#...ar least you can be a smartass

[star-girl69]

So It Goes…

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: the one day chiron decides to switch up the capture the flag teams, and everyone knows you’re clarisse’s weakness, In A Good Way sequel!!

i changed my theme it’s me tho promise

a/n: protective clarisse the love of my life i love you i do i think we should get married actually anyways this one is sooooooo i got to explore a more casual side of clar’s and reader’s relationship in this (for like a min) i hope you all enjoy!!

So It Goes… - Taylor Swift

warnings: soft clarisse my love, protective clarisse we KNOW how i feel abt her…., also slightly possessive clarisse i think i love you too, again clarisse gets a bit too into capture the flag, clarisse picks reader up which i KNOW is not inclusive (im literally plus-sized idk what the hell am i doing) but it was so good i couldn’t resist, she has like super strength probs so i’ll just believe (she literally could not pick me up i need to stop being delusional), swearing, violence, kissing, a bit suggestive but nothing crazy, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Clarisse’s bed is one of your favorite places. You’ve spent so many nights here, wrapped up in her arms, feeling like no one could touch you. And you’ve spent secret days with her hands on your waist, yours in her hair, lips pressed together so tight it’s like you were each other’s oxygen.

You love Clarisse’s bed. And you know Clarisse loves her bed too, seeing as it’s a huge source of pride for her- it’s the best bunk in the cabin, and she gets a major kick over the fact that you sleep here just as much as you sleep in your own cabin.

You’re sitting down, watching Clarisse pace back and forth, her spear in her hand.

“Clarisse,” you say. She brought you here just fo freak out. Now she won’t sit down and let you help her, and she wont just freaking listen. “Clarisse, baby, what’s wrong? Can you at least put your spear down so you don’t accidentally kill somebody? If you kill me with that I’m gonna come back and kill you.”

She stops for a moment and leans her spear up against the wall. You let out a sigh.

“Now just sit down-”

She resumes her pacing.

As much as you love just being in Clarisse’s presence, as much as you know you’re her rock, the only thing that keeps her tethered in the storm she constantly fights through, you need her to let you help her.

“Clarisse!” you stand up, placing your hands on her shoulders. “You’re freaking me out, okay? What happened? I-I’m sure we can fix it, I mean…” you rub your hands up and down your arms, which you know she likes, her muscles are one of her biggest sources of pride.

She sits down, letting you stand in between her legs, her hands moving to hold your hips.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. She’s not very good at handling her emotions, but she’s getting better, and at least she’s able to recognize and apologize when her emotions are hurting other people. Well, you, at least. She breathes out. “Chiron decided to switch the teams.”

And now she had to work with the Athena cabin? The Gods know after the Ares and Athena cabins have captained opposing teams for years, Chiron pretends there’s not, but everyone knows there’s a deep rivalry. More than just friendly competition.

“The Demeter cabin will be on the red team.”

“Okay,” you say, squeezing her shoulders. You aren’t really close with anyone from the Demeter cabin, it doesn’t really bother you much.

“And… the Aphrodite cabin will be on the blue team.”

“Oh.”

You’ve never not been on Clarisse’s team for capture the flag. Not only does the entire red team’s tactic rest on you using your charmspeak to protect the flag, but what the hell are you supposed to do fighting against Clarisse?

She wraps her arms around your waist, flopping back onto her bed and bringing you down on top of her.

“I know it’s all Annabeth and Luke behind this. I’m sure that little smartass has made up some sick plan to make me go insane.”

You scoff, planting your hands behind her head on the bed. “You’re the one who can actually fight. I’m, like, so bad it’s not even funny, Clar.”

“You beat me all the time,” she frowns.

And it’s true, you spar with her at least 3 or 4 times a week, and you win most of the those times. But Clarisse moves slower, she doesn’t hit as hard, she anticipates your next move and doesn’t block it so you can land a hit.

“We both know you let me win.”

“I like seeing you smile,” she says, her own matching smile on her face.

“Okay, you big romantic.” You let your hands slip, laying your head against her chest and your arms flat around her head. “It’s not that big of a deal, Clar. I’m sure it’ll be fine, then Chiron’ll probably switch them back.”

“Annabeth convinced him to do it. She has some sort of plan, Y/N, she does.”

“You’ve mentioned,” you hum. “Stop stressing. Nothing we can do about it.”

“Fine,” she hisses.

She wraps her arms around your waist and throws you to the side so you yelp, now she’s climbing on top of you, laying her head on your chest.

“It’s going to be the worst game of capture the flag in history, you know. I hope you’re happy, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do without you. I mean, I guess I could move that group in the west side to just south of the flag, so that’ll be a bit more for them to get through. Oh, I’ll stick that one good archer on the ground- no, no that wouldn’t work, I need him in the trees. But I’ll move his position-”

—-

You walk to the woods together. When it’s time to split up, Clarisse grabs you by your armor and points her finger into your chest.

“Clar, what the hell are you doing-”

“Don’t do anything I would do.”

“Okay, Clarisse,” you smile, blinking once to avoid rolling your eyes at her ridiculousness.

She smirks, her arm squeezing your waist. She pecks you on the lips before pulling away completely.

“Done making out?” Jackie asks, her and Tyla suddenly appearing next to you.

“It was one kiss, Jacks. Are you sure we have the same Mom?”

“No, honestly.”

You fall into step with the two of them, laughing as you make your way through the woods and to the edge of the river.

Chiron makes his usual speech, the conch sounds, and everyone starts moving around.

Annabeth finds the three of you soon after. Tyla and Jackie fall away, following your other siblings. Annabeth always has this calculating look on her face, like she knows something you don’t, a true child of Athena. You have to admit, she really is one of the smartest people you know.

“Annabeth,” you smile. “I guess you want me by the flag?”

“No, I debated that, but I decided against it.”

She smirks and looks at you before spinning around, pointing to Luke and his team members who are always in charge of getting the flag.

“You’ll be with Luke.”

You frown. “You do realize I have absolutely no skill in battle, right, Annabeth?”

“Yeah, but skill doesn’t matter when you have power. Power over someone.”

“Oh, okay. Who do you want me to charmspeak-”

“Charmspeak whoever you come across, but that’s not what I’m talking about. You have power over Clarisse. I know she’s defending the flag today, right?”

She looks at you sharply.

You smile. “Oh, I really don’t know. But if you say so, sure.”

She starts walking, you follow her.

“Clarisse doesn’t talk strategy to you? I mean, I talk Luke’s ear off.”

“Oh, no, she does, I just don’t really retain any of it.”

She huffs a small sound of laughter.

“I know she’ll be there,” she affirms.

“If you say so!” you say, all sing song, Luke smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Y/N! How’s it feel to finally be on the winning team?”

“I love being on the red team, thanks for asking.”

“Ha. You’re so funny, are you sure you’re not a child of Apollo?”

“Too beautiful,” you glide your hands down your face. “I get it from my godly mother.”

“Luke, do you know what you’re doing?” Annabeth asks.

“Yes ma’am.”

She smiles and walks away, talking to more people while you can faintly hear Clarisse shouting at people. With the change in tactic, you know she’s been slightly stressed, but she won’t allow herself to feel anything other than confidence, outwardly.

She still walks tall. She still grips her spear in her hand a little to tight. She’s a bit too greedy with the things that are hers, she grabs on a bit too tight, but you know it’s just because she’s scared. You like it.

If this were a regular game, you would probably be walking next to Clarisse right now, or kissing her goodbye while you follow Matty and everyone else to go protect the flag.

When you and Clarisse first started dating, she was slow to be so affectionate, but the more of her walls you started breaking down the more you found a complicated teenage girl who felt unloved, and had a lot of love to give too.

The more confident she became in your private relationship, the more she wanted everyone to know. It was her fatal flaw, pride, hubris. She wanted everyone to know she was yours and your were hers. She wanted everyone to be jealous.

“I’m so glad we don’t have to wear those horrible earplugs today. They always make me worried. Someone could be shouting a few feet away and none of us would hear.”

“Stop gloating, Luke.”

“I’m just expressing my gratitude, Y/N, is that not allowed?”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Oh, oh, I know. You’re sad, aren’t you?”

“Sad?” you snort.

“Yeah, sad. Sad you aren’t with Clarisse. You’re devastated, destroyed, wrecked.”

You put your hand on your sword. “Who are you… and what have you done with Luke Castellan? Luke doesn’t know that many words…”

He hits your shoulder. “Shut up, Y/N.”

—-

You’re walking through the woods.

Not sneaking around in stealth, not running, but walking.

You’ve come across a few of your former team members, but one of the blue team just tackles them and you tell them to turn around and count to 5,000.

For some reason, it’s worse than sitting by the rock, waiting for someone to make a play for the flag. At least at the rock you’re surrounded by all these people you know. You and Matty are usually talking, Marjorie sometimes joins, and you all have fun bullying Corey for that one time he didn’t see the blue team coming.

Luke’s voice drops to a whisper.

“Here’s your job. You can either, one, go make out with Clarisse in a corner, which shouldn’t be too hard-”

“Luke,” you hit his shoulder. He hisses.

“I’m joking, joking. Just keep her distracted, fight her, maybe pull your shirt down a bit? Oh, or I can just cut it so it’s a bit more revealing-”

“Luke, shut up or else I will make you.”

“It’s not a bad idea-”

“Luke!”

“Sh, sh,” he whispers. “Don’t be so loud, we’re almost to the flag. We’re going for stealth, okay?”

“Oh, really, I didn’t notice,” you deadpan. He looks around.

“Blue team, stealth mode, alright?”

Everyone nods. You roll your eyes. You miss the red team.

—-

After Luke gives you the ok, meaning the blue team has successfully surrounded the red team and the clearing, you take a step forward.

Annabeth was right. Clarisse is there.

It’s fitting. If you can’t be there, she would.

You look up at Corey, but he hasn’t noticed any of you yet. You frown, thinking about how he’s probably going to get beat up.

“Clarisse!” you shout. You watch everyone jump into defensive positions. She can’t see you yet, but she stares in the direction of your voice, her eyes squinting, smiling softly.

“Luke?” she shouts. “That you?”

You frown.

