#Goons: *screaming crying vomiting-*

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 310

Shadow core Danny? Shadow core Danny with Hazmat AU? Indeed, with a hint of a twist. 

See that hazmat helmet beneath the hood? Yeah that’s erm, that might be his actual face now. It might be able to split open into a proper maw, as he found out during one of the early fights. He thinks it might be a shadow-core thing though, because Fright Knight has something similar, along with the Keeper. Who's apparently a ghost that keeps track of other shadow-ghosts, which, cool. Cool library covered in flesh, nothing spooky there. 

He mentions this? Because apparently even if all ghosts partially feed on emotions, shadow cores need Fear the most. Which, thankfully shadow cores are apparently more rare than he’d expect, so he’s not going to go into a territorial frenzy or something on a bad day, yay! 

But uh, he might… count as a ghostling since he’s only a year dead- in fact he’ll continue to be as such until he’s at least 100 years dead, since he didn’t die as an adult. Which in turn… means he needs even more fear, at least until he’s old enough to generate it on his own. 

So what’s a ghostling to do? Take a trip to one of the most fear-soaked cities in the world, y’know, just a little weekend trip every month. Gotham isn’t that bad, and he can stay invisible- mostly! What’s going to happen, he run into a vigilante? Ha… oh no.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for vomiting on someone and trying to make up for it?

For the record I was heavily inhebriated and I was already off-the-hook with it. I threw up on my pal, A and he had a real nice leather jacket on. Stomach acid mixed with leather didn't go well and it discolored it. So, A, being my friend, yelled at me despite my mouth being filled with round two of the nights shots.

I threw up again on him.

Thoroughly dried out of all stomach acids, he was screaming and I was out of it. "Fucking cunt ruined my jacket," and so on, so on. He starts getting mental, reminding me of shit and me, in my drunken haze, ends up pulling out a pocket knife and I get violent.

Fastforward a few minutes later, he backs off, I'm right back to drinking and he comes back with his goon squad of friends. I bring in my fucking wife, B, for whatever reason and she starts blabbering and all I can hear is droning, droning, droning, buzzing, while I'm slamming down shots since it was free-drink-night (I mean, who wouldn't?)

My wife starts tugging at me like, "Hey, we NEED to get out of here you're drunk and that's not good."

Obviously, I say no and she gives up. She throws her hands up and shrugs.

I pull A aside and I'm like, "Okay, hear me out, I didn't mean to vomit on you, you did deserve the switchblade, but I can apologize!" And I offer to take him home with me. We're both men. Me and A have had our share of physical relations, and I've had a history of sex work. He declines, respectfully, and I move on. A few minutes later, I start crying, not because he declined me but because I ruined his jacket and I didn't want to ruin our friendship.

I stumble to him and I just hug him (for the record, he's tried to clean all the vomit off of himself and he's done a damn good job of it), and he pushes me away and laughs it off. I cry even harder and beg him not to leave me.

Am I the asshole? A and I haven't really talked much since then (last weekend) and It's been on my mind a lot. I feel kind of shitty but I also want to strangle the prick. Thanks!

What are these acronyms?

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Would you mind doing something like a drugging? Numbness, weak muscles the whole shebang.

Thank you!

I assume you mean as in an anesthetic type of drug and 'how a character would react / what they would do in different scenarios? since I'm otherwise not a licensed medical professional and wouldn't be certain if my take on how each drug affects each organ or how things work in terms of anatomy-wise would be a hundred percent correct.

different ways characters could do / react — topic: anesthesia

trigger warnings for drugs, mention of vomit

Whumper

whumper watched as their goons held whumpee in place. one of them injected the sharp needle into whumpee’s neck. when they let go, whumpee dropped to the ground with a single thud, paralyzed.

whumper knelt down and ran a hand through drugged and paralyzed whumpee’s hair. whumpee was still conscious, but couldn’t respond or fight back. the only thing they could do was look up at whumper, from where they lied on the ground, with either fear or hatred in their eyes.

whumper held whumpee’s head in place with one hand (although whumpee is already strapped down to the surgical table), the other placed an anesthetic-filled mask over whumpee’s face, holding it there until whumpee’s struggle became weaker and weaker, before unconsciousness eventually crept in.

whumper held a struggling whumpee from behind, forcing a cloth over whumpee’s nose and mouth until the drug kicked in and whumpee became a dead weight in whumper’s arms

things whumper could say to whumpee when whumpee was half-conscious, on the verge of drifting off, but could still hear whumper’s words;

“shhh, you know I never wanted to do this. you gave me no other choice.”

