharpened blade that cuts through uniform, flesh and bone alike. You did not count how many times you drove your blade down, numbers were too complex when your mind was running faster than any comprehensible speed. There was only one goal. To make sure no one knows what happened.

A harsh grip on the shoulder yanks you back up and you swipe with your armed limb to cut your new assailant's neck but they were onto you. Catching your arm, they pull it up as they hold onto your shoulder once again with a tightening grip that digs into your uniform. But they do nothing more, no matter how much you thrash and kick.

"Wake up, Sergeant," your opponent seethes and that voice makes you still, a buoy that floats across through your rage. Deep and grounding and your captain's.

You nearly stumble back but Price catches you before you crumple to the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline was escaping your body leaving you with barely the energy to stay upright. Your head lolls back for a second before you bring it to the side to look at your direct superior, the remnants of a concussion making your vision blurry.

"You broken?" he asks.

"Negative, sir,” you respond immediately but he looks a little doubtful, a singular eyebrow raised as he inspects you. Not your body, but your face. The dilated pupils and the taut muscles told more than any wound.

"Can't say the same about your wee friend over there," Soap whistles as he tilts his head to behind you. “Christ, you did a number on him.”

You dare turn to look over your shoulder but Ghost already situated himself in front of the body. But between his feet you could already make out the indistinguishable mass of tattered fabric and discoloured flesh. Fresh blood filled the rivets between the cobblestones, the remnants of the body inching its way closer to you-

"Was it the mask?" Simon brings your attention back to him. You nod dumbly. He only dips his head in what you can only describe as understanding as he folds his arms, fortifying his stance in front of the mess you made. You weren’t going to see your handiwork, he was too kind to ever let you.

John drops his hands down to his sides as Gaz approaches you with your mask.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Kyle offers you a sympathetic smile.

"Learnt that the first day I saw 'em on duty," Johnny retorts and you instinctively smile as you take your mask from Kyle. The hardened plaster of your mask had cracked, the fabric that hugged your neck had become torn but it'll do for the remainder of the mission. Slipping the mask back on, Simon offers a nod of approval while Johnny tugged at the fabric for a few finishing touches.

Ultimately the mission was successful. The task force returns to base and although none of the boys mentioned the carnage you left, there are still whispers of it on base. You had hurried to debrief and get your mask fixed but it seemed some privates caught sight of you and that was enough to spark rumours. Your mask had gotten so fractured that a shard was left back in the streets of Las Almas and revealed one of your eyes to the rest of the world. Such a small organ but so vivid. The privates saw, and more was added to the myth that was you. There was now no question about what was under the mask. No lovecraftian horror or empty space, no monster beyond comprehension. No, what was under your mask was terrifyingly human.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[angelshizuka]

To me, Lucifer being pan is too fanservicey and caters to the Radioapple people. Even though that is partially queerbaiting because it's confirmed he only loves Lilith and will only end up with her. It's like how Octavia being ace is to cater to those who hc'd her as such, even though it's clear she was only made ace so Viv could dissuade people from drawing lolicon art of her.

So I prefer to have Lucifer as a cishet who is fine with his daughter being bisexual. And he's not overly woobified or put into queerbait scenarios. He loves Lilith very much and won't cheat on her for no reason.

I'm sorry, Anon, but I literally cannot disagree more with literally everything you just said.

Like, you do understand that no amount of making Lucifer canonically cishet would've stopped the Radioapple ship, right? Same goes for Octavia, if people wanna do that, no amount of her being canonically ace will stop them (wheter you agree with it or not is besides the point). If you think that, you really have no idea how fandoms work.

And that's not even getting into how Viv herself literally came out ace (bi) recently. So, why are people still acting like her making characters canonically ace is just a stereotype or an "excuse"!?

I get it if people headcanon Lucifer as cishet (which yes, will officially always be a headcanon now), but I will not respect said headcanon if it involves claiming him being canonically pan "makes no sense", because the arguments I hear are always such bullshit and always miss the point of what pansexuality even is.

Honestly, I am so god damn tired of people acting like body count and sexuality are the same thing. It's literally nothing different from claiming someone is "actually straight" or "actually gay" just because of the gender they're currently dating. Not to mention Lucifer has existed for billions of years before Lilith even existed.

And claiming making Lucifer pan is "queerbaiting" in a show that's filled to the BRIM with queer characters sure is a choice... If anything it's good to show that even queer men can be in a relationship with a woman and it doesnn't magically erase their sexuality.

Anyway, I'm gonna keep celebrating him being canonically pan!

[samsblades]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, angst, canon typical violence, injuries, knives, non-sexual partial nudity, guilty sam, rejection, talk of death/dying, sort of a case fic at first, mentions of stitches, lots of feelings, poorly edited & my first(?) attempt at a full angst fic lol (no happy ending!), set in season 5, so some spoilers, 10.6K words. listen to my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. requested !

summary : you get injured and sam realizes he’s more scared of getting you hurt than he is of anything else, even losing you and your love.

to be in love is the strangest experience. to be in love for a long time, for years on end with little to no reciprocation is even stranger.

somehow, you can watch him fall in love with someone else, kiss somebody new, romance another girl, and be blindsided by a fourth. jess you could never be mad at. she seemed too sweet and good for sam, for you to dislike. madison never did anything wrong either, but you did hate how much she unintentionally hurt him. sarah, too, was sweet and brave and helpful and she made him smile. that, of course, didn’t stop you from wanting to be that person instead, but you didn’t feel like you could complain.

ruby, you still feel rightfully angry with sometimes. for sam’s sake, you wanted her help to be real and true, but it felt clear to you from the beginning that not everything was right. now you’re dealing with the apocalypse and sam’s guilt that you alternate between wanting him to let go of and wanting him to feel it just a little bit longer.

besides, jess and madison are dead, so it’s unkind to be too jealous of them, and you’re sure that sam hasn’t spoken to sarah in years. and ruby’s dead too, so she doesn’t pose a threat any longer.

it’s all been so strange, because you’ve seen sam go through it all, kiss them all, love them all in some way or another, and you’re pretty sure all it’s done is make you love him more. at this point, you’re sure that you’ll never love anyone the way that you love sam. unceasingly, ardently, passionately, and for now, quietly.

but after the knowledge of the looming apocalypse has come the strangest part of it all. having loved sam since he was seventeen and secretly doing everything in his power to get away from this all, you know him and each of his mircroexpressions and tones of voice all too well. and these days, sam looks at you in ways that you’ve never noticed before. these days, sam looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in love with you.

it’s not as if you’d given up hope completely, because no one who’s as in love as you are ever will, but you’ve learned how to live with unrequited love. the pain can be stabbing and all-consuming sometimes, but it’s survivable so long as he doesn’t stop smiling at you or letting you rest in his lap or being the only one to call you a special nickname. even if you’re not the love of his life like he is yours, you’ll always mean something to him as his closest friend.

so now, it catches you off guard when sam looks at you as if he’s considering the possibility that you’re the one who hung the stars up in the sky or talks to you with this gentle joy that’s just somehow different from before. those moments are rare, but incredible to have when you consider the looming apocalypse that sam is blaming himself for. he’s battling the fact that he’s supposed to be the vessel to the devil himself, but he still finds the time to hold your pinky finger for a fleeting moment and not say a word about it. and now, sam does that thing where you say something and it makes him smile, and instead of casually holding your gaze like he used you, his gaze will falter and he’ll tilt his chin down and lick his lips as if he’s suddenly shy around you.

last night, dean was out and you and sam were researching for the case you’re working on. you ended up sitting side by side on your shared bed, trying to get comfy as the hours dragged on and the moon moved higher through the sky. completely unprompted, sam had lifted his arm up and around your shoulders, using his gentle hand to cup the side of your head and bring it to rest on his wide shoulder.

your heart soared and you did your best to keep researching, but the lull of his breathing and the clacking of the keyboard as he typed one handed sang you to sleep right then and there, tucked all cozy into his side.

you waking up in his arms certainly set the tone for today. this case is ugly and there was another victim last night, but sam has this sweet, touchy air about him. as you walk to the crime scene his hand lingers unprofessionally close to the small of your back, and from the tightness to his lips, you’re guessing that he’s holding back from saying something he knows will make you laugh.

you resist the urge to give him a secret smile, soft and loving because you’re selfish enough to try and get him to see that you want him like this. you want him to see that you already love him back, and all he has to do is let himself fall. but you don’t want to overwhelm him, so you go about assessing the crime scene and interviewing the witness like he’s your fbi partner and not the person you love most in this world.

the witness’s statement along with the security camera footage that dean saw at the police station confirms that you’re up against a shapeshifter. much like the first one the three of you hunted together in ‘05 it seems to be disguising itself as a loved one before killing its victims.

“this thing can shapeshift to look like literally anybody, but it can’t come up with something original?” dean jokes.

sam shrugs in his usual sam way. “well, it is an effective method,” sam reasons, despite knowing that dean’s just making fun. sam’s not even looking at dean; his eyes alternate from checking his computer screen where he scouts out city plumbing maps to find the best places in the sewer to look for the shifter, to letting his eyes roam over your features. you wonder if you’ll have to get used to sam staring at you as much as you do him. though, you can’t say that that’s a bad thing by any stretch. maybe he’ll finally notice the way that you look at him and maybe he’ll finally realize that it might be you who he’s been loving this whole time.

sam stands from his spot across from you, grabbing a map of the city from the bedside table. instead of returning to his original spot, he slots himself right next to you to lay the map out on the table. he runs a hand along the length of it, crossing your chest and brushing your nose with the fabric of his flannel before moving his hand back to rest right beside yours on the table top. he leans over the map and you tilt youu head to look up at him as he points out the most likely spots that the shifter could be hiding out at. you only pay half attention as he speaks, more able to take in the sight of his lips moving than the actual words that they’re forming. you’re not uncareful, you just know that sam will make sure you and dean remember the most important things when you get in the car.

—

“are you sure splitting up is a good idea?” sam stresses from the passenger seat of the impala.

“we know how to test for the shifter and we all can take care of ourselves,” dean says, repeating just about the same thing that he said before.

you lean forward in your seat. “we’ll be fine, sam. i agree, it’s not ideal, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and we can’t let the shifter get to anyone else,” you reason.

“i know,” he huffs, still unconvinced due to the possible dangers. but, there’s always danger, and if you’re siding with dean, he knows he doesn’t stand much of a chance of winning the argument anyway.

—

the sewers are dark, damp, and smell like shit. they grow even darker as the sun begins to set above ground and you’re grateful for the bright flashlight that you have on hand. you’ve been tramping through the dark and sewer waste for over an hour and heard nothing helpful from the boys.

you keep your silver knife at the ready, in case you run into anything or anyone. you all agreed that if you see each other, the very first order of business is to test yourself with your own knife to be sure. when you hear footsteps, you immediately press yourself against the wall, doing your best to stay hidden until you can see what’s heading your way. the second you see a person’s frame, you immediately recognize it as sam. he told you that you’d probably run into each other at some point, so you relax a touch. even so, you keep your knife in front of you as you step into the pathway.

“sam?” you call out, stopping a good length away from him.

“hey. yeah, it’s me,” he says, holding out his hand and knife to show you as he slices a thin line across his forearm. you sigh in relief, then quickly repeat the action to confirm to him that you’re you as well.

“you heard from dean?” you ask, closing the space between the two of you. sam meets you halfway, shaking his head.

“nothing,” he sighs, turning back where he came from.

“damn. an hour in the sewers and we’ve got jack,” you frown. “exactly how i like to spend my friday nights.”

“course it is, it’s the perfect date spot,” he jokes back, leading you left, down a new path you assume he skipped on his way over to you.

“mmm, does that mean we’re on a date, winchester?” you flirt. he takes the quip with composure as you step back into a main hallway, wide enough to walk side by side. he waits for you to be next to him before he continues. he didn’t even laugh a little awkwardly at your comment like he normally might. he must be in a flirty mood.

“if that’s what you want,” he flirts back, flashing you his gorgeous grin. the passage is still sort of tight, so his knuckles continually brush against the back of your hand, and the fabric of his jacket rustles against yours.

“being a flirt today, are we?” you tease, maybe pushing the limits a little.

“just for you,” he fires back, and that just about stuns you into silence. he’s in an awfully good mood for someone stuck hunting a killer in the sewers under an unfamiliar city. you nudge him playfully with your elbow, not even sure how to respond with words. so with that, you fall into a comfortable, familiar silence, the only sounds being the echo of your sloshing footsteps through the sewer.

out of boredom, sam teases you with his pinky finger, sticking it out and poking your hand with it. you push back gently, playing along. he escalates the game by poking your side. you giggle a little, swatting at his big hand. 

“stop that!” you whisper-shout. “what if the shapeshifter comes along and we’re too distracted because you’re tickling me?” his proximity, his flirting, and his goddamn smile are already distracting enough. 

“i wasn’t tickling you, just poking,” he teases, but doesn’t do it again since you’re right enough.

“yeah, you said that last week after you did that. it tickles, which means you’re tickling me,” you retort before letting the silence fall over you again.

you head down a narrow path, forcing sam to walk behind you. even then, you can feel his closeness. a minute later, you step out into a wider area where a grate lets in a stream of moonlight. sam comes out after you, stopping by your side. the moonlight casts a glow on his face and, like you always do, you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks, even after a long hour and counting of traipsing around in a sewer. continually, even in the more open space, he stays right by your side, close enough for your elbows to brush.

“think we should call dean?” he suggests, “regroup, maybe call it a night?”

you tilt your head to the side in acknowledgment. “tempting,” you respond, “i’m getting hungry. let’s at least call him, then go from there.” you step further into the space in fron of you, trying to escape the chilly draft coming from the narrow pathway you came in from. but the floor in here is slicker than you realize, and you slip embarrassingly hard, completely losing your footing and letting out a short gasp as you fall.

sam’s instincts are impeccable as always, and a strong arm wraps around your waist before you can fall too far. once you’re steady, sam doesn’t move to pull you all the way up and onto your own feet. he just keeps you dependant on his hold to stay off the slippery floor and brings his other hand to meet the one wrapped around your side. he looks down at you, half of his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half fallen into shadow. you stare right back up at him, flustered but too happy for any sort of such purposeful physical contact with him to care about that.

it feels like a movie with you in his arms like this, willingly stuck there by the both of you. then he leans down closer to you and your eyes widen. in the partial darkness, he looks at you like he’s no longer just wondering if he loves you, more like he knows it for sure. he looks at you with such unabashed love, so overwhelming in a way that you hadn’t expected from him for a long while, if ever. you think that for sure he’s going to kiss you, and you know even better that you’d let him without a second thought.

this certainly isn’t how you imagined it’d be at all. not this soon and not in the middle of a sewer system, surrounded by awful smells and an unpleasant humidity. you suppose that the moonlight filtering down is nice enough, and that you’d never expected anything grandiose or overly romantic with him anyway.

then you hear footsteps, and a split second later, your name being called in sam’s voice. only it wasn’t the sam holding you who said it, it was someone behind you. it only takes a millisecond for everything to click. this sam, the one holding you close, cut himself with a knife you recognized. that’s why you didn’t bat an eye, but you failed to remember that that particular knife of sam’s isn’t made of silver, just a weaker and ineffective metal alloy.

before you can process it, that exact knife is being plunged into your gut. you let out a strangled cry of pain.

sam, the real sam, shouts your name again and you think you hear his running footsteps until he stops dead in his tracks when the shifter yanks the knife from your stomach and puts it to your throat. you cry out again, choking a little on your own breath as you stretch your neck, trying to see your sam. 

but the shifter presses the knife down, drawing a line of blood on your neck and growls, “look at me. you’re going to watch your precious little sammy as he slices your throat.”

you can imagine sam putting his hands in the air, mouth open and ready to talk the shifter out of it when you hear two loud gunshots, and you’re dropped to the floor, too shaken up to break your own fall. your head hits the ground hard, and the next thing you can register is sam again. you get his voice and his hands, one sliding under your neck to cup the back of your head and the other pressing hard against your wound. he winces when you grunt in pain at that, but keeps his hand in place.

“hey, hey. stay with me. look at me, c’mon.” his words are followed by your name, said in a sweet and desperate sort of way. you’re still dazed, but your head begins to clear up a bit. above you, sam’s face is pinched in worry, so much more worry than you’d expect him to express because of something as easily fixed as a measly stab wound.

it’s not completely inconsequential and it’s bleeding a whole lot more than you’d like, but you’ve dealt with this sort of thing and worse before. sam will stitch you up and you’ll be as good as new in a few days. even better, cas might come around soon and he’ll fix it right up for you.

“‘m fine, sam,” you grumble as dean drops down by your other side.

“shifter’s dead. we should go,” he says, more to sam than you since he’s clearly the most worried out of you all. dean places his hands on your arm, ready to help you up, but sam just pulls you into his arms and up against his chest. he stands and you wince from the pain of the movement, but relax a little seconds later. you expected to limp out of this nasty place, one arm slung around each of the boys as they do the heavy lifting but keep you on your feet. it seems sam won’t risk even that; he needs you closer, more protected, and in less pain.

dean leads the way to an exit, climbing up the ladder first and opening the heavy grate. only when you urge him to does sam let you down. he knows that he can’t carry you up, but he sure would have liked to. instead, he has to settle for lifting you as best as he can, his strong hands never straying from you until they’re on your ankles and dean’s got you, pulling you up the rest of the way and letting you lean on him until sam reappears.

the fresh air is amazing to breathe in and to feel on your skin, but what you’d most like is to be laying in bed after a long, hot shower. and to not be in quite as much pain. you sigh into dean’s jacket, and just a second later he’s shifting you back into sam’s waiting arms. he doesn’t sweep you up this time, but he keeps you steady while dean jogs off to get the impala and bring it to you. with strong hands, sam eases you to the curb on the side of the road and wraps his arms around you, keeping a wide palm pressed against your wound to staunch the bleeding.

as you wait, sam is silent, and not in the soft and comfortable way he often is around you. you’re sure that he’s got a million things to say, not all of them 100% fair to you and all of them completely worried.

and there’s just so much to say that he can’t choose, and he thinks that, for your sake, he should hold back. sam knows he can get a little too angry sometimes, and you’re bleeding badly with your face smushed unattractively against his shoulder and he knows that this isn’t the time. he shouldn’t yet interrogate you about what happened or tell you aloud that he’s overly worried about you because suddenly he’s feeling things for you that he didn’t realize he was feeling before.

you let him brood in silence, and though this is just about the closest physically that you’ve been with him today, he feels sort of distant and unreachable. it pains you.

when dean arrives, sam loads you into the car, piling into the back seat after you to give you a shoulder to lean on. you can feel dean’s eyes on you as he glances back through the rearview mirror, and you’re sure that he too wants to ask what happened, how the shifter managed to trick you despite the rules you’d set.

