#(the world is so hostile and full of ruins and cold and dark and even the npcs are often against you! its ambiance is quite something)

[rawliverandgoronspice]

man, I love A Link Between Worlds... sometimes I remember it, its hyper-competent yet humble design and storytelling proposal, and I genuinely think that makes it among my favorite Zelda games ;;

[supersilversleuth]

Your Words Aren’t Real (So Why Do They Hurt So Much?) by SuperSilverSpy

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Fandoms: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dick Grayson & Batfamily members, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson & Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson Whump, Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I seem to be doing a lot of that these days…, Whumptober 2021, Mind Control, fear toxin, Hallucinations, anyway, Angst, SuperSilverSpy, SilverGrayson, SilverWhump, Taunting, Insults, ”who did this to you?”

Summary:

“Sometimes I wish you were my father, but I know you could never be. Bruce will always be my real father. You were just an inadequate stand-in.”

Dick choked, barely noticing the swift kick to his ribs before he was already stumbling back, ducking around Steph’s fist as he fought to regain his balance.

“You were a terrible brother,” said the voices of Jason and Tim. “All you ever did with me was make mistakes.”

OR Mind Control with a heaping of Angst

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

Series:

Part 3 of 2021 Most Whumperful Time of the Year - Dick Grayson-centric

Language: English Words: 1,645 Chapters: 1/1

Nightwing awoke in a warehouse, surrounded by Batman, Red Hood, Robin, Spoiler, and Red Robin. They were all passed out on the ground, strange devices wrapped around their heads. They seemed relatively unharmed, not a bruise or laceration or twisted limb in sight.  He sighed in relief.

Looking around, Dick noted the absence of visible hostiles. He turned to Robin, who was closest to him and inspected the device around boy’s head; whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.  He felt along the smooth metal, searching (or feeling) for a way to remove it.

A moment later, several ding! sounds echoed in the warehouse, emitting from the head devices. Damian’s eyes opened, glowing a vibrant yellow. Dick backed up as the rest of his family began to rise around him. He knew mind control when he saw it, though that didn’t stop him from asking, “Uh…guys? You still in there?”

Their faces remained  expressionless as they turned threateningly towards him.

“Guess not,” he answered himself. “Looks like it’s just another exciting day in the life of the great and eternally stressed out Nightwing.”

He’d probably have to come up with yet another insightful and compelling speech to snap them out of it, par for the course for him at this point. Oh but how he wished it wasn’t. Every single time somebody in his family got brainwashed, or mind-controlled, or possessed (all of which happened way more often than it should), he was pretty much always the one to talk them down, or get beaten up and nearly killed for his efforts. It had reached a point where he wondered if Bruce was actively trying to get one of Dick’s siblings to accidentally kill him.

Well, at least one thing was different this time—he was facing off against five family members at once, instead of one, or two, or his entire f***ing team. But that was a story for another day.

Maybe, he could actually fight close to his full capability against them, without too much fear of hurting them. He didn’t have to knock them out or sedate them after all, he just needed to damage those device things around their heads.

Hood lunged at him first, guns drawn. Dick dodged, wrenching one of the man’s guns away with a grunt. He threw it across the room, knowing it did nothing for him in close quarters combat wherein he was attempting not to hurt, kill, or maim any of his would-be killers. There was no time for him to contemplate Jason’s likely reaction to the discovery of his ruined gun that would surely come later. Batman was already springing into action, fists swinging through the air in an unnaturally aimed-to-kill way.

Dick flipped around, dodging attacks from the two. He needed to bide his time, wait for the right opportunity to strike. He tried to electrocute them to short-circuit their metal head-band device things, but it didn’t really seem to do anything. He did, however, manage to get in a good hit to Jason’s head, which disoriented the man—and likely the person in control of him. Bruce went down next, Dick slipping the man’s belt out from around his waist in a move no one else in the world knew, and throwing a flash bomb in his face.

Pocketting what he could from the belt before tossing that too away (the emergency beacon didn’t work), he turned to face his new opponents. Spoiler and Robin, the short little duo wreaking havoc to his right, with Bruce and Jason getting back up on his left.

Whoever was controlling his family wasn’t the best at it, though forcing them to attempt murder against their own instincts was a feat in itself.

“You failed me,” said two very familiar voices in unison. It was Bruce and Damian.

Dick was so startled he almost didn’t manage to dodge the sneak attack Red Robin was attempting from behind.

“You failed the mission, our mission, you’ve failed the family I’ve given you, and the city I put in your responsibility.” It was just Bruce now, speaking blankly, words flowing out with no restraint.

Dick swallowed, but forced himself to ignore the man, ignore the words. It was probably just a program to detect negative emotion associated with thoughts of Nightwing and force the mind-controlled victim to...to say the thoughts out loud. Logically, he knew this.

Logic couldn’t prepare him for what came next.

“Sometimes I wish you were my father, but I know you could never be. Bruce will always be my real father. You were just an inadequate stand-in.”

Dick choked, barely noticing the swift kick to his ribs before he was already stumbling back, ducking around Steph’s fist as he fought to regain his balance.

“You were a terrible brother,” said the voices of Jason and Tim. “All you ever did with me was make mistakes.”

His vision had blurred at some point in time, he wasn’t sure when. A fist slammed into his jaw, a bow staff swiped at his feet. Purple flashed in the corner of his vision as his wrist was brutally snapped. Dick opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“They say never meet your heroes. I guess they were right then, hmmm? Except you were never my hero, and yet you still managed to disappoint me anyway.” Steph’s tone was sharp and biting as she jammed a shuriken into his shoulder.

Dick pushed her away, doing a messy backflip to land on Bruce, using what little momentum he had to push off towards Jason, tackling him for the umpteenth time.

“You were unfit to be a mentor, just look at you now. And the students become the masters…” said the scathing voices of Dami, Steph, and Tim. Laughter echoed in his ears, sounding cruelly amused. No, this wasn’t them, they would never say such things…

“Oh it’s all true,” said a voice from behind him, Jay’s voice. “What is it, Goldie, can’t handle the pressure?”

Dick tried in vain to block the voices out, focusing just long enough to knock the device around Tim’s head askew.

The boy fell to the ground, reality mixing with fantasy as Tim’s eyes looked up at him, cold and lifeless, as blood pooled around Tim’s twisted body, as if he’d fallen… Corpse-pale lips parted, harsh words spilling out onto unforgiving ground, “You think I’m just like you, but you’re wrong. I’m better. You couldn’t beat me if you tried. I’m too pure, somehow untainted by your doomed soul, even after all this time.”

Crazed laughter echoed in Dick’s ears, even as he blinked and saw Tim as he actually was, lying unconscious—and alive, on the ground.

“Look at that, failing to protect those you love most? You’re worthless to them, and to me. I should never have taken you in.” The words were growled in a familiar deep register, and yet...the tone was unusually cruel—

Dick found himself sprawled on the ground, back still smarting from where he’d been kicked. He struggled to his good hand and knees, only to hear the sound of a gun cocking. He looked up. Jason stood above him, Steph and Damian on either side.

“Tt, Grayson, always so pathetic.” For a moment, Dami seemed to be wearing an older version of his uniform, from when he was still Dick’s Robin…

Steph tossed her hair back, giggling, and Dick saw her in a different costume, that of Robin, and then it changed to Batgirl. Gah, he was so confused.

She wasn’t. “You’re not going to make it this time around. How does it feel knowing we’d all be glad? You’ve hurt us more than helped us, Dick. It’s time you’ve faced that fact.”

Jason smirked down at him. “Any last words? We all know you don’t deserve them, but, well,” he smirked, “I’m feeling charitable today.”

Dick lunged upward, body tensed as if to tackle, arms outstretched as if to hug. Dick himself wasn’t quite sure what it was meant to be, what he wanted anymore…

Bang!

The gun went off, bullet burying itself in Dick’s side.

Three pairs of feet began to kick at his prone body from all sides. He curled in on himself, clutching desperately at the bullet wound, mind hazy with blood loss and something...else… A scraping noise, close to his ear. Dick barely registered it through the pain of the systematic blows raining down. Another pair of feet entered his vision, Bruce’s Batman boots. Dick panicked, using one hand to staunch the blood flow while the other went to his neck, to where he instinctively knew the real problem was. There was a device, attached to his neck, like a mini version of what the others had, but missing a few parts. He yanked it off, and immediately, he heard the thumps of his hopefully just unconscious family members falling to the ground.

Dick squinted at the device, as he felt himself joining them in the land of darkness. A familiar scarecrow label stared back at him, Jervis Tetch craftsmanship was practically written all over the thing as well…

—

Jason woke, groggy and disoriented. He found himself amongst other bats, all lying on the floor in a circle like some kind of crazy sorcerer spell gone wrong. The others were slowly waking, blinking and shaking their heads as if to clear the fog away. And in the middle of it all, at the center of their little coming-back-to-the-land-of-the-living circle, lay Dick Grayson, covered in blood, close to passing out.

The guy was nearly unrecognizable, but Jason would recognize that ridiculous hairstyle anywhere. Scrambling over to his brother’s side, Jason ignored the way the room spun, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder and looking down at the man, brow pinched in concern.

“Dickie?” he asked, “Who did this to you?”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Season 2 Summary (Volume 4: Ch 10 - 13)

🍒 Warning: Detailed spoilers from S2 🍒

Along with the update on 3 June 2021, the CN server released a “Plot Review” which contains bullet-point summaries of S2 :>

Volume 3 Summary: here

You receive a name list of people involved in the Evol assassinations, and realise that quite a number of them were participants in the Hunter Game. After considering the significance of this list, you decide to discuss the matter with Victor

With Victor’s prompting, you do a cost-benefit analysis and find that disclosing the document brings greater benefits than disadvantages. However, doing this will make LFG a target of the true mastermind behind the assassination incidents

“After all, he isn’t the only one with a trump card.”

As expected, disclosing the list results in heated debate from various segments of society

While leaving Souvenir one day, the brake of Victor’s car fails to work because someone tampered with it

The two of you have no choice but to speed around the city. Despite it being an incredibly dangerous situation, he remains composed, successfully resolving the issue before him. It’s the first time you realise how skilled Victor is in driving 

After the incident, you track down the person who tampered with Victor’s car, and find that he has been assassinated

Likely sensing your feelings, Victor invites you to the park after work. When you head to the park as arranged, you see his figure from afar as he waits for you

You deliberately send him a text, telling him that you’re still at work. He believes it at first, but reacts soon after. He scans his surroundings, then meets your eyes amongst the crowd

“Childish.”

While taking a stroll in the park, the both of you stop before a tree. A long time ago, Victor had coursed through time and entered the future in order to prove that the future could be changed. Back then, you had engraved your wish. This time, the same words are your source of determination. Next to you, Victor smiles and changes “May everyone be safe and healthy” to “Everyone will be safe and healthy”

When he takes you to the riverside, Victor finally tells you the true reason why he asked you to meet him. He’s currently acquiring businesses related to the “Small Syringes”. He needs this information to be publicly disclosed in order to lure the forces that are lying low to the surface voluntarily. Even though you’re worried, you choose to trust his decision. You volunteer to release this news as it can drum up a large volume of public opinion

Victor looks at you, his expression proud and gentle

"Here’s to a pleasant collaboration.”

After the news is made public, the reputation of LFG suffers a drastic decline as expected

On the surface, your interactions with LFG have lessened. At the entrance of LFG, Victor walks forward amid the remarks and hostility by passers-by. You want to defend him, but reason tells you to stay where you are, and not act impulsively

As your eyes gradually redden, you receive a message from him-

“The weather is pretty nice today.”

Victor’s plan progresses steadily. What you’ve done has also allowed the reputation of Black Swan to rise

Even though the two of you are walking in different directions, you are certain that you’re standing in the turbulent undercurrents together

The director of the hospital whom you once interviewed has discovered a reason for the pathological changes in Evolvers, and has invited you over to talk about it. Unfortunately, a group of Evolver gangsters has suddenly taken the hospital hostage

The STF rushes to the scene quickly. When you hear Gavin’s voice, your heart feels much more at ease

The main plotter, Yang Ping, has held normal civilians as hostages, and requests for a series of provisions to be made for Evolvers, so that Evolvers can have more “benefits”

Struck with an idea, you remain on the scene to assist Gavin at any moment. When he sees you, Gavin understands your intentions despite being worried

The STF receives an order from the higher ups to disregard the lives of the hostages, and go straight to quashing the situation. Gavin openly defies orders, choosing to safeguard the lives of everyone as a priority, and to negotiate with the gangsters

“I’ll take responsibility for all the consequences.”

During the confrontation with Yang Ping, Gavin uncovers Yang Ping’s true motive: to force the STF into harming someone in order to shatter the balance between civilians and Evolvers

Catching Gavin’s hint, you pretend that the negotiation went sour and that Yang Ping had injured you, turning the tides in your favour. After all, you’re simply an Evolver used as a chip in the negotiation. Yang Ping’s claim of “doing things with Evolvers in mind” no longer holds any weight

Because of this, the STF agents are given an opportunity to suppress the gangsters

Everything appears to be wrapped up smoothly, but the director is suddenly shot by a sniper. Yang Ping is also shot

Late at night, you spot Gavin standing below your house, braving the rain

Gavin seems to be experiencing complex emotions. To you, perhaps he was unable to fire every bullet for justice

Sensing that Gavin isn’t simply referring to the incident at the hospital, you tell him that you believe in his judgement

“I’ll find the truth behind this incident.”

Gavin also gives you an incredibly resolute response

A few days later, Gavin seems to have made up his mind. He tells you that he’s investigating an incident called “New Year’s Day Change”, and he needs your help

You agree immediately

Gavin has already contacted a key informant: an old ex-policeman. Because the forces behind the incident are incredibly complicated, he needs you to cooperate with him in putting on an act

“Miss Nox isn’t showing due respect by dampening one’s spirits the moment she enters.”

He needs those people who have been paying close attention to this incident to have a mistaken impression that he’s still searching for the old ex-policeman. In order to protect you, he needs you to leave his side

Gavin will be the target of scrutiny, while the eyes on you will slacken. You’ll use this opportunity to become the mode of communication between Gavin and his informants, safely assisting Gavin in advancing in his investigations

As the final step of this plan, Gavin pushes you off the top of a building

He appears determined in breaking off relations, while you're hesitant and powerless. But the both of you are clear that the plan is going as smoothly as imagined

“I’m the greatest danger.”

You know that Gavin is walking down his path resolutely. And you will naturally want to become the person standing beside him, walking down the same path

Through a report done by a member of Black Swan, you discover that the pathological changes in Evolvers are related to their Evol. You also realise that Helios seems to be investigating this matter

At the same time, Savin tells you that something has happened to Kiro, and he’s in the hospital. You immediately rush over, but you’re told that Kiro doesn’t want to see anybody

Across the door, you tell Kiro that you wish to see him. After a strange silence, he speaks slowly

“Thank you. You can go back.”

Behind the door, only Kiro knows the reason why he’s behaving strangely - due to a sonic bomb, he has lost his hearing

Kiro avoids you for many days, until he organises an exclusive “live concert” for you one evening. The next day, he’s finally willing to meet you. When you see that Kiro doesn't seem to have changed much, you relax a little, despite having many doubts

But in the evening, you receive a statement from him which says he’s “retiring from public life permanently”, and he vanishes

Knowing full well just how much he loves the stage, you decide to keep the matter hidden, attempting to look for him

Unexpectedly, you bump into Helios at the Black Swan building

“The person you’re looking for isn’t here.”

His cold attitude makes you understand that Kiro has turned himself into Helios. He’s hiding from you, and also himself

To have a better understanding of his actions, you look through the clues pertaining to him. When you investigate the Hunter Game again, a stone tablet with the symbol “8″ appears multiple times

In order to carry out a concrete investigation, you return to the forest where you had once participated in the Hunter Game, and search for that stone tablet

The moment you touch it, thorns and thistles grow on the stone tablet, cutting your hand and absorbing your blood. Before you can react, the ground underneath your feet opens. Just as you’re about to fall into the abyss, Helios saves you

Despite being faced with his icy attitude, you attempt to form a partnership with him to explore this place

In the dark, rays of light fluctuate into a message that neither of you can comprehend. 19, an artificial intelligence which remains here, enables you to understand that this place is a historical ruins left behind by the previous civilisation - “Lighthouse”

19 tells the both of you that their world was once as flourishing as it is right now, but it was destroyed. They left the “Lighthouse” behind in hopes of assisting the both of you in preventing the fated destruction

You and Helios also hear about the songs from that generation. Cultures and languages may not be the same, but music can cross barriers

When one song ends, Helios sings that melody in his own way, letting it echo in this time and space

"All of you still exist.”

After leaving the Lighthouse, you tell him that you’re going to continue with the investigations, and use your own method to tell Helios that you’re willing to face him, and would like to carrying out this operation with him. You hope that this time, he can walk towards you voluntarily

After returning, you receive a call from an unknown number

“It’s me.”

In order to investigate the Hunter Game further, you once again participate in the game as a punter

You do your best to search for the stone tablet in this game, but accidentally get targeted by two players. Just as you plan to fight with them, Shaw, whom you haven’t seen in several days, appears from behind you

The both of you cooperate, settling the score with the other two

“Tch. Not even one of you can fight.”

You tell him about the “Lighthouse”. Shaw, who has been researching on the historical ruins, guesses that the venue of the Hunter Game could be deliberately designed to be near the ruins. By using large amounts of Evol energy fluctuations, it could unseal the ruins

While the discussion has signs of a positive outcome, the two of you are still embroiled in the game

Shaw’s conspicuous ranking and high-key thunder and lightning have attracted numerous opponents to him. But with your cooperation, the enemies fail in succession

The metal chain around his neck notifies him that he has advanced into the next round, but he loses consciousness in your arms due to a fever

The youth who usually hangs around Joker appears before you. You use psychological tactics to goad him into sending Shaw to the hospital. On the other hand, you’re taken away by him for breaking the rules of the game repeatedly

When Shaw regains consciousness, he’s unable to contact you. He returns to the antique store, only to see that it has been swallowed up by an abnormal black flame

“Get lost!”

In spite of the firefighters’ obstructions, Shaw makes repeated trips into the shop, “rescuing” the calligraphy and paintings

By the time the fire is extinguished, the antique shop is already half scorched, as though it’s a warning

Based on the youth’s memories, you discover that Joker has once visited the former site of the BS research centre. In order to find out why, you hurry over

You inadvertently find that there’s someone in the archive room. Just as you're feeling tense, your phone suddenly rings - at 2.03pm, an unknown number calls you

The sound exposes you. Taking out a gun, you attempt to warn the person in the building

“I surrender.”

That person turns out to be Lucien, and he's holding a floppy disk in his hand

Lucien explains what he’s doing here, and even demonstrates how you can use the data in the floppy disk

A series of numbers flash on the screen before it turns dark

Having considered that this process of reading data is highly confidential, Lucien notes how they might have been watched earlier, and that it’s better to leave

However, you suddenly feel dizzy. In the next second, you find yourself in the corridor. The door to the archive room is shut tight, and you can’t see Lucien anyway

Even though you’ve clearly set your phone to silent mode, it rings again. The screen shows that it’s 2.03pm. It’s a missed call from an unknown number

Returning to the archive room, it’s as though Lucien didn’t meet you earlier

You surmise that you’re experiencing this for the second time, and Lucien believes you without hesitation, speculating that you might have been in a time loop

Just as he says, whenever a certain amount of time passes, everything returns to 2.03pm

Unexpectedly, but as a matter of course, Lucien believes you every single time. He analyses the situation with you, helping you escape from the time loop

After a few more time loops, Lucien figures out a way to escape

“This time, let me accompany you in jumping out of this looping time.”

Time requires an object of reference. You're at the centre of the time loop circle, and the compass drawing the circle is your phone

Because this phone is special, it doesn’t vanish when you leave it with Lucien. At the same time, in order to measure time, your phone reappears in your hand

Since one object cannot exist in two places at the same time, this results in a contradiction that causes time and space to collapse

The next day, you and Lucien meet along the corridor, and agree to go on a stroll outside

Even though many things are unclear, the radiance of spring before you makes everything seem as though they are going in a beautiful direction. You can’t help but mention the promise you once made with Lucien to fly kites

“Spring may not necessarily arrive at a fixed time.”

In a teasing manner, Lucien says that he isn’t late. You also think that perhaps many things can start afresh

All of a sudden, you feel a severe pain in your chest-

“Now, spring has just begun.”

The words Lucien just said have yet to disperse

At this moment, he’s holding your collapsed form. The only colour in his monochrome world is gradually fading

Volume 5 (Ch 14 - 17): here

More S2 content: here

A detailed translation of Gavin’s part is available here!

[theinkmage]

Hope

Tw : self-harm mentions, attempted suicide, bleeding

I lie. Still. Not telling the truth.

The blood pours, but I deny pain. It trickles down, below my navel, runs the width and length of my right arm. The crimson red pools on the ground, the white hot tarmac, like spilled ketchup.