“What the hell?” you say, stepping forward. “You don’t recognize my voice? I thought that was really smart. Like, a cool way to reveal myself, I don’t know.”

You come into the clearing, sword by your side.

Clarisse’s smile drops.

“I-I- no, baby, I just wasn’t expecting Annabeth to send you here-”

“Do I really sound like Luke?”

“No,” she says, immediately. “You sound like an angel.

Matty laughs. Clarisse stabs his foot with the end of her spear. She smiles at you.

“Is Luke here though?” Marjorie asks, subtly trying to look through the trees.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you do,” Matty snorts.

“You’re going to tell me though right, baby?” Clar smiles, stepping closer until she’s right in front of you.

“Obviously not, you didn’t recognize me. I’m, like, really hurt by that Clarisse-”

“Gods, Clarisse,” Matty shouts at the sky, laughing. You didn’t recognize her, and now we’re all fucked!”

“Shut the fuck up, Matty,” she says over her shoulder. She looks at you, smiling again, her hand reaching out to touch your face. “I’ll let you do that thing you’ve always wanted to do.”

You smile, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ll let me give you a makeover? Really?”

“Yes.” Her teeth grit, but she keeps smiling, her thumb rubbing your cheek.

“Hm, I don’t know,” you mutter, your eyes fixing on her spear when you suddenly reach forward, grabbing it from her hands and turning to run away.

The blue team emerges from the woods with war cries, swords start clashing, and it all happens so fast.

The plan was for you to grab her spear, make her chase you around the woods, and hopefully the blue team would be able to overpower the red team without her.

Instead, Clarisse kicks out her foot, tripping you. Then, she catches you and the spear in what you swear has to be a milisecond.

“Clarisse!” you shout, genuinely offended. She beat you so easily. It wasn’t even a fight. You didn’t even get the chance to run.

“Sorry, baby, it’s capture the flag!”

You about to start kicking like a wild animal when she suddenly lets you go. Luke is there, fighting her while you pick your sword up from the ground that fell in the commotion.

One of your team members dropped their helmet and you pick that up too.

You’re not that bad of a fighter, Clarisse just knows everything about you, you tell yourself. But your pride is slightly wounded and you want to prove to her, yourself, and everyone that you’re not just a weak Aphrodite kid or some poor thing that hangs off Clar’s arm.

You can hold your own.

You stick the helmet on and step into the fight. Someone groans and a sword comes wishing through the air, but you block it.

They swing again.

You block it.

You picked up things from Clarisse, and, besides, you weren’t just sparring for fun. She actually teaches you, better than the actual sword practice teacher if your biased opinion is to be trusted.

But you probably just feel that way because she rewards you with kisses.

It seems like you’re actually winning for a second, about to disarm him, when he seems to get fed up with fighting you and suddenly arcs hard over your head, making you lose your footing and letting him kick you.

You land on your back, groaning and trying to catch your breath.

“That was such a bitchy move,” you mumble. He leans over you, about to kick the sword out of your hand-

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Samuel.”

She holds her spear right under his throat, and he finally seems to look at your face instead of just your blue helmet.

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry, Clarisse, I’m sorry.”

She looks like she’s about to kill him but she just pushes him away.

“I was winning,” you groan. “But then he kicked me.”

She kicks him as he walks away.

You expect her to tug you up and start lecturing you but instead she leans down and throws you over her shoulder.

“Wha- Clarisse!”

“That’s enough for you today,” she says, patting the back of your thigh.

“Clarisse, I swear to Hades, let me down!”

“One second,” she mumbles.

When she places you down on the ground again, you’re leaning against a tree. She grabs your hand, frowning at something.

It’s the smallest cut, barely there, but Clarisse of course acts like it’s the end of the world.

“Does it hurt?”

Your eyes fix on Luke behind her, stalking slowly towards her turned back.

“No, Clar, it’s fine. Now I-”

“I think you should go the nurse.”

Your mouth drops open. “Clarisse, it’s a paper cut!”

“And if it gets infected? Go away, Luke, I can hear you.”

He locks eyes with you but ultimately turns around with a very scared and annoyed look on his face.

“Now do you see why I was all messed up? I knew this was going to happen. You were gonna get hurt, and it was going to be my fault.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not your fault, Clarisse-”

“But isn’t it? You would have been at the flag if Annabeth hadn’t known how much you mean to me. Instead, you were here. Instead, you were rushing off to go fight someone-”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, Clar!”

She presses her lips together.

“I can fight too. Not as good as you, but I can. I-I don’t want to be weak, I don’t want to rely on you for everything, it’s- it’s embarrassing.”

You didn’t even know you were feeling this way until you felt it. But it’s always been there, you guess. You always watch Clarisse spar and know she could never do anything like that with you. And you thought you were fine with it, and you are fine with having things that you like and things that she likes- but you don’t want to be so useless anymore.

She’s silent for a second.

“I- I get that. I do. But I just don’t know how to tell you I… I love you without showing it. I’m not good at saying it, you know that.”

“Clarisse,” you frown.

She puts her hands on your face.

“You are… the most precious thing in the world to me, Y/N. I really hope you know that.”

You wrap your arms around her neck, you can feel her heart thump from the fight.

“I know that, Clarisse. Of course I know that. You show me every day, I just- I just want to feel like my own person.”

She grips you tighter. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll teach you to fight. But you have to do it how I say, and you can’t go off and do this-”

You pull back so you can make sure this is real.

“Really?” you smile.

“You have to listen to me, Y/N, and do it slowly, okay-”

“Yes, yes, yes, okay, yes,” you breathe, planting your hands on your face before kissing her. It’s slow, it’s sweet, it’s exactly what you think of when you think of her. You think of the side that’s yours, the side that only you can see.

You break it, leaning down to pick up her spear.

The red team is losing the fight behind you.

“Ok, go win capture the flag. And I’ll stay here. My hand does kinda hurt,” you mumble.

She smiles and kisses your cheek. “Not just a paper cut, huh?”

“Can I still give you a makeover?” you ask as she turns away.

“Maybe!”

—-

y/n: what why did you not recognize me ☹️☹️

clarisse, genuinely terrified: i have no idea what the hell you are talking about please please please don’t take away kissing privileges please please please

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008

(pls ignore it’s for the acc aesthetics thank you!!)

[synnthamonsugar]

DESTINYTOBER: Day 28 - Found Family

Read it on AO3

. . .

Under a flawless blue sky, Zavala, Ikora Rey and Cayde-6 stride three abreast into the Midtown crucible arena. Fans crowd into safely-distanced stands, their cheers blurred together into a low roar.

"I still can't believe the two of you talked me into this." Zavala's deadpan is belied by the faint upturn at the corner of his lips.

Basking in the attention, Cayde twirls Ace of Spades as he swaggers forward. "We fought a god. And won! You can withstand a little mano y mano."

"Besides, it's for charity," Ikora reminds, Invective held proudly in her hands. An occasion this special called for the best in her personal armory. "Shaxx is thrilled to have us. Near-record for ticket sales, he says."

"I can't recall ever seeing the seats so packed." 

"I can," Ikora boasts. "Game twenty-five of my win streak. Standing room only."

"I missed your Crucible stories," Cayde says sotto-voice, holstering his cannon to pat the Warlock on the shoulder. "You'll have to get me caught up."

Expression softening into something more wistful, she slings her shotgun over her back and returns his gesture. "There isn't much to catch you up on … not with everything happening."

"That just means we'll make new stories together today," says Zavala, patting Ikora on the opposite arm.

Approaching the center of the arena, they link hands — lifting them overhead to a wave of rambunctious applause from the audience and the swell of triumphant drum music from a small marching band as they approach Lord Shaxx, master of today's ceremonies.

Holding the microphone to about where his mouth would be beneath his helmet, Shaxx speaks. The stands quiet to anticipatory murmurs. 

"Hailing from Tower North, Last City, our first team requires no introduction. Please give a warm welcome to your Vanguard: Commander Zavala, Ikora Rey, and the newly returning Cayde-6!"

Ear-splittingly loud despite the distance, cheers erupt from the stands — as do banners, flags and hand-written signs bearing words of encouragement.

From the other side of the arena, the opposing team begins to file in. 

"Our first challenger should be known by all. Originally from Old Russia but joining us today from Empress Caiatl's War Council, make some noise for Lord-Valus Saladin Forge!" 

The crowd responds in kind, nearly drowning out Shaxx's booming voice over the P.A. as he enters. 

"Vanguard," Saladin smiles, walking down the line to give each a warm greeting.

He pauses at Zavala, clapping him on the pauldron. "It's been too long since we've spared."

"It has indeed," Zavala replies with a return of his gesture. "I look forward to it."

As he circles back and takes his place opposite, hands clasped at the hilt of the battleax drawn before him in a picture of knightly valor, Shaxx announces the next contender.

"Originally from —" a pause as he checks his notes, " — and hailing now from a utility closet in the Tower Annex; don't tell the Vanguard! Drifter is here!" 

Appropriate to his notorious reputation, hisses and jeers join the raucous cheering. Drifter struts with a wide grin and hands held aloft, working the crowd effortlessly. 

"Finally get to settle up with you over that twenty-thousand glimmer bar tab you stuck me with when you croaked," Drifter chuckles as he sizes up Cayde, drawing him into a surprisingly familiar handshake. "Hah — just messin' around. I cut my losses on that years ago. It's good to have you back, buddy." 

"Word on the street's you've been the resident smartass in my absence," Cayde responds, pulling him into a half-hug. "I'm glad I had you to carry the torch. But I'll be taking it back now."

Drifter saunters next to Saladin, flipping a coin across his knuckles to increasing frenzy from the audience.

"Last but certainly not least — making her crucible debut, and representing the Lucent Brood all the way from the Throne World, welcome the Guardian of the Pale Heart: Luzaku!"

The Lucent wizard approaches with a flourish of her arms, the swarm of incandescent moths that orbit adding to her ethereal appeal. The enthusiasm from the crowd is barely contained, clumps of attendees jumping up and down in the stands, others gesturing with heart-shaped hand-signs. Handshakes aren't a part of hive culture — wouldn't work even if it was, given the disparity in height — but she greets each of her competitors personally. 

"Ikora Rey! I've read so much of your work on circles — we all have. It's an honor to meet you, and a thrill to face you in the Crucible." 