“this is for your own good.”

“not so feisty now, are we?”

“goodnight.”

“sweet dream. when you wake, the procedure will already be over and you will know exactly what I’m capable of doing to your body.”

“hush now, little one, you’ve lost. there’s no use in trying to fight”

“don’t fight it. it’ll be easier for you if you surrender.”

things whumper could say to whumpee once whumpee woke up

“why don’t you take a look in the mirror?”

“see? that wasn’t a big deal.” (whumper taunted after amputating, maiming or doing some major damage to whumpee’s body)

“this, my dear, is only a warning of what I can and will do to you if you ever disobey me again.”

“hush now, don’t cry. you know I don’t like it when people cry. wouldn’t want me to put you under again, would you?”

Whumpee

whumpee felt groggy, feeling consciousness slip away no matter how hard they tried to stay awake.

the worst wasn’t the stage being drugged but the fear of what condition they would wake up and find themself in.

whumpee wasn’t being heavily sedated enough — whether it was by accident or on purpose — so they could feel that excruciating pain as a surgery was being operated on them, they just couldn’t scream or fight.

after the procedure, whumpee tried to stand up or get out of bed too fast, resulting in them falling to the floor. this could reopen their stitches. not good.

things whumpee could say to whumper before they lost consciousness:

“I will… kill you. one day. I will… make you pay”

“please, don’t…”

“why are you… doing this?”

things whumpee could say to caretaker before they lost consciousness

“I’m scared…”

“if I don’t… wake up, don’t… be sad. you did… your best.”

“don’t let me die.”

things whumpee could say to whumper after they woke up

“what… have you done… to me?” (whumpee was still weak and groggy from the drug.)

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!” (whumpee started screaming, pulling frantically at their restraint.)

things whumpee could say to caretaker after they woke up

“did it… work?”

“hey…” (whumpee smiled weakly)

“am I dead?”

“what… happened? where am I?”

“It… hurts.”

Caretaker

caretaker held whumpee’s hand to comfort them as they drifted off.

caretaker cradled whumpee in their arms as they drifted off.

caretaker carrying a sedated (unconscious or half-conscious) whumpee bridal style after they rescued them from whumper’s lair.

caretaker fed whumpee syringe water, or held the straw for whumpee as they gently lifted whumpee’s head off the pillow with their free hand, to help the drug wear off of whumpee’s system faster.

caretaker rushed toward whumpee to scoop them off the ground after whumpee tried to stand or get out of bed too soon and fell, when the sedation was still in their system.

caretaker rubbed soothing circles on whumpee’s back as whumpee vomited due to the drug’s side effects.

caretaker comforted whumpee the best they could when / if whumpee suffered from hallucination.

things caretaker could say to whumpee before they lost consciousness

“I’ll be by your side. I won’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“you got this.”

“I know this is scary, but I’ll be with you throughout the entire thing. you won’t be alone, alright?”

“I’m right here. I will not let anyone hurt you.”

things caretaker could say to whumpee after they woke up

“welcome back. you were so brave.”

“everything went well. now you just rest.”

“shhh, you’re gonna be okay.”

“you don’t have to worry about anything else. right now I just want you to focus on getting better.”

“hush, I’m right here. I’m right here. it’s alright, it’s just me.”

“they can’t hurt you again. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

[thesunshineriptide]

Twisted Wonderland Whumptober

October 6th - Ransom Video - Leona

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Farena Kingscholar, nameless goons?

Cw// bleeding, vomit, crying, distress, torture, kidnapping, whump, muzzling, general bad times, psychological breakdown

Rating: R for graphic nature and violence

The cold splash of water, icy and frigid as it his him, snapped Leona to his senses quickly. His ears swiveled to and fro as he looked up, attempting to stretch, only to find he was tightly bound so very little movement could occur.

He let out a low growl, glaring at anything he could see - which wasn’t much, his vision was blurry. He felt bile rising in his throat and he shook, feverish and cold at once.