The plan failed.

Part of me is swamped with guilt, the feeling long gone from the sketches of my very existence. I haven't felt it for eons, the stab of a knife in my gut, twisting until it hits its mark. Bullseye.

The other part swims and drowns in regret. Regret and guilt are closely intertwined, but different. You can regret, but not feel guilt. You can also be guilty, but spared from regret.

I didn't mean to take lives. I didn't want to. But as one of the Darker Beings, they expected you to. Why resist something expected of you? Something so many of your kind are already doing with no qualms?

My guilt stems from my betrayal of my friends. But life isn't fair, we don't get to choose what or who we want to be. We can only accept what we are given and move on.

The expression on his countenance is still etched firmly in the dredges of my mind. Her shock too. So many of them. Not the friends. So the right word should be 'much'. Much shock, much hostility, much aggression. Of course, I didn't expect them to understand. They were born Lighter Beings. It was always Good versus Evil, and the latter would always be defeated no matter what. Who ever watched a movie where Evil triumphed? That would take the fun out of it and probably insert terror and unsatisfaction in its place.

This world has been stigmatised too much to be changed. And too few of us want it. Who would want change, in a world where ninety-nine percent of the odds are against you and you've already gotten used to it? Not to mention hope for it. That would be foolish.

Extremely foolish.

The Chief had wanted blood on our hands tonight, as a test. I know, I do admit, blowing up a building full of innocent children was too cruel. I wasn't given a choice. We all weren't. Maybe the Chief had a choice, maybe he didn't. Maybe he thought he was supposed to always do this. I can hear the clamouring at the back of my mind, screaming and yelling, "Ridiculous!"

Who are you to speak, if you are not one of us?

Whether blood did get on our hands tonight was a totally separate matter. What actually mattered was the defeat, which could be counted as a relief. The ones who had come with me had done their job well. Thrown the bombs well. Aimed, deft, precise accuracy. Almost deadly. Sharp like a sword. A flash of lightning and a peal of thunder.

Their encouragements still rang in my ears. I threw. I had thrown. Launched the black object like a curled up bat into the air, through the glass windows into the facility. It took only thirty seconds to detonate once released.

I heard the babies crying and shots from below. Honestly, I couldn't find it in my heart to blame them. I only watched, unwilling to betray my own kind, as those posted on the mission together with me attacked. I stayed up in the air, hovering, like a dark guardian angel.

He was below, battling fiercely while the others rushed in to get the babies. A slight twinge had tugged at my heartstrings, something so foreign to me I had almost forgotten it. It was a memory, something stronger, a fragment of the past always slipping past my fingertips like sand in an hourglass. Back when we were kids, back before the segregation, back before everything else that divided and conquered.

He had been my first true love, and still is. I had willed my resolve not to crumble there and then. The aches remained and flared, the smoke from their flames rising and intertwining into a monster in front of me. Porous, unreal. A living epitome of me.

My soul had risen into the air, cut itself out of my real physique, and watched silently as I dove down, slicing a spiral out of thin vapour. It took only seconds before my body collided with his, knocking his hands off my allies. The word tasted bitter in my mouth now, apart from the metallic sting of blood and the salty wash of tears and rainwater. I had watched the astonished, stung look on his dirt-streaked face, then fought against the longing in my heart. This was a good chance to win, to cut it all off once and for all. Human emotion was a tricky thing, not to be toyed with.

I haven't toyed with it for a while.

Even so, the years spent in numbness and coldness were for naught. I had felt the sprigs of flowers blooming inside my bosoms, threatening to unfurl their petals and burst in a radiant splash of colours. But before they could, I bit down hard on my tongue, tightened the iron fist, and rammed into him with all my might and force of my wings, sending him crashing into the glass behind.

The hurt and agony was something I would never forget, even as I lie, almost dying, on the pavement.

They had gotten the children out, fortunately. My allies had gotten away before the bombs had exploded in a fury of volcanic ash and red-hot lava. My wings had gotten burned, their black edges charred even further until the feathers singed and littered the ground. They had once been white, soft vanilla cream, until the segregation. And now they remained inky, jet-black.

The grit tasted hard between my molars and I spat it out, along with a mouthful of fresh red blood. Now I could feel it, the raw pain and anguish. A remembrance of human emotion. I clung to it in my last breaths, reluctant to let go of something I once had that made me human, something that defined me as virtuous and morally upright. Had defined me.  

Now, no more.

I might have killed him. Murder. Assassination.

A lump formed in my throat and bobbed quietly. Why wasn't I dead yet? When would the descent to Hell begin? Angels, or Demons, come and take me away. I want to leave without any struggle. I have played my part in this horrific world, branded myself as Evil, now ruined by my own doing.

This was what I deserved.

The world around me blurred, coalesced into water and sharpness. The mist came, and left, and everything was crystal-clear again. Too clear. Each breath was harder now, the intake much more difficult. It was coming, I could feel it. Death arriving on my doorstep, ready to take me away to where I belonged. I would make its job quicker and more efficient.

The knife blade felt cool in my hands. I remember feeling it thousands of times before, the edge cutting into my soft skin, the blade ripping through, drawing just a tinge of blood, not enough to kill me. And then whenever I began to feel human emotions again, I would rip it through again, patch it up, and continue. Until I became a living breathing block of ice, unfeeling. With no feeling came no pain. That was what I had come to realise over time.

But this time, I wouldn't just be drawing a tinge of blood. My eyes took in the world above me – the shattered glass, the wails of babies, the shouts and yells ricocheting all above. Large wings flapping, white against the night sky. I hoped he was fine, I hoped they were all fine. But what could hope do if he wasn't, if they weren't?

My cold fingers shifted up to the handle. It would just take one plunge into the already bloody area. No pain, and I would just go like that. How ironic, that I had always longed for human emotion, but when I am given the chance to take it back, I don't want to. I want the feelings to spare me before I die.

I shut my eyes, expecting to feel fear encasing me in its shell. Instead, I don't. I feel an otherworldly peace shrouding me in its silent holy veil, draping me in its cloak, caressing the tears and blood from my face. Even Peace took pity on me, this ruined, broken thing longing to leave the surfaces of Earth. I positioned the knife, its shiny blade facing downwards, raised it high above my abdomen.

Then with a determinedness, I brought it rushing down. The air swept above bare skin, bringing with it a tint of frost and chilliness. Flashes, memories, pictures raced before the blackness in front of my closed eyes. Brightness soared in my mind, spreading wings and taking flight as I braced myself for the ensuing farewell.

It never came.

I blinked. The eyelids lifted. A blurred image knelt in front of me. Was this Hell yet? The Demon, Satan, coming to kill me himself? The rain fell harder, disorienting. The edges of wings lay below me, fluttering helplessly as I struggled to discern between living and dying.

That was when I could feel them. Warm fingers, holding mine around the handle. The blade was poking my skin, drawing just a tinge of blood. Even without seeing, I knew who it was and I struggled to remove my fingers from his grasp, desperately wanting to sink the blade into me even more. Anything to get away from cold, hard reality. No one would miss me.

The fingers refused to let go, retained their hold around mine and tightened. The drops of water above hardened their fall. I shut my eyes again, and felt the hands shuddering. Both of ours. Not because of the cold. We were both crying, me and him, while around us, the world lay torn, shredded into pieces.

A white flash of something, like a piece of cloud ripped from a clear blue summer sky of the past. Through the drenching cold rain, I thought it was his wings, burning with a light and righteous glory of their own. But no, they were a normal shaking white, encased with streaks of blood amongst the dripping feathers. Warm energy flowed from his hands to mine, and I turned slightly to look at my outspread wings. I forced my unseeing eyes to take in their shining surfaces, white slowly pooling in from the edges.

The tears came, now free-flowing like the rain, down my wet bloodied cheeks. He was hoping in me. It had been hope all along, that fuelled him to stop him from killing myself; hope that allowed me to hesitate in the last few seconds of throwing the bomb, praying for a chance to redeem myself; hope that gave me those last few moments of hesitation before plunging the knife in, wanting someone to come and untangle me from this ruined world as an alternative ending.

It was hope that almost killed us, but also brought us back to life, even stronger than before. It was hope that nurtured love, and love that nurtured hope. The two caught in an endless cycle.

"Hope, now!"

The thunder was loud, deafening, a splitting crackle of electricity above and the rain its tears, pitter-pattering down. Yet I could hear him over the crash, his voice ragged and hoarse and desperate. And hope I did. Our fingers intertwined tighter, palms pressed together, the handle of the knife between us.

An amalgamation of emotions came crashing onto my shores, flooding the gates of my memory.

First was Happiness, like a bite into the sweetest chocolate cake, fresh out of the oven, baked by my mother.

Second came Pride, like clinching a trophy in a competition.

Third was Anger, its red-hot flames washing over me, devouring all my senses in its explosions.

Then came Disappointment, with the disappeared notion of believing something good was about to happen only to have it snatched away from you, right under your nose.

Guilt, with its sting in the gut, sharp and raw, tearing into your conscience like a monster burrowing underground.

Sadness, with its poignancy and something broken deep inside, breaking the dam of tears.

Then Disgust, mud on clean carpets and all over pretty white shirts and dresses.

Regret, replaying the same scene ten different times in your head, each playing out differently, but having apologies as one thing in common.

Hope, its wings spreading to embrace you, cushioning your fall, believing that you can fly.

The hands clenched tighter and sparks flew. The glow around me lightened considerably, a halo around two figures crouching under a lightning-split sky.

Last came Love, a burst of cherry blossoms and rose petals fluttering all around you, the sweet fragrance of honey and clean washed clothes.

His lips came down on mine, gently, almost as if unable to believe that it was happening. Hope could make anything happen. The brushing of a feather, light as breath, the rainwater and blood and tears mingling into one dark bitter taste, overcome by the sweet pleasantness of touch and intimacy. Using up the last of my energy, I returned the kiss, lips pressed against each other, hard and firm and safe, yet soft and dream-like and humane at the same time.

To love and to be loved were things I had yearned for for as long as I could remember.

Now, I could feel my body burning, my wings heating up and flaring out with a brilliance never felt before. The white swirling faster and faster behind my eyes was now dotted with numerous black spots, tightening into a circle of white and black.

I hoped for Change, and the change it would in turn bring into the world, like a rippling effect of pebbles on still water.

The circle spun faster, dancing on the edge of my vision, white-washed waves painted with black. Would Good and Evil truly coexist together?

A flash, darkness, then light. Freshness of petrichor in the air, and then once more, the airy feel of new spring raindrops against skin. I opened my eyes, noticing the wings first. Black and white. Both his and mine. Together, two colours on the same pair of wings, a mixture of colours filled in in startlingly intricate tones and patterns.

Hope had brought us together. But more than that, it meant that this destroyed world had a chance of being healed after all.

[introvertguide]

15 Badass Movies for a Fun Time at Home or with Friends

There is a buzz in the air as COVID-19 vaccines are rolling out and the hope of having a movie night with friends is again becoming a reality. Watching alone isn’t as fun because I want to talk to somebody about what I have just seen. A full theater does not agree with my introvert nature because somebody screaming or laughing or talking on their phone will ruin it for me. Watching with a fellow cinephile or two is perfect. But what to watch first? People have been stuck inside, so fantasy and alternative worlds have been overly popular. All I do is talk over zoom for a living. I think what I need most right now is a movie about realistic people with realistic skills that go into a situation and just wreck house. I need a badass movie. What is this “badass” movie you might say? Well, here are some basic criteria: 1) There must be a tough lead character who kicks butt while spouting one liners and doesn’t need superhuman powers (high levels of peak skill with speed, aim, or strength is OK if they are plausible in the real world), 2) most of the characters (good and bad) must be likable, admirable or at least memorable, 3) the lead must face and defeat overwhelming odds against them, and 4) extra points for memorable one liners. Also, I am only dealing with human protagonists (sorry Terminator), but slightly superhuman opposition is acceptable. This list is by no means exhaustive, it is just an example of some badass movies. So in no particular order:

1) Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

To start off the list, I want to mention the most well known American badass. Indiana Jones is a smart guy with a gun and a whip. He is rugged and punches guys in the face. He has weaknesses but works through them to get the job done. Harrison Ford was in his early 40s for this role and had this tough-as-nails and seen the world kind of feel while still being young enough to fight hand to hand. Any of the first three films featuring Indiana Jones would work here, but this is the original and it started the fun. Easy to watch. Easy to cheer for. Great movie. You can’t really go wrong with any age or group with this one. 

2) 13 Assassins (2010)

This movie is extremely badass but not for everyone. This is one of the goriest films I have ever seen as 13 warriors kill off a couple of hundred soldiers and the evil leader that they guard. The movie was directed by Japanese extreme horror icon Takashi Miike if that means anything to you (hey made Audition and Ichi the Killer). The movie has gallons of blood, but also an amazing story of redemption and honor. There are tons of scenes of a single warrior taking on dozens of soldiers and managing to overcome. Not for everyone, but still very much a badass movie.

3) The Raid (2011)

This is an Indonesian action thriller with the word action in bold. The film is directed by Gareth Evans and stars Iko Uwais as part of a small police force that tries to take down an old building that houses a drug lord and his violent gang. It has a lot of what I like in badass movies: one-on-one fights between the lead and almost superhuman villains, long well-choreographed scenes, a banging soundtrack, ridiculous weapons, and ridiculous gore. The fight scenes in tight places and the use of the environment for weaponry is amazing and the sound design makes sure you can feel every punch. The lead character should have no chance, but he makes up for it with skill and being a pure badass. This movie is one of the few that I would describe as having non-stop action.

4) Jon Wick (2014)

When did Keanu Reeves become so cool? I grew up with him being part of the Bill and Ted duo. He decides to learn martial arts and play a god-like being in the Matrix movies and then becomes a one man wrecking crew? I guess he is a badass because he does it so well. Keanu plays a retired hitman who is wronged and decides to go back to work for vengeance. He just won’t stop coming and seems to constantly survive out of pure hatred alone. There are 3 films in the series and any one of them will impress. Pure fun too watch.

5) Casino Royale (2006)

When I was asking around, there were many people who thought that James Bond was the ultimate badass. I disagree in that many of the older films show Bond as overconfident with the assistance of many people. In fact, Q is more of a badass in many ways than James Bond. However, when the series was taken back to its roots with the last book that had not been made into a serious film and made darker, it reached badass levels. From the parkour chase to a poisoning to an extreme torture scene, this was not like any James Bond movie before it. Roger Craig plays a much colder lead who gives no quarter, much more like what the greatest secret agent would have to be. Heavy on violence but light on gore, this film is more for all audiences than other films on this list.

6) Desperado (1995)

What makes this movie is not all about Antonio Banderas and Selma Hayek. It is that every other character is memorable and badass as well. The street standoff with Bucho’s men versus El Mariachi, Quino, and Campo is iconic. El Mariachi murders everyone in a bar with precise skill. The rogue assassin Navajas with all the knives played by Danny Trejo. Nothing but extreme shoot outs and fight scenes with a ridiculous variety of guns and explosives. I think what makes this movie so amazing is that all these amazing assassins are incognito and, when they suddenly produce an arsenal out of nowhere, it is always a pleasant surprise. Quino and Campo are amazing when they bring their guitars. 

7) Pulp Fiction (1994)

Truly the role that made Samuel L. Jackson into the ultimate badass. He and his partner Vincent are hitman that keep running into the worst situations. The thing about the film is that everybody is so cool. The characters are cool, the music is cool, the dialogue is cool, hell even the diner featured in the movie is cool. The movie only spans a couple of days (in completely separate segments shown out of order) but packs in 7 distinct situations that are all berserk. From the mind of Quentin Tarantino, this movie is dripping with the best characters traveling through the best story. Highly recommend.

8) Leon: The Professional (1994)

Also known simply as The Professional in the U.S., this film features the debut of Natalie Portman. It is directed by Luc Besson at his best period, right between La Femme Nakita and The Fifth Element. The lead is actually a quiet hitman who reluctantly takes a little 12-year-old girl on as an apprentice to become a paid assassin. Her parents were killed by a corrupt cop and she wants Leon to help her exact revenge. He is an absolute badass and somewhat of a caring surrogate father to the girl. Unlike a lot of the films on this list, the premise is not simply kicking butt in a bad situation. There is serious character growth. Apparently you can be a caring parent and a cold-blooded murderer...and that is badass.

9) Kill Bill (2003)

Being a badass is not exclusive to men and The Bride is a prime example of this. She survives a shot to the head, kills deadly assassins, slaughters a gang, and takes on a crazy school girl bodyguard. She is tougher then any lead I can think of and she has the bad attitude and sense of vengeance that makes for a badass. Combine this with the soundtrack and beautiful cinematography associated with director Quentin Tarantino and you have a beautifully violent movie in which the hits keep coming. Even on this list, the fight scene between the bride and Gogo Yubari is insane. Also note the nod to Bruce Lee with the bright yellow motorcycle suit. Beautifully badass film.

10) Aliens (1986)

In nature, there are few things more dangerous than a mother protecting their young. A mother will fight you to the death and make sure that, at the very least, you won’t be able to go after her kids. Now imagine an alien planet covered with hostile beings created in the mind of James Cameron and Stan Winston and you have a setting made to create a real badass. In the beginning, Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) is just desperate to survive and barely knows how to use a weapon. She meets a little survivor named Newt and then has a real reason to become aggressive. She and a group of marines fight through a station filled with super destructive xenomorph aliens made straight from nightmares to save this kid. The transformation is truly amazing and culminates in a mech suit versus a giant queen alien and it is extremely badass.

11) Army of Darkness (1992)

Far and away the funniest movie on this list, this is the third film stemming from Evil Dead and again stars Bruce Campbell taking on the deadites that were raised by reading from the Necronomicon. The opposition is the undead evil that faces the world which makes the violence very unrealistic. This was early work from Sam Raimi and features a variety of different shots done to the extreme. What really makes this film stand out is how Bruce Campbell is amazing at delivering a one liner. His classic quips have been used as fun Easter eggs in video games like Duke Nukem and World of Warcraft for decades. The quintessential horror comedy and a perfect example of a badass.

12) Die Hard (1988)

Apparently, I am a big fan of single characters that need to work their way through a building of villains using mostly intelligence and the element of surprise. Throw in some one liners and I am all for it. That is exactly what this is with Bruce Willis crawling barefoot around a 40 story building and fighting off a gang of villains. The movie also has Alan Rickman as the main bad guy and he is chewing the scenery. This is a great example of being a badass, but it is too bad that the follow up sequels were so poor. Definitely stick to the original and let the rest pass by.

13) The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (1966)

An OG of the badass movie genre, this is some of the best of Sergio Leone and the spaghetti western. Instead of one badass, this movie has three different leads that are all amazing. You have the good, Clint Eastwood, who is an amazing shot and a heart of gold under a rough exterior. You have the bad, Lee Van Cleef, playing an conniving assassin that will kill anyone that he doesn’t have a use for. Finally, you have the ugly, Eli Wallach, as a desert rat that will do anything to survive. They all gain information about a gold stash and need to work together to get it, but this creates a vortex of cheating, undercutting, and straight up murder. Clint Eastwood is more of the classic badass with his cigar, hat, and poncho, It is an iconic look on an iconic character in an iconic movie. That is what I call badass.

14) Ong-Bak (2003)

This less of a badass movie and more houses some of the most amazingly badass fight scenes that can only be described as badass. This movie introduced the great Tony Jaa to the western world and showed the high flying nature of Thai boxing and Muay Thai in general. The main character is entered into a street fighting tournament and the moves include a flying double knee drop and a full splits kick. If the whole movie was the tournament, it would be the best movie that ever existed. The variety of opponents makes the fighting even better and the cinematography is top notch. Tony Jaa is truly badass in this film.

15) Dredd (2012)

Not the crappy version with Stallone, this movie is seriously badass. It features Karl Urban who is helmeted for the entire film (as Dredd would be) taking on a 200 story mega slum filled with residents that want to shoot him dead. There is a drug dealer high up in the building and she locks down the entire compound with instructions to kill Dredd, who only has his rookie partner to help. He takes on random resident mobs, groups of gang members, and even a trio of mini guns that have bullets that can rip through walls. He has a smart gun with a bunch of ammo that he uses judiciously to kill everybody. This movie was seriously underrated since it had not been that long since the garbage Judge Dredd came out in 1995. The 2012 is a far superior movie, being much more violent and dark instead of having Rob Schneider as the comedy relief (not badass).

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I know there will be a lot of opinions about what makes a badass film and what movies i didn’t add. Feel free to add your own movies or critique my choices. I will stand by my choices, however, and recommend any of these films for a night of cheers and badass action.

[forestwater87]

(first apologies if this is a duplicate; I got a "bad request" notification the first time I tried to send this ask) but anyhow; I saw your tags on my Lucretia post and i am not sure how to reply to tags?? but i want to see your version of that scene! (if you still want to share) I love Lucretia very much and love to see other peoples' takes on her. anyway, I hope you are having a good day!