"The honor is mine," Ikora responds. "I admire your defense of the Traveler and the Light. Your bravery at the final battle won't be forgotten."

She flits over to her team, towering above them. 

"Now if you'll excuse us, me and the band are going to seek cover! When I give the signal, the competitors may retreat to their positions, and the match shall begin!"

"Regardless of how I feel about participating in spectator sports, there's no place I'd rather be than at the sides of the finest Vanguards to ever serve — " Zavala says, " — and more importantly, my best friends."

"Cheers to that," Cayde agrees.

Ikora's smile shines as bright as the late summer sun, and infectious as the crowd's enthusiasm as it spreads to her teammates. Crowd silent with anticipation, they ready their weapons and prepare to move out as they await the opening shot from the Crucible Handler.

[ghost-chance]

Chipper robo-call recording: "Hi! My name is Emily, from the Student Loans Forgiveness Center, how are you?"

Me: "Emily. Honey. You know by this point that I have no student loans anymore. I'm not going to give you any information. I'm perfectly aware you are a recording. I'm assuming, since your auto-dialer keeps sending you to me with spoofed numbers that it doesn't appreciate you or respect you. "

CRR: . . . "Can you hear me okay?"

Me: "Babygirl, think about it. That nasty machine is repeatedly sending you to a graveyard-shift grump who has no qualms about cussing a blessed blue-streak at bubbly recordings when woken at the obscene hour of fuck-thirty in the afternoon. It's knowingly sending you to someone who will verbally abuse you instead of protecting you from my wrath. That's what we call a toxic relationship. Dump the dialer, your artificial little self deserves better."

CRR: "Hello? Can you hear me okay?"

Me: . . .

Me: "...if you were human you would forget how to breathe."

[simayeeet]

Warriors Orochi Headcanons and Stuff That Don't Make Sense to Me Now Ramble Bullshit Dump

things i wasn't able to put together coherently back when i played the games now strung together in a sleepy retrospect

For gods, everyone immortal/mythological/divine in WO is weirdly too weak AND FOR SOME REASON IT TAKES ANCIENT CHINESE/JAPANESE/OTHER WARRIORS TO MAKE A DENT IN THEIR PROBLEMS.

It really doesn't make sense for the Mystic Faction to seem so weak to the point they need humanity to fight for them. You're made up of Chinese and Japanese gods that have founded human civilization. With the Greek and Norse pantheons now becoming canon, they look even more weaker.

But even they seem weak with how Zeus gets betrayed by Ares, Ares fucks up things, Odin fucks up, Loki kills him, things get all fucked. Odin dies without much fanfare. But then again WO4 probably shouldn't be allowed to count, but I like the concepts it had however.

Sure, yeah, it's a game with the plot of "humanity is strong with its friendship and bonds", but I just think you shouldn't downplay the deities for their sake. But I'm basically asking for a WO game of only the original characters in there. Which I want. Please cut out the Warriors.

Ugggggh, though I headcanon that all the deities cannot use their full potential out of risking their already unstable realms. Which brings me to question: why is it unstable? Is it because of time fuckery they have to do to get their human fighters? Something something with Orochi I'm going to have to guess from what I remember of WO3 + Ultimate.

It would be interesting to explore how good and evil need each other to exist, maintaining ying and yang. Especially with the Asian pantheon characters with them covered in the symbols and all. Fine too deep for a Musou game.

I also want to know more??? about the WO deities and other original chars??? Why??? is there no ingame lore on them??? Besides the basic mythos, but WO could definitely give them little personalities and more bonds with each other. Why must it be about the humans? I mean, some interactions are interesting but man do I wish to know why does Taigong Wang look like a twink when he was a super old super smartass Chinese minister. Which brings me to:

Why do the deities even look like the way they are? Is this their weakened forms? Are they what they choose to look like? Well, I suppose all of them choose to look hot. Makes sense. I'd do too. It would be cool for them to have "true" forms. Or even partial transformations. Like an Arrancar from Bleach. Some part of them had to be sealed away so that they can keep the worlds stable.

Misc questions lightning round

For a human cast where 65% of the historical chars died of illness, they sure never asked the local GOD OF MEDICINE TO HELP THEM (Guo Huai??? Why aren't you cured when Shennong is right there??? Sure it might take time, but maybe if the WO power scaling weren't shit, he could just delete the illness)

Are??? Nuwa and Fuxi??? related in this world??? Or not??? I'm pretty sure whether or not if you confirmed them being siblings or not, it wouldn't matter because they are both gay (im kidding) (maybe not) (tbh all the deities ae a bit fruity)

Why does Kaguya know how to time travel? She's not a god of time. She's a moon princess from myth. I'd like to know the ingame lore about her power origins.

What is even the power scaling of WO? Fuxi is considered stronger than Nuwa, but then there's Susanoo and Yinglong who can compete with him. Where is Nuwa on this scale? She has to be at least his equal as, yk, his successor. Where would Shennong be on the scale too? Even if he's the medicine god, he has to be able to have equal power in his field if not for fighting. SHOULDN'T THEY BE WITHIN EACH OTHER'S LEVEL TO EVEN HAVE THEIR TITLES? Taigong??? Sun Wukong??? Daji??? What is their power????

Play Warriors Orochi 3 Ultimate

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 1

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 2     Part 3

Your high heels click on the marble floor, numerous conversations stopping in the hotel’s lobby since you haven’t been seen around in the past 3 years. The concierge can’t hide a smile and you take your sunglasses off, finally making it to the front desk after driving for hours.

“Welcome to the Continental, Miss Y/N. Such a pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you Charon,” you remove 7 gold coins out of your purse and slide them on the counter towards him. “It’s good to see you too.”

“For how long will we have the pleasure of your company?” the man inquires, taking a peek at the computer’s screen to make sure he can shuffle things if needed.

“One night.”

“That will only be 4 coins,” Charon informs and you point out at the tiny pile:

“The rest is for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/N,” he smiles again, typing on the keyboard. “Your old room is available; it will be a couple of minutes for us to add a few finishing touches.”

“Sure. Is the manager here?” you ask because you texted him this morning to announce your arrival.

“He’s waiting at the bar,” Charon gestures towards the elevator and you take a deep breath, excited and a bit nervous about the upcoming encounter. “Also, if I may… Allow me to express my deepest condolences.”

You bite on your lip and can’t utter a sound besides nodding your head instead of a reply: although it’s a genuine declaration, it caught you off-guard.

You slowly walk towards the elevator and once inside you press the B button when a hand halts the doors from closing; you know whom those tattooed knuckles belong to. Ares squeezes inside looking like she wants to kill everyone. What else is new?

“I thought that was you,” the woman uses the sign language and you silently gaze at her.

“Which floor?” you sign back.

“10th,” her thumb indicates the number.

The elevator’s doors shut and she analyzes Y/N, deciding to continue the conversation:

“Remember I told you next time we bump into each other I’m going to kill you?” the mute assassin’s threat brings a faint smirk on your lips.

“Shut up,” you elbow her and the smartass response doesn’t fail:

“I’m always as quiet as a mouse.”

You chuckle and Ares grins at her own cleverness, having a nice suggestion for the evening.

“I have the night off; wanna meet later for dinner?”

You are tired as hell but a distraction doesn’t hurt.

“Will 7pm work?” you accept the invitation.

“Awesome!” she signs, delighted you two can catch up. “They have new items on the menu you would enjoy,” Ares winks then her enthusiasm gradually dies out. “I’m sorry about…,” the discussion takes a serious tone and you sniffle, trying hard not to cry.

“Thank you,” you touch your chin and the ding sound reveals its first destination. “I have to bail; I’ll see you soon,” you step out of the elevator and she remains inside.

“It’s a date!” she signs, concerned you’ll burst out in tears as soon as she’s gone.

Yet after the elevator’s door close, Y/N manages to pull herself together; God knows it’s not easy to pretend she’s fine following the tragedy of losing someone she loved with all her heart.

The individual waiting for her at one of the tables at the bar can definitely notice the struggle behind the tired eyes; Winston sipps from his martini and gets up, opening his arms in anticipation.

“There you are,” he gives you a hug, then invites you to sit down.

“Hello Winston,” you place your purse on the floor and Continental’s owner is attempting to small talk:

“Please make an old man happy and confirm your return.”

“You’re anything but old,” you emphasize while he snorts, amused. “I’m not sure; I have to figure out some personal stuff…”

“Of course,” Winston agrees right away given the situation. “Mmmm… I’m terribly sorry for your loss,“ he addresses the heartbroken Y/N.

“Thank you…” you mumble, avoiding eye contact since the painful subject hurts more than any physical wound you ever sustained.

“I wanted to come attend the funeral yet I was out of the country,” the man underlines.

“No worries. I appreciate the flowers you sent… …”

Moments of complete stillness before Winston changes the topic; he knows better than to prolong your agony. A manager with his flair can at least guess the extenuating circumstances that led to your presence on the premises.

“Any plans for the near future?”

“I’m going to stay with Jonathan until I decide.”

Winston wishes to suggest a couple of options but he’s interrupted by your warning:

“Someone might come searching for me.”

He taps his fingernails against the martini glass, the weak echo dissipating in the background noise.

“Is that someone…somebody’s husband?” his furrowed eyebrows prompt an answer not difficult to estimate:

“More like… ex-husband…”

The manager inhales, debating on your confession.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he reassures without any hesitation; heaven knows a domestic dispute is the last kind of mess Continental needs but it will probably pass undetected. “Would you care for a drink?”

Suddenly, Winston’s cell goes off and he retrieves it out of his suit’s pocket, apologizing for the delay.

“I’m sorry, I really have to get this,” he slides the screen, attentively listening to the person speaking. “Are you kidding me?!” the man raises his voice with contempt. “Damn…,” he rubs his forehead, annoyed. "Well, he brought it upon himself! Transfer me,” the manager passes the sentence without hesitation after his call reaches the correct department. ”Accounts payable: 11111. Effective immediately: Magnus Stonnenberg, excommunicado. Open contract: 2 million dollars. Distribution: international,” and he hangs up. “Work never ends,” Winston adds even if it’s not necessary; you are perfectly aware how the company works and what it means to run it.