“King Farena.” He heard a voice say. He looked up, blinking slowly at the general vicinity. “You see he’s quite safe, yes? For now, at least…” the voice let out a sinister chuckle, and Leona growled even louder.

Something was clamped around his neck and mouth, and he squirmed against it. He couldn’t see well what it was but-

“Bad animals get muzzled. After all, a lions jaw strength is quite considerable. We couldn’t have you harming your benevolent hosts, could we?”

His gaze would cut glass pristinely as he watched the blurry figure of the man pace back and forth. There were blinding lights behind him, making the silhouette of him seem even darker.

“Prince Leona will remain safe so long as you wire the money to us in a timely fashion. Every hour wasted deliberating is time he’ll spend being…” he paused, and Leona could see the glint of his teeth, “Well, I suppose you’ll find out what happens then, won’t you?” He came over to grab Leona’s muzzle, tugging the prince closer, “Behave and we might let you off easy. If not…a lion’s fur goes for quite a lot these days.”

Leona grunted and tried to tug himself back as the man laughed and turned back to the camera, “You have 24 hours. After that, he’s dead.”

Leona had no choice but to let himself be carried out of the room and foisted onto a metal table. It clattered under him with the force, and he tried to kick himself back off of it but failed.

The muzzle was taken off for a few moments, and something was shoved into Leona’s mouth. Water. He guzzled it down greedily, only to have it ripped from him far too soon.

“Now, now, not too much. You’ll just throw it up again if you drink too fast, Kingscholar.” A voice cooed. He felt a hand on his head, “Hmm. Perhaps just a little too much holly berry. I had no idea you’d be so sensitive to it.”

Leona jerked away, but the man held a tight grip on his ear, laughing. “Hold still, now, your highness. You’d like to keep both ears, wouldn’t you?”

“Get your filthy hands off of m-“

“I guess if you can’t behave, the muzzle will have to stay on. It’s a shame, I would have loved to hear your screams.”

And thus, the muzzle was back on, much to Leona’s rage.

He had no time to contemplate how badly he wanted to bite them, because soon enough his shirt was pulled up. It raised an eyebrow, but even faster was the feeling of searing against his skin. He grunted, trying to squirm, but he was kept firmly in place. He looked down to find a man - he couldn’t tell which one, they looked all the same - with a branding iron pressed against him.

The feeling of vomit crept up his throat again as he held back a scream. The iron was removed quickly, and he almost was relieved (if not for the fact that his muzzle was now filled with clear-ish pink bile) until he felt the cold stinging of ice against his fresh burn.

“I do hope for your sake that the King completes our request soon.” The man’s voice rang out, distant to Leona, but he could feel his breath against his cheek, “My boys have trained for a long time to deal with animals like you. This is just them warming up, so I’d recommend you get comfortable.”

Seven hours in, Leona begins to cry. He can feel every injury but can barely register what’s going on. There’s gross, thick snot running down his cheek, there’s sobs breaking free from his throat. He can feel blood running from his back, pouring onto floor. The table was long since forgotten after branding got little reaction from him. The concrete is cold, and almost soothing. Leona wishes, selfishly, more than anything that he had stayed in bed last night, that he hadn’t aided Ruggie’s cry for help. That he hadn’t been stupid enough to get caught by trained, expert bounty hunters.

Thirteen hours in, he stops reacting again. The tears stopped flowing from dehydration. His skin is warm and vomit flows out of his muzzle like a river, pink and clear and sometimes yellow and sometimes deep crimson. He shakes as he feels chains clamp down and the muzzle being removed, doesn’t react when he feels a potato sack being thrown over his head. He barely registers the feeling of being lifted and carried, the feeling of a van beneath him, the sound of the road.

Fourteen hours in, he feels Farena’s hands removing the bag. There’s the sound of sirens somewhere nearby. Leona is limp, but conscious, when Farena holds him close, sobbing apologies into his hair. He’s stroking his ears like when they were children and Leona was afraid of a storm. He looks nearby to see his sister-in-law holding her baby son. Leona stares when the baby begins to cry, turning away to hide his face in his mother’s chest.

He laughs a little, humorless and maniacal, watching his brother’s face contort from concern to fear. Farena holds Leona closer as the prince slips unconscious. The sirens have arrived, and Leona has no more strength to stay awake.