OH MY GOD YAY!! 

I mean, cool, whatever. I guess I could share a little bit of that fic. That’s fine.

(yayayayayayayay eeeeeeeeeee)

Okay, part of me wanted to blast you with the entire chapter, but that’s 25-ish pages so I’m forcing myself to show restraint here and only include the tail end. There’s a little bit of context missing, because it’s the last section of Chapter 10 of a fic that so far has at least 32 chapters, but I think it all makes sense. It’s basically just “here’s what happened in that cycle when everybody else was a statue person” and it was, you know, not a good time. (There’s some implied Magcretia, sorry not sorry.) 

Plus it’s really good. I know that sounds arrogant, but I’ve spent the last 4-5 years hating every word I’ve ever written, and I’m going to enjoy this confidence for as long as it chooses to stay.

So anyway, I hope you enjoy! 

There are no line breaks on tumblr anymore so this is the part where the actual writing starts:

When the Hunger arrived, it was a relief more than anything.

Lucretia had been in the middle of defending The Starblaster from a group of marauders climbing like ants all over the dented and hastily-repaired sides of the ship, trying to figure out if she could possibly shake them all free without having to resort to the magic she’d deduced made it possible for the court to find her, when the sky turned dark and everything went gray. 

And her first thought was, Oh thank Pan. (She wasn’t a religious person at all, but enough time with Merle had made the casual prayers second nature.) This nightmare was almost over. In less than an hour, she’d have her family back.

She was so close to seeing Magnus again.

“Fisher, get back in your tank!” she shouted, abandoning the shield she’d been summoning and sprinting to the helm — she’d spent so much time this year running for her life that she could race from one end of the ship to the other without becoming winded. None of the marauders had made it onto the deck, but she felt the air above her head crackle with a spell that blazed past, and as she reached the controls she heard the now-familiar amplified voice call, “You are under arrest for multiple counts of evading the authority of the co — what the hell’s going on here?”

Oh, great. All her friends were here. Now all she needed was for the boar and crocodile to make an appearance.

As the officer began to interrogate the marauders (his side of the conversation still blaring loud and clear), Lucretia took advantage of the confusion to throw the ship forward. She’d had enough foresight to keep the way in front of The Starblaster clear for just this purpose, and while a few hundred yards of ash-colored grass were flattened, she was able to get the ship into the air.

She pointed it up, away from the Hunger — up into space, into nothingness, into any universe except this one, somewhere she’d stared at and imagined but now was finally going into . . .

If she could get the damaged, shuddering ship up to speed and break through the atmosphere, that was.

If not, everything ended here.

A tentacle of swirling darkness stabbed into the ground inches away from her ship, forcing her to swerve hard and nearly lose her footing. She threw all her weight on the acceleration as more of the Hunger’s tentacles latched onto the planet, the labored roar of the engines nearly drowning out the screams of panic from the people below.

As The Starblaster rocketed over a shining city with strange statues and up into the sky, a whisper made Lucretia look around — before realizing it had come from inside her own head.

We’ve been looking for you.

She frowned, clutching at the helm even tighter. Was this some sort of new thing the Hunger could do, or one last awful trick played by this hostile planet?

Another whisper, louder and lower-pitched: You’ve been evading judgement for some time now.

A massive column of the Hunger collided with the planet directly in front of her. It was so close, she had no choice but to try and blow through it, even though that meant taking the biggest risk she had all year. But The Starblaster’s momentum was impossible to halt, and the mile-wide column was impossible to go around, so she gritted her teeth, hunched over the controls, and slammed on the accelerator.

The second she crossed into the Hunger, everything went silent and black.

Everything, that was, except for the whispers: 

Lucretia, you have always let others take action and responsibility while you sit back and watch. You tell yourself this is worthwhile, but you know it is a lie. And yet when it is smartest and safest to proceed with caution, you take the most reckless path, because you refuse to admit you might be wrong. Your past sins are sloth, envy, and pride. How do you plead?

How did she plead? She didn’t plead for much of anything, except to survive long enough to fly them into the next cycle. The Hunger buffeted at the ship, wrapping smaller tentacles around its sleek metal body and trying to keep it from plowing forward; it might kill her — kill them all — but not knowing what else to do, she used Mage Hand to open the nearest window without leaving the helm and cast Fire Shield around the ship. It was weak and flickering compared to the spells of protection Merle could create, but the Hunger fell back with deafening shrieks of pain as flames licked the air around The Starblaster. 

The awful whispers weren’t letting up, though, digging cold fingers deep into her mind and sending a chill shudder down through her very soul.

Your present sins are no less grave. You kill without remorse. You have allowed yourself to become vindictive and spiteful. You have not abandoned your past failings, but have added new ones since our initial audit. We see fit to add to your current list of transgressions the crime of wrath. How do you plead?

Suddenly there was a break in the shimmering darkness, a bolt of ash-gray sky widening like a tear in heavy fabric — and then she was through, outside of the Hunger and so far above the doomed planet that she couldn’t see the ground below. She let out a scream of triumph, the noise tearing like sandpaper along her exhausted and dry throat, and angled the ship until it was almost vertical. The Starblaster shot forward as though with one last burst of strength, shuddering as its engines were pushed to the absolute limit . . .

The ship suddenly jolted to a halt, mechanisms whirring like a swarm of angry bees.

Lucretia turned to the still-open window and saw the entire view had been replaced with blackness, oily-iridescent tentacles spilling into the ship as others wrapped around it. She threw all of her weight on the acceleration, but it didn’t move; then, after a single grinding moment, The Starblaster began to fly backward, pulled back toward the core of the Hunger. 

She could hear its gnashing teeth.

“NO!” The word exploded out of her, coming from somewhere far below conscious thought. She abandoned the helm just long enough to run to the window, ignoring the tentacles that curled around her ankles as she pointed her wand at the offshoot of the Hunger that had its hold on her, aiming for where the base met the rest of the massive column, and shot off a burst of lightning. There was another hideous wail and the tentacles around the ship shuddered and pulled away, just a slight loosening of their incredible grip.

Her entire body shaking with terror and fury, she pointed her wand at the same spot and cast Finger of Death. 

The screaming was like a sonic blast — a thousand million voices filled with rage and pain and fear — knocking her onto her back and sending her skidding across the bridge. She scrambled to her feet, stumbling over her robe and lurching to the helm. The sound of the engines returning to full blast was like the roar of a furious animal loosed from its cage, and the last of the Hunger fell back as the ship threw itself up into space. It felt like the air was shouting with every conceivable emotion.

As the panic subsided and her head cleared, she realized it wasn’t the air screaming; it was those whisperers.

So much rage. So much wrath.

No remorse.

No different than the monster she tries to flee.

They were growing louder with every word, overlapping and running together until she struggled to pick out individual phrases —

She betrays the people she supposedly loves most

She destroys a family — destroys the memory of the family

Robs them of themselves

Who has the right?

No one has the right

The sound was becoming unbearable, deafening. Her ears felt like they were leaking; she lifted her hand to one and her fingers came back covered in blood.

It didn’t make sense — it wasn’t an external sound — it wasn’t an external force, but something ripping her apart from within.

It was the sound of going mad. 

At that point she was barely able to understand anything 

leaves him to die in agony in a hell she helped create

takes advantage of the innocent who make the mistake of believing in her

such a sweet boy, and all you do is lie to him

do you think you can make these decisions for the world?

the heartbreak you will cause

the betrayal

pride — such unfathomable pride

the deaths you will cause

the lives you will ruin

the blood that stains your hands

coldhearted — cowardly

wrath — envy — sloth

pride

PRIDE

Our judgement is decided.

You have been found wanting.

Something hardened in her chest, calcifying her lungs and making it impossible to breathe. Lucretia doubled over, her hands scrabbling to keep the ship moving, as her flesh turned hard, brittle, the feeling like casting Stone Skin but somehow it’d gotten inside . . .

She couldn’t move her tongue. She couldn’t breathe. Blackness crowded the edge of her vision — not like she was blacking out, but like her eyes just suddenly weren’t there anymore

everything went wobbly, the universe becoming untethered just for a moment

And when it stabilized, she realized she could move again, see again. She took a deep, tremulous breath and turned back from the helm, sliding to the floor in a heap.

It was less than a second, before the I.P.R.E. crew fully materialized, but she didn’t see it happen. As soon as the surreal, smoky outlines of her friends wavered into being, she dropped her head in her hands, a sob she’d been holding back for months finally escaping her throat.

She did it.

Magnus’s hands closed around her upper arms and he gently tugged her into an embrace. She could feel the cool steel of the bridge under her knees, heard the voices of all her friends speaking all at once. She was dimly aware she was talking, mumbling nonsense to herself as she waited for the world to stop spinning.

The last thing she was aware of before slipping into unconsciousness was Magnus’s breath on her forehead and his warm fingers combing through her hair.

[frodonsam]

I Don’t Care

(based on this Tumblr post)

Their pitiful fire had finally winked out of existence, reduced to nothing but faintly smouldering coals that offered no real heat unless one was to shove their hands straight into the ashes. The barren lands around them were just as devoid of heat, jagged rock and unyielding stone laying exposed to the unfriendly sky like bleached bones, merely the echo of a land once living.

The night had grown bitterly cold, the ground offering no comfort nor promise of lingering warmth from the day. Not a ray of precious sunlight had touched these lands to heat the hard rock and gritty soil in a long age, leaving only oily weeds and the rare skeleton of an ancient tree, all signs of life long since leached from their weathered trunks. All that was left was an empty husk of what had once been good and full of all manner of creatures.

Frodo could feel the light being squeezed from within him, just as it had been from the land.  With every heavy step they took towards Mordor, the Ring whispered to him. Frodo had begun to feel like a beast carrying a great load, marching knowingly onwards to his own slaughter. A bitter taste arose in Frodo’s mouth, anger and fear and desire clouding his thoughts the closer they came to Mordor’s black lands. He wanted to be free of the yolk that the Ring had become. Not for the first nor last time, Frodo wished more than anything that the Ring had not come to him, yet he knew now that he would never be able to part from it while there was strength yet in his limbs.

It was like two sides to a coin, the desire to own the One Ring of power, to keep it as his and hurt anyone who were to try and take it from him. And yet, at the same time he wished just as violently that it would be cast away from him, into the hands of some other poor unlucky soul who could march it to the fires of Mount Doom while he and Sam could go home. Home, to the green fields and bright brooks of the Shire, far from the smoke and ash of Mordor.

A violent shiver wracked Frodo’s body at the mere thought of the dark lands they were all too steadily approaching. Or, that they hoped to approach. It had been nearly two days, or as near to two days as one could figure in the sunless land, and the two hobbits had been travelling in circles.

“Mr. Frodo?” Frodo started at the familiar voice, sitting up to turn towards his companion. “What is it Sam?” he answered, swallowing down the bitter taste as best he could, the feeling laying coiled in his chest like a snake ready to rear its ugly head.

“You’re shivering something awful. I’ve got plenty a’ warmth left in my limbs yet, you take my cloak an’ layer it up there.” Frodo smiled at the hobbit, a gentler look in his eyes than had been there but a moment ago. The stout hobbit had been shivering himself, but hastily had put on the guise of warmth for the sake of his friend.

“Oh Sam,” Frodo said softly, gazing at Sam with a warm sort of affection in his eyes. “And what will you use to keep you warm then? You keep your cloak, I’ll be alright.” he wrapped the elvish fabric around himself tighter, as if to prove his point. They had faced worse than the threat of a long, cold night in the wilderness. Surely he could endure one night.

It doesn’t have to be so cold though, a little voice told him, Frodo’s eyes flicking towards the place where Sam lay. Sam wouldn’t mind it. Frodo was horrified by his own train of thought. He knew Sam would do anything for him, had done everything for him without a word of complaint. How could Frodo ask something like that of him knowing no matter what Sam truly felt, he would say yes? He closed his eyes forcefully, hand reaching to his neck to clutch the heavy weight of the Ring as was his habit. It was cool to touch, and weighed heavily in his grasp. An icy cloud began to form in his thoughts as he held it.

He was startled from his daze by the voice of Sam, its tone tentative and uncertain. “There’d be no right sense in letting us both freeze Mr. Frodo. We could… well we could share our cloaks, if you’d be alright with it.” The gardener blushed red as a beet, warm brown eyes darting anywhere around the pitiful campsite but Frodo’s face. “I- I hope I’m not crossin’ no line there sir, it’s just that you look so cold an’-”

Frodo cut him off there, nodding silently while unpinning his cloak to hide his own steadily reddening face. It was just to stay warm. They had done the same during the cold nights braving the mountains, this was no different. Except it felt different. More intimate in a way, just the two of them huddled together against the long dark of the night. Intimacy with Sam (his Sam, as his mind wanted to say) was something he found himself… craving. And it made him feel dirtier than he felt after long months trudging through the wilds of the world.

They awkwardly moved close together, layering their cloaks and curling into each other to keep all appendages underneath the fabric as best they could.

There was silence for a good long while, neither of their breathing slowing down into sleep. Sam had tentatively wrapped his arms around Frodo’s thin frame, pulling him close to his body, like the dark-haired hobbit was something precious and fragile. In the space where the Ring occupied Frodo’s chest, Sam’s heart beat steadily, the reassuring thrum a welcome change of background noise from the constant ill-whisperings of the Ring. And then a realization struck him, a thought so out of place in those dark lands that it caught him by surprise.

Frodo felt safe.

Even here in the very shadow of Mordor, where they were separated from the Fellowship in unknown and hostile lands, without even a path to follow. Even here, he felt safe, so long as Sam was near. At the realization, unexpected tears sprung to his eyes, his shoulders shaking with a sudden emotion that he could not explain nor control.

“Frodo?” Sam adjusted his arms, loosening his warm hold to prop himself up on an elbow, his other arm resting lightly on Frodo’s side. “Is it the Ring?”

Frodo sat up for the second time that night, tears so dangerously close to spilling that he was afraid to blink should they fall. “No Sam it… it’s nothing.” How could he explain to Sam what he was feeling? Here he was, so close to Frodo, so good and pure and whole. Frodo was broken, already he could feel the conflict inside of himself. He was not the carefree hobbit that had left Bag End, nor did he expect that he ever would be again. There was something dark inside of himself now. Something that came from the Ring, yes… but perhaps something that was all his, and only just now starting to come to light. It was a fear that plagued Frodo’s thoughts in the shadows of the night. Sam did not deserve a friend such as himself, far less something- something more.

And Frodo would never be something more. Would never let himself be something more, would never initiate something with Sam that he knew the gardener might not turn down only because he loved Frodo enough to do anything for him- despite a lack of truly reciprocating the feelings.

“Pardon me for prying sir but it doesn’t seem like nothin’ to me now.” Sam’s face was stricken with concern. He pushed himself off of his forearm, coming to sit up so that he was eye to eye with Frodo. The gentlehobbit had been quiet for too long a pause, his normally pale skin flushed even more colorless in the scattered moonlight. Frodo’s side of the double-cloak had slipped from his shoulders when he had sat up, and he was now once more shivering.

Sam reached out to touch him, to bring him back down to the warmth of their shared makeshift bed, but the other hobbit flinched. At this Sam pulled back, a crescendo of emotions passing over his face before his features settled on just one: hurt.

“I’m sorry Mr. Frodo, if I said something out of line. I weren’t trying to pry or nothin’ I ‘as only worried about you.”

There was a heavy pause, before Frodo began to answer. “I’m sorry too, Sam. I know you were only worried about me, you- you’re honorable, and loyal.” He paused, taking a shuddering breath before he continued. “And I don’t deserve to have a companion such as you.” Much less, something more. His heart ached, or perhaps it was only the wound in his chest, it was hard to separate the pains that he had sustained on this quest. “And you deserve far better than me, Sam. I’m sorry to have brought you so far from home, from the Shire. It was selfish.”

How could he ever forgive himself, if he ruined Sam? If the other hobbit never got the chance to return to the Shire, to marry Rosie or some other like her, to start a life of his own away from Bag End and Frodo and everything to do with the Ring? He could not. Frodo had begun to understand that he would not be returning from this quest, that either the Ring or Mordor would consume him in the end. He could perhaps accept that fate, however dark it might be, if he knew that his friends- his Sam- would live their own lives happily.

He might be leading Sam to his death. Dear, sweet Sam, swallowed by the Black Gates, never to return to the green hills and cozy holes of their homeland. And at this, at last, the tears began to fall, hot in contrast to his cool cheeks.

“No, no Mr. Frodo. How could you be sayin’ something like that?” Sam reached for Frodo once again, this time his rough hands encompassing Frodo’s smaller ones. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles into the dirt-smudged skin, Sam’s eyes alight with a depth of feeling that still startled Frodo from time to time. He was reminded how much this gentle gardener from Hobbiton had hidden underneath the surface. Frodo had not known it, had not had the chance to know it, before this quest. Now he wondered how foolish he had been, to not have seen it before.

“You are the bravest, the most selfless hobbit I know. There ain’t hardly anyone else that’d come this far, Mr. Frodo. Carryin’ that thing you have around your neck. The rest ‘a the Fellowship couldn’t do it, couldn’t even be around it.” Sam’s words were strong, full of certainty and something else that Frodo couldn’t quite make out. He let go of one of Frodo’s hands, reaching up to rest his palm on Frodo’s cheek, pushing past dark curls to cup his face gently. Frodo found himself leaning into the touch despite himself, still shaking from a combination of the cold and repressed tears

Gently , Sam guided them both down, covering them back up with their makeshift blankets. His hand still held Frodo’s face, brushing away the tears as fast as they came. The two hobbits faced each other in the night, eyes blown wide to see in the darkness.

“Sam, you don’t understand what I’ve become. I’m not the same hobbit I was when I left the Shire, and I don’t think I can ever go back. I’ve changed, Sam. I-I have thoughts… feelings that I shouldn't.” The admittance weighed heavily in the air between them.

Sam’s expression was near unreadable, his eyes searching Frodo’s face for something that Frodo did not know if he wanted the gardener to find or not. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t care, Mr. Frodo. I love you scars or no.” He said softly, shyly, his face flushing red beyond what could be explained away by the harsh cold. “Different or no.” He continued haltingly. “I don’t care if you’re changed now. You’re still my Mr. Frodo, an’ I’d still follow you till the end willingly.” Sam murmured, gaze falling from Frodo’s eyes while his ears burned a brighter red than Frodo thought possible for a hobbit.

Frodo’s heart beat fast enough to burst in his chest, his eyes fixated on Sam’s lips, chapped and red and right there. He wondered what they would feel like against his own, then immediately shut the thought away, along with his eyes.

This was Sam he was thinking about like that, Sam. Sam the sweet, gentle gardener who tended to his flowers and offered Frodo the news of the Shire, who loved Rosie Cotton, who had wanted to settle down with a family of his own and had followed Frodo because he was just like that, loyal and brave and steadfast. When he opened his eyes, he found Sam staring intently at him with a look on his face that he had never seen the gentle hobbit give anyone before.

“Frodo…” he breathed, leaning in to touch their foreheads together. Their lips were so close now, unbearably close. “I meant it. I don’t care. I love you, whether or no.”

And with that, Sam bridged the gap between their lips. The kiss was gentle, Sam’s hand cupping Frodo’s face still while the other searched for Frodo’s in the dark under the cloaks, finding it and lacing their fingers together. When they parted, Frodo breathless and hungry for more, Sam’s cheeks were as wet as Frodo’s own had been moments before.

“Oh Sam,” Frodo’s voice broke, barely above a whisper. He surged forwards and crushed their lips together with far more urgency.

They continued in the dark, kissing and feeling and hungering until they finally came to rest under the starless sky. Frodo lay curled into Sam’s chest, an arm wrapped around his waist, the other clutching the front of Sam’s shirt loosely. Sam held the pale hobbit close, chin resting in a crown of dark curls as his eyelids fluttered shut. There they slept till morning, warm in the others’ embrace.

Safe in each others’ arms, even while under the shadow of Mordor.

And that night, the Ring was quiet.

[raidbossmadi]

People Like Us: What’s in your Head

If we were to step into your characters' psyche, what would it look like?

Sloane 

When you enter Sloane’s psyche you step into a vast forest, trees so large you cannot see their tops and canopies so thick you cannot see the sky between them. However this forest is neither dark or uninviting. Bird songs punctate the background noise and you can hear a stream somewhere in the distance. Walk for long enough and you’ll eventually stumble on the old cabin Sloane called home on Eden-4. You can find the present version of herself there tending to her daily business, Persephone curled up in the corner of the room watching Sloane work.