“dean, we should head to the hospital,” sam says, his voice cutting into the tense silence of the car. you shake your head weakly.

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

“no,” he counters, “you’re bleeding a lot. we’re going to the hospital to get you some real stitches.

“your stitches work just fine,” you argue, your words half lost in the fabric of his coat.

“and what if you need more than just stitches? we can’t risk that,” he presses, and you know he’s not going to give up.

“sammy’s right,” dean piles on, and you sigh, then wince in pain. you don’t even grumble out an annoyed, “fine,” and instead just like the silence take over again as a begrudging relentment.

When all the doctors do is give you a few stitches and an iv and let you out just an hour later, you resist the urge to say “i told you so.” but really, you’re glad for the professional help, knowing that, though you still feel like shit, you’re far better off than you would’ve been if you’d gone straight back to the motel. the car ride is quiet, but you know that you’re due for a bit of an interrogation when you get back.

tonight, dean starts it, because sam is practically brooding in the corner.

“so, you gonna let us in on what the hell you were thinking back there?” he asks, sounding ready to just about throw his hands up in the air. “did you really not follow the single rule we set? it almost got you killed.”

“i know, and i did,” you sigh, “but it tricked me. it had one of sam’s knives and it cut itself and i wasn’t paying enough attention to realize it wasn’t one of sam’s silver knives. it was a damn good actor too,” you explain. dean clenches his jaw, probably looking for some other point to make. these winchesters never know when to stop arguing. “we’ve all been tricked by shifters before. it happens, i messed up, you saved my ass. that’s all.”

you guess dean’s not in as much of a fighting mood as you thought, because he just shrugs. “you’re damn right about the ass saving part.”

you crack a wry smile, “guess it’s my turn to save your ass then.”

“only thing i need saving from now is that sewer stench. so i will call first dibs on the shower.” he leaves no room for argument on that front as he disappears into the bathroom. only then do you glance at sam, wondering if he’ll say something. his expression has got so many emotions swirling around that it’s almost unreadable. but you’re you, and you know him and love him in a way that nobody else does, so you can decipher it all pretty well. there’s anger, like always, probably targeted at the shifter and a bit misplaced in you for getting yourself hurt. then there’s guilt, because, in classic sam fashion, he likely thinks that it’s his fault.

you’d put the pieces together a bit ago in the hospital. the red marks above sam’s eyebrow and around his wrists and the shifter having sam’s knife and appearance tells you that the shifter got the jump on sam. it probably hit him over the head, tied him up, and stole his knife after stealing his appearance and accessing his memories. and though you can know that it’s clearly not sam’s fault the shifter got to you, he’ll still think so.

he’s thinking that because the shifter got the drop on him, you got hurt. he’s thinking about how trusting you were because it looked like him, about the position he found you in, and though he couldn’t see it, he knows the look you were giving his lookalike. he’s sure that it was that syrup-sweet, honey-dripping-from-your-eyes look that he’s been all too aware of and all too fond of these days. and because of that, it must be his fault.

on top of that, he feels like he was the one to do it. you got hurt by something with his face. you were almost killed and the last thing you would have seen would have been a cold, dark smirk on his face as he killed you. that thought pained him more than anything he could express.

you, of course, don’t yet understand the full depth of his guilt, but it bothers you anyways. you wish that sam could stop blaming himself for everything bad that’s ever happened when all he’s ever done is try to be good. while in the midst of wondering if you should speak first, interrupt his self-destructive thoughts and tell him it’s not his fault, he beats you to it.

“you should’ve been more careful.” his voice is unexpectedly hard and cold, devoid of his usual guilt and gentleness. tonight, he’s more focused on his anger. and of course, you know it’s because of that guilt that he lashes out, but it hurts nonetheless. even so, you want to soften him and get him to open up, so you apply the opposite tactic as him.

when you speak, you let your voice be full of emotion, of sincerity and gentleness and understanding. “i know, sam. i’ll pay more attention next time, i promise. but i’m okay.”

this catches him off guard a bit. normally, when he targets misplaced anger at you, you fire back and tell him how stupid it is that he’s trying to blame you. he already knows it’s stupid, and your soft eyes make him even more guilty. it’s not as if he’s being just as silly this time, but your approach works, a little.

sam does soften a bit; you can see the slight change in the way that he holds his shoulders, but it’s not enough to get him to admit that he’s just worried and blaming himself. all you get is pursed lips and a tight brow. he just can’t get over the image of himself plunging a knife into you, can’t get over your cry of pain or the feel of your hot and sticky blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

sam’s realizing that, for all the countless times you’ve come close to death, this is the first time since he’s started to think that he’s most likely in love with you. and that, more than anything else in the world, not the literal devil or the apocalypse or whatever, is the scariest thing that sam’s had to realize and endure in a long time.

now, sam can’t run from being lucifer’s vessel. even if he never gives in, he has to confront it and fix it somehow. he certainly can’t run from the apocalypse, or the world will end. he can’t have that, not when the world is you. it’s his responsibility. sam can’t run from those things, but he sure as hell can run from the way he feels about you. and he’d do that because he can’t afford to be in love with you. you can’t afford for him to be in love with you or for you to be in love with him because it seems like that’s already gotten you stabbed by a hand that looks just like his own. and all that’s happened between the two of you is playful flirting, sidelong glances, and shared smiles, so he can’t imagine what might happen if things go an inch further than they already have.

he got jess killed, he hurt you bad with ruby, and though sarah’s still alive as far as he knows, he attributes that to the fact that she’s far, far away from him. not to mention the people he loved like family who are dead because of him too. that’s another horrifying thought because even if sam didn’t love you the way that he does, he’d surely still love you some other way.

so, sam’s going to run, sam’s not going to let you any closer, sam is going to keep you at an arm’s length. he’ll stop looking at you like he wants you, he’ll stop hovering so near, he’ll quit his goal of making you smile or laugh at least three times a day, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure you don’t love him too much. he can’t let you tell him you love him, he can’t let you confess because he’ll be too far gone if he hears that come out of your mouth. he’s gonna run because he’s decided with horror and glory all at once that yes, he does love you, and that’s the worst thing he could do to you other than slit your throat with his own two shaking hands.

from where you sit, just feet apart, you can see sam grow more and more distant by the second. you can’t figure out what’s going through his head, but you’re sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard him say it aloud. you open your mouth to say something to him, get him to say something back, but you can’t find the words. anything you come up with gets stuck in the back of your throat before you can even make a sound.

sam looks at you, just for a fleeting moment that’s too fast and slippery for you to grab hold of it. his eyes hold regret, like he’s done something that he can’t take back, and he doesn’t like what he’ll have to do next in order to keep the consequences at bay.

then his eyes are gone from yours, along with that strange look, and you’re suddenly at a loss of how to reach out to him. it hurts because you know that what it will really take is time and patience, maybe more than he deserves.

you barely notice the time passing, but you watch sam take dean’s place in the bathroom and you can feel dean’s eyes on your back. you’re sure he can feel the shift in the air. when sam returns from the shower, you realize just how badly you want to get clean. you walk to the bathroom and feel a little lucky when you find a small plastic tub to fill with soapy water. you can’t take a real shower for the sake of keeping your stitches dry, but you’ll be damned if you can’t get that sewer stench off of yourself. when you bend to place the tub at the bottom of the bathtub, you grunt audibly in pain due to the movement. you sort of expect sam to come running to help like he always does, already surprised that he didn’t offer from the start when you told the boys you were going to wash up.

apparently, dean had expected the same; while he’s more than happy to be the one to help you, sam almost always beats him to that sort of thing before he can even try. you glance through the open door and see dean looking from you to sam, back to you before he stands from his bed in a rush.

“hey, hey, whatcha doin’ all that by yourself for? can’t have you busting any stitches, we paid for those,” he jokes, already in the bathroom with you by the time he’s finishes talking.

“pfft, yeah with stolen credit cards,” you retort, without actually resisting his aid. he takes your place by the faucet, nudging the bucket under it and turning on the hot water. you’re lucky that the shower doubles as a small bath, meaning you can easily sit in it alongside the bucket and just wipe yourself down without getting the floor wet.

you sit on the closed toilet seat as dean fills up the bucket, adds some soap, and mixes it around a little.

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

“mm, are you trying to see me naked?” you poke fun.

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

“then you’d never see the light of day again,” you threaten, already moving to slide off your jeans, with a bit of a struggle. dean’s strong hand immediately finds your elbow, holding you steady. you’re not worried about either brother seeing you in just your underwear. with the life you live, stuck in motels, or getting hurt in less than ideal spots, they’ve seen you that way plenty. and while dean can’t hold back from a lewd comment or two, he completely respects you and views you like another sibling. he helps you with your shirt too, as lifting your arms up proves even more painful than you’d thought.

dean kindly sets a folded towel down on the bottom of the shower bed for you to sit more comfortably, then helps you ease in. then he’s grabbing two clean wash rags, dunking one in the water and handing the other to you.

“try and keep those stitches as dry as you can,” he instructs, and you oblige by placing the dry rag over your covered wound. “we’ll change the bandages when you’re done.”

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

“‘course, kid. you want me to get your back? or i can send sammy in to help instead,” he offers, saying that last part loud enough for sam to hear. you glance out the open bathroom door only to catch sight of sam’s back as he heads for the outside door. he moves out of your line of sight, but you can hear the door being open and shut behind him. you sigh in disappointment and a bit of hurt. dean curses lightly under his breath and you suddenly feel awkward and ashamed for no practical reason. but dean knows that sam isn’t being as good to you as he should, so he’s being extra nice instead.

“if you– if you could do it that would be nice. thanks,” you frown, then try to fix it with a strained smile. when dean is done, he hands the damp cloth to you, and you thank him again quietly.

“just holler if you need anything else,” he reminds you before walking out, leaving the door open by just a sliver.

you carefully wipe down the rest of your body, relishing in the heat of the water and the feeling of being just a little cleaner. you’re slow about it, letting yourself savor the alone time and telling yourself that you won’t worry about the events of the day until tomorrow. during the time that you clean yourself, you hear the outside door open and close twice more, and you assume sam’s come back and left again. by the time you’re done with the soapy water, it’s gone lukewarm, but you’re successfully feeling much more relaxed.

“dean!” you call out, hoping he’ll come and change the water for you so that you can get rid of any extra soap suds still lingering on your skin. there’s no reply for a long moment. “dean?” you call again. “can you help me again?”

without a word in response, you hear footsteps, then the creak of the bathroom door. instead of dean, you find sam poking his head into the room.

he clears his throat awkwardly. “dean left to get some more food. i can, uh– i can help.”

“oh, okay,” you smile at him a little, then feel sort of pathetic because of the hope that rises in your chest. you force your voice into nuetrality. “thanks, sam. i, uh, i just need to dump this out and get some new water. it’s just sort of heavy.”

“right, yeah. of course.” sam enters the room fully, filling up the small space with his tall, broad frame. when he gets close, you extend a hand, silently asking him to help you stand first, despite the fact that you could do it yourself with the help of the wall. but sam can’t very well deny you, so he obliges by grabbing your hand and placing the other around your bicep to hoist you up. his strong hands and arms pull you up easily, and help you back onto the tile floor. you feel the tickle of a rivulet of water run down your right leg, then a few more on your left. sam dutifully pulls the towel you were sitting on out and hands it to you before he dumps out the soapy water and turns on the faucet, checking the temperature before letting it splash into the bucket

you stand there in silence, watching him work, watching him keep his eyes averted from your almost naked form, watching him struggle with being so close to you.

“there,” he says simply when he’s done, grabbing the towel from you and placing it back on the bottom of the tub. once he’s eased you back down to sitting in the shower, he straightens and takes a step backwards towards the door. but he can’t just leave, not like that. “is there anything else you need?”

you think you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, so you say yes. “uh, yeah. could you, uhm, could you just wipe down my back? i can’t tell if there’s still soap on it.” sam almost tells you that there isn’t and just walks away, but he caves to you and the look in your eyes.

he looks like he’s not sure if he wants to stiffen and close himself off and do it in silence, or soften and open himself up to being gentle with you. it seems he’s unable to treat you too coldly, no matter what sort of fear or silent commitments to staying clear of you he’s made.

“‘f course,” he agrees after a moment, getting down on his knees, pressed right up against the wall of the bathtub as he takes the wet rag from you and dips into the newly hot water. he keeps his eyes trained on the skin of your back, and you keep yours to the plain white surface of the tile wall in front of you. his hand is as gentle, warm, and encompassing as you know it to be. of course, he’s trying not to touch you directly, keeping most of his hand covered by up the cloth. but the motel rag isn’t a generous size, and his hands are, so the base of his palm or the pads of his fingertips keep brushing against your cool skin. he’s hot in comparison to you, as per usual.

the task doesn’t have to take long at all, but sam must be having trouble parting from you now that he’s back and so, so close. so, he takes the rag across the whole expanse of your back more than once, applying a gentle pressure that soothes and relaxes your still tense muscles. only once he’s heard a sigh of satisfaction leave your lips does he bring his hand away from you.

there’s a few more moments of quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of lightly sloshing water as he dips the rag back into the water, then squeezes it out so that it’s not too soaked for your next use. he hands it to you and asks, “anything else?” without getting up or even glancing at the door like he wants to escape. he lets himself look at your face for a moment, before tearing his gaze away once more.

you shake your head lightly. “that’s all. thanks.”

“mhmm,” he nods, “tell me if you need me.” that’s not how he meant to say things, but it’s how it came out anyways. and oh how you wish to tell him, i need you. he wants to hear you say it too, until he remembers himself and the fact that he’d cave if he did. and he can’t cave, not ever, not even if you told him that you need him. these days he feels like he needs you.

“okay.” you wait for him to leave before you put your attention back on yourself. when he closes the door behind himself, you heave out a deep sigh, then yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. you make quick work of wiping off the rest of your body and brace yourself on the wall to stand. you’re not sure you can bear being stuck with sam in such close proximity again tonight, so you dress yourself with just a bit of trouble and leave the tub of water alone for one of the boys to take care of tomorrow.

when you leave the bathroom, dean’s still gone and sam’s laying on his bed. you almost tear up at the sight of him, tucked tightly into one half of the space and his back so purposefully facing your side of the bed. upset with this small cruelty, you climb into dean’s bed instead and fall asleep on your back before you can even change your bandages.

—

last night you caught sam reaching for your hand. he was motioning with the hand further from you, distracted as he complained about something dean said earlier. you glanced down for no particular reason and a movement caught your eye. his unoccupied hand had drifted closer to you, reaching out seemingly on instinct, as if walking next to you should mean holding hands with you. quickly, you looked away, and you never felt his hand even brush past yours. but you heard the rustle of his jacket as he moved, the pause in his words, and the shift in tone when he finally continued to speak. you don’t think he knows that you noticed.

and the day before that, he gave you this dazzling smile and didn’t even think twice about it. sometimes he’ll smile at you wide, and the pretty look on his face will be ripped away as if he’s had some horrible realization that smiling at you is somehow a sin. but this last time, the smile faded naturally, untouched by the overbearing hesitancy he seems to have kept clutched in his hands for the past few weeks since that night with the shapeshifter.

there’s this constant push and pull coming from him that you can’t quite wrap your head or heart around. many days, he’s distant and that’s it. all you get is talk of cases or how to stop the goddamn apolcalypse. other days he’s able to be decently normal; he’ll joke and chat a little and you’ll get a glimpse of your sam. and some days he just can’t stay away, like there’s this tug pulling him to you that’s too strong to resist. it calls his hand towards yours, his eyes all over your face, and his body to stand right by you. those days he can’t cover up any sort of longing gaze and he’s stuck staring right at you and missing you more than he ever imagined he’d have to.

you suppose you prefer the in between days, because they’re the closest to the sam that you’ve had by your side for so long. they’re closest to the sam that’s your best friend, the sam who didn’t know he loved you yet. those are the days you can most easily pretend that something isn’t wildly off about you and him, because dealing with unrequited love has sort of become your norm. and while the days he can’t hide that he feels more for you are a desirable confirmation that there’s some part of him that can’t resist you, they’re also a painful reminder that it’s not quite enough to keep him from distancing himself.

and lord, it just hurts so much when one of those sweet days turns sour. you’ll feel at ease, hopeful and glad for the day’s luck, when suddenly the good day has turned too good or one of you has laughed too sweet and loud because of the other. at that, sam will instantly pull away as if it’s dangerous to be happy together. you can see his eyes change from content because of you to tortured because of you and all you want to do is take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. then mostly likely kiss him hard too, if you can get him to come to his senses.

of course, there’s that never ending love. you really don’t think you could stop loving him if you tried with all of your might. but there’s certainly anger. each day that passes by, you become angrier and angrier with him, so frustrated with him and his stupid decisions. with too much time to think about him and his odd behavior, you feel nearly sure that he’s just plain old afraid. of losing you or hurting you or some other classic, stupid reason and frankly, it’s completely unromantic. it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

so when sam takes today, a half-normal day where you don’t feel the weight of his hesitance bearing down on you, and he snatches that away with a simple, closed-off expression, you feel far too fed up to just let it go.

dean’s off at some bar and though his support in your argument might help—because you’re almost positive that dean is on your side and is getting nearly as frustrated as you—you need to confront sam alone first.

you let silence reign in the motel room until sam’s done showering and about to settle into doing a bit of extra research before heading to bed.

“sam,” you start, already cursing to yourself when he looks at you without any of his usual eagerness to hear you talk. you’re sure he can already tell that you’re displeased from the way you said his name. “we have to talk.” 

his jaw clenches and he glances down at the closed laptop in front of him. he contemplates how to answer for a moment. “i should really check for any signs of lucifer. we haven’t gotten anything new in weeks, we’re bound to catch wind of something soon.”

your anger flares, but you tamp it down in favor of keeping this conversation as civil as possible. an angry you plus an angry sam never ends well, and you’re determined to make yourself heard before either of you walk away in frustration.