[supercorpkid]

You’re going to wish you were dead, instead.

Part 4 of T is for Trauma - The Series

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2370.

Warnings: kidnapping. Injuries. Next level angst.

Previously on the series – part 1, part 2, part 3

You open your eyes when someone kicks your stomach twice. You can’t control the vomit that comes right after, when your body finally understands that you’re up.

“Gross! Boss! The child threw up on my feet.” He walks away from you.

You want to appreciate that fact that you just did something to one of them, but everything hurts so much, like your skin is being peeled off of your body, that right now your only wish is that you could just die already so you don’t have to feel this unbearable pain anymore. Never in your worst nightmares, you’ve imagined you could feel so much pain you would wish you were dead instead.

“Stupid shit doesn’t die of over-exposure. It’s been hours! Maybe we should just shoot her, so she can bleed out to death.” One of them says and you pray they’re being serious.

“Please.” You plead. “End this.”

The boss kneels in front of you, with a creepy satisfied smile on his face. He looks behind him, to the other guys, and starts laughing like you just told the funniest joke in the world. His goons start laughing with him.

“I’m not going to end this. I wouldn’t want to stop all this fun you’re having!” He stands up, the same creepy smile still on his lips. “You know, you Kryptonians are funny. You act like Gods deciding everyone’s fate with some kind of morality no one even knows if you actually have. So, you’re ok with putting us through pain, but you can’t take any?”

“They are some weak Gods.” One of his henchmen says, and he looks back like he is telling him to shut up.

“Your world exploded for a reason. No kryptonian was supposed to survive. But then Supergirl and Superman came to Earth. Now, they are here dictating rules, expecting everyone to follow them. Who do they think they are? Those cockroaches.” He spits on the floor next to you, and you feel saliva hitting your face. “They’re not even supposed to exist, let alone procreate.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” You whimper, and he gives his maniac laughter again.

“I’ll do you a solid though, just because you’re just a little kid.” He raises a hand and quickly one of his goons puts a gun in his hand. He points at your leg. “I’ll make a little hole, to accelerate your dying process, ‘kay?” And he shoots your leg.

You scream as loud as you can, with all the strength still left in you. You thought you were already in so much pain because of the kryptonite, that this wouldn’t add up and you wouldn’t feel any more. You were wrong. The pain piled up on top of each other. So right now, the inside of your body is agonizing, your leg is burning and you’re bleeding out. Is this pain going to go on forever? It sure feels like it, because no matter how much you pray for it, you’re still not dead.

No, you’re not dead. You’re just lying there in your own vomit and blood, thinking about how much you want this nightmare to end, one way or another, when you hear gunshots. You close your eyes, thinking they’ve changed their minds and decided to shoot you multiple times to end your pain, but you don’t feel anything.

“Supergirl, I’ve been expecting you.” What? You open your eyes when you hear that. You can’t see her, the boss is in front of you with his body, but you get a glimpse of red and your heart beats faster. “As you can see, I have kryptonite and your daughter. Now, would you-”

“FUCK YOU!” She flies towards him with her closed fist, throwing him to the other side of the room. You can’t see him, but you know there’s no way he can recover fast from that. Kara kneels before you, and rips the chains with her hands, tossing the kryptonite to the other side of the room, like it doesn’t even affect her anymore. And if it does, it’s not as painful as seeing your situation.

You thought that once you were free of kryptonite, the pain would go away. It didn’t. Your body still feels like it is up in flames. Kara touches your face, you whimper. You can’t barely make up her face with your one functioning eye, but you see your pain reflected on her face.

She is still kneeling next to you, when she hears a noise coming from where she threw the guy. She blows her freeze breath, holding him back a little. Kara looks around, like she’s looking for something.

“I’ll be right back, my love. Ok? Momma is here.” She disappears right after, but comes back a few seconds later, hair blowing, and even though you didn’t see a thing, you know she just used her super speed.

“Mommy. I’m dying.” You whisper and Kara holds you up, carrying you in the most protective way she can.

“Shhh. You’re ok. Mommy is here. You’re ok.” Kara looks around again and you see aunt Alex going inside the room with the biggest gun you’ve ever seen. “He’s tied up in the corner.”