Just outside the cabin is an impossibly large painting sitting on an easel, on it the world turns into childish scribbles. If you approach it you’ll find that not only can you step into it but when you do you also turn into a childish scribble version of yourself. Sloane’s childhood lives inside this easel, the innocent young girl who never knew she was going to become a Siren. You’ll find that this part of her psyche operates a lot like a children's picture book,Child Sloane doesn’t think in words she thinks pictures, concepts, colors. Mommy and Daddy are green and calm one moment but can turn red and angry. Things grow and shrink here with little regard for actual proportion. If you encounter Child Sloane she’s very trusting, she assumes you're a friend. You are a friend? Aren’t you?

Or perhaps you see the stone bricked path leading to the right of the cabin, as you walk down it the sound of the forest disappears and a thick fog covers the sides of the path. The only way to go is forward. If you look out into the fog you might be able to make out the shape of something you aren’t sure what and it never gets any clearer. All you know is it is massive, it is ancient, and it is sleeping. You stay on the path and soon enough you’ll be in the dream of Vanagard, an old abandoned temple with a fountain in the middle that runs despite all logic saying it should have stopped years ago. Leda and Steele can be found here sitting on the edge of the fountain or walking around the temple proper. You get the feeling that this is something you could never fully comprehend, but you feel at peace here. Steele will not talk to you, you are not Sloane, She is here for Sloane. Leda is more chatty, you get motherly vibes from the moment you start talking to her, she wants to know what your relation to Sloane is, oh you’re friends? Make sure she’s not working too hard, she’s doing her best.

Maybe the sounds from just beyond the forest call to you and walk abruptly into the Pandoran desert. There are so many people here, a crowd that stretches on forever and they are loud. They turn to you, their eyes are flowers and vines spill out of their mouths yet still they talk, still they beg for absolution. You press on through the never ending crowd until you meet a wall, the Cathedral of the Twin Gods towers over you and towering over it are two silhouettes the only defining features on both red and blue siren markings.

“What’s the Password?” Shadow Tyreen asks her mouth full of razor sharp teeth, you stumble and guess things you know are important to Sloane, Flowers,Vines, Persephone.  Shadow Troy laughs gilded fangs ever present. “There is no password shitweasel, but good try.”  His mechanical arm lifts you up by the scruff of your shirt and puts you over the wall. You realize now the wall has no gate, the only way in was to be brought over by the shadow twins, they are protecting the temple only they decide who goes in or out.   Inside the temple things are much more welcoming, the people have faces and you recognize them. They wear the outfits of temple priests but their all Sloane’s friends, you see yourself among the priests and get a feel for what Sloane’s idealized version of you is like, it's all your best qualities. You walk into the throne room, it’s bathed in pink light and upon the dais sit idealized versions of Tyreen and Troy. It’s a little off putting to be fair, these are manifestations of what Sloane loves about each twin, they are far far friendlier than either twin would ever be in real life. Tyreen says things like “Dear brother, would you mind fetching Sloane, she’s running late for our date.” batting her eyelashes and talking in a too sweet tone. Troy is much the same, there's no tension here no anger or sadness. Everything in this temple is the best of Sloane’s life since joining the CoV and it’s welcoming enough you almost don’t want to leave.

But when you do and find yourself back at the cabin, it’s probably for the best that you don’t investigate the gated garden, as you step towards it the sky darkens and a chill runs through you. This gate creaks open and if you ignore your better judgement and enter anyway you’ll find that the garden is overgrown, weeds and giant thorny vines have taken over what was once clearly a vegetable garden. Continue on and you’ll watch as the vines destroy and overtake anything in their path.  You come across a young Sloane covered in cuts and scrapes.

“I don’t wanna go! Don’t let them take me!” she cries but as you reach to protect her the vines spring from behind wrapping around her legs and midsection pulling her kicking and screaming back into their mass.  Continue forward and you find bodies of scientists wrapped in the tangle, syringe or scalpel still in hand. “This is for your own good.” you hear them say as you walk past along with Sloane’s protests. You will continue to encounter the young Sloane desperate for you to save her but the vines will always win.

Eventually you come to a throne of thorns towering over the landscape,built on the bodies of all the people she’s ever killed, and on the throne, literally one with it, her legs lost in the tangle of vines sits the queen of thorns; Sloane but her markings replaced with thorny vines that cut into skin and bleed constantly. This seems of little consequence to the queen of thorns who merely laughs and fills her chalice with the spilling blood. Her smile shows gilded fangs and when you look her in the eyes, you know that all she wants is to see the world burn. To see humanity laid low for its treatment of her.  But she cannot leave the throne, it is her prison and you feel  safer knowing that this creature, this aspect of Sloane will never see the light of day.

Tyreen

Entering Tyreen’s psyche is entering a place that you cannot easily make sense of. It is a vast Eridian ruin with hallways that curve upwards and stairs out of Escher painting. 

In the center you find Tyreen sitting idly on a sofa that looks entirely out of place. She’s picking her fingernails or her nose, being casual really. What’s really off putting is the fact that every so often an image of Nyriad flashes into existence around the room. She doesn’t say anything but she’s there just long enough to unnerve you. 

If you follow a hallway long enough it’ll lead you somewhere, like Nekrotafeyo. Hostile and cold, the mantas are three times larger than they should be but when they get near you they turn to dust. Young Tyreen sits outside the ramshackle shack her parents built poking bugs with a stick. If you go inside the world turns grey and you feel a tangible sadness wash over you. Leda and Typhon sit vigil at the sides of a bed and in the bed, a sickly young Troy. He’s so small, and he’s getting smaller and smaller. 

You go back outside Tyreen’s a teenager now and Troy’s there too despite having just been in the house. He’s chained to her at the wrist she looks at it and promises she’ll find a way to get it off, that they’ll be free one day. 

Again if you look closely enough around the edges, Nyriad steps in and out of existence.

Or perhaps you see the neon city of Promethea stretching upwards higher and higher. Do the buildings ever stop? People walk past, they walk through you, you don’t exist to them. Tyreen sits on the street corner begging for food, shelter, for help. No one notices her. 

Again Nyriad flickers into being. 

The way to the great stone temple of Vanagard is shattered. You can still walk the steps but they are shaky and uneven. The fog is thick here and in it you can hear the pained noises of a creature beyond. The temple is shattered in two when you get there, literally half of it flowing into oblivion.  

“Not your fault... Shouldn’t be like this...We aren’t a monster…” The words of Nyriad fade in and out. She’s more solid here than anywhere else but you can tell she can’t stay in one place. Her image flickers and vanishes when you try to get close to it. 

Beyond the sofa that Tyreen sits on in the middle of her mind scape is a door and when you open it the darkness of the ruins is bathed in golden sunlight. You walk in and find a room made of gold. Women nude save for their faces which are covered by the solid white masks of the handmaidens. They lounge on daybeds and chaise lounges holding grapes and offering them to you. There is however one person with a visible face, Sloane, who sits demurely on a throne dressed in a lavish gown. Everytime to you try to reach her though the throne gets slightly farther away. It’s not until she laughs at your attempts to reach her and approaches herself that you get any closer to her. Like she willingly has to choose to want to be close to you for that to be allowed to happen at all. 

The atmosphere changes when Sloane steps off the throne though, all the other women disappear, the gilded chamber turning to a comfortable house instead. 

You thought you were heading back to the main chamber but instead you find yourself in a black empty void. 

“T-Ty….help me.” You hear Troy call from all directions. His pain is palpable in the air.  You aren’t even sure what direction you're going in but the cries for help get louder. 

“You lied to me! You lied, again Tyreen!”

“No! That should have worked! Why didn’t it work? This was a mistake we never should have left…” you think that the space might be shrinking. You feel walls you can’t see closing in around you. Just before you can be compressed into a cube the blackness explodes. 

Towering above you is a massive vault entrance. An eye peers out of the vault inhuman and angry, the destroyer. Tyreen stands at the base of the vault  so small in comparison.  

“I understand. We could be gods. That would save Troy. Thank you.” She whispers to no one in particular. Nyriad stands behind her shaking her head frantically, her vision misinterpreted; she tries to touch Tyreen to get her to turn around but fades from existence before she can. 

You stumble out of the void you found yourself in and follow instead an iced over path walking down it you end up in a statue garden in winter. You look at the statues, they're all Tyreen’s friends and family. She sits in the middle of them all crying, she never wanted this to happen.  She reaches for the one of Leda, but it cracks and crumbles as she touches it. 

“Can you ever forgive me, mother.” 

Troy

When entering Troy’s psyche you find yourself in an editing room with only one computer turned on. Troy sits at it working away cursing under his breath. Something about nothing ever turning out quite the way he wants it to. If you try and approach he’ll put up a hand and push you away. Can’t you see he’s working?

A screen lights up despite being off a second before you walk towards it and fall into the screen. You’re on Nekrotafeyo, at least you think you are? Chunks of it open up in gaping holes in the sky and ground visual representations of the holes in his memory. They leak sweat and blood, it’s getting hotter out here. You have no choice but to run for the shack at the edge of it all.

Inside you are very small. An ant, while everyone else is so much taller, Typhon, Leda, a young Tyreen perched on the bed. All the giants speak in soft whispers.

“He’s getting sicker you know.”

“He’ll be alright.” Leda promises.

The temperature in the house is rising again. You climb the tree sized bed post to get to the top. You see Leda cradling her young son in her arms offering him her siren energy. The house begins to cool again things seem calm and serene almost. You’re no longer ant sized, you can make it out of the house again. The computer is waiting for you.

Falling back through the screen you notice things have changed, You’re on the bridge of the Centurion now. Troy stands next to his sister desperately trying to break free from the chain that binds them left wrist to left wrist it’s blue on her end and red on his.

“I don’t want to do this Tyreen! You lied to me! You lied to me then held this” he thrusts the chain at her. “Over my head. What kind of loving sister does that. Oh you’ll die if you don’t come with me, what the actual fuck Ty?”

“I… I didn’t mean it to hurt you. You don’t understand now but you will Troy, you will. This is for both of us.” Tyreen begs as she talks the chain morphs into a two headed snake sinking its fangs into both of them but neither seem to notice this.

The stone stairway is missing every other step and you have to take care not to fall into the fog. It seems hostile like it knows it should be here. The other half of the  Vanagard temple is here but it’s a collapsed heap on stone and rubble, the fog covering most of what remains. The broken half of the Eridian rune that sat above the door flickers with red light every so often but it is swallowed by the fog. Take care as you leave, you wouldn’t want to fall.

The cathedral is a medieval castle, with everyone in time period appropriate clothing. Peasants begging for an audience with their king, the broken and forlorn being allowed in to speak with him. You note that half  the castle staff are all disabled in some way but this does not seem to hamper them, they are valued here. You walk into the king’s chamber Troy sitting on a regal throne, a gilded crown on his head and a matching golden prosthetic replacing his oversized one.

“I’ll send what help I can.” He tells the serfs before sending them away. Tyreen is seated next to him though she’s snoozing away letting her brother deal with the diplomacy.

“Troy!” A high pitched voice comes from the window and in flutters a pixie Sloane who lands on his shoulder. “You’ve been working so hard all day, you should come out to the garden and relax.” She says in a singsong voice poking him on the nose.

He laughs and agrees with her, shaking Tyreen awake and then all heading out to the garden.

You try and follow after but find yourself instead in a junkyard. Hundreds of broken toys and robots all piled up on each other.

“Broken.” The wind whispers. “You’re broken. You will never be anything but a broken little man.”

Troy sits in the middle of it all, but only the left side of him. The right is a void that he claws at desperately.  The void pulls in anything to close to it including you as you try and get away but it takes you anyway.

You find yourself back in the editing room but now Sloane is there, perched on his desk. Sunlight shines from behind her as she smiles and asks what he’s working on. He answers and she laughs at the light spreading across the room enveloping him. Flowers start blooming in the cracks in the tile.

You get the feeling everything will be ok in the end.

[toohardtoforgetcth]

Too Hard To Forget

Chapter Two

Warnings: Swearing, angst, the usual 

4,570 words

A/N: I’ve been waiting to post chapter two of this fic until I got some interest in the first bit so here it is! Feedback is so so appreciated since this is the first piece of writing I’ve ever published and I’d love to know what you think!

It had been twelve days since Parker’s awkward exchange with Calum at the record store, and eight days since he had put the fear of God into her outside Grace’s room. She was surprised to discover he hadn’t been in to visit Grace in four days. In the short time she’d known him, she’d come to realize that it was unlike him to go more than a day or two without visiting.

Despite being downright terrified of him, Parker felt drawn to Calum. Every time he knocked her down, she found herself wanting to come running back for more. Parker’s curiosity got the best of her, and she couldn’t stop herself from asking Grace where he’d been.

“Everything okay with your grandson—Calum, right? Haven’t seen him all week,” she asked nonchalantly, but the old woman saw right through her.

She smiled a knowing smile, making Parker blush. “I told you he wasn’t so bad, didn’t I?” she winked.

Parker made a face. She would never say so, but she had to disagree with her on that one. She wondered if Grace really knew the effect her grandson had on people.

“Anyhow, he’s been so busy with work. Poor boy. It’s a terrible job. He could do so much better, he just doesn’t know it.”

Parker pondered this for a moment. Hating his job would explain why he was so moody all the time—she couldn’t imagine having to wake up every morning and work your life away at a place that made you miserable. “If anyone can convince him, it’s you, Grace,” Parker smiled.

» » » » » »

Friday afternoon, Parker still hadn’t seen Calum. She had been hopeful every time the front door opened and disappointed to discover it wasn’t him. She wasn’t sure why she felt that way—Calum scared her, and she should really learn to just let it go. Maybe there was a part of her—a competitive part—that wanted to win his friendship, simply because his cold demeanor made him a kind of challenge.

Calum wasn’t a nice guy—that much was obvious. He had given Parker plenty of reasons to want to stay away from him. He was clearly not interested in her—as friends or otherwise. In fact, he had been nothing but hostile towards her since their first meeting. But still, she couldn’t stop thinking about the man with the chocolate brown eyes. She daydreamed about those eyes, his muscled frame, soft brown curls. He was alluring, and Parker wondered what he was really like, under all the black and tattoos and leather, wondered if he had a soft side that anyone besides Grace was ever privileged enough to see.

• • • • • •

Calum was sick and fucking tired of Tom’s bullshit. He was this fucking close to quitting today and telling him to go fuck himself when he got a call from Gram. No matter what kind of shit Calum got himself into, Gram was always there when he needed her most, saving him when he didn’t even know he needed saving.

“Hi dear,” her shaky voice sounded from the other end.

Calum sighed deeply. He missed her voice. He missed her. He felt like shit for not going to see her, but he’d just been feeling so inexplicably angry and irritable the past week, and honestly, it was draining him. He knew he should visit, wanted to, but Calum couldn’t hide anything from Gram and he didn’t want her to worry. And he had to admit that subconsciously, he’d been avoiding Parker. Calum thought maybe some distance from her would keep his mind from wandering back to her, but so far he had been unsuccessful. He had a pretty good idea why he had been so bitter lately, and it was because of a pretty blonde with grey eyes. Parker was throwing him off—he’d never spent more than one night thinking about the same girl—and he didn’t like it.

“Hi, pretty lady,” he breathed, relaxing a little.

“Everything alright, honey? I haven’t seen you all week,” she sounded sad. It broke Calum’s heart. You piece of shit, he thought to himself. She doesn’t deserve this.

“I know,” he exhaled. “I’m sorry, Gram,” he said sincerely. “I don’t have a good reason. I gotta get back to work, but I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

• • • • • •

Parker was coming back from her lunch break when she noticed Calum emerging from the double doors of the lobby. Her heart skipped a beat when she locked eyes with him. His dark eyes bore into hers, leaving her feeling strangely exposed. He said nothing, looking away from her as he put a cigarette between his lips, stopping to light it as the door shut behind him.

She hadn’t seen him since he lashed out at her for listening at Grace’s door, but apparently Parker had a death wish.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly with a small smile as she approached the door, more out of politeness than to spark conversation. She knew he wouldn’t stop to chat with her, but Parker wasn’t going to ignore his existence, the way he did with her. Hopefully he didn’t rip her head off for trying to be polite.

Calum caught her by surprise when he responded.

“Hey.”

Progress, Parker thought. A definite improvement from the complete silence or burning hostility that he usually greeted her with. Taking advantage of his sudden mood change, Parker stopped in front of Calum. He watched her with curious eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing a cloud of smoke to the side.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she observed casually.

“Been busy,” he replied with a shrug.

God, he made it so difficult to have a normal conversation, but Parker was determined to change his falsely skewed opinion of her.

“Grace has been missing you. She talks about you all the time,” Parker commented, heart picking up as she noticed his eyebrows drawing together and his shoulders tense. Shit, wrong thing to say. Fuck, here we go again.

“Like I said, I’ve been busy,” he pushed off the wall, standing to his full height and looking down at Parker. “Doesn’t really concern you, anyway, does it?” he spat bitterly as he flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the pavement, stalking away.

Parker stared after him, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. What was his problem?

• • • • • •

Later that afternoon, Jenna sat cross-legged on Parker’s bed, painting her nails. Parker lay on her back, Loki curled up between her legs.

“What’s got you all moody today?” Jenna pressed, recognizing the face Parker usually made when she was overthinking.

“Ugh,” she groaned, flipping over onto her stomach. Loki let out a displeased meow at being disrupted, launching off the bed. “Stupid Calum,” Parker rolled her eyes in frustration.

“Ooh, hottie grandma’s boy? Elaborate, please,” Jenna gushed, scooting closer.

“I ran into him at work today. I haven’t seen him all week, and then he showed up out of the blue. He actually said hi to me, so I tried to make conversation since that’s the most he’s said to me, like, ever.” Parker sat up, facing Jenna. “And then he just—snapped at me. I don’t know what I did—why he hates me so much,” she flopped back down on the bed, blowing out a sigh.

Jenna giggled. “Not everyone is going to like you, babe. That’s life. Anyway, he sounds like a total d-bag. Why do you even care what he thinks?”

“I don’t know,” Parker admitted. “He just seems—different. I can’t help but feel like there’s this whole other side to him and I don’t know why but I feel this, like, need to get to know him. He is a d-bag,” she laughed, “but I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Sounds like you need a distraction,” Jenna’s face twisted into a sly grin. “We’re going out tonight.”

• • • • • •

Calum was sitting comfortably on his couch, trying to unwind with a beer and a bad movie after a particularly shitty ending to an otherwise great visit with Gram. He had been avoiding Parker, and after a week of not seeing her, he felt the unwelcome feeling of butterflies in his stomach the second he laid eyes on her. It was a sensation he was wildly unfamiliar with but had grown accustomed to feeling whenever she was around.

And then she had to open her mouth and ruin everything. This girl really knew how to get him going.

To be fair, she hadn’t really said anything wrong. Her comment only pissed Calum off because he had already been feeling guilty for blowing off his visits with Gram and he was mad at himself. His response was harsh—he could tell it hurt her. He wished he didn’t care, but he did. As much as he hated to admit it, Calum was intrigued by Parker, and it was unsettling. He didn’t like feeling captivated by her—it made him feel vulnerable and Calum was not vulnerable. Parker made him feel like he had no control, and he hated it. He was trying and failing to come up with a way to get this girl out of his head when his three best friends burst through the door of his apartment unannounced.

“Put a shirt on, we’re hitting the town tonight,” his friend Michael shouted enthusiastically, heading straight into the kitchen and rooting through Calum’s fridge for a beer. He pulled out three, handing one to Ashton and Luke before opening his own.

Besides Gram, Calum loved only three people in this world; Michael, Ashton and Luke. The four of them had been best friends since high school, and they loved Calum unconditionally, despite his harsh tendencies and his troubled past.

“Boys, I’m relaxing,” Calum stretched his long legs out on the coffee table. “I’m not in the mood for your drunken misadventures tonight.”

Luke launched himself onto the couch, head landing in Calum’s lap. “Too bad, babycakes, we’re going out. So get up, get dressed, get pretty. You got ten minutes.” Luke reached up and pinched his cheek affectionately, taking a long swig of his beer.

Calum rolled his eyes at the tall blonde with the bright blue eyes, but he couldn’t help the grin that graced his lips. He’d been thinking about Parker all day, and truthfully, he could use a night out with his boys.

• • • • • •

Parker was feeling good, having downed several drinks since arriving at the bar with Jenna and a few of her other friends, but she was getting tired of dancing. Deciding she needed a break, she and Jenna wove their way through the crowd of tightly packed bodies before reaching the bar. She ordered a vodka and cranberry for Jenna and a beer for herself. She was sliding her cash across the bar top when she felt Jenna’s hand close around her forearm.

“Oh, my god,” she leaned in. “You’ll never guess who’s here.”

Parker followed her friends’ gaze to the other end of the bar, where Calum was leaning against a pillar, talking with three other ridiculously attractive men. Parker groaned. She came out tonight to think of things other than Calum, and there he was, in all his glory, demanding her attention.

“Why are they all so hot?!” Jenna gaped.

As if on cue, Calum turned his head in their direction, his dark eyes meeting Parker’s. His face fell, clearly not impressed upon seeing her here. She looked away immediately, flushing.