“no, sam. don’t ignore me. i know that you checked during lunch today, so it can wait until tomorrow,” you counter.

“this is important, you know that.” his voice is so flat and emotionless and stubborn and so unlike him that it hurts.

“it is,” you agree, “but you already checked today, so i’m asking you not to make excuses and listen to me, sam. it’s not that hard.” you bite your tongue, almost wishing you hadn’t made that last biting comment because you know it’ll just antagonize him. but you also know that your anger is warranted.

you can see sam realizing he can’t get out of this conversation in the way that he purses his lips in frustration.

“i– y’know, i’ve really tried to give you time.” you don’t wait for him to really look at you to start. “we all need time sometimes, but it’s not fixing anything. you’re not… you’re not trying to fix anything, it feels like.”

he won’t even look at you when he talks. “what do you want me to fix?”

“the way you’re treating me!” you say, indignant and raising your voice a little, unable to hold back. “you– i don’t know, you’re acting so strange! like– like one second you’re normal. normal sam, my best friend sam. and then you act like you don’t want me around. like you’d rather be stuck in the car and motel rooms with anyone else in the world but me.” only once you start talking do you realize just how much you have to say. it’s not just stop acting this way, or let’s talk about it, it’s so much more. so much that you need him to hear and to understand.

your voice quiets again. “you know, once, you told me that i was a god-send. that, that you can put up with all this shit because we get to do it together. it’s always been you and me! of course, it’s always been you and dean, but sam! we’re best friends,” you say it more like a plea than a statement. “you used to say that. then it got to the point where it felt like we didn’t even have to say anything at all. we just were. it used to feel like you’d do anything for me, just like i’d do for you. i never even questioned that, not once until ruby came along. even then, i knew it wasn’t you. not an excuse, but i knew, once she was gone, you’d figure it out again. just like always. we always figure it out. so why, why for the love of god are you not even trying?” your own words hit you like a wall of bricks. when things happen, when things go wrong, or you don’t understand something, you’ve always figured it out together. what you’re supposed to do is voice your concerns to the other and usually without saying the words, ask for help. this time, sam won’t share the burden with you, won’t attempt to figure it out with you even when it so clearly involves you.

sam opens his mouth to speak, and at least he’s looking at you now, but you won’t let him say a word yet. he’ll shut you down, and you can’t have that.

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace. 

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

“how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it’s an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be. 

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

[prentissluvr]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst ➖⟢ cw : canon typical violence, injuries, knives, non-sexual partial nudity, guilty sam, rejection, talk of death/dying, sort of a case fic at first, mentions of stitches, lots of feelings, poorly edited & my first(?) attempt at a full angst fic lol (no happy ending!), set in season 5, so some spoilers! ➖⟢ wc : 10.6K ➖⟢ listen to : my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift. requested ! summary : you get injured and sam realizes he's more scared of getting you hurt than he is of anything else, even losing you and your love.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

to be in love is the strangest experience. to be in love for a long time, for years on end with little to no reciprocation is even stranger.

somehow, you can watch him fall in love with someone else, kiss somebody new, romance another girl, and be blindsided by a fourth. jess you could never be mad at. she seemed too sweet and good for sam, for you to dislike. madison never did anything wrong either, but you did hate how much she unintentionally hurt him. sarah, too, was sweet and brave and helpful and she made him smile. that, of course, didn’t stop you from wanting to be that person instead, but you didn’t feel like you could complain.

ruby, you still feel rightfully angry with sometimes. for sam’s sake, you wanted her help to be real and true, but it felt clear to you from the beginning that not everything was right. now you’re dealing with the apocalypse and sam’s guilt that you alternate between wanting him to let go of and wanting him to feel it just a little bit longer.

besides, jess and madison are dead, so it’s unkind to be too jealous of them, and you’re sure that sam hasn’t spoken to sarah in years. and ruby’s dead too, so she doesn’t pose a threat any longer.

it’s all been so strange, because you’ve seen sam go through it all, kiss them all, love them all in some way or another, and you’re pretty sure all it’s done is make you love him more. at this point, you’re sure that you’ll never love anyone the way that you love sam. unceasingly, ardently, passionately, and for now, quietly.

but after the knowledge of the looming apocalypse has come the strangest part of it all. having loved sam since he was seventeen and secretly doing everything in his power to get away from this all, you know him and each of his mircroexpressions and tones of voice all too well. and these days, sam looks at you in ways that you’ve never noticed before. these days, sam looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in love with you.

it’s not as if you’d given up hope completely, because no one who’s as in love as you are ever will, but you’ve learned how to live with unrequited love. the pain can be stabbing and all-consuming sometimes, but it’s survivable so long as he doesn’t stop smiling at you or letting you rest in his lap or being the only one to call you a special nickname. even if you’re not the love of his life like he is yours, you’ll always mean something to him as his closest friend.

so now, it catches you off guard when sam looks at you as if he’s considering the possibility that you’re the one who hung the stars up in the sky or talks to you with this gentle joy that’s just somehow different from before. those moments are rare, but incredible to have when you consider the looming apocalypse that sam is blaming himself for. he’s battling the fact that he’s supposed to be the vessel to the devil himself, but he still finds the time to hold your pinky finger for a fleeting moment and not say a word about it. and now, sam does that thing where you say something and it makes him smile, and instead of casually holding your gaze like he used you, his gaze will falter and he’ll tilt his chin down and lick his lips as if he’s suddenly shy around you.

last night, dean was out and you and sam were researching for the case you’re working on. you ended up sitting side by side on your shared bed, trying to get comfy as the hours dragged on and the moon moved higher through the sky. completely unprompted, sam had lifted his arm up and around your shoulders, using his gentle hand to cup the side of your head and bring it to rest on his wide shoulder.

your heart soared and you did your best to keep researching, but the lull of his breathing and the clacking of the keyboard as he typed one handed sang you to sleep right then and there, tucked all cozy into his side.

you waking up in his arms certainly set the tone for today. this case is ugly and there was another victim last night, but sam has this sweet, touchy air about him. as you walk to the crime scene his hand lingers unprofessionally close to the small of your back, and from the tightness to his lips, you’re guessing that he’s holding back from saying something he knows will make you laugh.

you resist the urge to give him a secret smile, soft and loving because you’re selfish enough to try and get him to see that you want him like this. you want him to see that you already love him back, and all he has to do is let himself fall. but you don’t want to overwhelm him, so you go about assessing the crime scene and interviewing the witness like he’s your fbi partner and not the person you love most in this world.

the witness’s statement along with the security camera footage that dean saw at the police station confirms that you’re up against a shapeshifter. much like the first one the three of you hunted together in ‘05 it seems to be disguising itself as a loved one before killing its victims.

“this thing can shapeshift to look like literally anybody, but it can’t come up with something original?” dean jokes.

sam shrugs in his usual sam way. “well, it is an effective method,” sam reasons, despite knowing that dean’s just making fun. sam’s not even looking at dean; his eyes alternate from checking his computer screen where he scouts out city plumbing maps to find the best places in the sewer to look for the shifter, to letting his eyes roam over your features. you wonder if you’ll have to get used to sam staring at you as much as you do him. though, you can’t say that that’s a bad thing by any stretch. maybe he’ll finally notice the way that you look at him and maybe he’ll finally realize that it might be you who he’s been loving this whole time.

sam stands from his spot across from you, grabbing a map of the city from the bedside table. instead of returning to his original spot, he slots himself right next to you to lay the map out on the table. he runs a hand along the length of it, crossing your chest and brushing your nose with the fabric of his flannel before moving his hand back to rest right beside yours on the table top. he leans over the map and you tilt youu head to look up at him as he points out the most likely spots that the shifter could be hiding out at. you only pay half attention as he speaks, more able to take in the sight of his lips moving than the actual words that they’re forming. you’re not uncareful, you just know that sam will make sure you and dean remember the most important things when you get in the car.

—

“are you sure splitting up is a good idea?” sam stresses from the passenger seat of the impala.

“we know how to test for the shifter and we all can take care of ourselves,” dean says, repeating just about the same thing that he said before.

you lean forward in your seat. “we’ll be fine, sam. i agree, it’s not ideal, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and we can’t let the shifter get to anyone else,” you reason.

“i know,” he huffs, still unconvinced due to the possible dangers. but, there’s always danger, and if you’re siding with dean, he knows he doesn’t stand much of a chance of winning the argument anyway.

—

the sewers are dark, damp, and smell like shit. they grow even darker as the sun begins to set above ground and you’re grateful for the bright flashlight that you have on hand. you’ve been tramping through the dark and sewer waste for over an hour and heard nothing helpful from the boys.

you keep your silver knife at the ready, in case you run into anything or anyone. you all agreed that if you see each other, the very first order of business is to test yourself with your own knife to be sure. when you hear footsteps, you immediately press yourself against the wall, doing your best to stay hidden until you can see what’s heading your way. the second you see a person’s frame, you immediately recognize it as sam. he told you that you’d probably run into each other at some point, so you relax a touch. even so, you keep your knife in front of you as you step into the pathway.

“sam?” you call out, stopping a good length away from him.

“hey. yeah, it’s me,” he says, holding out his hand and knife to show you as he slices a thin line across his forearm. you sigh in relief, then quickly repeat the action to confirm to him that you’re you as well.

“you heard from dean?” you ask, closing the space between the two of you. sam meets you halfway, shaking his head.

“nothing,” he sighs, turning back where he came from.

“damn. an hour in the sewers and we’ve got jack,” you frown. “exactly how i like to spend my friday nights.”

“course it is, it’s the perfect date spot,” he jokes back, leading you left, down a new path you assume he skipped on his way over to you.

“mmm, does that mean we’re on a date, winchester?” you flirt. he takes the quip with composure as you step back into a main hallway, wide enough to walk side by side. he waits for you to be next to him before he continues. he didn’t even laugh a little awkwardly at your comment like he normally might. he must be in a flirty mood.

“if that’s what you want,” he flirts back, flashing you his gorgeous grin. the passage is still sort of tight, so his knuckles continually brush against the back of your hand, and the fabric of his jacket rustles against yours.

“being a flirt today, are we?” you tease, maybe pushing the limits a little.

“just for you,” he fires back, and that just about stuns you into silence. he’s in an awfully good mood for someone stuck hunting a killer in the sewers under an unfamiliar city. you nudge him playfully with your elbow, not even sure how to respond with words. so with that, you fall into a comfortable, familiar silence, the only sounds being the echo of your sloshing footsteps through the sewer.

out of boredom, sam teases you with his pinky finger, sticking it out and poking your hand with it. you push back gently, playing along. he escalates the game by poking your side. you giggle a little, swatting at his big hand. 

“stop that!” you whisper-shout. “what if the shapeshifter comes along and we’re too distracted because you’re tickling me?” his proximity, his flirting, and his goddamn smile are already distracting enough. 

“i wasn’t tickling you, just poking,” he teases, but doesn’t do it again since you’re right enough.

“yeah, you said that last week after you did that. it tickles, which means you’re tickling me,” you retort before letting the silence fall over you again.

you head down a narrow path, forcing sam to walk behind you. even then, you can feel his closeness. a minute later, you step out into a wider area where a grate lets in a stream of moonlight. sam comes out after you, stopping by your side. the moonlight casts a glow on his face and, like you always do, you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks, even after a long hour and counting of traipsing around in a sewer. continually, even in the more open space, he stays right by your side, close enough for your elbows to brush.

“think we should call dean?” he suggests, “regroup, maybe call it a night?”

you tilt your head to the side in acknowledgment. “tempting,” you respond, “i’m getting hungry. let’s at least call him, then go from there.” you step further into the space in fron of you, trying to escape the chilly draft coming from the narrow pathway you came in from. but the floor in here is slicker than you realize, and you slip embarrassingly hard, completely losing your footing and letting out a short gasp as you fall.

sam’s instincts are impeccable as always, and a strong arm wraps around your waist before you can fall too far. once you’re steady, sam doesn’t move to pull you all the way up and onto your own feet. he just keeps you dependant on his hold to stay off the slippery floor and brings his other hand to meet the one wrapped around your side. he looks down at you, half of his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half fallen into shadow. you stare right back up at him, flustered but too happy for any sort of such purposeful physical contact with him to care about that.

it feels like a movie with you in his arms like this, willingly stuck there by the both of you. then he leans down closer to you and your eyes widen. in the partial darkness, he looks at you like he’s no longer just wondering if he loves you, more like he knows it for sure. he looks at you with such unabashed love, so overwhelming in a way that you hadn’t expected from him for a long while, if ever. you think that for sure he’s going to kiss you, and you know even better that you’d let him without a second thought.

this certainly isn’t how you imagined it’d be at all. not this soon and not in the middle of a sewer system, surrounded by awful smells and an unpleasant humidity. you suppose that the moonlight filtering down is nice enough, and that you’d never expected anything grandiose or overly romantic with him anyway.

then you hear footsteps, and a split second later, your name being called in sam’s voice. only it wasn’t the sam holding you who said it, it was someone behind you. it only takes a millisecond for everything to click. this sam, the one holding you close, cut himself with a knife you recognized. that’s why you didn’t bat an eye, but you failed to remember that that particular knife of sam’s isn’t made of silver, just a weaker and ineffective metal alloy.

before you can process it, that exact knife is being plunged into your gut. you let out a strangled cry of pain.

sam, the real sam, shouts your name again and you think you hear his running footsteps until he stops dead in his tracks when the shifter yanks the knife from your stomach and puts it to your throat. you cry out again, choking a little on your own breath as you stretch your neck, trying to see your sam. 

but the shifter presses the knife down, drawing a line of blood on your neck and growls, “look at me. you’re going to watch your precious little sammy as he slices your throat.”

you can imagine sam putting his hands in the air, mouth open and ready to talk the shifter out of it when you hear two loud gunshots, and you’re dropped to the floor, too shaken up to break your own fall. your head hits the ground hard, and the next thing you can register is sam again. you get his voice and his hands, one sliding under your neck to cup the back of your head and the other pressing hard against your wound. he winces when you grunt in pain at that, but keeps his hand in place.

“hey, hey. stay with me. look at me, c’mon.” his words are followed by your name, said in a sweet and desperate sort of way. you’re still dazed, but your head begins to clear up a bit. above you, sam’s face is pinched in worry, so much more worry than you’d expect him to express because of something as easily fixed as a measly stab wound.

it’s not completely inconsequential and it’s bleeding a whole lot more than you’d like, but you’ve dealt with this sort of thing and worse before. sam will stitch you up and you’ll be as good as new in a few days. even better, cas might come around soon and he’ll fix it right up for you.

“‘m fine, sam,” you grumble as dean drops down by your other side.

“shifter’s dead. we should go,” he says, more to sam than you since he’s clearly the most worried out of you all. dean places his hands on your arm, ready to help you up, but sam just pulls you into his arms and up against his chest. he stands and you wince from the pain of the movement, but relax a little seconds later. you expected to limp out of this nasty place, one arm slung around each of the boys as they do the heavy lifting but keep you on your feet. it seems sam won’t risk even that; he needs you closer, more protected, and in less pain.

dean leads the way to an exit, climbing up the ladder first and opening the heavy grate. only when you urge him to does sam let you down. he knows that he can’t carry you up, but he sure would have liked to. instead, he has to settle for lifting you as best as he can, his strong hands never straying from you until they’re on your ankles and dean’s got you, pulling you up the rest of the way and letting you lean on him until sam reappears.

the fresh air is amazing to breathe in and to feel on your skin, but what you’d most like is to be laying in bed after a long, hot shower. and to not be in quite as much pain. you sigh into dean’s jacket, and just a second later he’s shifting you back into sam’s waiting arms. he doesn’t sweep you up this time, but he keeps you steady while dean jogs off to get the impala and bring it to you. with strong hands, sam eases you to the curb on the side of the road and wraps his arms around you, keeping a wide palm pressed against your wound to staunch the bleeding.

as you wait, sam is silent, and not in the soft and comfortable way he often is around you. you’re sure that he’s got a million things to say, not all of them 100% fair to you and all of them completely worried.

and there’s just so much to say that he can’t choose, and he thinks that, for your sake, he should hold back. sam knows he can get a little too angry sometimes, and you’re bleeding badly with your face smushed unattractively against his shoulder and he knows that this isn’t the time. he shouldn’t yet interrogate you about what happened or tell you aloud that he’s overly worried about you because suddenly he’s feeling things for you that he didn’t realize he was feeling before.

you let him brood in silence, and though this is just about the closest physically that you’ve been with him today, he feels sort of distant and unreachable. it pains you.

when dean arrives, sam loads you into the car, piling into the back seat after you to give you a shoulder to lean on. you can feel dean’s eyes on you as he glances back through the rearview mirror, and you’re sure that he too wants to ask what happened, how the shifter managed to trick you despite the rules you’d set.

“dean, we should head to the hospital,” sam says, his voice cutting into the tense silence of the car. you shake your head weakly.

“no, sam. i’m fine, seriously.”

“no,” he counters, “you’re bleeding a lot. we’re going to the hospital to get you some real stitches.

“your stitches work just fine,” you argue, your words half lost in the fabric of his coat.

“and what if you need more than just stitches? we can’t risk that,” he presses, and you know he’s not going to give up.

“sammy’s right,” dean piles on, and you sigh, then wince in pain. you don’t even grumble out an annoyed, “fine,” and instead just like the silence take over again as a begrudging relentment.

When all the doctors do is give you a few stitches and an iv and let you out just an hour later, you resist the urge to say “i told you so.” but really, you’re glad for the professional help, knowing that, though you still feel like shit, you’re far better off than you would’ve been if you’d gone straight back to the motel. the car ride is quiet, but you know that you’re due for a bit of an interrogation when you get back.

tonight, dean starts it, because sam is practically brooding in the corner.

“so, you gonna let us in on what the hell you were thinking back there?” he asks, sounding ready to just about throw his hands up in the air. “did you really not follow the single rule we set? it almost got you killed.”

“i know, and i did,” you sigh, “but it tricked me. it had one of sam’s knives and it cut itself and i wasn’t paying enough attention to realize it wasn’t one of sam’s silver knives. it was a damn good actor too,” you explain. dean clenches his jaw, probably looking for some other point to make. these winchesters never know when to stop arguing. “we’ve all been tricked by shifters before. it happens, i messed up, you saved my ass. that’s all.”

you guess dean’s not in as much of a fighting mood as you thought, because he just shrugs. “you’re damn right about the ass saving part.”

you crack a wry smile, “guess it’s my turn to save your ass then.”