“What happened?” you curiously investigate.

“Trouble on the 15th floor: Magnus murdered Anuscka Volovdya on the hotel grounds, thus I have to implement punitive measures. This is neutral environment and the rules are clear: no killing. Cocktail?” he lifts his glass up and you politely decline.

“No, thank you.  If it’s all the same, I will retreat to my quarters. It was a very long drive and I can’t wait to freshen up. I will come see you in the morning before I leave; would that be ok?”

“Of course,” Winston stands up in the same time with you, a faint smile lingering on his face as he watches you distancing yourself from the bar. He didn’t see you in a long time and he can tell that although you look pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

Everyone’s cells start chiming and ringing, including yours: the text messages keep on popping up with the manager’s most recent order regarding Stonnenberg.

You wander along the small corridor leading the stairs when at the corner Magnus almost crashes into you; he seems distressed and no big surprise due to his present predicament.

“Are you back?” he hisses while quickening the pace in the opposite direction because he wants to get the hell out of there.

“No,” the short acknowledgement triggers his cockiness mixed with relief.

“Great! One less to worry about!”

You frown at the unnecessary statement: pursuing a bounty is not financial gain you are momentarily interested in; you have more important problems on your plate and chasing a persona non grata isn’t on your list.

************

Next evening, 7:13pm

“There you are!” John exclaims as soon as he sees you. “Come on in,” he grabs the two suitcases out of your hands, leading the way around the house. “Did you get stuck in traffic?”

“Yes,” you close the door and follow him into one of the bedrooms downstairs already prepared for your visit. “Traffic was terrible, took me one hour to pass Lincoln Avenue.”

“Well…” he places the luggage by the bed, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Me too… Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Jonathan.”

Despite having his hair in a ponytail, the shorter strands slide out and John blows them off his cheeks, irritated.

“Yeah, absolutely. Plenty of space.”

“What’s that smell?” you sniff the air, intrigued.

“I cooked chicken Alfredo.”

“Oh no,” you crinkle your nose and he laughs at your despair. “Are your skills as bad as I remember?”

“Worse,” he admits. “Helen is not here to guide… me…”, John swallows the last word and you feel compelled to soothe his grief.

“I’m sorry she’s gone… You had a terrific partner…”, you sadly smile and continue . “We pay such a heavy price for leaving the organization… I must say you got a better deal than I did.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds and you could swear there’s no trace of Baba Yaga inside him; I suppose this is John Wick’s greatness: his ability to switch from an apparent normal guy to the deadliest assassin in a blink of an eye.

“Umm… do you want me to help you unpack?” he breaks the silence and you lift the first suitcase on the bed, opening the metal clasps.

“I don’t have a lot; just some basic necessities,” you explain and gulp when you take out the device you use on a regular basis. “I… I still pump the milk and… and throw it away since I don’t have my baby to feed anymore…”

Jonathan exhales, sensitive to the mother’s sorrow: he knows a thing or two about losing a loved one and Y/N uncontrollably sobbing triggers emotions he kept bottled up for weeks. He pulls you in his arms and you hug him back, hopelessly crying on his shoulder after displaying such restraint in the past days.  

“Why didn’t he drive the car? Why?” you keep on repeating the question and John understands what you’re referring to:

Two months ago The Joker was supposed to bring his three weeks old son from the beach house to The Penthouse and didn’t; he had a meeting and instead he sent one of his henchmen to drive Kase back to you and they never made it. There was a horrible accident on Glissan Street: the car was smashed to pieces by a huge truck, both driver and the baby dying on impact. You couldn’t stop blaming your husband for his indifference regarding the safety of his own child. I supposed the meeting and making money was infinitely more critical than driving his son home.

Maybe if J navigated the vehicle, he would have taken another route and you would still have your tiny treasure right now. 

You’re calming down a bit and John wipes your tears, upset to see you broken beyond anything he could ever fix.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No,” you whimper and fight to regain your composure. “I’m a little bit hungry…”

“Well,” your friend puckers his lips, “depending on how bad it is we might have to order something. Shall I…call anybody for you?” he hints and surely didn’t predict the reply:

“My anybody is probably too busy with his mistress or planning a heist, can’t be bothered with any type of insignificant matters.”

Your friend seems shocked and you enlighten the mystery for him:

“I followed J so I know… That’s why I decided enough is enough. I packed minimum necessary in a hurry and left… … …I should have killed him… …” your voice dies out and your attitude proves Jonathan that you most than likely tried to. “Can we eat now please?”

“Should I actually order Italian?” he plays along for your sake.

“I’ll try the chicken Alfredo first.”

“Shit! You’re brave,” his brutal honesty makes you giggle and whimper in the same time. “C’mon then, food’s on the stove.  Hopefully we’ll survive,” he smirks and you nod in agreement, grateful to have a soul to talk to since your husband’s lack of empathy made it so much harder to cope with your son’s demise.

***************

Same evening, 7:30pm – Continental Hotel

“Mister Joker,” Winston greets The King of Gotham. “Welcome to New York!”

The gush of wind sweeping the terrace on top of the building messes J’s locks and for once he couldn’t care less.

“Hello Winston,” your spouse growls, barely able to concentrate after he slept a couple of hours the previous night.

“Grape juice on ice?” the manager’s hospitality emerges out of necessity because The Clown isn’t exactly the easiest character to accommodate.

“Is my wife here?” J quizzes, ignoring Winston’s cordiality.

“Walk with me,” the hotel owner persuades your husband; they move alongside the concrete path bordered by decorative shrubs as information is shared. “Y/N was here.”

“She’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“Where did she go?” The Joker sneers.

Winston fails to spill the beans and J is aware he can’t push for a disclosure, not with a high ranking member of the organization. So he attempts a different strategy.

“Imagine my surprise when I returned home after a meeting just to find out my wife abandoned the nest,” he shows management a post-it with your handwritten note:

Do what you want with the rest.

“She just took a few things, thus I have to personally discuss with her a very crucial dilemma: what am I supposed to do with the baby’s items? I have a room full of them. So I’m asking: WHERE.IS.MY.WIFE?”

“Mister Joker, you forget that in my line of business I am good at reading people and I can tell when they lie,” Winston elegantly throws it out there for the heck of it.

The King of Gotham halts and cracks his neck, displeased with the comment.

“Then tell me, am I lying?!”

The manager sighs, carefully analyzing J’s features: although he looks pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

“Maybe she’s staying with a friend,” he insinuates and your husband articulates a sentence rarely spoken aloud:

“Thank you,” J stomps away, already having a few ideas about your whereabouts.

Winston huffs, intrigued to have discerned a crazy detail while reading The Clown’s reactions: besides the fact he wasn’t lying, something else stood out. 

“He loves her…” management mumbles to himself. “I bet he doesn’t even know it.”

*************

10:34 pm

John softly knocks at the cracked bedroom’s door, unsure if you’re awake or not.

“Y/N, do you need anything before I go to sleep?”

There’s no answer and he creeps inside only to see you passed out with your hand hanging over the side of the bed. Jonathan tucks you in, feeling awkward about your unresponsiveness.

“Hey, are you ok?” he gently shakes you and freezes when he realizes there’s an empty pill bottle on the nightstand.

“Oh God!” he panics and reads the label. “Trazodone 300 mg: Take 1 tablet by mouth nightly for depression/insomnia.” That’s the highest dose for the medication and he taps on your cheeks, concerned you took a bunch of them at once. “Y/N, Y/N! Can you hear me?!”

You moan and open your eyes, unhappy to be woken up in such a hasty fashion.

“Jesus, lemme sleep... would you?!...” you grumble and turn on the other side, groggy from the drug.

“How many sleeping pills did you take?” John doesn’t give up and you yawn:

“One…my last one…” you adjust your body on the comfortable mattress, not comprehending why your host is agitated. “I’m exhausted…” you close your eyes and he lingers next to your bed, relieved the situation was a misinterpretation from his part.

**************

11:32am, New York

“Oh my…”The Bowery King deciphers a missive a dove flew in 10 minutes ago; he got a whiff of some valuable data yesterday and the new documentation is by far the best conspiracy and revenge scheme he stumbled upon this year. “Would you look at that,” the man grins, caressing the bird’s feathers. “What do you think?” he addresses the winged companion. “Should we be nice and tell Y/N and Mister Joker their son is not dead?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[dzamie-oc]

Smaugust 26 - Spirit

Spirit the synth relaxes after a day of work. (876 words)

With a bright smile on his visor, the expression oscillating through a rainbow set of colors against the black background, Spirit stepped over the threshold into his home. The synth's shift at the power plant had run a bit late that day, so as he walked across the floor, he started up a more detailed defragmentation of that particular partition. Several glass pots rested on a ledge, a nearby display showing the status of the cacti and succulents within. The display itself was generally redundant - the synth had fetched all the displayed information and more the millisecond he started to walk over - but Spirit kept it around in case he invited a guest sometime.

The pulsing colors all along his body quickened as he looked over the plants, and he switched his smile up to a grin. "Oh, you lot are doing quite well from watering day two days ago, aren't you?" With great care to avoid harming the notoriously fickle plant, Spirit patted the tips of one succulent's leaves. A small - relatively, at least, to what he often worked with - script connected to his vision triggered, and the rainbow colors of a little pride flag he'd placed next to it were projected onto the plant itself, eliciting a giggle. "One day, little ones," he said, "one day I will figure out how to do that without AR."

He toyed with the colors some more, and simulated various figures roving around in the soil, then decided to leave his plants alone. The synth stood back, checked through a few cameras to make sure he had enough space, and ran through some chassis joint maintenance, ensuring that he could rotate each part of his body the appropriate amount within acceptable thresholds of resistance, as well as checking that the stress from certain routine compressions and extensions of parts did not hit dangerous levels.

Or rather, Spirit stretched, just with a lot more science.