“Oh, Jesus. He saw me staring. Kill me now.”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Jenna brushed her off with a wave of her hand. “Come on, let’s go back.”

She grabbed Parker’s wrist, dragging her back to the dance floor. Parker threw a subtle glance over her shoulder, where she caught Calum’s eye again. He was still watching her, not a trace of a smile on his lips.

• • • • • •

Calum stood by the bar, unmoving from his spot by the pillar. He’d been nursing a beer for the last hour, no longer in the mood to get drunk. His focus was on the blonde dancing with her friends, hips swaying and body moving in all the right ways. He hadn’t expected Parker to be here tonight, and it killed his vibe. The very thing he had come here to distract himself from was dancing fifty feet from where he stood, and he couldn’t tear his thoughts—or his eyes—away.

Calum was nothing if not experienced when it came to women. He had an attitude and a hard edge that women just seemed drawn to. He would never understand the obsession they had with the bad boy type, but he wasn’t complaining. Calum was not a relationship guy. He had two rules—never stay the night, never bring them home. Their place, quick and dirty, then disappear when they fell asleep—that’s how Calum liked it. He liked to be in control. That’s why Parker unnerved him—he’d never been drawn to anyone the way he was to her. She fascinated him in a way he didn’t understand. He’d been watching her all night, and he was starting to get irritated. He needed something else to occupy his racing thoughts.

“You got your eye on that pretty blonde one, don’t you, pal?” Ashton nudged him, snapping him out of his reverie.

“What?” Calum shook his head as if to shake the image of her out of his mind. “No. I just—I know her.”

“Bullshit. I know that look,” Ashton mused.

Calum scoffed. “I don’t have a look.”

Ashton was the oldest of the four of them, and he knew them better than anyone. There wasn’t a thing he could hide from any of his boys, least of all Ashton.

Ashton’s expression turned sympathetic. “Cal, you can’t tell me you don’t get lonely. All you do is work, and Gram is the only girl you spend more than a day with. Don’t you think it’s time to try sticking with one girl, maybe?”

“Fuck off, mate. It’s none of your business,” Calum snapped.

Ashton’s expression softened. “I’m just worried about you, man. We all are.”

Calum pushed off from the pillar, annoyed. He knew Ashton meant well—it was obvious how much he cared for his boys. Like brothers. He was the glue that kept them all together. He was wise for his age, and he was the one they went to when they needed advice. But Calum wasn’t in the mood for his profound bullshit tonight. He needed a smoke.

Calum pushed through the throngs of people in the bar, earning glares from a few of them as he shoved them out of his way. He felt himself calm down almost immediately once he opened the heavy metal door at the back of the bar, the cool air hitting his face. He stepped out onto the deserted patio, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He lit it and closed his eyes, leaning back against the brick wall. He let the smoke burn his lungs, but it didn’t clear the fog in his brain like he had hoped it would.

Calum considered what Ashton said to him inside. He was pissed off at Ash for calling him out, but he had a point, though Calum would never admit it. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t want to settle down. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the girls he slept with, it’s just that he couldn’t see himself doing ordinary things with any of them. They were all just nameless faces, there to satisfy a need and that was it. He couldn’t picture himself waking up and making breakfast, staying up late watching movies, grocery shopping, with any of them. The only person he daydreamed about doing those things with was Parker. And that scared the living shit out of him.

Maybe his problem was that Calum didn’t know how to be someone’s boyfriend. He hadn’t grown up with parents, his grandfather died when he was only eight, and Gram never remarried. Calum was good at being alone. He wasn’t happy, but it was all he had ever known. The only girl he ever had somewhat of a relationship with—if you could even call it that—was Kendra, his first year out of high school. The rest of the boys went off to college while he stayed back and worked, and they dated for all of a month until she started sleeping around on him. He never loved her, but after that he decided that would be the first and only time he let himself care about someone.

When he finished his cigarette, he stubbed it out under his boot and headed back inside. He ordered himself another drink, returning to where he left the boys. Parker was still dancing, and Calum used all the strength he had in his body to force himself not to look at her.

A dozen feet away, he locked eyes with a cute brunette in a tight dress, leaving very little to the imagination. She flashed him a sexy smile, raising her drink to him.

Yeah, that’s exactly what he needed right now. A distraction in a tight dress.

He returned her smile with a lazy one of his own, which she took as an invitation to approach him. Good. Calum liked it better when he didn’t have to do all the work.

“Can I buy you a drink, handsome?” she asked in a sultry voice.

“Depends. You gonna take me home?”

• • • • • •

Parker took a break around midnight, her feet aching and her mouth dry from the alcohol. Walking past the bar to the bathroom, she caught sight of Calum sitting on a stool, a beautiful girl with long, dark hair standing between his legs. He was smiling, his hands on her hips, and Parker felt a pang of jealousy hit her in the chest. You have nothing to be jealous of, she scolded herself. He’s an asshole—why do you like him? In that moment, Parker realized that she most certainly had feelings for Calum, even if she didn’t really know anything about him. Even though she was confused about what those feelings were, she knew she didn’t like seeing him with another girl. Parker changed her mind about taking a break. Seeing Calum with someone made her want to down several shots and forget he existed.

• • • • • •

Half an hour later, Calum said his goodbyes to the boys, leaving the bar with his arm slung around the shoulders of the brunette. As they passed the dance floor, he scanned the crowd for Parker. Calum spotted her in the same place she had been earlier, only this time she looked up and their eyes locked. He flashed her a cocky smile and winked, feeling equal parts satisfied and guilty at the expression that crossed her features.

He’d have to be blind not to see that look. It was written there, plain as day, on her face. She was hurt.

• • • • • •

Calum untucked himself from the grip of the sleeping brunette, slipping out of the bed that wasn’t his own. He didn’t even remember her name. She was pretty, but Calum hadn’t really been in the mood tonight. Something didn’t feel right, and a nagging voice in the back of his head told him it was because of a certain grey-eyed girl. He found his clothes on the floor, quickly dressing and shrugging on his leather jacket before finding his boots. He tugged them on as he shut the door silently behind him, leaving the girl with nothing but his first name and a night she wouldn’t forget.

Calum couldn’t say the same.

Calum stepped outside, thankful for the fresh air—the girl’s apartment was stuffy as hell. She didn’t live too far, taking Calum only 20 minutes to make it back to his apartment on foot. Enough time to have a smoke and clear his head. Despite the smoke burning his lungs, he was unable to erase the image of Parker’s face when he left the bar. Why had he taunted her, on purpose? What reason did he have to want to hurt her? When Calum finally settled in his own bed, he found himself wishing he never went out tonight.

» » » » » »

Parker spent most of Sunday morning being lazy in bed, hiding under the covers until the early afternoon, moving from her bed only to be lazy on the couch instead. She was having a great night dancing with her friends and letting loose until a certain moody, tattooed brunette ruined her night by going home with another girl. She wished that it was her going home with Calum, and that thought disturbed her. He was an asshole and Parker knew nothing good could come of her feelings for him, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She had left the bar shortly after he did, her good mood spoiled when she thought about what he was doing.

» » » » » »

Parker awoke on Monday in a foul mood. She spent Sunday sad and stewing over Calum and how she’d never have him, but today she felt downright angry. Calum was a jerk and he was trying to hurt her, and for what reason? She deserved far better. Her sour mood only got worse when she arrived at work and spotted Calum in the hallway. He had his usual scowl on his face and he ignored her as he passed by, yet again.

Normally, she’d let it go and pretend not to let it bother her. Normally, she was a people-pleaser and hated confrontation.

Not today.

No, today there was no holding back. She was going to give him a piece of her mind.

She whirled around as Calum walked in the opposite direction, away from her.

“What is your problem with me? Did I do something to offend you, or are you just an asshole all the time?” she demanded.

Calum stopped, slowly turning around to face her.

“Excuse me?” he replied dangerously, taking a step towards her.

“Since the first time we met, you’ve acted like a complete jackass. Every time I see you, you either ignore me entirely or you try and scare me with that stupid badass attitude,” she paused. When he said nothing, she huffed in annoyance. “Get over yourself, pal. We all go through shit, there’s no need to be a dick about it.”

Parker was surprised at herself for her outburst, which was completely out of character for her. But Calum had pissed her off one too many times—he wasn’t getting away with it again. She placed a hand on her hip, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation.

The cocky smirk he wore turned into a menacing glare. He took two more steps towards her, their toes touching. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her face. He smelled incredible, like the woods, and spice, with a hint of smoke. Stop it, dumbass. You shouldn’t be thinking about how good he smells right now. His tall frame forced her to tilt her head back to look at him. His dark eyes glittered, but not in a kind way. He grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Watch your mouth, doll,” he said threateningly.

Parker’s spine chilled, goosebumps raising along her arms and the back of her neck. His use of a pet name gave her butterflies, but she knew he didn’t mean it in an adoring way. Calum frightened her—this she already knew. But confronting him was clearly a bad idea, one she hadn’t thought through—she was stupid for getting on his bad side. It was obvious he wasn’t one to be messed with, and he definitely didn’t have any qualms about voicing his opinion.

The rest of her workday she spent thinking about their confrontation. The unsettling feeling Calum’s presence gave her weighed heavily in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know whether her feelings towards him were attraction, fear, or a dangerous mix of both.

• • • • • •

This girl was going to be the death of him. Calum had been stunned when Parker called him out this morning. He hadn’t expected it from her, of all people. She was usually so bright and cheery, going out of her way to be nice to him even when he lashed out at her. And even though her words made him angry, all he could think about was putting that mouth of hers to good use. Calum didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to keep this up. The more she pissed him off, the stronger the pull was to her. It was beginning to become difficult to deny that he felt things for Parker.

» » » » » »

Parker and Jenna were dancing the night away at a club downtown on Thursday night, much needed after working overtime hours this week. She had had one too many drinks, her head fuzzy and spinning. She had Friday off, and she was looking forward to nursing her hangover on the couch, curled up with her cat and watching Netflix. Parker excused herself to use the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to sober herself up a bit, and when she returned, Jenna was wrapped in the arms of a guy that was exactly Jenna’s type. It was getting late, and Parker was drunk; she wanted to go home.

“Hey, I’m gonna head home. You coming?”

“I think I might stay,” she said, obviously distracted by the handsome blonde dancing in front of her. She turned to Parker. “Unless you want me to come. Do you need me to come with you?” she asked.

Parker appreciated Jenna’s offer, but she knew she didn’t want to go. “No, you stay. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Parker turned to make her way off the dance floor. “Be good,” she added with a smug smile.

• • • • • •

Parker sat on the curb outside waiting for her cab. She should probably have waited inside the bar, but she had hoped the fresh air would sober her up a bit. Her head was still spinning, and she could hardly keep her eyes open. It had been at least fifteen minutes and she was beginning to get tired of waiting. She could probably have walked halfway home by now, so she stood on shaky legs and headed in the direction of her apartment. She silently thanked her sober self for picking sneakers over heels. It was a warm night, typical of August, but she pulled her denim jacket on anyway, not wanting to have to carry it.

Walking through a particularly sketchy area of downtown, Parker got an uneasy feeling in her gut that she was being followed. She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder, and her heart started pounding when she realized her suspicions were right. There were two men walking behind her, picking up their pace as she attempted to pick up her own, but her legs were still wobbly from the alcohol buzzing in her veins. She should have stayed and waited for the stupid cab.

“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” one of the men called out from behind her, his gravelly voice sending a shiver down her spine.

“Where’re you off to? We can take you home, honey,” the other one drawled, turning Parker’s stomach.

Parker all but broke into a run, desperate to make it onto the nearest busy street before they caught up to her. She could hear their footsteps closing in when a black 1970 Charger screeched to a halt at the curb. Parker stopped dead, panic setting in. Her instinct was to run, but her feet were frozen in fear. A hooded figure emerged from the car, slamming the door behind him. This is it, Parker thought. She prepared herself to fight back, but the three against one odds were not in her favour. The streetlights illuminated his face as the stranger approached her and Parker’s chest flooded with relief when she recognized those familiar brown eyes.

Calum.

On second thought, Parker wasn’t sure why she felt relieved to see Calum. She wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of him, or the two men following her. At least, she didn’t think Calum would hurt her. Would he?

“What the hell are you doing, walking around this neighbourhood at night by yourself?” he demanded, pushing his hood back.

“I—” she started, but Parker had to admit she didn’t have a good reason. It had been stupid to leave the club alone. She should have waited inside for the cab. “I don’t know,” she confessed sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No shit,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned back to the car. “Get in,” he commanded.

Parker looked behind her, but the two men were gone. She was relieved they had seemingly given up when they realized she wasn’t alone, but her heart was still pounding. Whether it was from her close call with them or being close to Calum, she didn’t know. She followed Calum to the car and opened the passenger door. The smell of leather and spice enveloped her when she sat down, and it was oddly comforting.

“What were you doing out there alone?” he repeated once they were in the car.

“I was out with my friend Jenna. I wanted to leave, but she didn’t, so I called a cab—but it never came so I just started walking,” she explained.

“You should know better,” Calum berated, irritated. “Where’s your place?” he asked shortly.

Parker told him her address. She briefly wondered if it was a good idea, him knowing where she lived, but it was too late now. He did just rescue me, she thought. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have left me alone in the street.

She leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes as her drunken state overpowered her ability to stay awake.

Calum pulled the Charger onto Parker’s street and glanced sideways at the blonde passed out in his passenger seat.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered. He got out of the car, opening her door and scooping her easily into his arms. She didn’t stir, but he could feel her breath against the bare skin on his neck. It tickled his skin, giving him goosebumps. She smelled like alcohol, and there was a faint trace of a flowery perfume. He carried Parker up the stairs of the front porch, using her key to unlock the door and stepping inside. He was greeted by a little grey cat meowing at his feet. He followed Calum through the house as he fumbled his way in the dark in search of Parker’s bedroom. He took a guess when he found the only room with a bed, setting her gently down and pulling the duvet over her.

Calum lingered in the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning over her face, staring at her parted lips and then glancing at the cat that had curled up in a ball on the pillow next to her. She looked peaceful, and she was really kind of beautiful when she wasn’t running her mouth.

He let himself out, locking the door behind him and dropping into his Charger.

What the fuck are you doing, Cal, he thought to himself. He started the engine and peeled away from the curb. He drove for a while, no specific destination in mind, when he found himself parked outside of Ashton’s house. Subconsciously, he must have known he needed to talk things out with someone.

• • • • • •

He knocked sharply on the door, waiting impatiently. A few moments later, a tired-looking Ashton opened it, shirtless and in blue basketball shorts, his black hair in disarray from recent sleep.

“Cal?” he mumbled groggily. “What’s wrong?”

Calum pushed past him, walking to the kitchen to get himself a drink.

“It’s the middle of the night, man,” Ashton groaned. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Ashton sighed in defeat, sinking down onto one of the barstools in his kitchen. Calum leaned against the island, downing his drink in one swallow.

“You were right. The other night, at the bar. The girl I was staring at.”

Ashton remained quiet, prompting him to continue. He couldn’t fathom why this couldn’t wait until the morning, but he didn’t tell Calum that.

“I think I have feelings for her. And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it. She drives me insane and she gets me so riled up that I lash out at her every time I see her, but when she’s not around, I can’t stop thinking about her. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Ashton sighed, raking his hand through his messy hair. “Cut yourself some slack, Cal—this is new territory for you. There’s nothing wrong with you,” Ashton assured him.

“So why do I feel angry? Why do I keep trying to hurt her?”

“Maybe you’re just scared,” Ashton shrugged. “Opening up to someone puts you in a vulnerable position, and you don’t like losing control. You’re pushing her away ‘cause that’s all you’ve ever done, and maybe you’re angry because she’s making you feel unsteady.”

“Then how do I stop?” Calum questioned, feeling a little hopeless. Parker was kind, and gentle, and good, and Calum was none of those things—he didn’t deserve her. She was afraid of him—there was no way she was going to let her guard down around him after the way he’d treated her.

“You just have to let her in, man. You’ll never get a handle on your feelings if you don’t allow yourself to feel.”

» » » » » »

On Friday morning, Parker awoke with a hangover from hell. Her head felt like it had been split open, and her stomach was churning violently. She sat up, slowly, and noticed she was still in her clothes from the bar, minus her shoes. It was unlike her to collapse into bed without changing first. She checked her phone, several missed calls and texts from Jenna to make sure she got home safely. Then, the memories came flooding back to her. Calum brought her here. He must have tucked her into bed. He hates me—why would he do that? For the life of her, Parker could not figure him out.

taglist: @treatallwithkindness

[cyber-v]

Asks from here - Y’all are always welcome to ask me anything~

1. what is their full name? do they have any nicknames? what are they and why did they get them?

Vera - Also know as V, Vera Bazhaar is my main girl with the link to Silverhand. V's nickname was picked up after leaving her nomad clan the Bakkers. She needed something quick, easy and memorable that didn't lend out her full name. (V stands for Very creative alias) She also adores the amount of sex jokes the name V has since opened up for her.

There is also a part of her that wanted to separate herself from that period of her life. But as she’s had time to move on she’s gotten ok with her close friends calling her Vera.

Nyx - Born as Salone redacted

Nyx decided to name herself after the primordial goddess of darkness to protect her identity and reflect her place of being a powerful person in the shadows. It also unintentionally reflects their minor god complex. (Also to be noted Nyx identifies as nonbinary and uses she/he/they pronouns.)

Dante - Rockerboy with the stage name Dante Aguatavana but the people from home know him as Davidson. 

Before he had built any kind of career Davidson was just the tough guy on the street. But on top of being the tough guy he was known for taking care of his own without needing any familial or gang ties to them. If you were from his neighborhood you could come to him. 

As this reputation grew with his neighbors as he got older people, especially women would come to him seeking help from abuse and dangerous friends or family. 

Not everyone has the Mox to back them up when this kind of trouble starts up Davidson was the one to turn to. 

This quickly became a way to discreetly get rid of abusers, often staged as a break in or robbery gone wrong that was common enough in the area to not raise an eyebrow. The abusers would be killed without a trail to follow, just like the poison Aqua Tofana from times long past.

Dante took this name to honor his origin and remind him of his values during his rise. Determined to never let himself slip away when he found fame.

31. who are their closest chooms in NC?

Vera - Sedak - (OC) Vera's best choom is a Solo named Sedak. He's a flashy type of guy with a killer attitude who's always dripping in gold. Their styles don't exactly match but when they work together they get an amazing synergy going. With V hacking targets and sniping from the shadows while Sedak keeps all eyes on him and his mantis blades.

Judy feels like home to be around. Not the same way the Aldicacos do, with tents, campfires and a sister, who she considers Panama to be. But in the way that lets the world wash away when she comes home to her. The way that making her smile has turned into her daily goal. Judy has the bit of genius in her that keeps V hooked. They've both got ideas for technology just in different ways with techie know how and V's netrunner experience. She knows they can make amazing things together and it's all the more reason to spend as much time as possible together.

Nyx - It's hard to find people who can understand who they are as a person now. For so long working for corporations defined their life and now with finding a new purpose it seems that others couldn't quite see past that label.

Delamain - It says something about a person when your best choom is a car… But Del can understand her in ways others can’t. Both attempting to defy their purpose but not quite knowing how. She couldn't bear to reset a freedom that they had worked so hard to achieve. Del has proven to be a great friend, able to offer advice, listen and never judge her gruff way of speaking. Now without the taxi service they're free to roam together. They have dinner while watching the sunset together at least once a week.

Dante - (OC) Her personality is not for everyone and she is starkly aware of the fact. She built walls to protect herself and hurled insults from the ramparts. Dante was able to laugh off the insults and threw some back even. Often just going for a laugh but sometimes actual critiques that made her think. By being Dante's choom Nyx has grown as a person and become more understanding and personable.

Dante - When you can have good days of being surrounded by groupies and bad days of trash magazines and exes trying to ruin your reputation it's hard to tell who's truly your friend. You can’t trust those who just kiss your ass or idolize you. It's just a race to see who's heart gets broken first when you come crashing off the pedestal.

Edward Shawnalore - (OC) But with Edward Shawnalore he doesn't feel like there is that layer of rose colored glass between them. They meet during a bar fight, fighting back to back and watching out for each other while they teamed up against all the pissed off patrons. Ed says what he means and sure he's a bit angsty and mixed up in the head at times but he's still figuring things out on his own. They’ve always have time for banter and quick jabs during gunfights. They really bonded on finding out that not only did they have the same taste in music but they both made music the other liked. He wasn’t really expecting to fall in love with Ed when it happened but sometimes it just it just hits ya at the most unexpected times

34. Do they have siblings?

Vera - Vera was raised very communally. Her family really took "It takes a village" literally. Therefore she feels like she had many siblings as well as many parental figures in her life.

But with this abundance of family she did in fact have an older brother by blood. His name was Axel and he was obsessed with fixing and building cars. Always helping show Vera around the shop. She was never too interested in how cars worked or how to fix them, opting to just bring them to her brother if they needed work. But she fell in love with driving. The newer the better, she was always so interested in technological advancement.