“J’onn and I got this. Take her to the DEO and put her under the sun light lamp, I’ll be there in a few.” Alex goes to the other side of the room, but you still can hear her. “Oh, you thought it was funny shooting my niece? I’ll show you funny!”

You don’t hear anything else. Kara is flying with you back to National City, and you look up to her. Hair flying in the wind, tears dropping from her eyes, she can’t take her eyes off you.

“I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe, baby.” She gives you the saddest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Mommy, I’m dying.” You repeat very slowly, because you don’t have any strength left to speak, and you know Kara can hear you either way. And you need her to know. She needs to know you’re probably not going to make it.

“No, you’re not. You’re ok. We’re going home, ok? We’re almost there. Mommy is here with you and your mom is waiting for you. You’re ok, baby.” Kara is crying so hard you barely make out what she’s saying.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I love you.”

“I love you, little one. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry.” She keeps repeating that until you close your eyes. You can finally let go, you said everything. She knows you’re sorry, she knows you love her. So, you stop fighting the inevitable.

You thought you would die. You wished you had died. But you’re still here. You hear voices and you feel hands on your body. Someone’s touching your leg, it hurts like a bitch. Someone is squeezing your hand, it’s reassuring. Someone’s kissing your forehead over and over again, it’s calming.

You keep waking up and blacking out. But you don’t think they know this, because you can’t talk, can’t open your eyes, can’t move your body. All you can do is feel pain.

“Baby, my baby. I know you can do this. You can come back to us, please, please. I love you so much, babygirl. You’re my everything.”

“Mom, why isn’t she up yet? It’s been days! You said she would be awake by now.”

“Jamie, I-I don’t… She will wake up, honey. Just give her time, she needs to rest.”

“No. No, mom. She’s supposed to be up by now! Bring her back! Do something!”

“I’ve done everything I can, Jam. Come on, honey. Let’s go. Come.”

“Alex, there must be something else we can do.”

“Kara, you know how much I want her back too, I just- I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands now.”

“I wish I could switch places with her.”

“I know, Kar. I know. Go home, you’ve been in here for days. Go see Lena. Go be with your wife.”

You keep wishing you were dead. But you don’t die, and you also don’t come back to life. You’re half alive, and that’s not enough for anyone.

“Hey, little one.” You hear softly, and your heart beats fast. For the first time you feel you have enough strength to do something. You need to let her know you’re still alive. “I brought donuts, and your homework again.”

You try to ask for food, because you’re starving, but you can’t talk.

“I’ve been doing your homework for the past two weeks, and I have to say, I don’t know how you do this. It’s so much stuff, and you still find time to work on your inventions, and go to trainings…”

Yep, your life’s not as easy as it seems.

“Oooh, want to have a laugh? Your teacher sent me your physics homework yesterday and I obviously didn’t know anything, so I asked your mom for help and guess what? Apparently, Lena doesn’t know everything. It took her ten minutes to solve a problem. It was freaking hilarious.”

It sounds hilarious. You wish you were there.

“Hey. Was that a little laugh?” Kara asks and you try to smile again so she can see it. “I’ll tell Lena you laughed at her. Wait, no. I can’t do that, she’ll have hope.” She breathes heavily and your heart shrinks. “Shoot, I’m crying on your homework again. Your teacher will start wondering.”

You want to wake up so badly. You don’t know why your body doesn’t obey you. You’ve been in this bed under the sun for two weeks apparently. Is your body ever going to respond?

“Hold me.” You beg, trying to make your voice come out. It feels like you’re stuck in those nightmares where you feel like you’re screaming, but no one around hears anything. “Please.”

“Alex said we can take you home, with the lights and all. I’m scared, because I know that here, you’re being watched by doctors, but-” You feel her hand stroking your face gently. “I want you to be comfortable, and I want to lay in bed with you all day. So, should I? Should I take you home?”

YES. Please. Do it. Please. All you want is to go home.

“Yeah. I know. We shouldn’t move you too much. We don’t know what’s going on inside you, right? Besides-” You feel Kara’s warmth next to you. “I can lay in here with you, even though Alex tells me not to. We don’t have to tell her, right?” You feel Kara’s arms around and your eyes water immediately. “Baby, are you crying? Did I- Did I hurt you?” She moves away. “ALEX! ALEX! SHE’S CRYING. DO SOMETHING.”