“only thing i need saving from now is that sewer stench. so i will call first dibs on the shower.” he leaves no room for argument on that front as he disappears into the bathroom. only then do you glance at sam, wondering if he’ll say something. his expression has got so many emotions swirling around that it’s almost unreadable. but you’re you, and you know him and love him in a way that nobody else does, so you can decipher it all pretty well. there’s anger, like always, probably targeted at the shifter and a bit misplaced in you for getting yourself hurt. then there’s guilt, because, in classic sam fashion, he likely thinks that it’s his fault.

you’d put the pieces together a bit ago in the hospital. the red marks above sam’s eyebrow and around his wrists and the shifter having sam’s knife and appearance tells you that the shifter got the jump on sam. it probably hit him over the head, tied him up, and stole his knife after stealing his appearance and accessing his memories. and though you can know that it’s clearly not sam’s fault the shifter got to you, he’ll still think so.

he’s thinking that because the shifter got the drop on him, you got hurt. he’s thinking about how trusting you were because it looked like him, about the position he found you in, and though he couldn’t see it, he knows the look you were giving his lookalike. he’s sure that it was that syrup-sweet, honey-dripping-from-your-eyes look that he’s been all too aware of and all too fond of these days. and because of that, it must be his fault.

on top of that, he feels like he was the one to do it. you got hurt by something with his face. you were almost killed and the last thing you would have seen would have been a cold, dark smirk on his face as he killed you. that thought pained him more than anything he could express.

you, of course, don’t yet understand the full depth of his guilt, but it bothers you anyways. you wish that sam could stop blaming himself for everything bad that’s ever happened when all he’s ever done is try to be good. while in the midst of wondering if you should speak first, interrupt his self-destructive thoughts and tell him it’s not his fault, he beats you to it.

��you should’ve been more careful.” his voice is unexpectedly hard and cold, devoid of his usual guilt and gentleness. tonight, he’s more focused on his anger. and of course, you know it’s because of that guilt that he lashes out, but it hurts nonetheless. even so, you want to soften him and get him to open up, so you apply the opposite tactic as him.

when you speak, you let your voice be full of emotion, of sincerity and gentleness and understanding. “i know, sam. i’ll pay more attention next time, i promise. but i’m okay.”

this catches him off guard a bit. normally, when he targets misplaced anger at you, you fire back and tell him how stupid it is that he’s trying to blame you. he already knows it’s stupid, and your soft eyes make him even more guilty. it’s not as if he’s being just as silly this time, but your approach works, a little.

sam does soften a bit; you can see the slight change in the way that he holds his shoulders, but it’s not enough to get him to admit that he’s just worried and blaming himself. all you get is pursed lips and a tight brow. he just can’t get over the image of himself plunging a knife into you, can’t get over your cry of pain or the feel of your hot and sticky blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

sam’s realizing that, for all the countless times you’ve come close to death, this is the first time since he’s started to think that he’s most likely in love with you. and that, more than anything else in the world, not the literal devil or the apocalypse or whatever, is the scariest thing that sam’s had to realize and endure in a long time.

now, sam can’t run from being lucifer’s vessel. even if he never gives in, he has to confront it and fix it somehow. he certainly can’t run from the apocalypse, or the world will end. he can’t have that, not when the world is you. it’s his responsibility. sam can’t run from those things, but he sure as hell can run from the way he feels about you. and he’d do that because he can’t afford to be in love with you. you can’t afford for him to be in love with you or for you to be in love with him because it seems like that’s already gotten you stabbed by a hand that looks just like his own. and all that’s happened between the two of you is playful flirting, sidelong glances, and shared smiles, so he can’t imagine what might happen if things go an inch further than they already have.

he got jess killed, he hurt you bad with ruby, and though sarah’s still alive as far as he knows, he attributes that to the fact that she’s far, far away from him. not to mention the people he loved like family who are dead because of him too. that’s another horrifying thought because even if sam didn’t love you the way that he does, he’d surely still love you some other way.

so, sam’s going to run, sam’s not going to let you any closer, sam is going to keep you at an arm’s length. he’ll stop looking at you like he wants you, he’ll stop hovering so near, he’ll quit his goal of making you smile or laugh at least three times a day, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure you don’t love him too much. he can’t let you tell him you love him, he can’t let you confess because he’ll be too far gone if he hears that come out of your mouth. he’s gonna run because he’s decided with horror and glory all at once that yes, he does love you, and that’s the worst thing he could do to you other than slit your throat with his own two shaking hands.

from where you sit, just feet apart, you can see sam grow more and more distant by the second. you can’t figure out what’s going through his head, but you’re sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard him say it aloud. you open your mouth to say something to him, get him to say something back, but you can’t find the words. anything you come up with gets stuck in the back of your throat before you can even make a sound.

sam looks at you, just for a fleeting moment that’s too fast and slippery for you to grab hold of it. his eyes hold regret, like he’s done something that he can’t take back, and he doesn’t like what he’ll have to do next in order to keep the consequences at bay.

then his eyes are gone from yours, along with that strange look, and you’re suddenly at a loss of how to reach out to him. it hurts because you know that what it will really take is time and patience, maybe more than he deserves.

you barely notice the time passing, but you watch sam take dean’s place in the bathroom and you can feel dean’s eyes on your back. you’re sure he can feel the shift in the air. when sam returns from the shower, you realize just how badly you want to get clean. you walk to the bathroom and feel a little lucky when you find a small plastic tub to fill with soapy water. you can’t take a real shower for the sake of keeping your stitches dry, but you’ll be damned if you can’t get that sewer stench off of yourself. when you bend to place the tub at the bottom of the bathtub, you grunt audibly in pain due to the movement. you sort of expect sam to come running to help like he always does, already surprised that he didn’t offer from the start when you told the boys you were going to wash up.

apparently, dean had expected the same; while he’s more than happy to be the one to help you, sam almost always beats him to that sort of thing before he can even try. you glance through the open door and see dean looking from you to sam, back to you before he stands from his bed in a rush.

“hey, hey, whatcha doin’ all that by yourself for? can’t have you busting any stitches, we paid for those,” he jokes, already in the bathroom with you by the time he’s finishes talking.

“pfft, yeah with stolen credit cards,” you retort, without actually resisting his aid. he takes your place by the faucet, nudging the bucket under it and turning on the hot water. you’re lucky that the shower doubles as a small bath, meaning you can easily sit in it alongside the bucket and just wipe yourself down without getting the floor wet.

you sit on the closed toilet seat as dean fills up the bucket, adds some soap, and mixes it around a little.

“want me to help you in?” he offers.

“mm, are you trying to see me naked?” you poke fun.

“and if i said yes?” he jokes back.

“then you’d never see the light of day again,” you threaten, already moving to slide off your jeans, with a bit of a struggle. dean’s strong hand immediately finds your elbow, holding you steady. you’re not worried about either brother seeing you in just your underwear. with the life you live, stuck in motels, or getting hurt in less than ideal spots, they’ve seen you that way plenty. and while dean can’t hold back from a lewd comment or two, he completely respects you and views you like another sibling. he helps you with your shirt too, as lifting your arms up proves even more painful than you’d thought.

dean kindly sets a folded towel down on the bottom of the shower bed for you to sit more comfortably, then helps you ease in. then he’s grabbing two clean wash rags, dunking one in the water and handing the other to you.

“try and keep those stitches as dry as you can,” he instructs, and you oblige by placing the dry rag over your covered wound. “we’ll change the bandages when you’re done.”

“mhmm,” you nod, “thank you, dean.”

“‘course, kid. you want me to get your back? or i can send sammy in to help instead,” he offers, saying that last part loud enough for sam to hear. you glance out the open bathroom door only to catch sight of sam’s back as he heads for the outside door. he moves out of your line of sight, but you can hear the door being open and shut behind him. you sigh in disappointment and a bit of hurt. dean curses lightly under his breath and you suddenly feel awkward and ashamed for no practical reason. but dean knows that sam isn’t being as good to you as he should, so he’s being extra nice instead.

“if you– if you could do it that would be nice. thanks,” you frown, then try to fix it with a strained smile. when dean is done, he hands the damp cloth to you, and you thank him again quietly.

“just holler if you need anything else,” he reminds you before walking out, leaving the door open by just a sliver.

you carefully wipe down the rest of your body, relishing in the heat of the water and the feeling of being just a little cleaner. you’re slow about it, letting yourself savor the alone time and telling yourself that you won’t worry about the events of the day until tomorrow. during the time that you clean yourself, you hear the outside door open and close twice more, and you assume sam’s come back and left again. by the time you’re done with the soapy water, it’s gone lukewarm, but you’re successfully feeling much more relaxed.

“dean!” you call out, hoping he’ll come and change the water for you so that you can get rid of any extra soap suds still lingering on your skin. there’s no reply for a long moment. “dean?” you call again. “can you help me again?”

without a word in response, you hear footsteps, then the creak of the bathroom door. instead of dean, you find sam poking his head into the room.

he clears his throat awkwardly. “dean left to get some more food. i can, uh– i can help.”

“oh, okay,” you smile at him a little, then feel sort of pathetic because of the hope that rises in your chest. you force your voice into nuetrality. “thanks, sam. i, uh, i just need to dump this out and get some new water. it’s just sort of heavy.”

“right, yeah. of course.” sam enters the room fully, filling up the small space with his tall, broad frame. when he gets close, you extend a hand, silently asking him to help you stand first, despite the fact that you could do it yourself with the help of the wall. but sam can’t very well deny you, so he obliges by grabbing your hand and placing the other around your bicep to hoist you up. his strong hands and arms pull you up easily, and help you back onto the tile floor. you feel the tickle of a rivulet of water run down your right leg, then a few more on your left. sam dutifully pulls the towel you were sitting on out and hands it to you before he dumps out the soapy water and turns on the faucet, checking the temperature before letting it splash into the bucket

you stand there in silence, watching him work, watching him keep his eyes averted from your almost naked form, watching him struggle with being so close to you.

“there,” he says simply when he’s done, grabbing the towel from you and placing it back on the bottom of the tub. once he’s eased you back down to sitting in the shower, he straightens and takes a step backwards towards the door. but he can’t just leave, not like that. “is there anything else you need?”

you think you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, so you say yes. “uh, yeah. could you, uhm, could you just wipe down my back? i can’t tell if there’s still soap on it.” sam almost tells you that there isn’t and just walks away, but he caves to you and the look in your eyes.

he looks like he’s not sure if he wants to stiffen and close himself off and do it in silence, or soften and open himself up to being gentle with you. it seems he’s unable to treat you too coldly, no matter what sort of fear or silent commitments to staying clear of you he’s made.

“‘f course,” he agrees after a moment, getting down on his knees, pressed right up against the wall of the bathtub as he takes the wet rag from you and dips into the newly hot water. he keeps his eyes trained on the skin of your back, and you keep yours to the plain white surface of the tile wall in front of you. his hand is as gentle, warm, and encompassing as you know it to be. of course, he’s trying not to touch you directly, keeping most of his hand covered by up the cloth. but the motel rag isn’t a generous size, and his hands are, so the base of his palm or the pads of his fingertips keep brushing against your cool skin. he’s hot in comparison to you, as per usual.

the task doesn’t have to take long at all, but sam must be having trouble parting from you now that he’s back and so, so close. so, he takes the rag across the whole expanse of your back more than once, applying a gentle pressure that soothes and relaxes your still tense muscles. only once he’s heard a sigh of satisfaction leave your lips does he bring his hand away from you.

there’s a few more moments of quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of lightly sloshing water as he dips the rag back into the water, then squeezes it out so that it’s not too soaked for your next use. he hands it to you and asks, “anything else?” without getting up or even glancing at the door like he wants to escape. he lets himself look at your face for a moment, before tearing his gaze away once more.

you shake your head lightly. “that’s all. thanks.”

“mhmm,” he nods, “tell me if you need me.” that’s not how he meant to say things, but it’s how it came out anyways. and oh how you wish to tell him, i need you. he wants to hear you say it too, until he remembers himself and the fact that he’d cave if he did. and he can’t cave, not ever, not even if you told him that you need him. these days he feels like he needs you.

“okay.” you wait for him to leave before you put your attention back on yourself. when he closes the door behind himself, you heave out a deep sigh, then yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. you make quick work of wiping off the rest of your body and brace yourself on the wall to stand. you’re not sure you can bear being stuck with sam in such close proximity again tonight, so you dress yourself with just a bit of trouble and leave the tub of water alone for one of the boys to take care of tomorrow.

when you leave the bathroom, dean’s still gone and sam’s laying on his bed. you almost tear up at the sight of him, tucked tightly into one half of the space and his back so purposefully facing your side of the bed. upset with this small cruelty, you climb into dean’s bed instead and fall asleep on your back before you can even change your bandages.

—

last night you caught sam reaching for your hand. he was motioning with the hand further from you, distracted as he complained about something dean said earlier. you glanced down for no particular reason and a movement caught your eye. his unoccupied hand had drifted closer to you, reaching out seemingly on instinct, as if walking next to you should mean holding hands with you. quickly, you looked away, and you never felt his hand even brush past yours. but you heard the rustle of his jacket as he moved, the pause in his words, and the shift in tone when he finally continued to speak. you don’t think he knows that you noticed.

and the day before that, he gave you this dazzling smile and didn’t even think twice about it. sometimes he’ll smile at you wide, and the pretty look on his face will be ripped away as if he’s had some horrible realization that smiling at you is somehow a sin. but this last time, the smile faded naturally, untouched by the overbearing hesitancy he seems to have kept clutched in his hands for the past few weeks since that night with the shapeshifter.

there’s this constant push and pull coming from him that you can’t quite wrap your head or heart around. many days, he’s distant and that’s it. all you get is talk of cases or how to stop the goddamn apolcalypse. other days he’s able to be decently normal; he’ll joke and chat a little and you’ll get a glimpse of your sam. and some days he just can’t stay away, like there’s this tug pulling him to you that’s too strong to resist. it calls his hand towards yours, his eyes all over your face, and his body to stand right by you. those days he can’t cover up any sort of longing gaze and he’s stuck staring right at you and missing you more than he ever imagined he’d have to.

you suppose you prefer the in between days, because they’re the closest to the sam that you’ve had by your side for so long. they’re closest to the sam that’s your best friend, the sam who didn’t know he loved you yet. those are the days you can most easily pretend that something isn’t wildly off about you and him, because dealing with unrequited love has sort of become your norm. and while the days he can’t hide that he feels more for you are a desirable confirmation that there’s some part of him that can’t resist you, they’re also a painful reminder that it’s not quite enough to keep him from distancing himself.

and lord, it just hurts so much when one of those sweet days turns sour. you’ll feel at ease, hopeful and glad for the day's luck, when suddenly the good day has turned too good or one of you has laughed too sweet and loud because of the other. at that, sam will instantly pull away as if it’s dangerous to be happy together. you can see his eyes change from content because of you to tortured because of you and all you want to do is take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. then mostly likely kiss him hard too, if you can get him to come to his senses.

of course, there’s that never ending love. you really don’t think you could stop loving him if you tried with all of your might. but there’s certainly anger. each day that passes by, you become angrier and angrier with him, so frustrated with him and his stupid decisions. with too much time to think about him and his odd behavior, you feel nearly sure that he’s just plain old afraid. of losing you or hurting you or some other classic, stupid reason and frankly, it’s completely unromantic. it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

so when sam takes today, a half-normal day where you don’t feel the weight of his hesitance bearing down on you, and he snatches that away with a simple, closed-off expression, you feel far too fed up to just let it go.

dean’s off at some bar and though his support in your argument might help—because you’re almost positive that dean is on your side and is getting nearly as frustrated as you—you need to confront sam alone first.

you let silence reign in the motel room until sam’s done showering and about to settle into doing a bit of extra research before heading to bed.

“sam,” you start, already cursing to yourself when he looks at you without any of his usual eagerness to hear you talk. you’re sure he can already tell that you’re displeased from the way you said his name. “we have to talk.” 

his jaw clenches and he glances down at the closed laptop in front of him. he contemplates how to answer for a moment. “i should really check for any signs of lucifer. we haven’t gotten anything new in weeks, we’re bound to catch wind of something soon.”

your anger flares, but you tamp it down in favor of keeping this conversation as civil as possible. an angry you plus an angry sam never ends well, and you’re determined to make yourself heard before either of you walk away in frustration.

“no, sam. don’t ignore me. i know that you checked during lunch today, so it can wait until tomorrow,” you counter.

“this is important, you know that.” his voice is so flat and emotionless and stubborn and so unlike him that it hurts.

“it is,” you agree, “but you already checked today, so i’m asking you not to make excuses and listen to me, sam. it’s not that hard.” you bite your tongue, almost wishing you hadn’t made that last biting comment because you know it’ll just antagonize him. but you also know that your anger is warranted.

you can see sam realizing he can’t get out of this conversation in the way that he purses his lips in frustration.

“i– y’know, i’ve really tried to give you time.” you don’t wait for him to really look at you to start. “we all need time sometimes, but it’s not fixing anything. you’re not… you’re not trying to fix anything, it feels like.”

he won’t even look at you when he talks. “what do you want me to fix?”

“the way you’re treating me!” you say, indignant and raising your voice a little, unable to hold back. “you– i don’t know, you’re acting so strange! like– like one second you’re normal. normal sam, my best friend sam. and then you act like you don’t want me around. like you’d rather be stuck in the car and motel rooms with anyone else in the world but me.” only once you start talking do you realize just how much you have to say. it’s not just stop acting this way, or let’s talk about it, it’s so much more. so much that you need him to hear and to understand.

your voice quiets again. “you know, once, you told me that i was a god-send. that, that you can put up with all this shit because we get to do it together. it’s always been you and me! of course, it’s always been you and dean, but sam! we’re best friends,” you say it more like a plea than a statement. “you used to say that. then it got to the point where it felt like we didn’t even have to say anything at all. we just were. it used to feel like you’d do anything for me, just like i’d do for you. i never even questioned that, not once until ruby came along. even then, i knew it wasn’t you. not an excuse, but i knew, once she was gone, you’d figure it out again. just like always. we always figure it out. so why, why for the love of god are you not even trying?” your own words hit you like a wall of bricks. when things happen, when things go wrong, or you don’t understand something, you’ve always figured it out together. what you’re supposed to do is voice your concerns to the other and usually without saying the words, ask for help. this time, sam won’t share the burden with you, won’t attempt to figure it out with you even when it so clearly involves you.

sam opens his mouth to speak, and at least he’s looking at you now, but you won’t let him say a word yet. he’ll shut you down, and you can’t have that.