Nyx - Grew up as an only child and has never gotten used to sharing or not having things her way. Her family put untold resources into creating and raising the perfect daughter. But she didn’t turn out to be that in many ways. 

Unfortunately this still affects Nyx and they can tell but can’t quite fix it. They have a hard time making and maintaining friendships. They often can’t quite tell where the line between friendly and hostile is due to being raised by cold handlers and tutors who she thought loved her, giving her this warped perception of what love is.

Dante - He has two older brothers and a little sister. 

The eldest, Aurelio went off to war and came back in pieces not really the same. He's been on a slow path to recovery and he lives at home with their Mother. He says he's there to help take care of her and Dante lets him have that. They never got along as kids but are slowly working on rebuilding a relationship.

The second son, Emilio joined the Valentinos. He's been sticking to the gangoon lifestyle ever since. He and Dante don't really see each other that often but they say hi whenever they pass each other at Padre's.

Lainey was a surprise baby for the whole family. Dante's mother, Mariela thought she wasn't able to get pregnant anymore and… well now there is a toddler in the house and Dante is just trying to be a good big brother for her whenever he's around.

[merryfortune]

Day 24 / Daisy

Ship: Toughshipping | Anna/Rio

Universe: Alternate - The Dressmaker

Word Count: 1,043

Rating: T

Tags: Major Character Death, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort

   “It’s safe as. I’ve done it once, I’ve done it a hundred times.” Anna bragged.

   “That sounds dangerous. I’m not going to be impressed either way.” Rio worried for Anna, reaching out to her and holding her forearm.

   “Jumping off the silos onto the ground is for kids.” Anna lectured Rio as serious as a heart attack. “Real idiots jump into ‘em. In the dark.”

  Rio had an ominous feeling. As nonchalant as Anna was, with bravado coming out of her ears, Rio didn’t think that it was advisable.

   Since coming home, Rio had made many enemies, fewer friends, and even fewer lovers. She had also made many, many dresses and very little progress towards the very quest that had brought her to this tiny town with such eternal memories for hostility. Even now, as an adult, when Rio closed her eyes, her earliest memory of this place was not picking flowers from the front yard of her house but rather, being thrown into the back of a rickety automobile with a hastily put-together suitcase. It was having putrid farewells sneered at her from the grown-ups around her. Not even a sweet goodbye from her parents. All because the golden boy of the town, her very own twin brother, Ryouga, had been killed and she was the presumed killer.

   But being cast aside was preferential to being kept forever. Exiled on her own, at least Rio had gotten to see a little of the world, but what she saw had her harrowed, she was by no means the poorest, most unfortunate souls out there and in fact, it tended to be those who loved her and were loved in return who were worse off. And they were worse off for loving her. Even now, she shivered to think their fates but at least they had left her still alive, if narrowly.

   Rio had also been given the opportunity to learn a trade in this world outside the tiny town she hailed from. She apprenticed to a tailor and had learned greatly from them. Now, after learning her needlework, she could return in glamour, in silks and chiffons, and for whomever there was here, if they would pay her, Rio would make dresses for them. She did not care if they spat in her face, so long as their spittle followed the clanging of coins, she minded not.

   Anna, of course, being the sole exception in the ugliest pair of trousers that Rio had ever seen. At least her britches were handsome but she was good-hearted through and through. She was like the sun in that regard  and being out in the starlight like this, atop the reserves, with Anna was breath-taking. Made all the grim circumstances worth them. Even for a moment with cheap wine and fresh fruit and cheeses to savour with them.

   “It’ll be fun.” Anna told her.

   “It’ll be dangerous.” Rio insisted. “What if there’s seed in there? Lucern and the like?”

   “Naw, we haven’t got anything in the stores, it’ll be sorghum, but not ‘til next week, promise.” Anna said.

   She wasn’t listening to Rio either way. She was a farm kid and this was just how farm kids were when they were smitten. She got to her feet and she scuttled around the side of the silo. She lifted the hatch - easy, one hand - and Rio inched closer. Anna flashed a smile at her.

   “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’m not afraid of anything.” Anna said. “I love you.” She chirped it so casually and she took the plunge.

   She didn’t even give Rio a second to say something - anything - in return but she smiled as Anna went down that drop. Straight as a pin but Rio never heard the drop. She waited and she waited and she felt the cold breeze of the night on her arms. She prickled. She couldn’t wait any longer.

   She was certain Anna was just playing a mean joke but - but what if?

   Rio grasped onto the rim of the hatch and she stuck her head through the wide hole. She strained her eyes but she was certain. The silo was not empty. It was full. Close to capacity levels of full. Her eyes widened as she felt tears bulge at the bottom of them. Her voice was raspy but she still yelled for Anna. 

   Anna didn’t respond. Rio couldn’t even see her but Rio yelled for her. Over and over. She yelled for help to come but they never did. Rio didn’t see Anna again until the morning. When the ruined harvest spilled from the bottom to find the farmgirl buried at the bottom of it.

   Rio knelt in the red sorghum with Anna’s lifeless body. She clutched onto her stained shirt and she wept. She had always feared that it would only be a matter of time until someone whom she loved and was loved in return by would die by her coincidence again. Just like Ryouga, she hazarded the thought as she sobbed at Anna’s lifeless body.

   She didn’t even let Allen - Anna’s brother - take Anna away from her for preparation. It was no different to making clothes for mannequins. In the shade of Anna’s favourite tree on her and her family’s farm, Rio wiped down her body with a cloth, removing the sorghum from her hair and from her skin. Dressing her up in the finest that she would have worn if they could have been betrothed. Trousers charcoal black; a white linen shirt; even a blazer to match. It’s what she would have wanted, Rio thought, as she sobbed but it would all be for naught.

   Rio surrendered Anna’s body to Allen only when she was prim and proper. When she looked like she was asleep, not suffocated and dead. Allen was the one to carry Anna to her funeral possession, like how an older brother should, cradling his little sister whilst those of the town who watched wept. He took her out to what would be her least favourite bonfire. Out in the blazing sunlight and in the dry, yellow grass where only hard daisies could grow to the cremation pyre that would be all hers and all eyes, accusatory, were on Rio as she grieved.

[fullmetalscullyy]

royai week 2020 - day 5: picture prompt

summary: a couple spends some time watching the sunset

rating: g | words: 1946 | warnings: none  

read on ao3

“Captain?”

“Hm?” Riza hummed tiredly.

“Come sit with me for a while?”

It was a tempting offer. They’d both had a long day and their hard work was finally complete. Riza just wanted to return to her hotel room and have a nice long bath to ease off her aching muscles, however that would come in time. She could spare the General five minutes.

“Of course, Sir.”

Her legs were weary after a long day of walking around South City and making sure the celebration of the peace talks between Aerugo and Amestris went smoothly. The war in the south had finally ended after General Roy Mustang had coordinated peace with their southern neighbour. Pushed by Fuhrer Grumman and supported by his team, it was a feat, but they’d accomplished it after a year of work. For the first time in decades, citizens from Aerugo could walk freely through the border, and vice versa.

To finish off the day the General had insisted on walking up a trail to a headland just outside of the Aerugan capital. It offered sweeping views of the sea below them, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The sky turned a soft yellow as the sun started its slow journey towards the horizon. It was a celebration, the General insisted, and he wanted her to be there. Riza couldn’t deny his request. She was his bodyguard, after all. He was in a foreign country, one which had previously been hostile. She had to watch his back, she reasoned.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured quietly, finally settled.

“It is, Sir,” Riza agreed.

She got comfortable in her seat then sighed happily. The pressure was finally off her aching feet. They had tomorrow off now that the celebrations were over, and Riza couldn’t wait. Not only would she be able to relax in her hotel room, but she wouldn’t have to wear her military boots all day. There was nothing that sounded better right now.

“We finally got to see one,” he chuckled. The General stretched and lay his arm over the back of the bench. Riza was well aware of where that hand landed and its proximity to her body. It wasn’t the longest bench in the world, and she was used to his little tricks. She smiled to herself and rolled her eyes fondly.

“See one of what, Sir?” she enquired.

“A sunset.”

“Okay…”

“And now, my debt is paid.”

“Debt?” Riza enquired, turning to glance at her superior and raising an eyebrow.

“I promised you we’d see one before we left.”

“You did?” Riza couldn’t remember such a promise.

The General nodded. He shifted in place, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. His face was the picture of innocence as Riza shot him a look. His eyes danced with mischief, the reflection of the now orange sky burning in his dark eyes.

“I did,” he replied firmly, ignoring her gentle warning look. “At the very beginning. Havoc was whining that we would never see a sunset at the rate we were working. And you agreed, however you told him if we just got on with the job, it would be done much quicker and we’d have time for plenty of sunsets afterwards,” Roy chuckled.

“I don’t remember a promise, though.”

Roy cocked his head to the side in thought, then shrugged. “In my head, I promised,” he grinned. “Plus, I told myself I would take you to see one.”

“You didn’t need to, Sir,” she replied gently.

“No, but I wanted to.” His voice dropped as he leaned in further.

Riza’s heart rate picked up. He was suddenly a lot closer than he should be. “However, I was right with one assumption,” he murmured.

“And what would that be, Sir?” Riza asked as she tried to steady her heart rate.

“I knew I wouldn’t be able to watch the sunset for too long.” He said no more but leaned back, a smug look on his face.

“Oh? And why is that?” She just knew what his comment was going to be.

“Because there’s something much more beautiful beside me,” he smirked, voice dipping low. “And I can’t take my eyes off her.”

Riza rolled her eyes and bumped him away with her shoulder. Bingo.

Roy laughed but kept his hand on her shoulder to keep her close to him.

“Oh, it’s cold,” he shivered suddenly. Roy shifted over immediately and hugged Riza close to his side as a brisk wind picked up, now the sun had dipped lower. He was right, it was cold, however there was no need for this. They were still in uniform.

“Sir –” Riza warned.

“We’re alone,” Roy murmured in reply, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “Havoc’s keeping guard on the trail. No one will see us.”

“That’s not the point,” Riza began to argue, however she still didn’t move. She was too comfortable.

“No…” the General trailed off. “But who cares? We deserve it.”

Riza sighed.

“Come on, Captain. It’s cold. We need to share body heat to keep warm. It’s practical!” Roy’s arm dropped to rest upon her waist.

Riza leaned into his hold, unresisting. Her hands began to sweat in the close contact. Oh, how she craved moments like this.

“Oh?” Roy raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were arguing about us sitting together just a second ago?” he teased.

She pulled away, meeting his eyes. “I can leave now, if you want?” she deadpanned.

“Please, don’t,” he begged.

“You sure? I can go and get Havoc. He’s taller than me. He’ll have more body heat than I will –”

“Your body heat is perfectly acceptable, Captain,” he chuckled, his eyes dancing once more. A mischievous grin played across his face. “Your body heat is the best,” he whispered low in her ear.

Riza bumped him harder with her shoulder this time as Roy laughed.

“You’re incorrigible,” she replied.

“You love it, though,” he smirked.

“Love it, hm?” Riza pondered. “I don’t know about that.”

“Oh? So, what then?”

“Tolerate it, more like.”

Roy grimaced. “I suppose I asked for that, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Riza smiled sweetly, sidling up to him.

Roy trapped her in his arms once more, pressing a kiss to her temple. Riza relaxed and sighed into it, leaning her weight against his. Roy’s hand dipped to her waist again, pulling their bodies closer together.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he murmured. “I can’t fathom life without you by my side.”

“You’d be fine,” she reassured him. “But I understand,” she whispered. “We’ve been together for so long… It wouldn’t feel right for us not to be together in some capacity.” Her head lowered to his shoulder, resting there as her body relaxed completely. Her fatigue was catching up with her, but there was no way in hell she was missing out on this moment. They hadn’t had time like this in a while and every small moment, Riza would take. Like Roy said, Havoc had their backs.

“Even after everything we’ve been through, is it selfish for me to be glad you’re here?”

“I’m glad I am too,” Riza admitted.

“You could have had more, though.” She heard him swallow.

“So could you,” she argued. “But let’s not ruin the moment with that conversation right now.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” she smirked. Lifting her head, Riza turned to look at him. The mischief was gone from her General’s eyes. Instead, there was a flash of sorrow, but as she stared into his eyes his expression softened. Riza loved that look on him.

The years and their deeds had aged his handsome face but hadn’t lessened it. In fact, as his temples began to grey, he looked even better to Riza. His salt and pepper hair was a good look on him now he’d started slicking his hair back full time, rather than his boyish dishevelled style he’d worn previously.

Lifting her hand, Riza brushed a strand that had stirred in the breeze off his face. Her hand slowly lowered to cup his cheek and she heard his intake of breath.

“I love you,” she whispered. It needed to be said. She didn’t know what had spurred this urge inside of her all of a sudden, but she was unashamed to let it come forth. Her feelings for him were no secret and never had been. Even though they couldn’t express their love openly, she would take these intimate moments together. Over the years his secret smiles and his loving touches were more than enough for her. When things reached a peak, they would sneak away for a long weekend to some hotel in one of the other cities. Riza calls them all “some hotel” because they never strayed far from the room. Riza never got the chance to fully appreciate where they were staying, nor did she care either. Not when they could finally be alone and away from the prying eyes of the military and Central City.

“You are everything to me, Riza Hawkeye,” he murmured.

As her hand slipped from his cheek, Roy lifted his own to caress her cheekbone underneath her eye with his thumb. As it swiped across her skin she shivered. His hand came to rest against her neck, his thumb a reassuring weight by her ear as his fingers slid into her short hair.

“Promise you’ll never leave me,” he begged.

“Never.”

His body relaxed. In their line of work, it was a constant threat. It certainly had been during Bradley’s rule, and had come to pass under the former Fuhrer too. Even to this day, it was still a fear of his, obviously. They’d been through too much together to lose one another. But as long as she had breath in her body, she would never leave him. Not even if he commanded it. She hadn’t before when he went off on his own to face Bradley and wouldn’t do it again.

Slowly, he brought his lips to hers. It was a chaste kiss that left her wanting more, but out in the open like this they couldn’t. Now their work in the south was finished, they would have time to plan their next weekend trip. For now, though, this was enough. With Roy’s hands tangled in her hair and Riza grasping the front of his shirt tightly, they both pulled apart slowly.

“I love you,” he whispered back to her. His breath caressed her skin with such a gentleness, she sighed into it.

“What now?” she whispered.

“Well,” Roy sighed, leaning back so he could view her properly. There was a happy smile on his face. It was the dopey kind that she only saw when they were alone, and it warmed her heart to know it was because of her. “I’m thinking of taking a trip up North now that we can finally have a break.”

“Just yourself?” she teased.

Roy shook his head. “I’ll need a hot body to keep me warm, Captain. But only if you’re interested of course,” he winked.

Riza snorted next to him, shifting so she could sit comfortably next to him. “Always, Sir.”

“But for now, let’s just enjoy the sunset,” Roy murmured.

“Sir, it’s gone,” Riza reminded him dryly, looking out over the dulling the sky. The last of the pink hues were there, but blue was beginning to swallow the last of the sun’s ray’s whole.

“No… Not yet.”

Riza lifted an eyebrow to question him.

“You’re the light of my life, Riza. If you’re by my side, the sun will never set for me.”

[archivedazmenka]

zcldrizes​ / my queen.

@azmenka​​ said : ❛ You should be resting. ❜

HIS VOICE SHATTERS TENTATIVE THOUGHTS even in the midst of her exhausted state, and bruised features raise to stare upon the wreck that stands before her – a larger build, and one that normally bears the inked markings he so proudly wears, now a mass of wounds that he’s not yet seen to, features bruised and bloodied ( some would call them ruined, if they were cruel enough ) and still full of concern, so surprisingly for her, even in the midst of what would leave most men crippled in agony. Even now, stormborn can still remember those moments in the battle through the haze of shock. The fall from her dragon even as his feet left the ground, so brutal that she’s surprised nothing is broken. The sinking realisation once eyes turned from the figure fleeing in the skies, that she was surrounded and so very weaponless, too stunned to move for the longest of moments – and so very unarmed. And the shock that of all who hauled her to her feet and tugged her by their side, it was him, that it was him who had blocked as many blades from her direction he could, that it was him who hadn’t left her side until the dead had fallen, even as his features were streaked in blood, and his hands trembled with every blow he blocked her from taking, and finally he’d come crashing down only when she was safe, no thoughts for himself.

And oh Gods, for those few moments, she thought he was gone and her world shattered.

The grief had come after, of course – after he’d been coaxed off to be patched, still breathing even if pale with the bloodloss, and she’d finally seen the damage around them on her way back into the walls that remained. The sight of her closest friend, her bear, fallen without a final goodbye. The corpse of her golden child, ruined and rotted and somehow so very long gone despite it being the shortest time since falling. The bodies that littered, of the Dothraki who had fallen in a battle that was not their own. The Unsullied, who she had saved from slavery and lead to the slaughter. The sight turned her stomach. Was she any better than Cersei, whom she condemned in the south for failing to keep her people safe?

Shaking her head to clear such thoughts, attentions are turned towards the frame that had so vehemently protected her – and concern mirrors on her own exhausted features, as she stands from where she’s been watching those bodies pile on the pyres for burning, and so very clearly fights the urge to sway where she stands. Little thought given to her own aches and pains ( mostly wear and tear, she figures, the occasional nick from a blade, and both palms and flesh of her inner thighs gashed from the scales of most brutal child in the hostility of riding mid winter storm ) or the exhaustion that’s come from what seems like an eternity of tears, as a hand comes to congealed blood on those features. Scars matter not, in her mind – he’s beautiful, nonetheless, in the same way a stormy sea is sight to beheld, wild and feral and beautiful all the same.

“This, coming from you?”

Murmured softly, but lips curve in remnant of a smile – it holds for a moment as her gaze flickers over, scanning every injury before her. She only holds it back for a moment before smaller frame shifts, fits against the far larger stature before her, to wind her arms around a waist she hasn’t held in what feels like an eternity, to bury her features against wounded chest ever so lightly, in sheer reassurance that yes, he stands, and yes, he lives, and yes, he’s here.

“You saved my life today. I would be dead if not for you.”

     HE HAD NEVER WANTED THIS FIGHT; A BATTLE FOR ALL BUT HIM, OR SO HE HAD BELIEVED. how very ready he had been to call his Ironborn back, have them return to the water just in the nick of time, and spend the days, weeks, months of waiting out at sea where an undead threat couldn’t get to them. the notion of fighting corpses went against everything sacred in his mind; rotting flesh with a vengeance nothing to be tampered with and best left alone        superstitions, after all, have been part of his life for however long Maron could remember         and yet he had been there, surrounded by Wildlings and Northmen alike, in his back a few hundred men bearing the golden kraken proudly upon their blackenend armour, chanting what is dead may never die! into the darkness. for the first time in their lives, perhaps, they came to regret those words.

     the mountains of bodies piling up around them, in the end, were nothing but a blur. he remembers his axes hitting bone straight away rather than cutting through flesh, remembers the screeching and crying, remembers flashes of blue fire raining down upon the castle falling to ruin behind him, and a flash of silver as she is violently shaken from the back of her child and left lying in blood and gore          and after that almost nothing anymore. tunnel vision. his heart beating painfully in his chest, blood rushing in his ears; get to her, get to her, get to her.

     he can hardly recall hauling her to her feet, one arm looped around her in a horribly brutal but simultaneously protective way. what remains vivid in his mind is his axe streaming red with blood, the stench of rust and iron clinging to him, and the shine of her hair in the dark. even the feeling of a hooked blade catching in his cheek and ripping down to his mouth has long faded          and hadn’t returned until the battle was done, bodies falling all around them. and for a moment Maron had simply stood and stared at the horror, breathing hard, loosening the grasp around her; until his knees finally buckled and caved and he had violently hit the ground.

     it was on the way to the makeshift sick bay that he had seen him. white as snow, lips gone blue, unmoving, and cold to the touch. in that moment, Maron believes, all life had gone out of him, replaced by nothing but screaming emptiness. screams repeating the same word over and over, shouting failure in his mind. he had been a protector that day           but to whom? and who had he failed?

      it is hours later that he finds her. some wounds are untreated still; the gash in his face cleaned as best as possible but it oozes blood still, making his head swim and vision blurry. the cut is horrible to look at; veins burst in his eyes in a stark contrast to the ocean blue, and people who had feared him before now flee at the sight of him. he doesn’t care. there’s only one now. only one left in this godforsaken place that he deems worthy to fight for.

     where he is a bloody mess, she is shaken to the core          and he would lie if he claimed he wasn’t glad for it. better me than her, ringing quietly in the back of his mind. her hint of a smile triggers the same in him; has him ignore the pain immediately shooting through his maltreated face. his nerves are soaked in milk of the poppy and grog, but his mind remains remarkably clear. she’s safe. that’s all that matters.