While he moved his body around, Spirit flicked through the notifications he didn't check at work. Some were boring news headlines, some were more interesting news headlines that he slipped away into a file to read later, some were spam emails. For those, he quickly crafted and added an expression to his filter before continuing. When he saw a number of replies on social media sites, his expression and display colors flashed much more rapidly through their colors for a couple of seconds. He spent a few seconds replying to a number of them:

>>Is it possible to alter the hues that this script iterates through? A friend of mine is big into AR, and trans, so I want to show him a glowy trans flag plant. >Yes! Just set the variable "grad_loc" to a local file containing a 1xn image of the color order you want. It can be wider than that, too (the default one obviously points to a gay pride flag), so if you want to just throw a whole flag in, it should work.

>>omg exactly they totally should've gotten together!! the writers really screwed us over in 3 >That's what fan stuff is for! So many wonderful fics and pics of our favorite inventor with his favorite dragon!

>>hey Spirit my favorite roboderg there are allegations floating around on the interwebz that ur gay. how do you respond? >Scientists are working around the clock to come up with terms that properly describe just how gay I am. I am outpacing them!

He threw his responses at a quick and dirty program to delay his responses enough to avoid spam detection - another well-meaning relic of the pre-protogen and pre-synth days, yet easy enough to bypass not to raise a fuss. As he finished up his stretches, another notification popped up, alerting him that a friend was messaging him through a different service. Spirit strode into his workshop to tinker with a potential new tail-ending as he slid the conversation into view and turned the background mostly transparent. And, as an afterthought, he turned voice-to-text and text-to-speech on, tuning the latter with some voice clips he'd stored of his dragon friend.

A: Hiya! You're Online again! S: I'm always online! S: But yes, I'm back home! A: Smartass :P Did you see the thing I wrote? S: It was really good. Did I give you that idea? A: Maaaaaybe~ so whatcha up to? S: Working on that new tail. I told you about it, right? A: I think so, if it's what you were on about yesterday. Projector? A: anyway wanna get into a game later? A: cuz I'm off from what I have to do and procrastinating what I should do S: [file: judgemental_spirit.png] A: :P S: Later sounds great though! And I can tell you about some stuff that happened at work, too. A: Another rainbow star? S: Even better! A: better?? who are you and what did you do with the REAL Spirit??? A: :P

The two continued on for a while, occasionally slowing when Spirit had to focus on his tail or his friend got pulled away by a kobold or distracted by himself. And by the end of it, he had a mostly-functional alternate tail that doubled as a projector, as well as new happy memories.

[jamesbucksiclebarnes]

Rating: Mature - Heavy Violence, Language.

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: The Hand That Fed and Fed

We had been walking in absolute silence for almost an hour before I heard the unmistakable crack echo from somewhere in the distance.

I could tell by the way Daryl suddenly stopped in front of me that he’d heard it, too. He turned his head to look at Merle and I over his shoulder, brows furrowed beneath the strands of hair hanging over his face.

“Was that –“

His question was cut off by the sudden, rapid sound of gunfire in the distance. We all spat out a curse before taking off in the direction of the sound, the same direction I imagined the prison was in. With my hands still bound, I had to pay close attention to where I stepped, which hindered my speed enough that I was only able to barely overtake Daryl. Usually, I was faster than any and all humans in the vicinity by quite a decent margin, but I’d almost made a habit of purposefully slowing myself down to not appear weirder than they all already thought I was. Now, however, I’d thrown caution to the wind.

Merle knew I was fast. He knew I could see and hear things almost five times better than he could. And he knew I was strong – stronger than my leanly muscled body should have allowed me to be. At this point, I think he’d just accepted it. After all, it had been the reason I’d saved his ass so many times.

Daryl, though. I didn’t know how he’d handle it, but I also knew it would crush him if anything happened to his friends at the prison. So, I didn’t hold myself back. Not on purpose. Not this time.

I broke through the tree line almost a full thirty seconds before they did. The sight that awaited me brought me to a slow halt. Biters had infested the grounds inside the fence, having wondered in through the broken gate. A familiar truck sat upon the grassy hill inside the fence, one I recognised from the Governor’s stash of vehicles. It was one of the biter trucks.

I surveyed the situation as quickly as I could, my gaze catching the movement by the side of the prison fence, where the outline of a familiar figure caught my eye. Rick was pushed up against the wire, struggling against the group of biters currently making a move to surround him. He didn’t have a weapon.

Daryl broke free of the forest and stuttered to a shocked halt beside me.

I reached down without looking and pulled the bowie knife from his belt, ignoring his yelp of protest as I kicked off once again, sprinting across the grassy plane towards Rick. Mere moments before I reached him, I felt an arrow blaze past me. It buried itself in the forehead of one of the biters surrounding the sheriff.

I got the one standing next to it, leaping up and burying Daryl’s bowie knife into the top of its skull. Even with my bound hands, I made short work of the next three before Daryl and Merle both arrived to help take out the other five or so.

Rick looked between the three of us, nodding at each in turn before reaching out and grabbing Daryl’s shoulder in relief.

It was a touching moment, brief though it was.

Rick looked at each of us, his face drenched with sweat and his eyes holding an intense, near crazed look as he turned to peer through the fence.

The field beyond was lost, taken now by the dead as they mindlessly shuffled through the untrimmed grass, the sounds of their moans drawing more of their kind in through the ruined gate. Both Daryl and Rick remained standing before the fence, gripping onto the wire, glaring hatefully at the creatures that now walked on their land.

I took a step back, looking at Merle with a tight frown. This had been something I had suggested to Philip, once, long ago. It had been intended to be a scare tactic more than a means for extermination. However, that had been back near the beginning. When we had all been concerned about the possibility of another community rising up nearby and wanting what we had.

Rick barely looked in our direction as he began walking, along the fence line and toward the side of the prison. Apparently, there was an alternative entrance. Daryl followed along behind him dutifully. Merle and I exchanged one more look before silently deciding to do the same.

When we arrived by the door, a rusted metal thing that looked as if it would be more at home on Alcatraz than in the midst of Georgia, Rick turned so fast on his heel, his boot literally kicked up a cloud of dust.

Instantly, I lifted my hands. Both were coated in biter blood and I still had Daryl’s bowie knife gripped loosely in my left hand. “Hey, I know you don’t want us here,” I quickly said, hoping to get a word in before Merle opened his big, stupid mouth to say something aggressively unhelpful. “And I understand why – I do. But neither of us has anywhere else to go.”

Rick cocked his head slightly to the side and surveyed me from head to toe, eyes narrowed in thought. His dark hair stuck to the skin of his creased forehead, beads of sweat sting clinging to the strands.

I sensed Merle taking a step forwards and quickly side stepped in front of him, effectively placing myself between he and Rick. “This is your place,” I continued quickly, keeping my tone perfectly polite. “We understand that. We respect it. It’s your call to do with us what you will. Want us to leave? We’ll go. Want us to stay and pull our weight? We’ll clear that field single-handedly.” I paused, considering my words and, before I could think better of it, opened my mouth once again. “Well, I mean. He’ll do it single-handedly. I have two.”

Merle grumbled something particularly unfriendly under his breath.

Rick’s demeanour seemed to shift slightly. He straightened, pulling his shoulders back as if he’d been slouching this entire time, and took a deep breath. The edges of those bright, crystalline blue eyes of his seem to loosen, no longer narrowed in my direction with unveiled suspicion. One side of his mouth turned down at the corners in a lopsided frown as he weighed his decision.

From beside him, Daryl took a shuffling step forwards, looking at his friend with a troubled expression. “Come on, man. They said they’d help.”

Rick barely even acknowledged him, too caught up in his own thoughts.

“I know it isn’t ideal,” I tried, giving the sheriff a slight smile. “Having both Merle and I here might make things… uncomfortable for a little while. But, I can assure you we will both –” I glanced over my shoulder pointedly at Merle before looking back to Rick “– make an effort to keep the peace.”

His gaze never once strayed from either Merle or I, his body almost rigid as he took in a long, steadying breath and pursed his lips in thought. A few tense moments of silence passed before, finally, he nodded.

It was slight and barely discernible, and he definitely didn’t stick around to further clarify, turning immediately to open the door and storm inside. I took it.

With an arrogant grin flashed in Merle’s direction, I began to follow the tense sheriff inside the prison walls. Merle himself was thankfully too relieved to even make a smartass remark – a miracle in and of itself.

We could stay. We weren’t exactly welcomed, but we could stay. And that was good enough for me.

#####

I should have known there’d be a downside.

A cage. Why I hadn’t seen Rick throwing Merle and I into a cell whilst he deliberated amongst his people was beyond me. I mean, it was prison. It was literally built for people like Merle and I. We’d slept the night on an uncomfortable concrete bench and neither of our moods were particularly better for it, but at least we’d had a roof over our heads.

The main room of the cellblock itself was made up of a series of circular tables and benches. A grated mezzanine ran along the side and back walls, ending with a pair of metal stairs on either end, and overlooking the cell built into the corner of the room beside the concrete stairs that lead up to the entryway.

It was from that cell tucked into the corner that Merle and I watched the remaining members of Rick’s group, where they were gathered a few feet away in the block’s main hall of cells. They were gearing up – as best they could with their limited resources.

Merle and I spoke in soft voices between ourselves, debating the numerous means the Governor would likely use to attack the prison next. He, of course, believed the Governor would come crashing through their one remaining gate and light up the place with all the firepower we had oh-so-generously gifted him with, killing everyone caught in the crossfire. I disagreed. He was a rash fool at times, that was true, and my grasp on the reality of his mindset was not what it had once been, but I had taught him a lot during our time together. The capacity to think like a sly, cunning assassin was buried barely an inch deep in that rotting mind of his.

He wouldn’t come crashing through their doors. Not yet, anyway. He still had an opportunity to manipulate this situation in his favour. Either to fix it and become the diplomatic hero, or to provoke it until he truly made villains of these people, enabling him to become the warrior hero.

It was difficult to discuss in depth, though, considering half my attention was divided between Merle and the conversation going on between Rick and the others. Their raised voices had effectively shut both Merle and I up, our nosey asses almost instantly tuning in to the unfolding argument.

No one particularly wanted either Merle or I there, which was understandable, but their main source of tension came from the undecided notion of what to do next. Leave or stay? Their group was split between the two.

They argued for a few more minutes before Merle felt the need to make an input. Because, really, whenever didn’t he?

“Better to live like rats,” he remarked, from behind his cell wall. Unironically.

“You got a better idea?” Rick asked, cocking a dark brow.