“why do i suddenly feel so stuck? i feel like there’s nothing i can do, like you’re slipping away, right through my fingertips! and that’s just the strangest feeling when, for the longest time, i was convinced that you’d be the one constant in my life. i really, really thought that way, sam. and i get that i’m biased and blinded by my own feelings, i just never imagined that you’d do anything like this, pull away so suddenly and quickly and adamantly like it’s your life’s mission to put a bulletproof wall in between us. so, i guess at the very least, i’d like a bit of an explanation as to why you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

your question hangs in the air, heavier and more smothering than a water-soaked wool blanket. you suppose you could keep talking; you’re not anywhere near out of things to say, but you need him to respond. he’s the one letting the silence take over, not you. he takes a deep breath, like he’s known he’d have to explain eventually, but would never be the one to willingly bring it up.

he answers plainly, almost honest. “it’s safer this way. it’s dangerous for you to be close to me.” you want to scream because you were right. you would’ve loved to have been wrong, for him to have magically had some good reason for all this. but in the end, it has come down to the evils of the world pressing down on a good man and that good man caving to believe what the evils tell him he is. you want to scream because sam is wrong. being close to him feels like saving grace. 

he’s not cursed, he’s not the cause of all the pain and death that rains down on the people he loves. and what about him? what about all the pain and death that rains upon him? where does he get reprieve, an apology for being singled out and tossed through all of these horrors by unexplainable forces? why can’t he blame god? why can’t he see that it’s not his fault?

“that’s not true,” you beg, “and it’s not an excuse to treat me like shit.” he looks away, a physical manifestation of the fact that he doesn’t want to admit that you’re right about at least that.

“i’m not trying to… to hurt you.” sam face just falls. he looks devastated. he wasn’t trying to hurt you, in fact, he was trying to do just the opposite, but it happened anyway. “see?” he pleads, desperate for you to understand, “no matter what i do, being around me is hurting you. i can’t keep putting people through that.”

“so what? you’re gonna pretend to hate dean too?” you counter.

sam looks hurt. “i wasn’t pretending to hate you. i’d never even pretend to feel that way about you, i–” he stops himself before he can say the words and clears his throat, not trying to be subtle when he changes the subject. “dean’s different. he’s involved in all this shit too. he doesn’t have a choice but to be around me, but you? you could be safe somewhere else.”

“and you think i want that? you think i’d make the choice to leave you, just to be a little safer?” you want to keep going, but he interrupts you.

“no, that’s exactly it. you’d never leave us, and i know that. but if– if we stay at a distance, you might be safer.” he’s doing everything he can not to make it sound like he wants you to go. he just can’t explain that the issue is that he loves you, that he thinks the solution is to stop loving each other.

“that’s bullshit,” you shake your head. “sam, i know that you think you’re cursed or some shit like that, but it’s not true. none of this is your fault.”

“how? how is it not my fault? the people i love die because of me, and no other reason. how is that not my fault?” he argues, desperately believing himself.

“because you’re not the one who killed them! you didn’t make that choice. those things happened to you too, sam. how much grief and loss have you had to go through because of things you couldn’t control? it was never your fault, sam.”

“and yet, if they weren’t around me, they never would have died. it doesn’t matter what choices i made, it was the simple act of being close to me that’s gotten so many people killed. and i can’t lose you, too. i just can’t and it’s just too possible that it’ll be because of me. i can’t live with that. i can’t let you get hurt.” this is the most raw his voice has been in weeks, months maybe even. you can see just how completely, irrationally terrified he is that he’ll get you killed and you’re starting to think that he’s too far gone for you to reel back to reality, to hope and perseverance and closeness. but you can’t seem to give up, still full of things to say.

“that’s not how this works!” you refute. “this is my life, it’s your life, our life. and whether or not i’m around you or close to you, i’ll still get hurt! it’s not like i’m just going to quit hunting so you don’t have to worry. so sam, you could hurt me on purpose; pull away, refuse me when you have to know damn well how i feel about you. it’s not like i’ve ever really been that subtle, you were just never looking for it until now. or– or you could do your best and if i get hurt, it's an accident, right?” you practically beg for him to agree, for him to see that treating you this way is so much worse than anything else that could happen to you because of him.

he curses under his breath. you’re getting so close to saying the sort of words that will make his resolve snap, one way or another. he says nothing and you’re still waiting for him to understand you. so, you hit him with something even more solid and irrevocable than your logic: your love.

“you can’t seriously think that i’m going to just let things go on like this, can you? is this really your plan? to pretend we don’t care about each other? to throw over a decade of friendship out the window because you think somehow it’ll keep me safe?” you make sure that he’s looking you straight in the eyes as you continue, voice thick with emotion, “sam, there’s nothing, nothing that could keep me from loving you. i’ve loved you since you were seventeen, at least. i was watching you study, realizing that you really were gonna go to college. damn, i was so happy for you and i was ready to do anything to help you get there. then i started thinking about how much i was gonna miss you. wondering if maybe i could get away too. if we could get away together. the next week my dad dragged me away on another hunt and i didn’t see you for a year. we saw each other nearly right before you left and i considered asking if i could run away with you. but i didn’t want you to have to drag any remnants of the life with you, and i was exactly that. i wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.

“and you know, the saying that absence makes the heart go fonder, it’s not psychologically true. the more time you spend with someone, the more you get to love them. but i really felt like it was sort of true because i missed you so bad that it made me love you all the more. i tried to talk dean out of asking you to come back to look for your dad, but when i saw you again i gave up on that. i didn’t care that you had had jess or that you liked madison or sarah, and sure, ruby hurt a little more than them, but no matter what, i just liked being close to you. when i saw you again, i swore i couldn’t look away. and i was content loving you through looks and longing and letting you be. 

“but sam,” your voice cracks as you say his name and you try to swallow your tears, “this is just cruel. there’s not even anyone else, but you feel so much farther than you’ve ever been. you’d really refuse me after you dare to give me hope that you might actually love me back? i spend far too much time looking at you to miss the way you look at me. and i love listening to your voice so much that i could never miss the way your voice has changed when you talk to me as of late. you gave me hope for just a few weeks, and now you’re asking me to– to what?” you shake your head, not even sure what he’s trying to change or fix and how.

“you want me to let you go? and what, that’s it? do you want me to stick around but pretend i don’t love you? or– or do you want me to just stop loving you and you think that’ll somehow fix things? because that sure as hell isn’t possible,” you look at him so carefully, so deeply as you search for an answer in his eyes. “or do you just want me to go?”

you didn’t mean that question, but sam truly considers it. at first you desperately wish that you could take it back. you don’t want to go, you don’t think you can be apart from him like that.

but he goes and does the worst thing that he could and he tells you, “yes. you should go.” he can’t even look you in the eye when he says it and you know that you with certainty that you can’t stay. you can’t do that to yourself, to your pride, to your peace of mind. because with those four words he’s told you that he loves you, but not enough to try.

or too much, perhaps. he loves you too much to try, because it’s him who will really be worse off if something he does gets you killed. sure, you’d be dead, but sam… sam would be alive and stuck with far too much guilt and loneliness and loss and greif to deal with. but if you go, then sam can’t be responsible for you. he can’t curse you with his love that way, so sam may want you closer to him than he’s ever wanted anybody, but he wants even more for you to go.

you want to say something awful back. i hate you crosses your mind, but it’s so far from the truth that you couldn’t even say it out loud. if you did, it would still mean i love you.

you’re horrible, sam, is the next thing that falls into your mouth, but you clamp your jaw shut before those words can fall out. you don’t swallow though, you let the words sit on your tongue and you taste them and consider them. because in a way, they’re true. sam’s being horrible to you. but you’re naive, and, oh right, hopelessly in love with him, which means you want to spare him. it means that you don’t want to convince him further that he can never be good enough for you, because he is. he is when he isn’t being like this, and if he can figure it out, maybe he’ll beg on bended knee for you to come back, say he’ll do anything to make it up to you, tell you he still loves you so much and he can’t be apart from you if you’ll let him come close again.

but you’re so fucking angry at him. you’re almost blinded with love, but not quite because you already know that those hopes of yours are ridiculous moments after you think of them. he’s burned any possibility of you and him to the ground. you know this and you know that he knows it too. you hope it haunts him forever and you don’t care if that’s cruel.

“go ahead, sam,” you laugh humorlessly, bitterly. the sound makes him look up from the guilty hole he’s burning into the table top with his eyes. “add me to your list of ghosts before i’m even dead, and know, without a doubt, that this time it really was you who did it. you lit the match, sam. you pulled the trigger.” he looks at you, dumbfounded as if he finally understands what you’ve been trying to say this whole time but knows that he’s gone too far. once a trigger’s been pulled, it can’t be undone and he knows that. that knowledge is a sort of pain that rings in his ears and swirls violently in his stomach.

you grab your coat from the hanger on the wall beside you.

“wait,” he chokes out, tears shining in his eyes. you shoot him a harsh look and he shuts his mouth. he doesn’t get to say that word.

“i’ll call if i figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. otherwise, tell dean not to call, ‘cause i’m not coming back.” you grab your bag from the floor by the bed and walk past him to take all the cash from his wallet. you feel his eyes follow you until you reach the door.

hand on the door knob, you turn back to him and you stare him square in the eye to be sure he can see your tears, to show him he made you cry. you won’t tell him he’s horrible, so you’ll settle for a simple, “you’re wrong, sam. you’re wrong about this.”

then you walk out the door, cursing yourself for hating the sound of him crying more than anything in the world.

[factual-fantasy]

30 Asks! Thank you so much! :)) 🐶

I have no intentions to watch RiD <:/ partially because I don't have the drive to jump into and finish another show.. but also because I've seen people criticize RiD for breaking TFP canon rules, rewriting events, undoing canon fates, resetting character developments, etc. All without any explanation..

It probably works fine as a show by itself. But I wont watch it specifically because its supposed to be attached to Prime and does so very poorly. Or so I've been warned/told-

@burningmusicfunnygiant

Being a prime doesn't mean he feels no fear. I think he just has an incredible level of control over his emotions. So I don't think he'd have as animated as a reaction as Bulkhead, but I have no doubt he'd be terrified. Just more subtly-

If he were there instead of Bulkhead, he would gasp and quickly step back, transforming his hands into blasters with the others like Bulkhead did. But he wouldn't start screaming or anything-

When they all split up to look for scraplets, Optimus and Miko would be walking together. Optimus would seem rather paranoid and silently scanning the walls. When the wires fell I think it would seriously startle him, maybe even getting a gasp or a shout out of him. but only for a moment. He would immediately realize what it was and begin to untangle himself. When the scraplets fell I think that for sure would get a shout from him as he tried to blast them.

@chromchi

I think his role in the story is interesting. The idea of this creature wanting to have a family or kingdom in a sense. To have more of its kind, to at least not be alone anymore. Then to have that opportunity destroyed by the Autobots. Only to later reveal that the one he trusted most, Megatron, was the one who set it all up.

But other than that, I realllly don't like everything else about him.😔I don't like how he's a clone of a clone which was cloned from ancient dusty fossils. That should not be logically possible, and it takes me out of the story so hard. It really feels like they just wanted to have cool metal dragons in TFP and bent what ever rules they needed to to make it happen.

I don't like that he can transform into the splitting image of a normal Cybertronian. Considering the millions of years between the two species. I don't like that its suggested that this clone of a clone is somehow more intelligent and powerful then the original. And I don't like that he can talk. Especially in full and perfectly grammatically correct sentences without being taught by anyone. AND only being away for like 3 days or something. And I don't like that his voice sounds posh and crystal clear, I expected his voice to sound gravely and deep. you know. Like a beast??

All in all, I just don't think he makes any sense and it annoys me 💔

I would be too squeamish to eat raw food, so Bibi would refuse to eat it because he doesn't want me to feel left out.❤️ The other 3 would be willing to try and might even like it :00

Its both, I just really have no interest in shipping. I feel super awkward posting it and am always afraid my posts getting all these lewd and spicy comments. Which I have gotten on NON ship posts. Even posts that have NO ROMANCE, I've gotten them for just drawing male characters. Its very gross and keeps me from participating in 99% of ships openly.

And yeah, shipping drama. I've seen the comments and hate people get for their chosen ship, Its awful and I want no part in it.🤚🚫

Lastly, the only ship I can ever remember liking enough to incorporate into my AU was Gummigoo X Pomni. But even so, I don't think those two are canonically an item. In my AU a LOT of things have changed around the circus that eventually result in those feelings developing.

I was surprised and disappointed that Magnus was basically booted out of the story right at the beginning. I was looking forward to seeing more interactions between him and Wheeljack.. In my AU, if I can find opportunities- I would love to include him and Fowler more :)

As for the movie, my AU wont be developed that far. Since all the stuff with them leaving the kids behind and all the killing and death on the Nemesis is not something I wanna brainstorm..

But if I did, you can guarantee I'd find a way to keep Optimus alive. :)

I don't plan to have Breakdown and Knockout be a couple in my AU for 2 reasons. For 1, I'm building my AU off of the Prime show with minimal outside influence. So I have no plans to incorporate anything form any comics outside of the Prime show.

In the Prime show, Breakdown and Knockout were just partners, in the sense they were sent out to battles together frequently. At the most they were friends. So friends in my AU they shall become/stay.

Secondly, I personally really don't like shipping or adding romance into any of my AUs, with very rare exceptions. So if I made them a couple I simply wouldn't want to draw them and read the lewd comments that would follow them..😞

I don't think they would have a genuine interest in normal mouse toys. So I would cut them open, remove the stuffing and fill them half way with sand, sew them back up and THEN give them to Bibi and Cici. They would have a blast throwing them around by the tail and watching them splat comically flat on the ground XDD

I'm afraid I haven't heard of this movie before :(( 💔💔

@nerdyskullcap

SCREMINGGGG THANK YOU SOM MUCH!! 😭😭💞💞💞

(Referencing this post)

My favorite thing about Transformers: Prime is how much everyone openly cares about Optimus as their friend, not just their leader. And how much Optimus reciprocates those feelings 😭💞

Probably Cici XDD

Bibi follows in my footsteps and only drinks water. The others drink all kinds of stuff, including regular/cows milk. :0

@beryl-shade

I am not <:( is it any good? :0

@whereismycupofcoffee

They might as well at this point! XD

Its just a coincidence that most of the time I drew Captain Kwazii it called for his eyes to be closed. Nothings wrong with his eyes--😅

@gay-space-bird

AAAAA THANK YOU! :DDD I'm honored to hear that I encouraged you to rewatch the show! :))

@littlelightfish

IAJBJHSBEFJHSBF XDDDD WWBWBWB ALSO THANNKOYU!!!

AWW! Thank you so much!! :DD 💖💖💖

@imafreakinrainbow478484

I heard about and saw Markiplier play it, and I thought "Hey, this is kind'a fun! I bet they'd be fun to draw!" Then I scrolled down and saw talk of the creator being sent death threats and incest and pedophilia or something and AI trash and I said "OOOOOOkayyyyy turning away from THAT fandom actually-" 💀💔💔

OOO!!! :DD Thank you! :)))

The only one who could do it flawlessly in one take is Gerald XDD

Unfortunately, I don't know what those are.. 😔💔💔

@cherrycreamfairy

Awe! Thank you so much!! :DDD💞💞

Oh yeah, I've had my fair share. 💀💀

@theintroverse (Referencing this post)

I'm afraid Bibi has already put out the flames! XDD But I'll be sure to let you know next time I get a fiery burnout.👍

(Link in ask)

Hearing characters with relatively deep voices like Freddy and Monty singing a song that fast would be very funny XDD

I watched a good chunk of it before I ran out of steam and dropped the show.😔I lost interest in going back to it when I learned about the plotline of Webby being 1 of 3 tube clones that were copies of Scrouge..?? Or something?? Some weird cloning thing like that made me lose all interest. It took me out of the story hard. 💔

@endlesssuffering4ever

Hmm... prooobably Pure Vanilla? He's my favorite :))

I thiiink that would have to be Octonauts for me. I'm open about liking it on Tumblr, but embarrassed to say how much I love it to other people.😅

[bambisworlds]

chronically ill in the midst of calamity

living during the apocalypse is hard to begin with, it's even worse when you have an autoimmune disease like bambi. rick and bambi have been a couple since before the world fell apart, and they've found themselves in the worst conditions they've had to withstand so far. the longer she goes without proper hydration and nourishment the worse her symptoms are becoming. he's not sure how much longer he can take seeing her so weak (3,783 word count).

content warnings, but there's not much to warn about lol

f!reader, chronic illness!reader, established relationship, attentive!rick, caretaker!rick, season5!rick, bearded!rick, use of good girl, fainting/syncope spells, sister figure!michonne, mentions of death/violence, mentions of starvation/dehydration, this will follow the majority of the canon plot and include spoilers (but judith doesn't exist), let me know if i forgot anything x

my masterlist

i have POTS and i've daydreamed a lot about what rick would be like with a chronically ill gf. this is what i think he'd be like. also i basically just use the name bambi instead of y/n cause it gets annoying typing y/n over and over, so imagine her however you'd like :)

Rick was on edge. Not only were his insides gnawing at him for food, but the whole center of his universe, Bambi, was sick. Rick’s fingers absentmindedly combed through Bambi’s hair as he stared blankly at the ground. Her head was resting on his lap as she slept. His mind was trying to conjure solutions to get more supplies, or more importantly more food and water. Before the world went to shit the best way to help Bambi’s symptoms was for her to drink as much water as possible. She’d only had a few measly sips today and it was paying the price.

They didn’t have the medications she used to take for her condition anymore either, they had run out after a few months, and their only options to make her feel better were hydration and nourishment. She didn’t have either right now and hasn’t for a long time. Rick could handle the hunger and thirst, he would suffer through it if it meant Bambi had more food and water for herself. He had been lying to her and telling her he already had his portions when he was actually mixing his in with hers and only eating and drinking enough so his organs wouldn’t fail. Rick could handle starvation and dehydration. But he couldn't handle seeing Bambi so sick and weak.