      “this, coming from me.” her arms wrapping around him triggers his own coming up; an embrace around her slim shoulders, still shaking like leaves, and with his heart thumping as proof that yes, he still stands, yes, he lives, yes, he is here does he find some solace in her warmth. it’s all for her. whatever he does, it’s for her and her only, isn’t it? “what kind of warrior would I be if I didn’t protect my queen.” she is, isn’t she? not a queen anymore, but his. and all of this, his whole life, perhaps, would be pointless without her. what a horrible person he is           to think that the loss of his brother saddens him more than he ever believed it could, yet the mere notion of losing her drives him mad in faux grief.

      Maron pulls her closer still, not a single inch left between them. he ignores the few glimpses they catch, the world around them simply ceasing to exist for but a moment. his whole body is dull from pain, numb to the core, mind wiped blank, and he feels the medication wearing off slowly, but still he won’t let go. instead, his voice comes in a low, hoarse murmur; a whisper almost, atypical for him who usually seems to hate lowering his voice.

      “Theon is dead, I            I need to see to him being buried at sea.”

[lotornomiko]

Light Grasping Darkness (2 of 6 NOT safe for work fanfic)

Captain Swan Smut Ahoy! NSFW....

Emma didn't think there would ever be a time where she'd grow used to teleportation. Not the rocky, downright violent travel of portals that led to other worlds, and certainly not the far gentler but no less stomach rolling jolt of reality stripping away. The dark greens and browns of the forest smeared together, and when that blurring of realities had finally stopped, Emma had found herself in a room that wasn't in any way familiar.

She also wasn't alone, the Dark One---Hook, right up against her. His arm was around her waist, but she didn't mind that or the fact that the pirate kept on pressing them together. Not when Emma had her hand on his cock, her grip entirely one of a sexual purpose, meant to soothe and arouse and most important of all, distract, keeping Hook from acting on the murderous command that he had been implicitly given.

It was a command that would see Emma dead, see the ruin and destruction of everything she had ever truly cared for. She couldn't afford to forget that, though neither could Emma allow that knowledge to hinder her now. Emma couldn't allow for a single second of hesitation, needing to keep Hook lusting, and in her control for as long as possible.

It was a delicate balance she would have to strike. A balance between letting herself go to desire, but not becoming so far gone as to forget herself in the process. This thing with Hook wasn't about scratching an itch, wasn't about love or lust, so much as survival. Hers and her family's, Emma was still so unsure if she could guarantee a happy ending for them all.

That fact had despair wanting to well up inside her, but Emma stuffed down all that unwanted and useless an emotion. She couldn't let sadness or anger fill her, couldn't let her thoughts prove so distracting that she hesitated long enough for Hook to recede, and the Dark One to take over. Emma would be deader than dead if that then happened, for she doubted she'd be able to coax Hook out a second time.

In a way it was like holding a tiger by it's tail, Emma safe so long as she didn't let go. Of course it wasn't his manhood that she needed to keep firm grip on, so much as the lust that Emma so obviously caused within Hook. A lust that had been there from the moment they had first met, Emma seeing through his lies, but being the hard ass unwilling to trust the pirate as far as she could throw him.

Sometimes the woman wondered if she had let herself be blinded, her defense mechanisms kicking up in response to the attraction between them. Hook had reminded her of Neal, a con artist with enough charm and personality to worm his way into an unprepared heart. It was Hook's flirtatious ways that had set alarm bells ringing in Emma's head, the woman knowing she couldn't afford to be dazzled or charmed by the pirate, couldn't allow herself to be hurt by yet another man.

In her haste to protect herself, she had done Hook damage. She had hurt and betrayed him, had let herself be deaf to the truth he had spoken. A truth that had him siding with whoever could get him to Storybrooke, all so that the pirate could go after Rumplestiltskin.

So many things had gone wrong because Emma hadn't been able to trust. Hadn't WANTED to. And now it was too late, or so it seemed to Emma, the woman fighting to keep the frustration, the sadness out of her eyes. Trying to stop thinking about the if only, and focus on the present, on Hook and on what she was doing.

With her hand lightly stroking the pirate's cock, Emma gave Hook her most inviting smile. "You're not about to let me do all the work, are you pirate?" She had meant to tease, to seduce, but the words came out as a challenge. A challenge Hook was only too eager to take up, his mouth suddenly there, hot and pressing on her lips.

It was too sudden, too soon, Emma not yet recovered from the earlier choking and the recent teleportation. She swayed in place, practically swooning in Hook's embrace, vaguely registering the soft, throaty chuckle the pirate let out.

"Always knew you'd fall for me...."

Once Emma would have snapped out an angry protest, but now wasn't the time for displays of hostility. She merely leaned against his front, peering at him with lashes that were lowered to hide the dazed look in her eyes.

"Still trying to catch my breath." She readily admitted. Hook seemed to flinch at that, his gaze being drawn to her throat, which was colored with the bruised imprints of his hand. He looked ready to say something, to offer up some sort of apology that Emma didn't want. She raised her free hand, cupping a cheek that was lightly covered in dark colored stubble. She didn't tell him it was okay, didn't try to make excuses for him. Instead Emma tried to ground him in the present, to keep him focused on a moment that might be their only chance.

To her surprise, Hook turned to press a kiss into the palm of her hand. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, one Emma might find endearing under any other normal circumstance. Now it only made her want to cry, here where there was no room for softer emotions.

"Emma..."

"Shut up and kiss me, Hook." She ordered, and even in her breathless state, she sounded fierce.

"Bossy little blonde." But his eyes weren't dancing with the playful light Emma had come to associate with Hook's flirtations. He was far too serious, too focused, and she knew then that Hook understood that this was distraction at it's best. He understood and was letting it happen, letting Emma use his desires to keep the Dark One at bay.

Neither one of them wondered how such a thing could even be possible. Neither thought to question how attraction and sexual want could be that strong. How something like lust, even one that had gone denied for months now, could hold enough power to stop what was thought to be inevitable.

In short, neither one thought to consider the impossible, both too damaged by love to dare give it a chance. To dare let its seeds take root, to let it blossom and bloom, and ultimately heal. It wasn't just that both fought against the possibility of loving again, as they simply refused to even consider the chance of it as ever happening.

But love was a powerful magic of its own, and never was it easily deterred. It would fight for its chance, steal away into the most hidden recesses of a heart. Taking what moments it could, it would nurture and grow, and if given half a chance, might someday be powerful enough to break curses. Even a curse as powerful as that of the Dark One.

But it wasn't there yet. Love waited hidden, just out of sight and mind, but retaining enough presence for the darkness to notice. The possibilities it offered was too seductive for the darkness to ignore, even as it courted ruin by embracing the love.

Emma would have laughed, scoffing the very notion of love having a mind and hopes of its own. She might have been born in the Enchanted Realm, but for all intents and purposes she wasn't truly from there. She had simply lived too long in a land without magic, had been hurt too badly to want to believe in the power of love and kisses.

If she had believed, the power that would have surged between them would have knocked Emma flat on her back. As it was, Hook's hungry kiss still left her swaying in place, the fingers of her free hand digging into the torn leather of his coat.

"Wow..." She managed to say out loud, when the room seemed to stop it's spinning. The corners of Hook's mouth turned to that familiar smirk, the pirate nodding as he huskily agreed.

"Wow." He was looking her in the eyes, his sea dark gaze full of sexual heat and promise. She almost blushed in response, something Emma hadn't done for a man in years. "Always knew it would be this good with you, Emma...."

And then she was kissing him, Emma not wanting to hear any more. Hook made a sound, a surprised grunt that turned into an eager moan. His good hand clutched at her waist, the cold metal of his hook at the small of her back. He was surprisingly well behaved for a pirate, Emma having expected a man like him to grope her the first chance he got.

"You can touch me, pirate." Emma told him, then bit and pulled at his lower lip. "I won't break."

"I want to do more than just touch you." Hook told Emma, to her own private thrill. "I want to eat you up."

"All in good time." Emma said in a light tone that belied how affected she was by his words. How her heart had quickened it's beat, excitement quivering through her at the picture that his simple words had brought to vivid life in her mind. But Emma wanted more than just to imagine it, she wanted to shove Hook to his knees, and force him to make good on his desires.

But she couldn't rush this. Every moment was precious, every moment yet another second that meant she was alive. As much as she wanted to tear off his clothes, to throw him down on the floor, and ride him to a bucking orgasm in all haste, Emma forced herself to go slow. To savor the moment as much as she could.

Was Hook thinking similar thoughts? Was it why he so clearly held himself back? When he was rock hard and throbbing, actually thrusting lightly into her hand's grip in an effort to get some sort of relief. It had to be bordering on pain, and yet the pirate hadn't made a move to divest her of a single piece of clothing.

Nor she him for that matter! A fact she could take care of easily enough, Emma changing her grip on his coat, so that she could begin tugging it downwards. Hook neither tried to help nor hinder her, kissing her again, their mouths both open so that the pirate's tongue easily swept inside.

His taste, the salt of the sea, was on her tongue. Emma made a pleased sound, playing her tongue against his, neither taking control nor giving it up completely. Waiting for him to master her, stifling a sigh when he continued to hold back.

"Hook...." Her tone came out warning, Emma turning her face to the side. His kisses were nibbles, tiny little exclamations of ardor against the side of her face, his tongue darting out to do a single, long lick of her skin.

"God, you taste good." Hook muttered feverishly into her skin. "Makes me hungry for more..."

"You..." The teasing words she had been about to speak, were lost to her gasp, Emma finding Hook had tired of holding back. With a great wrenching sound, her favorite red leather jacket was split seamlessly in two. Emma could only gape in astonishment, Hook pulling the two halves off her, and the shirt underneath it as well.

His eyes dark with appreciation, stared at the flimsy lace of her black bra. Always one to dress nicely even down to her undergarments, Emma's bra was more decoration than functional. Barely able to keep her breasts contained, and not at all hiding the fact that her nipples were stiffening.

"Love the way you dress." Hook moaned, his mouth already going to her breasts. Emma gave an involuntary jerk of her body, back arching as Hook's mouth closed eagerly over a lace covered nipple.

It was almost too much, the combination of his mouth and the scratchy lace rubbing over her sensitive nipple. Emma cried out, the sound that of pure satisfaction as Hook licked and laved at her nipple, his cheeks hollowing out whenever he began that sweet sucking motion.

All thought almost left Emma, the woman barely able to concentrate on anything but the feel of what Hook was doing to her. It frightened her how badly she wanted to forget, how easy it would have been to give herself over so completely to the moment. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, Emma trying to back away, to get free of Hook's arms, and that devilishly wicked mouth.

It was easier said the done, the pirate undeterred. Holding her with arms that could very well be made of steel, Hook moved when Emma did, lifting his mouth up off her breast to kiss her senseless against a wood paneled wall. Emma almost whimpered then, rapidly being swept away by Hook's passion, by the excitement that filled her, the fierce longing want that sucker punched her into weakening before him. Her legs buckled, and suddenly they were around Hook's body, Emma having let go of his cock to wrap herself around him.

His hand was gripping her bottom, that hook of his rubbing it's cold metal along the length of her spine. It was the shock of cold against her warmed skin that almost brought Emma back to her senses, but Hook's kisses stole away whatever reason she tried to grab for.

It was so fiercely that they kissed, Emma's fingers finding the holes in his clothing. Digging in, then tearing them wider, ruining the remains of his shirt with her passion. Her legs were locked tight around him, Emma's dampened sex seated directly over Hook's cock. Pure instinct had her moving her hips. Emma rubbing herself on him. Causing a sweet, maddening friction that left them both growling, Hook's hips moving, thrusting against her as though he was already inside her.

She actually whined in need, kissing Hook just as hard, as desperately as he had her. Both their lips were swollen, their breaths rasping out of them in deep pants. Her chest heaved in an attempt to catch her breath, drawing Hook's attention back to her breasts. His hook was suddenly there, ripping the lace open, the bra's remains hanging down as a limp frame on either side of her chest.

"Such magnificence..." She heard Hook whisper in awe. And then his mouth was back on her, and it was a dozen times better without the bra in the way. Emma took to moaning, arching her back and pressing her breasts against Hook's lips. He didn't just go for her nipples, he kissed all over th round skin that they were a part of, leaving love bite imprints on her flesh.

"Enough, enough..." Emma was saying, but she didn't want him to stop. She caught at the back of his hair, attempting to haul him away from her breasts. Hook growled in protest, but only until she made her demands known.

"Need you inside me NOW." She told him, locking their gazes together. He didn't hesitate, didn't ask if she was sure. Hook merely stripped her of her jeans, and the panties on underneath, and within half of second of that, was thrusting inside her.

"Oh yes..." Emma hissed out in welcome relief. Desire pooled, everything about Emma tightening around Hook, her nails digging into his back, her legs locking in place. Hook actually hissed back, flashing pearl white teeth in a feral grimace.

"Too tight, too soon..." He actually seemed to be struggling, standing frozen as his cock throbbed with near violent need inside her. Emma couldn't bring herself to relax, didn't want to let go for a single instant. She clutched at his back with her hands, bit down hard on his right shoulder a second before she issued a demand.

"Move."

With the bitter, metallic taste of his blood on her tongue, Emma felt the powerful surge of Hook's hips all the way from her head on down to her toes. Before she could even decide if this was pain or pleasure that he was giving her, Hook had found a rhythm, steady but deep, and just on the side of frantic.

Her back bumped against the wall with every thrust of Hook's hips, Emma biting, and clawing at whatever she could reach. Going wild as she decided that yes this was bliss, all pleasure and satisfaction, the friction their bodies were generating together making them both crazed and desperate.

Sweat beaded on both their bodies, Hook taking the time to lick several droplets off of the top of Emma's breasts. When he began teasing her nipples with his deft tongue, Emma's hands found their way into his hair, fingers clutching at his scalp while the woman made breathless sounds of appreciation.

Her nipples were a steady ache, soothed only when Hook's lips was around them. The wet warmth of his mouth a curing salve that needed constant applying, every sucking pull of his lips making Emma wiggle and whine and go even wilder against him. Squirming, moving her hips to match his thrusts, tossing her head back in open abandonment.

Emma lost herself completely, living only for the moment, for the sensations their joining was creating. Purpose forgotten, Emma looked at Hook, and was taken in by that seductive dark beauty, entirely entranced by the sin glittering in his eyes.

-----------------------------------------

To Be Continued...

[tarithenurse]

Agent of Hope - 11

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Swearing, angst, distrust, pain, doubt, hate. A/N: Thanks for all the sweet comments! 

11 - Telling Faiths

…   Romanoff’s PoV   …

She botches the landing a bit, the sharp sting in the ankle like an elastic snapping is proof of that. Getting rid of the parachute quickly, Natasha is already scanning the deck for the nearest hostiles while trusting the team to handle anyone immediately out of range. She’s right to do so. The first one has already fallen at the stern with one of Clint’s arrows lodged in the chest, and the next is about to have an up-close encounter with Captain Fossil himself.

The messy part of securing the ship is over quickly. Too quickly. It’s manned by a skeleton crew even on a (supposed) course to Japan with a near empty cargo hold. All of it smells fishy…well, not the ship itself, but the situation, and Natasha has made sure to keep one of the hostiles alive and capable of talking.

Oh, he will talk. Turning slowly, there’s no hesitation in any of the former assassin’s movements, no emotions in her eyes that could give the man hope as he stands partially suspended by impromptu handcuffs from a thick pipe. He will talk because she needs him to. Where is [Y/N]?

… Rumlow’s PoV   …

Staring at the vacant eyes of his love, Brock knows he shouldn’t harbour any illusions of the future of their relationship. It’s doomed. And that’s okay. He can’t trust the woman anymore anyways and she’s worth more to Hydra than to him. He won’t be selfish if there’s a chance he can help the cause.

A soft whimper draws his attention to the lines between [Y/N]’s brows and the parting of her dry lips. Another “nightmare”, or so she would claim if it wasn’t for the medication that keeps her mostly sedated. Pliable. Perhaps it’s silly, but part of Brock misses the feistiness that had surprised him when they’d captured her about a week ago. More than that? The days are still a bit of a blur due to the pain from his injuries and the steely focus he’s applied to the task at hand. Breaking her. Even with the drugs, he’s not entirely convinced of her surrender. That’s one of the reasons for the heavy sedation. The other is the theory that being in a near-sleep state will somehow trigger the visions without [Y/N] being alert enough to lie about it or withhold any information.

“Hey, baby.” Reaching for her hand, anger bubbles when she clenches her fist subconsciously to avoid holding his. Instead, Brock shakes her gently. “Hey, are ya dreaming?”

For a moment she looks at him, eyes squinting in confusion. “’I’mmm no’ the’e.” The words are mumbled, oozing out over the split bottom lip with a sluggishness fitting a drunkard. “Not…the-ere…”

“Where?” It’s tempting to shake her hard, yell at her, but doing that just shuts her up completely. He’s tried.

“Whe-where we…were…ship.” The P pops. “Can’t finnn…hrm…find meh.”

Leaning in over the chair, both of Brock’s hands are squeezing the armrests hard enough he wouldn’t have been surprised if the metal buckled. “Someone’s looking for ya?” But [Y/N]’s attention is gone, eyes glazed over and focused on infinity.

What she said is enough to raise red flags, of course, and he ignores the ache in the torso as he climbs up the ladder from the former swimming pool of the abandoned school he and his team of Hydra personnel are using at the moment.

There’s no need to shout the order at the agent to take over guard duty…but it feels good. Further down the hall there’s a bend which has become a tac-station where there are more people to bark orders at. Can’t find her. Who can’t find her? Avengers, of course. Phones flash brightly in even with the extra lamps they’ve set up, pc-screens flicker with images from surveillance.

“No answer, boss.” The wiry man with the too-long hair reports, clicking off the phone.

Shifting his attention to the technician, Brock only needs one more answer to be sure. “Live feed?”

“’S cut, sir,” she explains, “this was the last bit…”

The frames per second is low, but enough to show the unmistakable shape of a red-and-gold suit landing on a ship’s deck before being obscured by the damned Dorito-shape of Rogers. Next moment the image resets and the insurgents are gone.

“How long ago?”

The techy doesn’t dare look up at him. “Less than an hou–“

“How. Long?”

The fresh scarring covering Brock’s face, neck and upper torso throbs with the pace of his heart. Not now. He has to calm down as long as the objective is this clear, and the deep breaths help a bit even if his knuckles are white from how hard he clenches his fists.

“F-forty-two minutes. Sir.”

A shuffle at the far end of the hall catches his attention. Team change. 30 minutes ago, the rotation was done and the chick sitting by the screens isn’t the culprit which means she gets to live, contrary to the fucker who’s slinking into the shadows in the corner but not out of range of a bullet.

“Get a fly-by from nearest base.” He takes the phone from the second in command and redials while he continues to spit commands. Amateurs. “If anything’s out a place, run a sweep code red….assume clean-up. Prep for relocation and double the guards.”

…   Romanoff’s PoV   …

Technology is a great thing in many ways and at the moment Natasha’s cherishing the wonderful concept of GPS with passive trackers found in the SUV the Hydra-team had been using until Steve and Stark convinced them to stop the car. “Convinced”, the redhead smiles wickedly to herself. Tiny, laser-guided missiles and a pissed off Captain are very good arguments in their own right.

“Got it.” Turning the device over, she shows both map and co-ordinates to the others.

The trip will be longer than any of them want, Natasha more so than the others, but at least they know where to go. More importantly, they know there’s a chance of success. [Y/N]’s alive. The sense of relief is bittersweet, mixed with the pain of having been told what the poor woman is suffering through at the hands of her ex and his buddies. The Avengers will have to be careful not to spook her or in any way do anything that triggers reactions to the nightmare she’s lived. Still alive. That’s all that matter right now, the recovery will come after and it will be long, hard, and dark.

…   Reader’s PoV   …

You can’t exactly figure out what part of you is hurting. You just know that the ache never really leaves, it just changes in slow waves from dull to sharp, from tear-jerking spikes to non-stop throbbing, never giving you a chance to sleep properly.

Or maybe that’s the people? Brock has been there almost all the time, watching over you like a hawk and always with the questions. Asking. Asking. Asking. You don’t want to answer him, but if you don’t…No! Not answering is worse. Especially when he sends the other people away. As long as there’s someone else, even the once that put needles and pain in you, then he doesn’t hurt you too much. Answer. Answer. Answer.

Your head is heavy, too heavy to lift so it just lolls from one shoulder to the other as you try to see who’s there because it’s been so quiet. Too quiet. It feels good to turn the face the other way. Cool steel and something soft and dark touches the skin of your forehead and cheek, calming the burning feeling and slowing the flashes of pain in your head for just a moment. It passes too soon and you chase the sensation, the relief by shifting a bit further.

Something chafes on your wrists, keeps your arms stuck to the thing you’re sitting in. Why? Thinking it might be because you will leave otherwise, you yank feebly at the restraints in a futile attempt at breaking free of them. It just hurts.