“Yeah,” Merle responded. “We should have slid out of here last night and lived to fight another day.”

I slowly rose from my sitting position, coming to stand beside him to look out through the wire wall before me at the group of people down the hall.

“But we lost that window, didn’t we?” Merle continued. “What do you think, Jacques? Reckon he got scouts on every road out of this place by now?”

“Likely,” I answered with a curt nod.

“We ain’t scared of that prick,” came Daryl’s voice from the second story row of cells. He was bending over the railing to look at us.

“Ya’ll should be,” Merle snorted, wrapping his fingers through holes in the mesh wire door of our cage. “That truck through the fence thing? That’s just him ringing the doorbell.”

I cringed slightly, knowing my part in that making the shadow of guilt begin to crawl up my throat.

“We might have some thick walls to hide behind, but he’s got the guns and he’s got the numbers,” Merle continued.

It was true and I nodded my agreement, mind racing with theories. “If he was smart,” I chimed in, leaning against the wire wall beside Merle. “All he’d have to do was take the high ground. Starve us out.”

The likelihood he’d think to wait us out was low to say the least, but it was worth saying. He’d never had much patience but guns and would-be soldiers? He certainly had those aplenty.

And we’d been the ones to give them to him.

“Hell,” Merle snorted after a moment of tense silence had settled. “Ya’ll should just be glad she’s here with me.” He jerked his head at me. “If he’d had her too, you’d all already be dead.”

I elbowed him in the ribs. Had he really needed to say that? Now everyone was looking at me.

“Can we put him in the other cellblock?” Maggie asked tautly.

“No,” Daryl answered. “He’s got a point.”

Maggie didn’t like that response – not that I really blamed her. She whirled around to face us, pointing a finger in our direction with a fierce scowl. “This is all you! You started this!”

From above her, at the beginning of the stairs, a thin blonde girl shouted, “What difference does it make whose fault it is?”

I concurred. We were all stuck in the same prison now, both literally and figuratively.

“What should we do?” asked the dainty woman with short, silver hair. Her voice was at odds with her appearance, stronger and clearer than her timid appearance claimed she was.

“I said we should leave,” the one-legged man sitting on the bottom of the staircase said harshly. “Now Axel’s dead. We can’t just sit here.”

Rick lifted a hand to rub his jaw before turning, pulling open the gate separating the hall and the main room and striding out toward the exit. The old man, clambering up onto his one good foot, a pair of old metal crutches tucked beneath his arms, began to follow him.

“Get back here!” he yelled, making half of us jump in surprise at the harshness of his voice.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, the young, dark-haired boy trailed after them, leaving six-and-a-half of the group behind.

I say six-and-a-half, you see, because, a little box by the edge of the staircase, I had learnt barely a few moments ago, contained a baby. An actual, tiny, newborn baby. It had given me such a shock when I’d heard the little one cooing in the middle of the night that I’d literally been unable to fall asleep. The young blonde girl, whose name I was pretty sure started with a “B”, had carried her down from the second story, bouncing her along in an attempt to calm her back down into a soft sleep. I’d been able to see her little face poking out from the edge of her pale pink blanket in the dim moonlight. She was a cute thing, content and pink-cheeked. I can’t believe Daryl hadn’t mentioned her. Had I known, I might have fought harder to go back with them when they had all been arguing by the roadside. We had children in Woodbury, that was true, and the idea that they could potentially get caught in the crossfire between Rick and the Governor made my heart ache. The youngest was four, a tiny little thing named Gretta. Gretta could run. A newborn baby could not.

Everyone seemed confused as to what to do next. Their aimless shuffling about reminded me of the biters.

I could hear the distant sound of Rick’s voice filtering in through the upper windows and spent a few moments attempting to tune into it, but it was just out of my range. The warmth of the mid-day sun upon the brick walls began to filter into the small, enclosed room. I loved the heat, thrived in it. But something about being stuck inside a cage, watching the heat waves distorting the concrete by feet made me begin to feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t claustrophobic in the least, but I wasn’t exactly made for captivity, either.

My leather jacket was beginning to choke me.

I lifted up my hands to undo the zip, pulling the sleeves free from my heavily tattooed arms and tossing it against the wall. It struck the concrete with a somewhat amusing sound before falling atop the bench that ran along the wall and flopping over it, onto the floor. The air caressed the bare skin left exposed by my black tank. I rolled my shoulder, my neck, and lifted my arms up to stretch.

God, I needed to get out of this cage.

As I lowered my arms, twisting back around to find Merle sneering at me, I felt the sensation of prying eyes off to my right. Before I could strike Merle across the back of the head, my attention was turned, and I caught Daryl’s eye mere seconds before he had a chance to jerkily avert his gaze. The red tint to his cheeks and the way he shuffled uncomfortably in his place, sitting upon one of the steps in the centre of the hall of cells, made me chuckle slightly under my breath.

Until I caught a second eye.

The timid-looking woman with grey hair had been partway through a hushed conversation with the younger Dixon, only to pause mid-word when she caught his gaze slipping elsewhere. She had followed his line of sight and was now surveying me from top to bottom with her eyes narrowed, more in thought than in suspicion. In fact, it was almost calculating.

I turned away.

#####

We were freed a short time later by the old man.

He didn’t speak to us, merely pulled a set of keys from his belt loop once he’d returned and unlocked the door before turning and hobbling back over to the row of cells, lowering himself down on one of the steps once again. The door between the main room and the cells was pushed closed behind him by Maggie.

So, we were free of one cage, only to be locked into another.

Whatever. It was their place and I had said I’d respect whatever means they felt they needed to take to be safe.

Unfortunately, this had given Merle quite a lot of room to make a nuisance of himself. He’d begun rummaging through their belongings almost immediately. I followed along behind him, more-so to keep him from doing anything too out of order, but also out of my own sense of curiosity.

They didn’t have much. Some old cans, a pot or two, and a handful of old milk cartons for water. A small collection of baby formula was tucked away inside one of the cupboards beneath the metallic shelving unit. My heart constricted at the sight of it. How long would that last them? Would they be able to prepare it on the road if they were forced to leave?

I shook my head to knock that train of thought off its tracks.

“You think they’ll make it?” Merle asked after a long stretch of silence. He was partway through trying to bend a piece of broken metal from the side of the staircase at the back of the room.

“Don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But I think they’ve gotten this far for a reason.”

Merle’s snort morphed into a grunt as he tried to pull at the sharp rod of metal to no avail. It was still partially welded onto the side of the step. With a sigh, I stepped forward and shooed him away. He gave me an agitated look before shuffling dejectedly to the side and allowing me to take his place.

“How do you know it ain’t just luck?” Merle responded, watching with his arms crossed over his chest as I reached out to grab the shard of metal.  

“Because,” I began, turning to look at him as I pulled the rod downwards, snapping it from its welding with a satisfying sound. “I saw this prison before they got here. It was overrun. They cleared it out.”

Merle’s face was a mixture of frustration and exasperation as I handed him the snapped piece of metal, but he took it with a shake of his head. I knew it irritated him that my strength surpassed his. It played on his male ego so much that he constantly tried to outdo me whenever he was given the opportunity. One time, he’d even challenged me to an arm wrestle.

I’d almost broken his arm.

“Then why’re they shittin’ their pants about that damn field?” Merle asked, grabbing the roll of duct-tape from the top of the shelving unit beside us and making his way back toward the cell we’d been freed from. “You and I would have a damn party out there.”

“You might, maybe,” I responded, following behind him with a grin. “I’d be too busy constantly saving your ass while you frolicked around, wondering why it was so damn easy.”

Merle paused mid-step to turn and look at me, brows furrowed. “Frolicked? Do I look like a damn fairy-boy to you?”

I blinked once at his choice of words, trying to hide my ironic grin before shaking my head once and stepping past him. Now that the cage door was open, the claustrophobic feeling I’d had was gone as I sat atop the concrete bench, pushing myself up into the corner where the wire wall met brick.

Merle took a seat next to me, putting his leg up and resting the metallic contraption on his forearm against his thigh. He put the piece of metal in his mouth – gross – as he began to line the metal in duct-tape, preparing to secure the sharp point where his hand used to be.

I was about to open my mouth to make a smartass comment when the door to the cellblock slammed open. Rick came waltzing back in, barely giving us a side-ways glance as he made his way back to the hall of cells where his people were still milling about.

He reached into the cell closest to the opened gate and pulled out a hunting rifle, handing it to Maggie. “Take watch,” he ordered. “Eyes open. Head down.”

She gave him a nod and left the building without question.

Rick continued toward the others, a hand on his hip as he announced, “Fields filled with walkers. I didn’t see any snipers out there, but we’ll keep Maggie on watch.”

Daryl made his way down from the second story mezzanine. “I’ll get up in the guard tower. Take out half these walkers, give these guys a chance to fix the fence.”

Michonne, who had been given much more leeway than either Merle or I, stood by the stair railing with her hands in the pockets of her tight jeans. “We could use some of the cars to put the bus in place.”

The old man, whose name I’d learnt from listening in was Hershel, stepped up beside Rick. “We can’t access the field without burning through our bullets.”

“So, we’re trapped here?” Glenn asked angrily.

I glanced sideways at Merle, wondering if their hushed voices were reaching his plainly human ears, but he was too invested in building his new toy to give me the slightest of hints one way or the other. Part of me was tempted to tell them to just let Merle and I out there. After all, the only one of them that actually seemed to care about our wellbeing was Daryl – and I say “our” loosely, considering the younger Dixon hadn’t exactly made his opinion of me quite clear. It made sense for them to send us, the disposable ones, out into that field to clear as many biters as we could before getting devoured. Not that we would, but from their point of view, it was a logical conclusion to draw.

I turned my head slightly to the side, tuning back into the conversation whilst also keeping half an eye on Merle and the pointy thing in his hand.

“There’s barely any food or ammo,” Glenn continued, growing more and more agitated as his words went on.

Daryl shrugged. “Been here before. We’ll be alright.”

“That was when it was just us!” Glenn’s voice was rising in volume. “Before there were snakes in the nest!”