Her face was now constantly pale and green with an unrelenting tremble in her limbs. Her body pains were nearly unbearable and she was having presyncope spells (the sensation of fainting or very nearly losing consciousness) multiple times a day. Rick was so worried he could hardly keep his cool, wanting to smash someone's skull in as if that would do anything, but he knew he had to keep calm for her sake. Rick wasn't the only one who was worried. Everyone in the group loved Bambi like family, and seeing her so vulnerable made everyone's already protective natures grow tenfold.

Bambi's head stirred on Rick's lap as the barn doors creaked open and Maggie called to the group. Rick rubbed his thumb gently on her head, encouraging her to keep resting.

"Everyone… this is Aaron," Maggie announces. At the sound of a stranger's name, Rick's head flew in the direction of the door. He quickly, but gently, lifted Bambi's head off his lap and rose to his feet while drawing his gun, "We met him outside, he's by himself. We took his weapons and we took his gear," Maggie reassures everyone as Daryl patted the man down. Bambi sat up curiously. Rick stood right in front of her, blocking her partially from view while Michonne stood on Rick's left. They made a collective barrier between the stranger and Bambi who was peeking around Rick's legs at the newcomer. Aaron looked around wearily as everyone in the group stared him down, making it clear if he even moved too quickly he'd be on the ground with a bullet in his head.

"Hi," Aaron said, his tone unsure and weary, "It's nice to meet you," he continued as he took a step in the direction of Rick, Bambi, and Michonne to shake their hands. Everyone flanked around him, clearly not wanting him any closer to Bambi. Rick lifted his gun with a threatening tilt of his head as if he was challenging him to move any closer.

"You said he had a weapon?" Rick asks Maggie, disregarding Aaron's greeting. As Maggie walked over to Rick to hand it to him, he holstered his gun, still standing protectively in front of Bambi. Rick inspected the gun before making a show of counting the number of bullets in the gun before tucking the weapon into the waistband of his jeans, "There somethin' you need?" Rick questions Aaron, his voice husky and intimidating.

"He has a camp nearby," Sasha speaks up, "He wants us to audition for membership," she says with a disbelieving glance towards Aaron.

"I wish there was another word. Audition makes it sound like we're some kind of dance troupe. That's only on Friday nights," Aaron jokes, trying to ease the crushing tension in the barn. Yet nobody so much as smiled. Realizing nobody was interested in small talk or jokes he shook his head slightly, "And it's not a camp. It's a community. I think you all would make valuable additions, but it's not my call. My job is to convince you all to follow me back home." he explains but nobody says a word. Rick was still staring at Aaron with an unruly gaze, "I know. If I were you I wouldn't go either. Not until I knew exactly what I was getting into," Aaron swallows nervously and looks over at Sasha, "Sasha can you hand Rick my pack?"

Bambi bristles slightly as Aaron uses their names, meaning he has been watching them for a long time, "Front pocket, there's an envelope." Aaron instructs as Rick kneels beside Bambi to look inside the backpack. Bambi leans closer to try to look inside the pack as well, "There's no way I could convince you to come with me just by talking about our community" Aaron acknowledged before motioning to the pack, "That's why I brought those." he says as Rick pulled out a yellow envelope. Bambi rested her cheek against his shoulder as he listened to Aaron explain things further, "I apologize in advance for the picture quality. We just found an old camera store last--"

Daryl cuts him off, "Nobody gives a shit." he says gruffly.

"You're absolutely 100% right," he says to Daryl before turning back towards Rick who had started to pull pictures out of the envelope, the images all fuzzy and low quality. The top one was a picture of tall, braced walls, "That's the first picture I wanted to show you because nothing I say about our community will matter unless you know you'll be safe."

Bambi glanced up at Rick, trying to decipher what he thought. Rick looked at her briefly before looking back down at the pictures, "If you join us you will be. Each panel in that wall is a 15-foot high, 12-foot wide slab of solid steel framed by cold-rolled steel beams and square tubing," Aaron continues to explain as Rick rises to his feet, resting a hand on Bambi's back so she wouldn't bump her chin on his knee or something as he stood up, "Nothing alive or dead gets through that without our say-so."

Michonne looks over Rick's shoulder at the pictures as Aaron continues to make his pitch. Everyone was glancing around each other as if trying to communicate telepathically, trying to tell if the others believed his story or not, "Like I said, security is obviously important. In fact, there's only one resource more critical to our community's survival. The people. Together we're strong. You can make us even stronger."

Rick glanced down at Bambi, then over at Michonne, before he started walking briskly towards Aaron who was still babbling on about the pictures. Bambi's eyebrows furrowed as Rick advanced towards Aaron, not entirely sure what he was doing, and then Rick swung hard, connecting his fist with Aaron's jaw. Bambi's eyes widened slightly as Aaron fell to the ground, knocked out cold.

"Why'd you do that?" Bambi asks incredulously. He didn't even give Aaron a chance to finish explaining.

"We gotta secure him, dump his pack," Rick instructs Carl, "Let's see what this guy really is. Everybody else we need eyes in every direction. They're coming for us. We might not know how or when, but they are." Rick barks at the group. Bambi begins to rise to her feet and Rick immediately walks back over to her in two quick strides, "Sit back down, you don't need to be on your feet," he said firmly, gripping her arm to encourage her to sit back down. Bambi exchanged a glance with Michonne, who had sent her a meaningful 'talk to him' look.

"What if he's telling the truth?" Bambi asks Rick, staying on her feet even as he tries to force her to sit back down, "We gotta at least hear him out."

"Me and Sasha, we didn't see him. If he had wanted to hurt us, he could've," Maggie pipes up as well. Rick disregarded Maggie's words, snaking his arms beneath Bambi's thighs to lift her and walk her over to a nearby crate before setting her down on it and sending her a firm 'stay put' look.

"Anybody see anything?" Rick asks the group. Bambi glared up at him, even as he planted a kiss on the top of her head, seemingly not caring she was irritated with him.

"Just a lot of places to hide," Glenn says as he looks out one of the peepholes in the barn walls. Rick yanked over another small crate and lifted Bambi's feet to set them on it.

"Keep 'em elevated," he murmured to Bambi before turning back to Glenn, "All right, keep looking," Rick commanded before turning towards Carl who had been stifling through Aaron's backpack, "What'd you find?"

Carl hands him a flare gun, "Never seen a gun like that before," Carl mutters as Rick pops open the gun to see what type of ammo it holds. When he realized it was a flare gun his eyes darkened. Was this bastard waiting for the chance to signal his group so they could ambush them? That wasn't an option for Rick, not with Bambi so sick and weak. On good days she could hold her own just fine, but good days were few and far between for her now. Rick stalked over to Aaron. Maggie was holding a wet cloth against his head as he slowly came to.

"That's a hell of a right cross there, Rick," Aaron chuckles dryly, barely able to lift his head off the dirty floor of the barn.

"Sit him up," Rick says lowly, clutching the flare gun tightly in his hand.

"I think it's better if--" Maggie began to argue when Aaron cut her off.

"It's okay," Aaron mutters with a groan.

"He's fine, sit him up," Rick says again, not caring if Aaron is fine or not.

"You're being cautious, I completely understand," Aaron says after he sits up with another pained groan.

"How many of your people are out there? You have a flare gun," Rick says, holding the gun up so Aaron and everyone else can see it. Bambi shifts nervously on the crate, maybe Rick was right and this guy was trying to double cross them, "You have it to signal your people. How many of them are there?"

Aaron sighs, "Does it matter?"

"Yes. Yes, it does," Rick says, making it clear he wasn't asking. He needed to know how many people were out there.

"I mean, of course, it matters how many people are actually out there, but does it matter how many people I tell you are out there? Because I'm pretty sure no matter what number I say… 8, 32, 444, zero… no matter what I say you're not going to trust me." Aaron says decisively.

"Well, it's hard to trust anyone who smiles after getting punched in the face," Rick quips.

"How about a guy who leaves bottles of water for you in the road?" Aaron argued. Daryl looked back at the couple of water bottles they had found in his pack.

"How long you people been following us?" Daryl demands gruffly. It had been days since they found the container of water bottles in the road. Rick glanced back at Bambi briefly, mad at himself for not noticing they had been followed and possibly putting her at risk.

"Long enough to see that you practically ignore a pack of roamers on your trail. Long enough to see that despite a lack of food and water, you never turned on each other. You're survivors and you're people. Like I said, and I hope you won't punch me for saying it again, that is the most important resource in the world," Aaron emphasized and Rick stepped closer to him.

"How many others are out there?" he demands calmly.

"One," Aaron answers and Rick shakes his head with a slight smile, "I knew you wouldn't believe me. If it's not words, if it's not pictures, what would it take to convince you that this is for real? What if I drove you to the community, all of you? We leave now, we'll get there by lunch."

"I'm not sure how all of us are going to fit in the car you and your one friend drove down here in," Rick says, trying to poke holes in Aaron's story. Bambi nibbled on her bottom lip, feeling conflicted. This man seemed sincere, but after so long of watching your back it's hard to take what people say at face value. If they're lying it could end with someone, or everyone, getting killed. Not to mention Bambi could barely see or think straight, she could feel another fainting spell coming on.

"We drove separately. If we found a group, we wanted to be able to bring them all home. There's enough room for all of us," Aaron insists.

"And you're parked just a couple miles away, right?" Carol asks.

"East on Ridge Road, just after you hit Route 16. We wanted to get them closer, but then the storm came and blocked the road. We couldn't clear it," Aaron explains.

"Yeah, you've really thought this through," Rick mutters, still not buying it.

"Rick, if I wanted to ambush you, I'd do it here. You know, light the barn on fire while you slept, pick you off as you ran out the only exit. You can trust me," Aaron promises.

Bambi could feel her limbs starting to tremble more than they already were, her vision going black around the edges as her throat began to tighten. She shakily got off of the crate she was sitting on, not wanting to fall backward and bang her head when she fainted. Carl instinctively reached to help her sit on the ground.

"Dad it's happening again," Carl says urgently as Bambi begins to struggle to keep her eyes open and slouched against him. Rick's gaze snapped in Bambi's direction and hastily walked over to her.

He dropped to the ground beside her, instantly cradling her against his chest, "You're alright baby, I'm right here," he tried to soothe her as she began to hyperventilate. Her breathing often picked up before she passed out like her throat was tightening and limiting her airflow. She couldn't slow it if she tried, "Try to relax, I'm right here. I'll be right here holdin' you the whole time until you wake back up," Rick insists as Bambi's eyes involuntarily drift shut and her breaths puffed out in short staccatos. Rick's hand cradled the base of her skull while the other curled around her to keep her from falling off his lap.

"I'm trying," she gasps out, her voice strained, "Can't open my eyes."

"I know, it's okay. Just let it happen," Rick coos, his grip tightening as her body began to tremble more, another common occurrence before she passed out. Aaron watched the scene curiously, asking what was wrong with her but Michonne quickly shushed him. Maggie had already gotten up to grab one of the few bottles of water, knowing Bambi would need it when the spell passed. Bambi's body finally went limp in Rick's grip and he sighed shakily, readjusting his hold on her to feel the pulse on her neck. Feeling her heartbeat gave him comfort when this happened, a reminder that even though she was unconscious she was alive.

Aaron glanced around the room, looking for any understanding as to what was happening, but nobody seemed overly alarmed, as if this was a common occurrence. Maggie crouched down beside Rick, holding the bottle of water in her hands. "She's startin' to come back," Maggie mutters, noticing the change in her breathing. Rick glanced over at Aaron, making sure he hadn't moved, even though everyone else was still circled around the room watching him. Rick began to rub her back as she came to, her eyes opening slightly.

"Hey baby, everything's alright," Rick soothes her, kissing her forehead, "It's all done," he coos, "My brave girl," he whispered against her forehead for only Bambi to hear. When her eyes began to look a bit more focused Rick nodded at Maggie, who then held the water bottle up to Bambi's lips so she could take a few sips. Rick continued to mutter encouragements and soothing words into Bambi's ear, rubbing her back and gently massaging her scalp.

"I'll check out the cars," Michonne says now that Bambi seems more stable.

"There aren't any cars," Rick grumbled, sending Michonne a disapproving look despite his gentleness towards Bambi who was still leaning against him, taking a few more sips of water that Maggie offered.

"There's only one way to find out," Michonne argues with a determined glint in her eye.

"We don't need to find out," Rick snaps.

"We do," Michonne insists, "You know what you know and you're sure of it, but I'm not."

"Me neither," Maggie agrees from her spot beside Bambi and Rick.

"Your way is dangerous, mine isn't," Rick shakes his head, readjusting his hold on Bambi to keep her firmly against him.

"Passing up someplace where we can live? Where Carl can live? Or where Bambi can live without having to make herself sick? That's pretty dangerous," Michonne protested before standing straighter to show how serious she was, "We need to find out what this is. We can handle ourselves. So that's what we're gonna do." she said firmly, leaving no room for argument. Michonne glanced down at Bambi who was cradled against Rick, limp in his lap like she was too weak to move, before looking back up at Rick meaningfully. A silent reminder of her own concern for Bambi's health.

"Then I will too. I'll go," Glenn says. Rick shook his head for a moment, as if he was going to protest, then looked over his shoulder at Abraham.

"I'll walk with them," Abraham says, pushing off the wall of the barn to go over to Michonne and Glenn. Rick then turned to Rosita and she agreed to go as well.

"If there's trouble, you got enough firepower?" Rick asks them.

"We got what we got," Glenn sighs and Rick reaches behind him to grab Aaron's gun out of the waistband of his pants and handed it to Glenn without jostling Bambi too much, "The walkies are out of juice. If you're not back in 60 minutes we'll come. Which might be just what they want." Rick says as the group begins to leave the barn to keep watch outside for any signs of trouble. Rick carefully lifted Bambi into his arms and walked over to a measly pile of straw they had used for a bed the night before. He gently set her down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Try to get some shut eye okay? I'll be right here if it happens again," Rick murmurs soothingly, resting his hand on the side of her face. Bambi nods, lying down on the straw. She always felt exhausted after these spells. Rick made sure her shirt covered the expanse of her torso so the straw wouldn't itch her, making sure she was covered and as comfortable as possible before walking over to the door of the barn to peer out for any sign of danger.

"When the world was still the world, I worked for an NGO. Our mission was to deliver medicine and food to the Niger River Delta. Bad people pointed guns in my face every other week. You're not bad people. You're not going to kill us. And we are definitely not going to kill you," Aaron says.

"Just because we're good people doesn't mean we won't kill you," Rick mutters, still looking out the crack in the barn door, "If the five of them aren't back in an hour… I'll put a knife in the base of your skull," Rick said with an eerily calm tone of voice before shutting the barn door and walking over to his backpack. He had found some electrolyte packets a few weeks ago and had been rationing them for Bambi. As he dug through the bag only to find empty packets he sighed shakily, running his hand over his face. Taking them after these spells helped her bounce back quicker.

"I don't know if asking will earn me another punch in the face but… clearly your girlfriend isn't well," Aaron said hesitantly and Rick looked up at him, his eyes turning into a deadly glint, "I don't know what's wrong with her but from all the electrolyte packet wrappers in your bag I take it Gatorade might help her?" Aaron swallowed nervously, afraid he would somehow set Rick off, "There's a half-drunk bottle in my pack. I'm sure you saw it in there." Rick only looked at him, before grabbing Bambi's backpack to see if she had any packets left. Knowing Aaron had been following them, Rick was worried he knew that Bambi was sick and the Gatorade was a trick, "This isn't a trick. This isn't about trying to make you like me. I just want to help." Aaron insists. Rick sighs again and glances over at Bambi who is watching them with droopy eyes.

Rick rose to his feet and grabbed the half-drunk bottle of Gatorade off the crate they had used to put Aaron's stuff on before walking back over to Aaron and holding out the bottle in front of him with a raised eyebrow, "She's not drinkin' this until I know it's not poisoned or some shit. Take a sip," Rick says firmly. Aaron sighs and leans forward to take a swig of Gatorade. Satisfied Aaron didn't immediately die or spit it out after, he walked back over to Bambi and helped her sit up, "Drink this baby, it'll help you feel better," Rick encouraged, holding the bottle to her lips. As Bambi takes a few sips Rick kisses the top of her head, "Good girl."

"We have a big community. Medical supplies, medicine… we have the means to help her if you'd let us. You'd have your own place to live where she can be safe and regain her strength," Aaron tries to reason and Rick glances down at his watch.

"You got 43 minutes," he mutters before focusing back on Bambi who was sipping on the Gatorade.

if you have any requests including the people on my masterlist please comment them below any of my posts or in my submissions!! (check here: about my blog  to see what things i'm not comfortable with in regards to requests <3)

[goddessofroyalty]

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS JAYVIK!!CHILDHOOD FRIENDS JAYVIK!! CHILDHOOD FRIENDS JAYVIK!!

I saw some cool art and now its your problem!!

(Not really, i hope im not bothering you)

By some circunstances baby Jace post show storm ends up in the last drop. Maybe he was kidnapped, maybe he got lost, you choose.

Zaundads have to take care of him while the find out how to send him home.

He and Viktor become best friends and promise to meet again in the academy.

Years later they meet again, Viktor isnt sure he will remember him but this himbo just screams "VIKTOR!" and hugs him in front of everyone because he doesn't give a single fuck.

He tells him about his hextech odea much earlier and they go to Silco. Jayce is still a bit scared but this was the guy who saved his ass when he was a child. Much to Silco's dismay.

Vander juat laugh in the background until Jayvik start helping her with her inventions...

(Never bothering me when sending me fun ideas)

The idea of them meeting up as children is such a cute one. Just the two boys being nerdy and sweet and getting so excited because they think the other is just the coolest and want to share all their things.

It is a bit funny the idea of Vanco not knowing how to send Jayce home considering Piltover is probably like an hour away and Jayce is old enough he should generally know where he lives. But maybe the Snowstorm is blowing over the two cities as well and it's bad enough to be "stay inside unless you absolutely have to go out" conditions and bad enough that they're not risking a trip over the bridge when the kid is safe enough inside the Last Drop with them.