In the beginning, it feels like an ember that has landed deep in your brain. Just a tiny grain of searing pain. But within seconds, it expands to become a razor wire running to your forehead and to the base of your skull. Sharp, jagged, and burning hot as it feeds you images you don’t want to see of people you never have met getting killed and fleeing screaming. Of Natasha locked in a cell somewhere with old radio gear. Steve in full suit walking across the tarmac of an airport. Of Brock, on his knees with blood running from the corner of his mouth. It’s random and overwhelming, each scene flickering by so fast it makes you feel nauseous thanks to the combination of the pain.

…

Bile burns in your throat and nostrils, the sour discharge stinging your eyes with it’s stink.

“Fuck, that’s gross!” The voice comes to you through the ringing in your ears. “Get the hose!”

The words don’t make much sense, but you know what’s going to happen because each time they’ve managed to trigger a potent enough vision you end up puking…and then Brock or someone else grabs the hose and rinse you with the icy cold water. In a way you don’t mind, because it lessens the pain grating through your brains.

But the cold water never hits you this time.

[melo-yello]

Bloodie Knuckles

Not my moodboard

Pairing(s): Sweet Pea x POC Reader

Warning(s): swearing, angst, fluff

Summary: Y/n has got an axe to grind and some missed placed rage. Who better than Sweet Pea to help her out.

A/N: This takes place somewhere in season 2. I like my Sweet soft but tuff around the edges so be prepared. Also reblog or comment and I'll add you to the Taglist.

Word Count: 4k+

Wrappers and loose leaf pages decorated the floor around your feet. The awful mood that hung on your shoulders since receiving the worst news of your life only seemed to pile higher and higher.  

“Where the hell is it?” You curse ripping yet another item form your locker and tossing it to the tiled hallway floor.

The pastel pink snake plushie flew from the top shelf.  Sweet Pea had won you that on your last trip to Midnight Park , a cruddy little amusement park just pass Greendale barely worth the trip. The small theme park had been a home away from since you guys were kids. Fangs and Pea would compete for prizes at every single booth while you and Toni took on every coaster in sight.

Naturally Sweet Pea would take you there as a first date. Insisting Pop's just wasn't special enough. After taking down three 8 year olds, a 12 year old and two 14 year olds in a water gun race Sweet Pea presented you with the goofy pink snake with enough charm to rival his own.

The teddy usually proudly positioned at the top of your cluttered locker now lay on top of your dingy white canvas high tops.

The longer you searched the small confides of the metal walls the more your temper edged over its peak.

You slammed the now empty locker enough force to rattle a few beside it. It rang up and down the corridor. The mob of teens rushing to morning classes almost shrieked to a standstill to find the source of the abrupt commotion.

“Jeez Y/n, are you okay!?” The former lead pussycat turned river vixen asked placing a concerned hand on your shoulder. One of the last people you wanted to see at the moment. All too easy of a target to lose the full weight of your rising temper.

Cynical laughter erupted from your chest as you turned to face her. She had no idea the unbridaled flames that wait behind that glass smile you gave her.

“You would know wouldn't you, Popstar Princess. Or are you too busy to care about what happens to the Southside?” You quipped down at the girl who barely made it past your shoulders.

Out of the corner of your e/c eyes you see Toni and Fangs turn the corner just in time to watch the scene unfold. You shrug.  Your rage in every sense was grounded.

Toni knew that wild look in your eyes all to well. She tugged the taller serpent down and whispered something to him. Fangs simply nodded and pulled out his phone. He exchanged a few phrases and then hung up all without his eyes leaving your face.

Too bad you couldn't bring yourself to care.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Hostility steeping dangerously hot between the two of you.

“Oh just that your Mom is doing great job of screwing over the Southside!” The venom that had been boiling in your veins finally slipping over.

“My mom is just doing her job!”

“I'd sure as hell hate to see what it looks when she doesn't!”

“What is your problem?”

“Don't even get me started. Shit, even you aren't that blind, Primadonna?! Let me see I can't pick between her being a hypocrite or forcing me and family out on the street.”

“Y/n, I'm so so sorry it's jus-”

“But tell me how does she possibly fit the time in her busy schedule to pull all nighters with Sheriff Keller in sleazy little motel rooms.” You hissed pulling your ring clad hands into a tight fist.

Each finger arrayed in metal and cheap gemstones. Your h/c curls hung freely as a menacing glare settled onto your features.  

Astonished gasp sweeps through the crowd.

“What the hell are you trying to say?” Josie's remorseful confusion melted into furious indignation.

Wild eyed embarrassment made its way onto her face. Your lips curl in sneer as you clear your throat. Before the words could leave your lips grunts and curses rippled from the back of the mob of teens.

“Move the fuck out of my way.” Rang the gruff voice of the tall dark haired serpent pushing his way through the crowd  and glaring down at anyone who dared to question him just to plant himself directly behind to you.

A firm warm hand grasped your shoulder. His touch nearly cold compared to the searing heat broiling just below your brown skin. You glance long enough to meet the soft pleading expression that played across his features.  

For a split second your confidence crumbled into conflicted confusion. The hurt just below the surface peeking through. A lapse in your molten fury that was cold and vulnerable revealed itself to his piercing deep brown eyes.

“Y/n. Don't.” He warned gently. A simple request to leave that night where it was.

To leave that night at Shady Palms a memory. A memory swallowed in secrets. Secrets that didn't belong to either of you. You both just witnesses to one of the many lies that litter this town. A lie on the Northside two serpents were never supposed to see.  

…

“How about we grab some snacks then we can try that corkscrew thing I was telling you about.” You giggle pulling Pea's blazer onto your shoulders as you both exited the motel room. Hiding away the lacey f/c bra from the outside world as you straighten your black pencil skirt and shuffle into your shoes.

The defined h/c curls that crowned your head and elegantly framed your face at the beginning of the evening were now ruffled and slightly frizzed.  Strong thick fingers had worked themselves in and out and around them. Pretty much ruining the style.

Not that you could complain. His methods were proving to be quite satisfactory to say the least.

“Baby, if I knew all you needed to be absolute freak was a room at Shady Palms, I never would have waited for a special occasion to bring you here.” Pea laughed tucking his hands into his slack pockets not bothering to button the top half of his white dress shirt. He wore the red trail of hickies down his neck and chest with pride. His thick charcoal locks were smoothed back and out of eyes. Making those chocolate irises even more captivating.

Sweet Pea finally dawning something without leather or a snake on it.  

You didn't look like serpents tonight.

You just looked like teens. Teens with trouble in your eyes and hope hidden behind every smile. You almost looked like you belonged on this side of town. Like maybe you crept from your bedrooms as your loving parents held each other in their own bed as the tikes slept soundly down the hall and your golden retriever curled up on the edge of your bed.

The only tell of Southside on you both was the serpent ink.

You shoved the giant teen and nearly tripped over your creme colored pumps.

“You still can't walk in those things?” Pea snickered offering his arm to steady you.

“I wear them to keep up with you. It's not my fault I've got to look like a giraffe to do that.” You grumbled while accepting his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

A smirk settled on his face genuinely happy to welcome your warm frame close to his own. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“A sexy ass giraffe.” Sweet Pea chuckled.

You couldn't help but laugh at him and how matter of factly he said it. A snort escaping your throat only made him laugh even harder.

“Right this way Mayor McCoy.” The hardy voice of Sheriff Keller rang out as he stepped into the hazy fluorescent light with a self assured grin on his face.

The laughter died in your throats. Your feet cement themselves to the ground. Pea slid his hand from his pocket and laced his fingers into yours. You pressed your palm flush against his.

A silent promise of loyalty.

Not matter what.

Mayor McCoy shook her head latching onto his arm.

“Oh come Tom, how many times do have to tell you. Call me Sierra.” She giggled tugging a puppy dog eyed Sheriff Keller into a room a few doors away from where you and Pea stood frozen.  But not before she pulled Keller’s lips down to hers.

“Shit?!?” Pea muttered as you both stared transfixed on the Mayor and Sheriff tangled around each other.

Both watching as the door shut to the cheap room.  Waiting for the click like it was permission to breath. With that the tension in the air fizzled.

“I really hope they don't need anything from the vending machine.” You snickered awkwardly looking up at Pea doing your best to resurrect the bubbly energy of before.  

Sweet Pea took the bait as he pressed a kiss onto the back of your palm and wrapped his arm around your soft hips.

“I don't think Skittles come in a self righteous flavor yet so we're safe.”

Your steps retake the aimless trot to the machine glittering in the moonlight at the corner. Little jokes tumble back and forth from your lips to his. Leaving whatever those two were doing in that room.  Leaving the illusion of the North side intact.

Here was so Safe. And so Honest. And so Pure.

...

You snatch yourself free from his grip pressing the overflowing emotions back down in their bottle.

“Are all you northsiders that dense? It seems that our beloved Mayor McCoy is busying putting in overtime screwing-”

“Oh Fuck You, Trailer Trash!” Josie screamed pushing you square in the chest ruffling the grey tee with sleeves cuffed and blood red script reading Try Me Bitch.

You stumble back.

Ooos ripple from the surrounding crowd.

“Take it back, Pussybrat!” You demand stepping up to her.

“Why should I! Hey maybe you tell your parents to pay their damn rent and they wouldn't have these problems when someone actually does what their job.” The mob continued to instigate.

Your chest tightened. The rapid drumming of your own heartbeat filled your ears.

“You'll be lucky if you can stand after saying that shit to me!” You snarled her sweater dress filling your fist and drawing back with the other.   

No hesitation.

You swung full force only for your body to be snatched backwards and slung into the air and finally over an impossibly broad shoulder.  

“What the hell!”You bark trying to shake yourself free from the constrictor grip Sweet Pea had on your hips.

His signature scent of cheap cologne and wildflowers gave him away immediately.  

“Josie you okay?” Pea mused ignoring your protests as he helped her to her feet.

“She sure as hell won't be if your let me finish what I started. Put me the fuck down!” You growl slamming your fists into his back over and over again.

“She's sorry too.” Sweet Pea shrugged making no indication he even felt your hits.

Josie just nodded waving him off as she straightened her mustard mini dress with off the shoulder puffed sleeves.   

A steady ache in your fists made that clear he was unphased so you stopped.

“You can bet your pretty ass I'm not.” You spat wiggling in Pea's firm grasp.

He kissed his teeth and turned away from her as the crowd parted letting him through. No one was willing to chance the absolutely definite asskicking they'd get if they didn't step out of his way.

Your curses circled the hallways as he rounded the corner. It wasn't until he stepped inside the empty gymnasium did he place you on the ground.

“You crossed a line back there.” Sweet Pea scolded staring down at you in utter disbelief.

“No Pea I didn't you made sure of that!” You huffed crossing your arms glaring back at those disappointed dark eyes.

Don't gimme that look.

“You know what I'm talking about! Shit,Y/n! We made a promise not to say a word. That was not your shit to unpack!”

“Someone had to pop the wannabe teen idol's bubble! She was gonna find out eventually!”

“You didn't do that for her! That's not why you said that shit! You had half school watching! THAT IS NOT HOW YOU HAN-”

“I HAD THAT SHIT HANDLED, PEA!”

“LIKE HELL YOU DID, L/N!” Sweet Pea shouted throwing his hands in the air. His own temper flaring which only fueled yours. Sweet Pea cut his eyes away from you.

“YOU HEARD THAT COCKY LITTLE BITCH, PEA! YOU HEARD HER CALL ME TRAILER TRASH! SWEETS, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE ON MY SIDE!! AM I THE ONLY ONE THAT CARES THAT THE NORTHSIDE IS TRYING TO SNUFF US OUT!” You raged eyes wild as you press your curls away from your face and those e/c eyes of yours settle on the ground. The shame of it all beginning to set in.  

“I heard it and any other day I would have chewed that brat out, but I'm not standing by so you can total McCoy's ass and get suspended. Babe who else's side could I be on? Why do think I tossed your crazy ass over my shoulder? You've got to chill you're starting to sound like Jones.”He snickered rolling his eyes doing his very best to lighten your mood.

But the tension pressed into your features didn't clear.    

“SWEETS I'M SERIOUS! IT'S LIKE THEY'RE TRYING TO ERASE THE SOUTHSIDE! FIRST OUR SCHOOL! THEN OUR JACKETS! THEN OUR CLOTHES! AND NOW OUR HOMES! THEY'RE TAKING EVERY PIECE OF THE SOUTHSIDE FROM US! Before we know it ...they'll be...nothing left.” You fumed stepping toward him and taking his hand in yours halfway expecting him to pull away.

He didn't.  

Instead he curls his warm fingers around yours without hesitation. Perfectly surrounding your hand so naturally as if his were made to intertwined with yours.  

“Gonna take a wild guess this doesn't have shit to do with Josie.”

Your words stick to the mucus that starts to coat your throat. Eyes glassy now, you just nod as you try to swallow the lump forming in your throat.  

He always could read you like an open book. Hell most people could but he was good at it. All the hidden meaning and subtext were child's play for him. He just knew you.

Pea's your even match. He always made you feel safe and like nothing could get to you. Like the world just couldn't knock you down. Like as long as you had each other there wasn't anything that could tear you two apart. That you didn't have to cry if you didn't want to.

But not now…

Everything just kept crumbling. The hot tears you'd been sealing away since you tore that eviction notice from your door stung at the corners of eyes.

“Aye Y/n, we're fine. We're gonna make it Serpents always do.” He whispered confidently pulling you into him and your head to his chest gently stroking h/c curls away from your face.

“Sweets, I'm sorry. Just sorry. So fucking sorry.” You muttered wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. Trying pull him as close to you as possible. Anchoring yourself in his frame. Hoping to hide every fallen tear in the fabric of his black shirt. Teeth tearing into your bottom lip as you beg yourself to be strong.

"No you're not Baby. What did you do? Why are you apologizing?” He hummed trying his best to just hold you. Hold onto your trembling form while you unraveled in his arms. Wrapping himself around your broken parts so he could brace your fall.

Vulnerably for you was the hardest. You hated to let him see you break down and hurt and cry. Giving him part of the weight of the pain you carried always gave you pause.

Could he still love me when I break.

Could he still love me when I fall apart in front of him.

You had a tendency to hold it all in usually until it all came pouring out. Sweet Pea gently rubbed circles into your back and tangled his fingers into your soft h/c curls.

And waited.

“Yes I am.  I'm so sc…so scared. Sweets, I'm sorry because I'm scared. I've been so scared for days. I haven't been sleeping. Barely eating. I don't have anywhere else. Sunnyside is all I've got. I can't go anywhere else. Aren't you scared, Pea? I'm terrified. I haven't been this scared in a long time. I was trying to be brave. I wanted to be brave for you, for Cass, for the serpents, for everyone , but… I just can't. What are we gonna do?! Fuck I can't be some foster kid! What if they take me from all of this. All I've ever known! What if they take me away from the serpents! What about Cass? What about Fangs?! What about Toni?! What about Jug and FP?! What about you Sweets?! I Can't Lose Everything Again! I Can't Lose You! Fuck Keller! Fuck the Mayor! Fuck My Folks…fuck them…they.” Your voice hitched in your throat. You couldn't bring your lips to form those words.

You trembled steadily.

...

The morning after your older sister's graduation. The stillness of the small metal house.

The quietness.

Completely uncanny. No fussing baby brothers woke you that morning. No 4 year old sister to throw a fit as you move her toys from the middle of the hallway floor. No smell of burning bacon and oatmeal filled the air. The loud curses traded between your mom and her boyfriend never came.

The tidiness. Like it had been professionally cleaned. Just an empty trailer and 10 year old.

A freshly sober big sister sat on the rickety sofa with an unopened beer next to a crumpled sheet of notebook paper. Her diploma tossed on the far side of the room. She just stared at the place where the tv should have been. Your little fingers unraveled the wad of notebook paper only to find a half assed letter.

Princess,

I'm done waiting for him. We're Leaving. Cass will take care of you.

Good Luck, Sweetheart.

scribbled in your mom's handwriting smeared with her signature peachy pink lipstick. Just below that a dingy 20 was taped to the page. Hot tears barreled down your cheeks as Cass stood snatching the beer from the table.

You latch yourself to her wrist. Pleas for her to stay rip from your lips. Snot trailing down your face as she freed herself from your grip.

“Screw them! Princess my ass! What the hell does she think a 20 is gonna do for the rest of your life!” She hissed slamming the trailer door.

The motorcycle revving and spraying the loose gravel by the trailer as she sped off out of the Sunnyside. You sat sticky faced with your knees tucked to your chest on the steps and prayed that someone would come back home.

...

“You don't have to say it. Baby, I know. Trust me I know.” Sweet Pea breathed unevenly as he squeezed you gently. He held the same tension in his shoulders as you.

The last couple days Sweets had been busy doing jobs for the Serpents. Pulling gigs well into the night. A welcomed distraction from the mass eviction of Sunnyside Trailer Park.  

His home and the home of over half the Serpents.

His family.

Everything was falling apart.

The look of ruin that flashed across his aunt's face only to be replaced with solemn hopelessness sent chills down his spine.

Everything you both had ever known was teetering by a thread and you had been trying to shoulder it all by yourself.

You had hidden your terror in texts and in silly jokes and songs when he called. Assuring him that the Northside couldn't phase you. No matter what.

You lied and he believed.

Moments like these made it painfully clear in the grand scheme of this war between North and South you were still children who knew too little and whose voices didn't matter enough.

The silence was almost suffocating.

“Baby, you don't have to apologize,”He paused to cup your face in hands just to be sure your eyes met his, “We're all pretty damn scared. I've had knots in my stomach for days. I thought it be easier to ignore this bullshit. Wait for it to blow over, but only seems grow.  Shit's hit the fan. Every time the Southside makes a statement it's punished. Drowned out like we don't deserve this town. Like we couldn't possibly know what this town does in the dark. The crime. The murder. The theft. The drugs. Hell even the psychos. Somehow are all thought to be spawns of serpents. Like all the demons of this town must be ours. But if their honest with themselves every monster that haunts this hell hole is of their own making. Lies are the only thing holding everything together. But we won't roll over and die. They can't tear us apart. Or scare us into submission.” He spilled out as if he'd been holding his breath. Pea bit his lip as a tear or two dribbled down his cheeks. His deep brown eyes holding such a courageous fear.  

Like he was too afraid not to be brave.  He had somehow managed to push all his fears and his worries into unadulterated boldness.

“Pea look at us we're a mess. Cryin and shit.” You smiled brushing a tear from his cheek.

“Baby, I'm not afraid of what I feel. You shouldn't be either.” He teased pressing a chaste kiss on your lips which was probably salty and snotty and gross. He made no indication he cared. He just returned your weak smile.

“I'm trying. It's just hard you know.” You mumbled placing your forehead against his chest.

“I know. I know. You did pretty good.”

“Really?”

“Really, Y/n. Just don't attack anymore cheerleaders. I think they put people off the squad for that shit.” He chuckled lifting your chin and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I owe her an apology, don't I?” You wince rolling your puffy e/c eyes and taking his hand. Sweet Pea shrugged.

“You told like half school about her mom's affair so probably.” He nodded following you to the doors to the hallway.

Before you could reach them; the gymnasium doors swung open to reveal a very worried Fangs, Jughead, and Toni.  

Your faces still wet and tear streaked. Especially yours.

“So this where you love birds ran off to.” Jughead snarked the worry peeling off his face.

Fangs without hesitation pulled you away from Sweet Pea and into a bear hug.

“Oh Y/n,”  He cooed then held you by the shoulders scolding you, “What hell is wrong with you?!? Picking fights with the mayor's daughter?!? You wanna get rounded up all over again?!”

Sweet Pea snickered at the over affectionate serpent, but he still shifted to catch your expression to be sure Fangs wasn't upsetting you all over again.

“Sorry Fangs.” You smirked sheepishly.

Fangs nodded and pulled you in for another hug before letting you go. Toni shoving him eagerly aside.

“Outta my way, Mama Bear.” Toni said meeting your eyes with a burning ferociousity.

Toni's fairy-like stature was entirely inconsequential when she hit you with a face like that. Just a reminder she was very capable of kicking the ass of anyone in the room.

She traded death glares between you and Sweet Pea.

“Toni, I kno-” You cleared your thought to offer an apology, but she cut off with a hand.

“That was really stupid and-”

“And I shouldn't have done that.” You sighed hanging your head. Your temper had put Sweet Pea's shame.

“AND really bad ass!” She smiled punching you in the arm and then hugging you.  

“Get over here Pea. Thanks for snatching up this crazy bitch.”

“Somebody had to.”The larger serpent just cheesed motioning for the other boys to join the hug.

The ring of bell brought the full house moment to the end. The five of you headed out attempting to pretend nothing had happened and get to 2nd period on time.

Taglist:@sweetwatersnake @nongmac001 @wayward-river @baileyboo22