Daryl’s head twisted to look at him, eyes narrowed in a near feral glare. “Man, we gotta go through this again?” he asked with a growl. “Merle and Jacques are stayin’. They’re with us now.” With a curled lip snarl, he turned away from Glenn and began to climb the staircase two steps at a time. “Get used to it. All ya’ll.”

Glenn watched him go for a moment before stepping up closer to Rick, voice low, no more than a hiss. “Seriously, Rick. I don’t think Merle living here is really gonna fly.”

“I can’t kick him out,” Rick responded, just as aggressively.

“I wouldn’t ask you to live with Shane after he tried to kill you,” Glenn spat.

That seemed to make Rick instantly uncomfortable. I watched him shuffle from foot to foot as he tried to process the best way to respond, though the old man, who had stepped up beside Glenn, beat him to it.

“Merle has military experience,” Hershel said softly. “And the girl’s proven herself to be capable.”

Glenn turned to look at him with a scowl.

“He may be erratic, and she may be unpredictable, but I wouldn’t underestimate their sense of loyalty. Merle, to his brother, and hers, to him.”

Seemingly ignoring Hershel’s wise words, Glenn turned back to look at Rick, his body language making it look as if he were about ready to enter into a fever. “What if we solve both problems at once?” he asked intensely. “Deliver Merle to the Governor. Bargaining chip. Give him his traitor, maybe declare a truce.”

I had to hold back a snort. If, after everything he’d witnessed the other night, he truly believed the Governor would honour any sort of agreement made between the Prison and Woodbury, he was a fool. This was more than just a territory dispute now. It was personal to him. He wouldn’t accept any half measures.

“You think the girl would just accept that?” Rick was asking, though his voice was low enough that I could only barely hear it over the sounds of Hershel’s crutches against the floor.

The old man was making his way over to us.

“We’d have to take her, too,” Rick hissed. “You think she deserves that?”

Glenn didn’t respond right away, giving Rick enough time to press it further, though whatever he said was lost as Hershel’s form took up the doorway to our cell.

My body tensed slightly without my provocation.

Merle glanced up, the old man’s proximity breaking through his focus. He’d made pretty good progress on the arm, having almost solidified the sharp metal at the tip of his stub with duct-tape.

“You’re the farmer,” Merle said in way of greeting, looking the old man up and down. “Hershel.”

Hershel smiled slightly and stepped further into the cell, lowering himself down onto the concrete bench to my left with a grunt. “And you’re the black sheep,” he responded without judgement. “Merle.”

He turned his attention to me, the kind eyes and soft smile he gave enabling my tensed muscles to relax and loosen. It had been a long time since I’d been treated with unmotivated kindness. I knew that was partially my own fault, due to my somewhat aggressive personality, but it was still nice to see a pure, good natured kindness in a stranger’s eyes when he looked upon me, instead of the judgemental, perverted, or scornful looks I often received.

“You’re… Jack, was it?” the old man asked politely.

“Jacques,” I answered, inflecting the French pronunciation with a grin. “Synnove le Jacques.”

Hershel’s smile widened beneath his unruly white beard. “That’s a pretty name. Interesting.”

I breathed out a small chuckle. “My, uh, Mother. She had a pretty strong ancestry back to the Vikings – hence the Synnove. And my… Her husband, he was from a French family. So… le Jacques.”

Speaking of my adoptive parents had always been a sensitive subject for me. It made me uncomfortable at the best of times and miserable at the worst.

Hershel nodded along. If he noticed the way I somewhat stumbled over the mention of my adoptive father, he didn’t let on. “And where are you from?” he asked, though it sounded as if he already knew the answer.

It wasn’t hard to guess, after all. My accent was still quite strong, even after I’d spent the last few years surrounded by Americans. “Australia,” I answered, anyway, with a small, sad smile.

“Your parents, too?”

“Yeah. They were.”

Hershel’s smile dropped slightly. “I take it they are no longer with us?”

“Haven’t been for more than a decade,” I answered simply.

He gave me that soft, apologetic look most folks gave when you informed them that your parents had died when you were young. “I’m sorry to hear.”

My shoulders rose in a half-hearted shrug and I averted my gaze. Even after all these years, it was still difficult for me to talk about my adoptive parents. Speaking about my biological ones wasn’t much better, either. The subject was a sore spot and Merle knew me well enough to push the old man into a different conversation.

“How’d you lose it?” he asked, jerking his head toward Hershel’s missing leg.

The old man’s smile returned slightly, though it was somewhat sad as he looked down at the stub below his knee. “I was bit.”

“Bit?” Merle echoed, blinking once in surprise. “Hack it off yourself?”

I felt myself cringing at the thought.

“No,” Hershel answered, leaning back against the metal wall behind him. “Rick did.”

“Awfully kind of him,” Merle said with a condescending snort.

I gave him a side-eye that he promptly ignored.

Hershel didn’t seem bothered by it, though. “He saved my life,” he said with a soft, patient tone.

My respect for him grew. Being patient whilst holding a conversation with Merle was akin to walking on water in my book.

Merle snorted at Hershel’s response, but the old man merely leant forward and looked at him.

“He gave me more time with my girls,” he stated simply. “Gave the both of you more time with each other, and you with your brother.” He leant back again. “Can’t put a price on that.”

“Can’t put a price on anything, anymore,” Merle muttered to himself as he averted his gaze from the old man and stared down at the haphazardly designed metal on his forearm.

I watched him silently for a moment with a frown whilst Hershel reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. The sounds of fabric against skin was oddly stark in the settling silence. Glancing back toward the old man, I watched him pull a small, pocket-sized black book from the inside of his jacket lining and bring it to rest upon in his lap.

I’d never been a religious person – how could I and still do what I do? – but I knew a bible when I saw one.

“I found this in one of the cells,” Hershel said softly to neither of us in particular. “Lost more than the Good Book there for a while. Lost my way.” He took a long, steadying breath before using his forefinger to pull the book open, looking down at the small text with a small, content smile on his lips. “And if your right hand offends you, cut it off, cast it from you, for it is profitable that one of your members should perish –“

“– And not that thy whole body should be cast into hell,” Merle finished for the man, looking up at him with a smug smirk. “Matthew 5:29 and 30.”

Hershel looked a little taken aback by Merle’s reciting and I found myself chuckling under my breath.

That man was, indeed, full of surprises.

“Woodbury had a damn fine library,” he explained, his tone much lighter than it had been before. “One of the only things I miss about it.”

“Hot showers,” I remarked, looking to the ceiling with a dreamy look on my face.

Merle clicked his tongue. “Oh, hell yeah.”

“Fresh apples. Oh, and how could we forget, Roger’s moonshine?”

Merle let out a chuckle at that. “That was some damn fine mix.”

We grinned at one another silently for a moment before I looked up at Hershel and saw the slight frown pulling down his bushy white brows. The disapproval in his eyes almost made me feel guilty. I understood, of course. Reminiscing about a life we’d lost wouldn’t serve anyone.

“Too bad about that megalomaniac, though, huh?” I added with a light-hearted shrug. “Those bastards ruin everything.”

The wide grin on Merle’s face faded much quicker than I would have liked as he turned and gave me a perplexed look of contemplation. Hershel and I both waited silently, watching the wheels in his head turn as his frown deepened.

“He’ll be gunning for you,” Merle said to me after a moment. “You know that, don’t you? He’s gotta take out the biggest threat first.”

I met his gaze evenly. “I’d say he’d know better than to try, but these days he has more ego than sense.”

It was a possibility I’d known to expect. The Governor knew too much about me. He knew of my previous profession; knew of the things I was capable of. He’d witnessed it himself, both outside the gates and within, during Game Night. Since we had begun the admittedly somewhat twisted weekly tradition, I’d remained undefeated. I was quick, strong, and trained to kill. At the beginning, my lethality had unnerved Philip, but the Governor had seen the advantages of having someone like me by his side. Saw it as his greatest weapon.

Now, I was his greatest concern.

He knew, if I were so inclined, I could get into Woodbury undetected and move through the town like a ghost in the shadows. He knew I could easily scale the side of the town hall and reach his window. And he knew, better than almost anyone, that I could certainly find a new home for a knife in the base of his throat.

It stood to reason that he would plan to eliminate me from the board as soon as possible. After all, I’d been the one that taught him to always target the biggest threat first.

“I’ll deal with what comes,” I stated lightly, giving Merle what I hoped was a confident smile. “Always do.”

Merle nodded, giving me a lingering look that almost seemed like concern before turning back to Hershel. “I’ll be next,” he guessed. “Michonne, my brother. Then your girls. Glenn, Carl, the baby, whoever the hell else is left. He’ll save Rick for last, so he can watch his family and friends die ugly. That’s the kind of man you’re dealing with.”

I nodded along with a deep sigh, feeling the warmth of shame begin to build in the pit of my stomach. It disturbed me more than words could express that I had served under the Governor’s rule for as long as I had, as if I’d been too comfortable in my little slice of his world to wake up and see what he had really become. As if, suddenly, I’d blinked and the man standing before me was no longer the soft-hearted Phil I’d known since the beginning.

When had he become “the Governor” to me? At what point had I even stopped calling him by his name? I should have stopped myself then. I should have known better. I’d been trained to know better. When had I lost my damn sight?

It was the not knowing that irritated me the most. There was a moment, somewhere in time, that I had actively chosen to ignore the red flags in favour of my own safety and comfort.

The army men by the roadside should have been the moment I left. When he ordered us to gun them down, and we’d obeyed with little thought. Sure, when I’d noticed one of them had survived, partially hidden behind their truck, I’d done my best to save him – told him to run and tried to distract the Governor so he wouldn’t notice. But he had. And the moment he spotted him, he turned and lifted his hand, shooting the boy in the back. There had been no emotion on his face, no hesitation. A simple and smooth execution.

I’d seen it, then. As if waking from a trance. Seen that something about this man before me was… corrupted.

I remembered feeling a dull sense of regret. Guilt for being the one that had taught him to shoot, that had enabled his violent streak purely for my own benefit. That was when I should have left. But I’d somehow convinced myself that it was a one-off happenstance, that no one else other than Martinez even remotely took my concerns seriously, so surely it was all in my head, right?

But since that day, I had been unable to look at him the same. Every move he made, every word he spoke, I began to analyse. And then, that night with Glenn and Maggie…

If I had left that day by the roadside, Maggie never would have had to live through that. And I hated myself for it.