There’s a weird taste on your mouth. Metallic and bitter. You need to get out of this bed, you need to go back to your life. And you feel it has to be now, or it will be never.

You open your eyes, slowly. It’s hard, it’s like they were glued together. It’s all blurry and undefined. You just see bright yellow, but it’s the first time you’re seeing some color in a while so you can’t complain about it.

“Baby! Kara, Alex! She’s awake!” You hear Lena’s voice and you see black and white mixed with the yellow. It’s probably her hair and face, but you can’t know for sure. There are no shapes, just colors. “Baby, baby, it’s ok. Mom is here.” Lena kisses your face and you feel hands on your body. There’s a very strong hand holding yours, and you know it’s Kara, because she is holding so hard it hurts. And you feel Alex’s hands touching your pulsing points.

“Hey, little one. Can you say something?” Kara asks and you open your mouth.

“My bones.” You whisper so slowly it’s pretty much inaudible; you’re sure only Kara can hear you, and only because of her super hearing.

“Oh, oh, sorry.” She stops squeezing your hand and kisses it, gently. “I forgot about the loss of powers.”

Wait, what?

“Ok, you two move away, please.” Now you see red, mixed with the yellow. “Hey kiddo, this is aunt Alex. Listen I have to do a few tests with you, ok? If you can hear me perfectly, blink once.” You blink once. “Perfect. You’re doing really well. Now, if you can see me perfectly, blink once.” You don’t blink. “Oh, ok. Is it blurry?” You blink once. “Ok, don’t worry, it will go back to normal with time. Now, I want you to move your left leg, just a little. Can you do that for me?” You do it.

She then makes you move every part of your body, and slowly but surely you do all that she asks. You hear Kara and Lena’s celebrations next to you and you smile proud of yourself.

“Hey kiddo, that was perfect! Next time you wake up, you will feel a lot better. I promise you.” You feel a squeeze in your hand, and you give her a little smile. “I don’t want you to get tired, so you can go back to sleep now, and we’ll work more later ok?”

“Wait.” You whisper and she puts her ear close to your mouth so she can hear you. “Lena.”

“She wants you.”

Lena takes Alex’ spot, holding your hand and putting her ear close to your face so she can hear you better.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no baby, you don’t have anything to feel sorry for. Everything is alright. Listen.” You feel Lena wiping the tears from your cheeks. “You were right. I’m sorry I made you feel like you’re not the most important thing in the world for me, because you are. You are. Stop-stop worrying about it. Just use everything you have to recover, ok?” You nod weakly. “I love you.”

“We love you.” You hear Kara’s voice and you breathe deep.

“Mommy.” Your voice comes out a little stronger, but it is still just a whisper.

“Mommy is here, little one. I’ve got you. We’ve got you.” Kara says and you close your eyes again. Your body might still ache, but your heart doesn’t ache anymore.

[eldritchcreatureofwords]

It rang through her head like a rallying cry, backed by anger, by vengeance, by rage.

Powder. Powder. Powder. She held onto it when she felt her muscles scream and burn with the desire to move, to run, to do something, trapped in a cage, in a cell, until she would be driven to slamming her fists into the walls just for some way, any way to burn off the energy. Powder. Thud. Powder. Thud. Powder. Thud. Panting, sweat running down her skin, hands burning with pain that felt a million miles away, she clung to it. She clung to it because it was the only thing to cling to. Vander was dead. Mylo was dead. Claggor was dead. Powder had to be alive. She had to be alive. And Vi would find her. She held onto it when Silco's goons filtered into the prison; when they tested and poked and prodded her.

She held onto it when she lost everything else; when she would feel herself snap like a rope pulled too taught and explode, launching herself into fights, screaming, swinging, her vision nothing but redhot-whitehot rage blinding her to everything going on around her. She gritted her teeth, embraced it, pulled it to her chest and wrapped herself around it because there was nothing else left.

The sorrow left her paralyzed and choking, unable to move or think or breathe. The pain left her huddled, trembling, useless in corners like a wounded animal.

The rage, though? The anger? She could channel that. She could use it.

Powder had to be alive. She had to be alive.