Poor Ximena is so stressed about her missing son and meanwhile Jayce is having a great time with his new best friend Viktor who is showing Jayce the cool boat he built all by himself and how the taps in the Last Drop work.

Viktor telling Jayce (very quietly where Viktor's parents can't overhear) that he plans on going to the Academy in Piltover one day. Confessing that he's kind of nervous, not that he doesn't think he isn't smart enough but because he doesn't know anyone in Piltover. Jayce very excitedly correcting him about how he does know at least one person in Piltover now - Jayce. They will meet up once they both make it to the Academy and then Jayce can show Viktor his family's forge and the things he's working on.

The weather clears and Jayce is returned home and Viktor forces himself to forget the promise as he gets older. It was made by an over-excited child afterall. Jayce will surely have made other friends by now and won't want to be associated with someone from the Undercity. Which is fine - Viktor isn't going to the Academy to make friends he's going to learn so he can build the things Zaun needs.

And then he gets nearly bowled over by a fit goldern-skinned himbo as soon as he gets with Jayce's sight. Because Jayce is so excited to see him again (he did ask his mother if he could visit the boy in the Undercity but Ximena wasn't keen on travelling down there so he instead he had to wait all the years for Viktor to get to the academy).

Jayce absolutely shows Viktor his Hextech idea (only fair seeing Viktor showed him his boat all those years ago). And things progress a bit faster than they do in canon partially because Viktor's brains are involved as well but also because Jayce doesn't have go to through all the possibilities in Piltover before turning to Zaun for the (probably illegal) pieces he needs. As soon as it passes through Benzo's hands it's in Viktor's possession.

I think Silco finds it rediculous that this boy is still afraid of him all those years later. But it's also not a bad thing because he's less likely to try and exploit Silco's son.

Vander is more concerned about Jayce's influence on his daughters. In the sense to Jayce and Vi when combined together seem to come up with the dumbest ideas possible; and Jayce is helping Powder with her inventions (which are often explosive in nature) without really thinking through the fact he's helping a 10 year old build a bomb.

[tekka-wekka]

Pre-Sanctus Fortuna Worldbuilding, Part 1

I've decided to put all of my thoughts about pre-Sanctus Fortuna here, just to have them collected. Maybe I'll come back and add annotations and gifs for evidence later. Warning, this is long.

The Order of the Sword preached that Sparda was once the feudal lord of Fortuna. Canon supports their claim and given Sparda was likely a benevolent lord, I think the he would try and leave a society prepared to deal with the unique challenges humans living on Fortuna would face. Like Dumary Island, Fortuna is a place where the veil between the two worlds is thin. Unlike Dumary Island, Fortuna isn't fortunate enough to have demon-human hybrids to squash whatever demons squeeze through the gaps in the veil. They have to get everything done with human power and ingenuity, and apparently managed quite well until Sanctus came along.

Demons attack so often that Scarecrows might as well be the national bird, but despite everyone wearing partial Assassin's Creed cosplay, Fortuna doesn't look destitute, battle-weary, or even particularly primitive. In Vergil's opening cutscene in the Special Edition of DMC4, there's several signs of modernity: cars, a power line, a no-parking sign, even what looks like a unit for central air. All signs that aside from clothing and architectural style, Fortuna is not behind the times. This scene is set either shortly before or after Sanctus poisoned Vicar Sullyman, so he didn't modernize Fortuna-- it always had the capital, trade relations, and technical know-how to keep up with the outside world.

What really strikes me is that the Scarecrows attack Vergil in daylight, on a relatively busy path-- there are businesses on both sides of street, and people (including the famous Lady in Red) walk down it not even thirty seconds after he's taken out an entire pack of demons. Hell, they probably heard and possibly glimpsed Vergil taking those Scarecrows out, but they all seem completely unbothered. Vergil is catnip to demons, but Scarecrows are literally just sacks of rags animated by unintelligent demonic beetles. These aren't servants sent by Mundus to try and take out Vergil for the nth time, this is the indigenous wildlife acting up.

Deadly Fortune makes it clear that the ordinary people can call upon and expect Holy Knights to take out demons without much problem. The usual paradigm for Fortunans is "demons show up, we call on the Holy Knights, demons get killed." Honestly, perhaps the Lady in Red wasn't interested in Vergil's mostly-hidden good looks, but simply grateful for someone with one of the most dangerous jobs in Fortuna doing it well. I don't think it's impossible for something like this to have happened after the cutscene ended.

Lady in Red: *approaches*

Vergil: *prepares to tell her to clear off*

Lady in Red: "Pardon me, but who is your captain? You handled that with great skill, you should get a commendation."

Vergil: "What--"

Lady in Red: : "Oh wait, you're a tourist! If more tourists were as prepared as you, the Knights would have much less work." *leaves to go about her day*

Vergil: "...what just happened."

Just imagine how strange walking around Fortuna would be for him, and not just because his father is a figure of worship. Demons and demon attacks are literally a fact of life, but they always have been and people are prepared for them. It's probably normal, even expected for people to openly walk around with weapons, and Sanctus even describes Vergil's clothes as only a "bit dated." Unlike anywhere except maybe Dumary Island, Vergil would fit in-- if he wasn't a foreigner.

But then again, despite all the pros to Fortuna being lousy with demons, there's an obvious con: Fortuna is lousy with demons. Even if the Holy Knights are used to taking out Scarecrows, it's shown that in a one-to-one fight, a Scarecrow is a formidable opponent to a smaller and weaker Knight (Deadly Fortune, pg. 31-32). If a Scarecrow can challenge someone geared and trained for anti-demon combat, then your average non-Holy Knight will definitely have a hard time.

Here's what my personal headcanon for pre-Sanctus Fortuna, and to some extent post-Sanctus Fortuna, begins.

The Holy Knights are definitely outnumbered by civilians, since just to support a warrior class someone has to create the food, gear, shelter, and weapons that Knight needs. Sure, everyone can receive some survival training, but not everyone can be a Knight just like not everyone in reality can be a fireman or a soldier-- not all humans have the same capabilities, and everyone will eventually get sick and/or old.

So the average non-Knight Fortunan has to come to terms with how dangerous their home is. Simply the stress of knowing there's so much danger will have ramifications for everyone's health. The best strategy the average Fortunan has against demons is to keep their head on a swivel, their legs ready to run, and their brain full of where to find the nearest Knight or anti-demon shelter. If you're sick, or just a little too old to run as fast or see and hear as well, your ability to survive an encounter with Scarecrows plummets.

Most people start expecting that their next encounter with a demon will be their last once they reach their 40s. Some people, like Sister Sesta, live to be quite old-- but she's the dean of Fortuna's orphanage (an always busy institution), likely one of the most heavily protected areas in all of Fortuna, due to the high density of children.

Since lifespans in Fortuna are shorter, life moves faster. People start receiving career-specific education at the age of fourteen. It's considered a little odd if someone isn't married and planning for children by their early twenties. At the age of 35, someone may have already reached the highest rank they'll ever reach in their career-- and they're already thinking about their possible successor. Life on Fortuna is short and frequently ends in a brutal fashion, so psychologically, how do they deal with that?

Well, what do they have to angst about? They live on a holy island, the place where the Legendary Dark Knight took his rest after saving humanity from being ruled by the worst of demonkind. Sparda has already saved you from being enslaved by demons, where your life would be even shorter and more brutal, so every day is a gift from the Dark Knight. Living in Fortuna allows you to continue Sparda's holy work by exterminating whatever demons come through the gaps in the veil, so you are blessed. Closed caskets are not a thing in Fortuna, for the wounds of those killed by demons are the wounds of a martyr.

However, your life is a gift, so when your time comes, sell it dearly. Know where the nearest demon-resistant shelters are (nothing is demon-proof), and choose one less than five minutes away. If you make it to a shelter, be prepared to draw lots. If you pull the red straw, and if demons breach the shelter, it is your duty to stay behind and draw attention so others may run and live. Always treat every evacuation drill at your workplace as if a pack of Blitzes were howling at the door. If you are cornered, if you are wounded, if you are too weak to get away, do everything you can to make it easier for the next person targeted by that demon. Claw at its eyes, tear at its hide, choke it as you go down its throat.

When you visit your deceased loved ones on the Isle of the Dead, bring rosemary wreaths and red candles. Place rosemary on their mausoleum door to ward away demons who may disturb their rest, and for the martyrs among your kin, leave a lit red candle by their urns to commemorate their sacrifice. For the newly dead whose bodies must rest before cremation, open their coffin lids and anoint their remains with holy oils and blessed water, so their mortal shell will not be profaned by evil spirits seeking a vessel to possess.

Unfortunately, Fortunans can rationalize their lives all they want, there's one fact they can't ignore. Very few people want to immigrate to an island where there is a non-zero chance you'll run into a demon on the way to the bathroom at night. Very little immigration means a limited gene pool. A limited gene pool means inevitable inbreeding, and inevitable inbreeding results in people like Agnus, with jawlines straight from Habsburg royalty.

Other hereditary diseases crop up, like the Clergy Disease. Sufferers are immunocompromised to the point that the safest occupation for them is joining the clergy or other scholarly pursuits, where they can be isolated away from bacterial and viral disease. It is thankfully recessive and choosing your spouse carefully helps reduce the possibility your children will develop it, but even someone with a healthy immune system can be a carrier. Worse, it really doesn't matter how careful you are about who you reproduce with if your gene pool is shallow.

There's quite a few families where the father of record is not the blood father, because the chances of hereditary illness were too high-- but don't be too open about how your child's father was a tourist or a seafood trader, because should foreigners even be allowed on the holy isle of Fortuna, where every inch of soil is soaked in the blood of martyrs?

Being known as a demon-haunted land with strange traditions not only reduces immigration, it makes Fortuna a land and a culture with a double-edged sword of a reputation. What a lovely place to visit, with beautiful beaches, delicious seafood, tantalizing ruins, and exotic religious practices, but who would be foolish enough to live there? Fortunans, who consider their island a holy land gifted to them by Sparda and safeguarded by generations of martyrs, do not appreciate being called foolish.

In addition, nearly everyone knows or loves someone with Clergy Disease. Those with Clergy Disease can adapt to the microbiome of Fortuna, and sometimes even live longer than others due to their sheltered professions, but move them to the mainland and its foreign diseases will kill them within a year. Are the people of Fortuna supposed to abandon their ailing loved ones, their homes, their martyrs buried in Fortuna's holy soil, all because outsiders don't understand their sacred duty to protect the rest of humanity by guarding the thinnest part of the veil?

Every so often some magazine akin to National Geographic comes through and writes about the strange practices of the mysterious demon-worshipping Fortunans. Several Vicars have closed the island in retaliation to such portrayals, only to reluctantly reopen for wealthy tourists.

Of course, when the rest of the world looks down on your community, you turn even more inward for support. In such a place where outsiders are mistrusted and frequently for good reason, anyone who sticks out and doesn't follow the mold is suspicious. Anyone whose existence threatens the careful lie insisting that men are the father of children who look nothing like them doesn't truly belong. Yes, I'm talking about Nero.

Worse, when a community only trusts people within that community, trusted authority figures can sway the culture to a destructive place. No more sermons on how Fortunans have held the line against demons for generations. Instead, new sermons on how terrible things are, on how if things get any worse the island can only hope a Savior will appear. If the man who bears Sparda's blessing preaches long enough about helplessness and hopelessness, his word becomes gospel. Yes, I'm talking about Sanctus.

The people who were once ready to lay down their lives for the rest of humanity will now cower in back alleys instead of remembering that there are shelters less than five minutes away.

Part 2 of Pre-Sanctus Fortuna Worldbuilding is here. Part 3 is here.

[somehow-a-human]

The angels don't have to ask to enter the bookshop.

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY.

We've been operating under the assumption that BOTH the angels and demons have to ask to enter the bookshop, but I don't think that's true. I'm pretty sure it's one of our red herrings for season 2.

Continued under the cut.

When Gabriel shows up to the bookshop nude and oblivious, the doors are closed and (I believe) locked. Gabriel doesn't even know who or where he is, so he does what the default is... he knocks, and asks "Can I come in?" Aziraphale is frightened at first and tells him he can't come in but eventually our angels empathy wins and he says "Alright! Just... just get in!"

>> It's never clear that Gabriel would have physically been unable to come in otherwise.

When the Archangels show up Aziraphale literally cuts them off before they reach the door of the bookshop. Saraqael suggests, "Shall we discuss this inside?", and Aziraphale continues, "By all means. Would you like to come in?"

>> If Aziraphale hadn't rushed out to meet the angels, why wouldn't they have just walked into the bookshop like they did numerous times in season 1? Additionally I am fairly certain Aziraphale's "By all means. Would you like to come in?" was added in post via ADR. That doesn't necessarily add credence to anything, just an observation.

When Muriel arrives to surveil Aziraphale they ask, "Great! Well, could I come in and do it inside please? Only cause it's really noisy out here and I can't hear anything." Aziraphale replies, "By all means."

>> Muriel is an endearing angel who doesn't know much about life on earth, but had the shop been open and unlocked at the time of their arrival, they might've just wandered in as well.

We're never told the angels *can't* enter the bookshop explicitly like we are for the demons. We've always just assumed the same rules apply to all of the ethereal and occult beings.

But then, might I ask, why does Aziraphale tell us "Technically, this bookshop still counts as an Embassy"?

If the bookshop is still an embassy, the angels wouldn't need permission to enter, they would still have jurisdiction, and would still be able to monitor what's going on there... yes?

Let's compare this to the demons attempts to enter the bookshop, because Shax states clearly that she can't enter without permission. We see this again when she tries to get into the Bentley after it's canonically 'our car', and therefore at least partially owned by an angel.

I'm pretty sure John and Neil make a point of having the angels all ask in some way to enter, and Aziraphale seem to grant them permission as a red herring. They don't need to, but they want us to assume a false sense of security, to think that the bookshop is a safe space for our duo, outside of the reaches of both Heaven and Hell.

Technicalities are big in season 2 and I definitely think they're a huge underlying string running through all of Good Omens. In season 1, Crowley and Aziraphale stop Heaven and Hell from trying to restart Armageddon on a technicality. Gabriel and Beelzebub don't technically know if the great plan *is* the ineffable plan! It's definitely a favorite trope of Terry and Neil's to mock unfair, broken, bureaucratic systems, and Heaven and Hell are a PERFECT example of this.

**Somebody has written a meta on technicalities, I know I've seen it but I cannot for the life of me find it so if anyone could tag me so I could link it that would be brills! (Yeah that's right I'm adopting that from Charles from Dead Boy Detectives, 80's british slang ftw, I'm obsessed; please watch it, please, I need a second season.)

Neil has mentioned that the plot for season 3 might've had to be changed from he and Terry's original vision a bit, based on the political climate of the current day, and I'm sure that means we'll see some technicalities being the downfall of Heaven and Hells systems in Season 3 as well. I don't think the metatron is a villain, nor any of the other angels or demons. They're just fulfilling their function, following a set of rules, very much to a fault. This is all just God's big experiment after all, freewill, choice, eating the apple, and the angels and demons aren't exempt.

I wouldn't be surprised if there's some sort of technicality about the angels and demons themselves in season 3. We've seen that they're of the same stock, and we know Crowley at least is technically still the same person he was when he was an angel... more or less. Could the book of life end up revealing something like that the demons still exist perpetually as their angelsonas? A technicality, if you will?

Given the bookshop is still technically an embassy, is everything that happens inside observable by Heaven? Can they access the bookshop in their Earth Observation Files? There is some questionable blocking surrounding the bust in Aziraphale's bookshop, coupled with a curious record cover from Maggie's bookshop pointed out by @noneorother

Anyway... Let me know your thoughts. I haven't been posting as much, I have been mega busy and I'm trying to be thankful for it. Love you all, hope you have something nice happen for you today! <3

[bladekindeyewear]

06-2025 artist/writer commentary

Covering anything plot-relevant I get by skimming the new Patreon artist/writer commentary about Addendum 1 of Homestuck^2 Beyond Canon under the cut. As usual, first the artist commentary then writer commentary, keeping to hopefully only the most plot/theory-relevant stuff so you still have incentive to buy into Homestuck's Patreon yourself for the full experience: (By the way if you see any bolded sentences in the quotes besides the name-prefaces, that's me having bolded it for emphasis.)

Plenty of important new stuff was in the Addendum artways, so the artist commentary has plenty to cover, and they say as much. There's older Meat!Karkat, older enby Meat!Callie, I'm sure they'll get to all the art on the walls...

I did like the new outfits they chose for both Karkat and Callie, Karkat is fresh and fitting and Callie has somehow the most enby outfit possible.

--They don't mention it in the artist commentary but I'm pretty sure (I may have mentioned) they forgot to draw the Ring of Life on Callie's finger, though it's definitely there in at least a panel or two of Addendum 1.

Chumi: Callie’s reverence [while presenting the book to Karkat] is so funny… It isn’t that serious!!! But maybe it is? After all, she got a lot right! Floral: This is their fucking life on the line!!!!!! 

Ah, but they can't quite say how much she was just "getting right" and how much she was shaping in the writing as Candy's Muse, can they?

Huh, there are some important differences between the draft and final here that make some of the intentions of the design clearer possibly:

In the draft the almost infinity-looking black circles underneath the Candy!Adults was a set of feminine EYES. Whose eyes? Callie's? Vriska's? June's? No glasses though. And what could be John/June's glasses on the left of the final image looked more like a pair of separate windows Candy!Roxy is reaching towards? With weird angular connections being drawn. Either way, every PAIR of adults seems to be linked to their associated kid on the wall in the final image, with Yiffy being linked as if Jade and DAVE's kid (just like Jade wanted) and with John being represented by those window-glasses with his broader perspective over events perhaps granted by his detachment and former retcon abilities... why the eyes underneath the other three pairs, though?

Ah well, it looks like they're playing coy and don't intend to clarify, at least in this artist commentary. Fair enough! I'm sure some of it will only be clear later. :P

Skipping some awesome animation draft-to-completion showoffs...

The burning of John's farewell letters is partially explained as:

Floral: [...] Also lots of unexplained even conveyed through visuals for people to interpret. I will say! Bringing attention to a story detail that largely a lot of readers had forgotten about only for it to not to be relevant later is bad writing. We all agree, that is bad writing.