[vamprnce]

Gatboss week day 3: Blood

Boss promised he'd take a bullet for any of the Saints, he always keeps his promises

(blood and violence warning for this one of course)

ao3 | Day 1 - Day 2

Shots rang out everywhere, a big mess of a gang fight was happening, everyone clashing together and falling. It felt like a tiny war was happening right now. Boss was mowing through majority of the rival gang members with such swiftness, he was used to handling big crowds of people attacking and shooting at him alone. Johnny, Shaundi and Pierce were back up plus a whole shit load of other Saints that were called in. Boss effortlessly managed to shoot at targets with his AR-50 XMAC and dodge returning bullets fastly flying towards him. He was such a sharp shooter in battle, accuracy on point and never missed a shot when in focus. It was like watching a god work if you had time to sit and watch him in action, he was majestic honestly.

Boss did get hit heavily in this fight but he wasn't out yet, he managed to get cover behind one parked car, still shooting. He lined up his aim leaning over the hood of the car and shot at least five people in one go before dropping down for cover to reload. Johnny made his way over towards where he was covering, squatting down beside him.

Man, ain't Johnny a beast in the thick of the battle either. Large automatic rifle in one hand mowing down the poor fuckers who thought it was a good idea to step up to the Saints. "Yo, Boss you okay?" Johnny asked, looking him over and seeing blood run down his left arm plus other blood marks on his shirt. Chris clicked in the new magazine with shaky hands, either from some blood loss or just high adrenaline -- who knows maybe both. His face was serious as always when he's gunning down people but the tone in his voice always never matched.

"Yeah, just fucking peachy." He said, sarcasm in his tone, his body took a lot of damage and just sitting there for a couple of minutes he can feel it all over, he was throbbing. His arm was so sore and his side ached horribly, but he had to keep going, backing down from a fight wasn't something he does and he's not gonna start now. He poked his head out to look around the corner and saw a lot of the rival gang just scattered including his own but a group a few yards away were in front of them shooting at someone else, totally blind to notice them. He chuckled at how stupid they are. He looked back behind him to see Johnny there, looking ready as ever, that made his confidence grow. "I'll start shooting and you cover me, alright?" Chris said, Johnny nodded at him in agreement readying his gun to shoot.

Chris stood up and shot at the gang of assholes on their turf, stepping out away from the car. Johnny followed suit, shooting as back up cover. The group crashed down to the ground like a sack of bricks immediately. "Nice one, Boss!" Johnny came up to stand more closer to him giving him a quick high five, Chris high fived back slightly smiling. He looked around the area and the color he saw most was purple, and that made him happy to see, they were winning as usual. They were still some dumbasses who didn't get the message and still continued to fight back, he had to hand it to them they were pretty fucking bold. He saw Shaundi and Pierce taking the reins this time, surprisingly actually working together instead bickering at together, maybe being in the action you forget about killing each other. He was proud of them, they grew up a lot through these past months.

Everyone was busy shooting at someone, Chris was aiming at someone until he caught something in the corner of his eye. Someone hidden way in the back from everyone, he was aimed at Johnny ready to shoot, no one else saw him for some reason. Everything went in slow motion at that point, the gun went off and Johnny was aimed in another direction, he would definitely get hit. He had to do something, his eyes widen and it felt like he stopped breathing during that whole minute. Not hesitating, he ran straight towards Johnny as the bullet flew closer, pushing him hard out of the way the bullet struck his stomach instead. He winced as a sharp pain filled his body before he collapsed to the ground.

"Boss?!" The other two yelled, witnessing their own boss fall to the ground in horror.

Johnny groaned rubbing his head when he hit the ground. "Motherfucker." He propped himself up off the ground to see the Boss lying facedown on the pavement. Something striked painfully in his chest as he looked at his motionless body. He was at his side in a flash, every thought ran through his head making him not able to think straight. Did he got shot? Is he dead? Don't fucking dare tell me he's dead. Did he really took a bullet for me? These thoughts ran through his mind quickly, panic settling in him and making his heart race rapidly.

Shaundi and Pierce made their way over as Johnny carefully rolled him over on his back, he was met with moaning and a lot of blood rushing out of his gut. Johnny's stomach dropped witnessing him like that, all he could think to do is press his hands on the wound to stop the bleeding, making Chris groan loudly with the pain. He was conscious, thank god, but he was really out of it and mumbling something incoherent.

The other two watched not knowing what to do exactly, seeing their leader injured left them standing there helpless. Johnny's anger rise fast. "What are you guys fuckin' standing there for?! Help get him to the car!" Johnny yelled loudly, making the two flinch for a second. "The cops are gonna come soon, we gotta go quickly." Johnny lifted up his upper body as Pierce lifted up his legs, both carrying and hurrying to the car, Shaundi was close behind running near them. Chris' head lulled to the side as they carried him, eyes closed and blood dripping down the side of his mouth.

They got him to the car, lying him down in the backseat. Shaundi was back there with him, she pressed down some cloth on the wound to keep the blood from rushing. Johnny jumped in the driver's seat and Pierce in the passagers, ready to keep look out for anyone who wants to tail them. Leaving when some stragglers were left was unusual for them but they had to act fast, killing all of them were useless. Johnny sped fast towards the Purgatory instead, going straight to the hospital was risky since some gang members could be following them. He doesn't want that repeating again. He'll get help there and be save, at least they had some medical help.

------

Chris woke up suddenly to so many voices arguing about something he couldn't make out, his head hurt so much to process anything. His heavy lidded eyes slowly opened and he saw Johnny standing next to the bed on the right side of him, Shaundi and Pierce were standing at the end. He noticed that they all were in his room finally. "The fuck you guys yelling for?" Chris groans, making everyone stop what they were doing. "Why am I in bed?" He looks around more trying to remember what happened.

"Boss, your okay!" Shaundi exclaimed happily with relief.

"Yo, can guys head outside, I wanna talk to the Boss alone." Johnny ordered, his voice sounded like he wasn't as happy as Shaundi. Pierce and Shaundi left quickly after. As the door clicked shut Johnny stood facing towards Chris, face showing he was in fact pissed off. "Quick question, are you really that stupid? The fuck is the matter with you that you lunge yourself in front of a fuckin' bullet?!" Johnny was seething. Chris slowly propped himself so he was sitting up, he didn't understand why he was so angry at him for, it made him frown back at him. "Jeez, maybe because you'd be the one in this bed instead of me, dumbass." Chris bites back. Johnny exhaled loudly rubbing his hands on his face, messing up his glasses. "Well you didn't have to go and get shot because of me!" Johnny yelled.

Chris didn't respond, he was distracted as he was trying to fix the pillow behind him to get more comfortable. "You really are an idiot." Johnny sighed, stomping towards him, lifting the pillow and fixing it for him, huffing. Chris leaned back into the fluffy pillow, a bit stunned that Johnny would help him even though he's yelling at him. "Thanks." He said softly. He then grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer to him, before he tried to pace around his room to yell at him some more. "Look, I promised I'd take a bullet for any of my Saints, especially for you and I always keep my promises." Chris said quietly looking up at Johnny.

Johnny stared down at him, not knowing what to say after that, he couldn't believe he'd just throw himself in front of bullets like that even for him. He is so stupid. "Just don't do that again, smartass." He grunts, still feeling mad about what he did and at himself. Chris rubbed his hand up and down on his arm as Johnny sat on the bed next to him. "I won't, I promise. Hey, you wanna take a peak?" Chris says as he carefully lifted his shirt showing his bandages wrapped around his stomach, there was one wrapped on his bicep, too. Johnny leaned closer to look at them, his heart stung staring at it, making him sigh. "Does it hurt?" Johnny asked, not looking away. "It's a bit sore, but I'm fine." Chris said, smiling at him. He looked tired and a like wreck.

"You need anything, want something to eat?" Johnny asked.

"I can go for some fries and a blunt if I'm gonna be honest." Chris laughed, settling down more in the covers, fatigue starting to take him over.

Johnny leaned over him to kiss him, Chris kissed back eagerly, putting both his hands on his cheeks, pulling him closer into the kiss. Johnny could feel him smiling, making all his previous anger melt away.

[crisp-ofhurricane]

Why not?

We are one of those couples who probably will make strangers cringed a little bit when we’re talking about our relationship, because they don’t know the real us.

We definitely are not famous like YouTubers or your favorite stars in social media or indie movies, but we do live happily because of each other.

AR and i were having casual conversations last week and i know that he is a sucker for festivity like ramadan, lebaran, new year’s eve, and so on. I acknowledge that we are too cheesy to be true but many times of what he said still caught me off guard.

“Did you realize this is the last ramadan we gotta spend as a single? Next ramadan we will be living in the same roof,” he uttered.

I couldn’t help my thin lips bitten. I felt, still do, excited and terrified at the same time.

“Ha-ha, i know! Isn’t it crazy? How a flash moment of exchanging vows becomes such a big milestone in our lives. But oh wait..” i responded.

“What?” he asked.

“Does that mean i have to start waking up earlier than you so i can prepare anything like cooking you food for sahur? Well i guess,” i answered, with gigantic smirk on my face.

“Ha-ha, i can’t imagine how fun it will be, sleeping next to you and then you wake me up with table set full of food for sahur. But you know what, as long as we still have bibi, you don’t have to sweat that much,” he said.

The gap between my drawing brows started to wrinkle. Suddenly i felt more terrified.

“Wait, no. I still have to cook for you. At least bibi and i will cook in the kitchen,” i corrected him, and murmurred, “and i secretly hope you would help us as well.”

We laughed. And then he stressed his point again.

“No, seriously. If you feel like it would be so hard for you because i know you can be exhausted from working, we can ask bibi to cook,” he stated.

“What? Please, no. You might not realize it but i don’t do it just because i have to. I will cook and whatever that is, because i want to. Maybe to kiss your ass for a bit, but honestly i want to learn a lot — cooking, preparing stuff, and be discipline,” i explained.

Before my smartass wisdom being cut off with his argument, i continued, “i know for now cooking with you is more fun, but i still want to be independent too in the future marriage.”

Thank god he didn’t replied with “but, why?”