And Vi would find her. She clung to it when she was shivering, freezing, on the floor; when she was struggling to breathe with cracked ribs, when she was vomiting blood, when she was fighting for her life against two men twice her size. There was nothing but the anger and the name, the name and the anger, and she held on desperately with every scrap of willpower, every bit of strength. She used it to push herself back up, to keep her fists up, to force herself to eat, to sleep, to stay sane and herself and not give in to the urge to just stop caring.

She clung to it when she would hear people come, go; prisoners leave, people visit. When they would drag her down, down, down to the basement of the place, like tucking a secret, or a shameful, unwanted family member. When she would realize with cold horror that she didn't know what day, or time, or year it was.

Powder had to be alive. She had to be alive.

And Vi would find her.

She clung to it when the closest thing to a family she had in this shitty place dumped her on her ass because she was too violent, too loud and confrontational and aggressive. (You're bringing them down on all of us, kid. I can't have my guys coming under fire because you can't control that temper.) Anger and the name. The name and anger. Side step the hurt, side step the betrayal, side step the shame.

She clung to it when she wanted to curl up and cry; when the nightmares ravaged her sleep and left her exhausted and shaking, vomiting, choking on cries she locked behind her teeth like she locked pain behind her teeth when the blows would come. She would see them, bloodied and calling out to her, and sometimes she saw them with her eyes open, too.

Powder had to be alive. She had to be alive.

And Vi would find her.

She clung to it, most especially, when she would realize how quiet it was; down in solitary, in the depths, in the basement, in her cell, in her hole. She wasn't used to quiet, to silence, to stillness. Always there was noise, and laughter, and movement, and yelling and Powder bouncing on the bed and Vander's heavy footsteps and Claggor and Mylo whispering together and oh God oh God she was so fucking lonely. She was so fucking lonely and she couldn't sleep in the silence. Push it aside. Shove it away. Lock it down.

Anger and the name. The name and anger. Powder. Thud. Powder. Thud. Pow- Footsteps. Sharp, click-clack of heels. Prime, neat, proper steps, not the heavy clank clank of prison boots. Panting, heaving, she stood for a moment, trying to rein in the anger. She hadn't been done. She hadn't been done giving that big fucking stupid son of a bitch the beating he was still owed- she wanted to break. To hurt. To crush him, to finish him, to destroy Silco's little bitch boy with her fucking teeth if she had to. "Who the hell are you?" She growled instead, turning the energy into movement. She paced the small cell- too small, too small, let me out let me out- Lock it down. Hold it. This was a new thing, and despite herself, she was curious.

Don't. Nothing good. It couldn't be anything good. It was never anything good. She wrapped her mind around Powder, closed the door on hope and curiosity and interest and forced it to stay at a safe distance. It wasn't hard anymore. She didn't have the energy to try, anymore. Anything besides staying sane, staying Vi, staying whole and fit and strong until she could find Powder, who was definitely alive, just took too much work for too little reward. "I took a look at your file." The person said, instead of answering her question. Her voice was a crisp and sharp as her heels. "There's no record of you- or your crimes." Hah. What a fucking shock. "What are you here for?" The question was almost an accusation, spat out at her sharply. "My sunny personality." She drawled, lazily, deliberately so. Why the fuck should she give this bitch anything, even information, even if she had it? Enforcer. Bully, thug, cowardly little worm. She wanted to hurt her. Wanted to scare her, to piss her off. They seriously fucking expected her to cooperate? After everything? They expected anything from her besides her fists and her teeth? Pace. Back and forth, back and forth. Not enough room. She wanted to run, to fly across rooftops, leap into the empty space between houses like a bird, to feel her muscles burn and her heart race. To feel the wind burning her face, burning her lungs. She wanted to hear footsteps behind her, laughter, to stop and see them close in around her like a pack of wolves. She saw the little Enforcer flinch away from her and, if she'd had more energy, she would have laughed. She was trying so hard not to show how afraid she was of Vi- but she'd read her files. She knew what Vi had done in here. "You assaulted a prisoner. Why?" Well, she had brass ones, anyway. She wasn't spooking off despite her obvious fear, her discomfort in this place. Princess there had probably never set foot in a prison in her life. "Why not?" Back and forth, back and forth. She wouldn't care about the real answer. No one would, least of all this perfect, precious Piltie bitch who'd never wanted for anything in her life, never struggled, never lost, never suffered. "He was a witness in an ongoing investigation." Oh! Oh no, I'm so sorry! She rolled her eyes, lifted a corner of her lip disdainfully. What the fuck do I care? "Hmm. Bummer." She drawled again. She was bored as hell now. This was pointless; she wasn't going to give the Enforcer jackholes shit all. They knew it, she knew it. And finally, finally, this little ivory-tower bitch got it. She sighed heavily. "This was a waste of time." Dingdingding, give the lady a prize! "Couldn'ta' put it better. Hey, give Silco a kiss on that winning eye of his, will ya?" She added, unable to resist the jab. Shit, they were going to beat the hell out of her anyway, may as well get everything she could- and if it was petty to include digging at a naive, stupid little newbie Enforcer, well, fuck, she was allowed to be petty at this point. She turned back to the wall, staring at it. The Enforcer bitch had taken the energy that had been burning through her muscles, had stolen it because that's what they were fucking good at, stealing everything from her, taking everything, and now she didn't- she dug down for it, looking for the anger, the hate. And to her disgust, all she found was exhaustion. No. No. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