In a sense this is a retroactive explanation of nobody on the ship trip mentioning the farewell letters that John left for everyone in the epilogues before retconning himself into the past to complete the Stageplay against Lord English-- but in a sense they didn't have to, since part of nobody really mentioning John was how the poison from Lord English's tooth sort of "erased him from time" ie. erased him from everyone's consideration retroactively. At least, that was the active theory-- but with June's resurfacing, we now have actions like this that Hell-Tier Vriska is taking, unexplained, potentially paving the way for June to come back on different terms, thus bringing an opportunity to burn away those parting plot elements that weren't considered and smooth her re-inclusion into the eventual story, I suppose. Or at least that's one way to interpret that deliberately-vague choice.

Floral: Bam… Detritus TRANSFORMED.

Haven: Well, would you look at the time.

I like that the freeze-frame they took points out part of the flashing explosion-landing gif I never noticed, ie. a bunch of clocks stopped at exactly 1:08, mixing the arc number with a temporal element to the Omega Kids' inclusion in the new planet and game.

(Also they point out the SBaHJified text watermark at the bottom for any who missed it, apparently even one of the artists hadn't noticed til this commentary.)

Haven: The ship got hit by that beam. The images flashing here are of flowers and “things with wings”.

Right, as was pointed out to me by others, there were flashing watermarks representing Life and Hope smeared across the ship and its sails when Vriska passed through, representing the clear retcon of a psychologically healed Jane and Jake's inclusion in the assault-and-rescue crew's trip now that Jasprosesprite was done working on them.

I'll include a bunch of what they said about Meat Jane's new design here, as I feel that's genuinely important with how different they chose to make her look from Candy Jane and how it feels it has genuine significance showing her a more Life-focused, healthy version of herself with some healthy weight added:

Floral: This was actually the hardest panel for me to do this entire update, there was so many pieces to it, and figuring out how this beautiful new adult Jane was going to stand in the doorway. Drawing Karkat’s ass was probably the easiest part. Haven: And with that the addendum has concluded, but wait. More designs? Let’s take a look at these...

Meat Jane Concept art by Chumi Chumi: First up is Meat Jane’s new outfit! I have to say… not a huge fan of the candy red suit and eye-searing blue shoes she was in before. It’s kind of a lot. We wanted to debut a new outfit for her! The first concepts were based on a casual-yet-still-put-together business woman look. Pants-suit and a high-collared shirt!!!!!! My personal favorite is #2 because it kind of looks like something you’d see in a cowboy movie. I love how silly it is!  Kim: Our goal for her outfit in Meat is that it still retains a bit of her old-fashioned style, but something more casual and relaxed. She’s not on the job right now, she doesn’t need to be in her suit! There was a lot of thought and deliberation over the layers of her outfit too… You’ll probably understand why later!

(So she'll be shedding layers too possibly! Plus I thought the mix of healthy blue with the red did well towards representing her move toward herself and Life and away from business and Doom, too, to more of a healthy mix.)

[...] 70’s style smock tops [...]

Floral:  [...] I’m like a big shapes language person too, so while we did need the new outfit to show some softness it still needed to be slightly square/boxy because Jane’s personality is built around her reliability and stability.

Interesting take! Her being something of a Team Mom and pillar of stability for once, like she might have been if things hadn't gone quite so crazy back in their session. Seems fitting for a Maid of Life having the focus and breathing room to serve as a steward of Life for others more than just herself (or how she imagines herself) for once.

Meat Jane Concept art by Kim Quach Chumi: And we hit our final iteration! I think it’s so many things: clean, unique, and cute! 

They're staying quiet about Jake's design (that they had or they're having an even harder time choosing) until another update.

Alright, on to Writer Commentary!

Floral: [...] We went into this update as a big tone change, a start to the new era. MEAT.

And indeed it was!

Haven: The dual narration, I wonder if they even realize they’re talking outside the box here.

I think this is pretty important, especially when it comes to the relationship between Callie and the Candy Timeline-- how Callie feels as if she's just witnessing events as they happen, when especially from the start, she was actually influencing events but practically downplays her relevance even to what she sees as her own story she's authoring. Original Callie always downplayed her abilities as a Muse of Space, as her low self-esteem dictated, and that's hinted at here with how she starts shaping the narration without even perhaps realizing she's doing so. That's a large part of how she's implied to have shaped the Candy timeline she was drawing on her walls even in the Epilogues.

Regarding Karkat starting to talk about what he thought of her story so far, starting with the formatting discrepancies between the Epilogues and HS2 and Beyond Canon he lampshades:

Floral: Meta! Meta! Meta! It felt good to put Karkat’s narrative interests back in the spot light. His personality takes such a different turn when he talks about his books and movies, he’s got the mind of a scholar (despite reading and watching slop.) Miles: Yep.  As Callie said, he really was The Right Guy to come to with this Haven: You can be a scholar and still love slop.

When it comes to stories and movies it definitely brings out another side of Karkat, as it always has. And as a Blood player he's also perfect to make the story more grounded, more consistent, less freeform and more consistent with itself and canon. Moving forward a bit--

Floral: Who doesn’t love Karkat coming in with the emotional intelligence after kind of extravagantly looking dumb as hell. Callie as per usual is an audience insert, her vantage point of the characters mirrors our own.

Yup, Callie has always simultaneously been an audience-insert AND the Muse of the story, even back in original Homestuck, very much representing in part how the audience IS the Muse that helped give the story shaped and not Andrew or the current slate of authors. Continuing down some...

Floral: Lots of feelings about what it means to be a writer went into this update. Even when we are recounting events we’ve experienced, the details we choose to focus on say something about how we think and what we find personally interesting or important. What does the same events in the epilogues look like if narrated by someone other callie, who has always been drawn to the dramatic extremes and struggles that mirror her relationship with caliborn? That’s one of the things I really like about what the epilogues say about being an author, it isn’t just about forcing events or deciding canon but forcing someone’s personal sensibilities and making that the “truth.”

Callie WAS indeed the type of fanfic author in it for the drama and angst, the one to dig deep into the muck of the characters' personalities and trauma and the messy resulting relationships. And now that we've finally mined ourselves through and out of that muck, gathering what nuggets of truth we could along the way... something new can begin that doesn't carry so much of the older Candy Adults' baggage, yet can still lean on its most important revelations in the shape of both the Meat Adults' actions and the Omega Kids and how their lives were shaped before the Game they're about to play, which will continue to come to light and shape their evolution into Heroes.

Skipping a bit more:

Floral: BOOM! Karkat “Knight of Blood” coming in with his understanding of bonds and his friends to help Callie with the carrying the capricious load that is Candyverse. That out of everyone, he’d mirror Callie’s empathy for even these versions of their friends. Miles: Yeah.  I think Callie is speaking to something every Homestuck fan feels, more or less, which is the conflict between the need to continue exploring these characters that we love with all our hearts because we know they have more to give us, and the creeping knowledge that we may be wearing them down by over-processing them.  This is something that we think about OFTEN on the HS:BC team, and something we try to keep in our intentions with how we approach this story, but I’ll be the first to admit I have no idea what the true Right Answer is.  All we can do is our best.  Still... like Karkat said, there’s REAL LOVE in this, and there always has been, and being allowed to continue that legacy of love might just be the journey that justifies the destination.  I guess that was kind of vague and corny, sorry LOL.

Mhmm-- Candy was always going to be the side that "overprocessed" them and thus showed us an overwrought, trauma-steeped side of them that revealed many of their darkest facets which, while not dug into as visibly in a more Meat-like story, still quietly underpins many of their actions in subtext that the Candy side made into TEXT at a terrible cost to the characters themselves. That cost now paid, we can explore the alternate versions of these characters who found and WILL find ways and circumstances to get through and overcome this revealed pain before it comes to define them so heavily.

--The writers move on breezily past the huge mural scene, joking about how many references and riddles are stuffed in there.

Haven: I saw someone solve one of my riddles the other day and I got really excited.

I'm not a regular tumblr or subreddit browser so I'm sure there are plenty of cool conclusions people have come to about the mural that I haven't even considered.

Moving on to Jane and Jake being retconned onto the ship, I'm going to include this in its entirety because the reasons behind the decision to bring them along and what it will mean going forward are very important to a lot of people:

Haven: One of the first things I said to the team as a writer was “we need to get Jane and Jake on that ship” and they said “how” and i said we’ll figure that out when we get there.

(Objectively hilarious-- and a good decision IMO.)

And then the perfect idea struck. A revelation; they were already there!! But what does that mean about all that other shit? Tune in next time1 to find out!  1 “next time” refers to the next time Jane and Jake appear on screen, which may not necessarily be the next update. Floral: A lot of people had a lot of things to say about this last part of the update, which genuinely took by surprise. Lots of jumping to conclusions and worst case scenarios, but with most things in Homestuck the explanation will come in due time. Moments like these are stepping stones, not climaxes. Have faith and don’t stress yourselves out. Most importantly! We get to see Jane and Jake again! Yippee!! Miles: Yeah, this was a controversial one even on the team.  At the end of it all, though, it just felt too crazy to move forward on this plot without Jane and Jake, and just as we felt Earth C was played out in Candy and Done With Its Job, we had the same feelings about Meat’s.  There’s more Jane and Jake have to offer us, and I think we’d have regretted leaving them all alone on Earth C way more than I’d have personally regretted inventing some reason to arbitrarily go back to involve them or, worse, just... leaving them there, stalled out, to wrap up their arcs all on their lonesomes.

Absolutely this, bolded parts for emphasis. Jane would have felt so done bad by if she wrapped up her evolution into a better person completely out of view of the main plot, having been featured so unfortunately villainously for so long... and even though we got plenty of Jake English stepping up in Candy, we only saw a glimpse of his true potential, and -- possibly more importantly -- Dirk Strider's story is much harder to complete without Jake English featuring heavily. I think Beyond Canon is going to end up a much better story with them along for the ride like this, and I'm not surprised the new team made the decision to re-involve them early before they'd even hammered out how. Certainly a thumbs-up from me.

Looks like that's it for now! Back to the hiatus it is, with the commentary all caught up like this. I know there's a bunch of PAST writer/author commentary I still haven't covered yet, but I'm too busy with other IRL things to confidently state I'll get to any of that before Beyond Canon resumes.

[ethereal-blossom]

IKEVIL VICTOR NSFW HC's

MDNI

౨ৎ He's such a HUGE giver. Prefers for him to go down on you than vice versa. The most powerful man in the country loves to go on his knees to make you see galaxies that only he can make you see. Every moan slipping from your tongue is the highest form of encouragement for Victor to make you feel even better. Every thrust is done with your pleasure in mind, and Victor will always make sure your release comes first before he chases his own.

౨ৎ When you do go down on him be ready to get so so so soooo much praise. "Ah, right there, my dear," "mhm, my darling robin is being such a good little girl. I can hardly wait to do bad things to her all night long-" "my darling, you feel so wonderful."

౨ৎ Lazy morning sex is a must. Since the Queen's Aide is a time-consuming job, you don't always see Victor throughout the day and usually you're out when it gets dark to do your job as fairytale keeper. It happens occasionally that you wake up in the morning by Victor gently brushing your hair off your shoulders so he can place soft kisses on your bare skin. His thrusts are so sensual and slow, such a contrast from how he makes love to you in the night. He loves to intertwine your hands and to either press his forehead against yours or to whisper sweet nothings in your ear with his low, raspy morning voice.

౨ৎ The definition of Sabrina's lyric "when you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things" he could be pounding into you like a starved man and he'd still call you a good girl and praise you for taking him so well.

౨ৎ However, that doesn't mean he isn't such a tease with his words. He especially loves to point out every time he thinks his darling good girl looks so corrupted with cheeks rosy red and such a lewd expression as he's fucking the innocence out of you.

౨ৎ That wedding epilogue wherein Kate asks him to touch her and Victor, knowing fully well what kind of touch she wants, teasingly gives her such a domestic one? Yeah, he loves teasing you like that. You could ask him for a kiss and instead of the obvious deep and passionate one you want, he either gives you a short and gentle one on the lips, a kiss on the cheek, or a kiss on the corner of your mouth. Then this man has the audacity to ask "like this/are you satisfied? " or when you ask him to touch you and he purposefully touches you an inch from where you want to be touched. Victor just loves to see you struggle to make your not-so-innocent desires clear, and he loves the frustrated expression as he almost gives you what you want: it's just adorable. What can he say? It's evil but he's a villain after all.

౨ৎ Always does after-care. In fact, there's no one beating Victor in after-care; he whispers affectionate words as he caresses your bare skin, cleans you up and suggests a bath together, not only grabs the glass of water but even brings it to your lips, will bake/cook you literally anything you want that you crave for, and you always end up snuggled in his muscular arms. I usually struggle to see some characters do aftercare or at least be very affectionate when doing so, but for Victor it feels extremely natural.

౨ৎ Desk/office sex. That's the headcanon I need Cybird to turn canon. Imagine Victor being frustrated with something the council or one of its man did and you either visit him in your break or are there to give a report. Victor is putting up a happy face, partially because he's genuinely thrilled to see you but also because he doesn't want to bother you. You notice anyways because he's your man so of course you know he's acting a bit off. You offer to make him feel better, which will throw Vic off guard the first time but then he'll amusingly note how his darling robin has become so bold. But also, if you visit him in his break for the simple fact you're needy Victor will find it absolutely adorable, and how can he say no to his dear robin flying all the way to him for his touch?

౨ৎ He's such a dom and usually on top. Victor is someone who we only see in authority positions like being the Queen's Aide, co-founder and leader of Crown, and even the oldest. He's taken on a somewhat parental role and he loves to take care and spoil others. Plus, he's lowkey pretty manipulative if you read between the lines and he always seems to have a sense of control. But the most important part is that Victor seems to enjoy and not mind it. So I think it's safe to assume the bedroom is no exception. He loves to be the one in control.

౨ৎ But just imagine how pretty he is when you're on top of him and his hair is spread out under him like a snow angel. This time, you're prioritizing his pleasure and my oh my, the absolutely filthy moans you drag out of him have Roger tune out all sounds. I mean, this man already shamelessly moans in some of his voiced lines. But Victor also has to really restrain himself to not roll you over and be the one to top you. It occasionally happens when he's close because he just can't resist to bring you just as close and make you finish at the same time.

౨ৎ Also imagine how hot he looks like when he's putting his hair in a ponytail as he's on his knees about to go down on you. He'd look the way he looks like in the banner.

౨ৎ Outside of all this dom and control talk, it'll be the biggest turn on for Victor if you grab his pontail and show him exactly where you want him. Genuinely making his dick twitch in his pants. Overall, he will find it absolutely amusing and adorable to see you take control in the bedroom. Partially because it's like a puppy trying to overmaster a wolf but also because he loves to see that strength in you, and he loves to see you chase down your pleasure and how he's of service to you. He's someone with strong dom tendencies but he also loves to a sub for you <3

Anyways, in celebration of kinktober!! Might turn a few of these headcanons in scenarios for it hehe✨

[atomicpirateperson]

why is rob so mischievous??

here's a yapfest of 6 reasons i came up with!

some of this is essentially canon and some of this is just theorization. i really like analyzing rob's character and if anyone wants to shoot me an ask about him i'll be grateful :]

1. to not die.

rob ended up in the void because he was useless to the show. if he couldn't die from the lack of food or water there, he would have spent an eternity in isolation. it makes sense that he's afraid of what happens if he becomes useless again, so he really needs a niche. his dilemma starts because the only niche available is the antagonist. in his monologue from The Disaster, it's clear that villainy is far from his dream job and he feels forced to act this way.

2. for revenge and closure.

of course, revenge against gumball is his most iconic and obvious motivation. however, on a deeper level, i think it's about more than the wattersons. despite his behavior, rob might have a strong sense of morals and justice. for example, in The Rerun he couldn't bring himself to end gumball's life after being saved, and his guilt was clear.

as for the closure part, he can't undo any of the traumatic events in his life, but because of this strong sense of justice, he still needs something to do about it. he still needs to resolve this somehow and he chooses vengeance.

truthfully, most of these vengeful thoughts should be directed at the void, but he can't enact revenge on the universe itself. so, he targets the closest thing to take his anger out on: gumball. in fact, as a villain, rob never brings up gumball's past offenses. who knows, maybe he doesn't even care what gumball did!

3. as a creative outlet and source of purpose.

there's no doubting that rob likes to be theatrical and extra in his villainy. there's definitely some real passion put into it even though he doesn't have a choice.

as a homeless orphan who doesn't appear to be in school, he probably doesn't have much to do in life. he's a creative and imaginative person for sure, so he needs a way to express and entertain himself.

it's easy to interpret his melodramatic moments as pure acting/exaggeration, but it could also be a genuine coping mechanism and/or way of venting, which ties into the closure thing.

4. for control.

with no house or family to provide stability or support, control is something he has been robbed of in life (pun not intended).

his shenanigans might help him feel in-control and safe by taking control and safety from others. this is especially prominent in The Disaster/Rerun with the literal remote control that sends him into a power trip.

also, while it's partially his fault, other people don't listen to him, so he has to get what he wants through force. this is probably the reason why he worked towards his benevolent goals so forcefully in The Inquisition.

5. for attention.

6. to defend himself.

this is pretty self-explanatory. real kids show attention-seeking behavior just from having inattentive parents. with no parents and little to no friends, this is probably the case for him as well. regardless if the attention is negative or positive, he really needs to be noticed and talked to by others. this would also be an additional reason for why his actions are often gumball-centric because that puts him on screen, at the center of attention.

this one doesn't show up often. i'm mainly adding it because of the scene in The Future where gumball and darwin charge at him unprompted. sure, he went into defense mode first, but he wasn't the ones who literally killed him first and asked questions later (actually, they never asked why he was doing that). the episode would have ended differently if they stopped to pick up on the many clues that this wasn't just typical rob shenanigans. (interestingly, gumball was less presumptuous in encounters before this. maybe he and darwin were angry because banana joe and his mom had nothing to do with rob's evil upbringing... but at the same time they don't always care about joe that much)

outside of that, rob's crimes might also serve to intimidate others to keep himself safe. a homeless kid alone on the streets needs to deter dangerous people as much as possible.

...and that's all i have to say :] again lmk your thoughts about this!

and before somebody acts like it is: this is not meant to say that all of rob's actions were completely normal and justified. it's just a villain analysis don't start