Anger and the name. The name and anger.

Powder had to be alive. She had to be alive.

And Vi would find her.

Footsteps. What? No, she was supposed to leave, to walk out and bring in her guards, to leave Vi to her anger and her solitude like everyone else. "Silco? The industrialist?"

Oh shut the fuck up. "Ok. This is getting old." She snapped. She was done. She was so fucking done being expected to play this stupid little game, as if anyone cared what she said, as if anyone listened. She had spent so fucking long working and teaching and training herself to only think and only feel what she told herself she was allowed to; she didn't fucking appreciate how much the Enforcer was trying to drag hope out of her. "Can you just send in whoever's gonna kick the shit out of me so I can get on with my night?" Once upon a time, her voice may have broken on it; once upon a time, she may have tried to tell her that Vi's treatment was unfair, that they hurt her, that they didn't feed her sometimes and took out their bad days on her kidneys and she was so so so alone please get me out- Stop. Anger and the name. The name and anger. Nothing. Else. Powder. Powder. But now? No. Now, there was just bitter anger and tired resentment. Maybe she could get the energy back when they came in. Maybe she could make it a good fight. Sometimes she managed. She could exhaust herself on their fucking faces and maybe get some sleep. Click. Step. Closer. She turned slightly, eyebrow raised, as the little, slender figure in front of her cell took a bold step over the 'bite line'. Well, well, well. Brass ones, like she'd thought. "Does this mean anything to you?" Jesus, she was stub- The last of the thoughts died in Vi's mind like flowers withering without water. She knew that art. She knew that art she knew that art she knew that art- She was moving without her own permission. She didn't remember crossing the cell. She didn't remember moving at all. Suddenly she was just there, the bars rough and cold against her skin, and she pressed against them in a way she hadn't in years, let me out, let me through, let me see- "Where did you get this?!"

Powder.

The Enforcer gasped, stumbled backwards, learning the hard way why there was a bite line in the first place. Spooky little bitch, scared of her own fucking shadow, she'd last a week. Vi didn't care. Her entire vision, her entire mind, was filled with that scrawled monkey on the wall. "Vi, it worked! Did you see me?!"

"I told you to stay. Away!" "Take care of Powder." PowderPowderPowderPowder. "-uestion first." The little priss was talking again, though it sounded almost like Vi was underwater. She could barely hear over her own heartbeat. "They work for Silco?"

"They all do how can anyone not know that?" She blurted, verbally waving a hand, chasing away the unimportant question. It didn't matter- everyone knew Silco was a scummy piece of shit fueling the problems in Piltover and Zaun alike. Dumb question. Dumb debutant playing at being an Enforcer. "Where did you get this?" She didn't expect the woman to reply. She'd gotten what she wanted; Enforcers didn't hold their word. Enforcers didn't give-and-take. It still made her stomach plummet to her toes when the Perfect Princess confirmed her suspicions, though. "There was an attack. This is evidence." And she snapped the notebook with the picture shut, tucking it away. "I'll need proof, if I'm to believe what you're saying about Silco." Powder. Come back give it back- But it was gone. Her chance was gone. Her best chance. And God, it was heavy all of a sudden. No anger. No name. Just weight. Exhaustion. Hopelessness. It crashed down around her and settled hard on her shoulders. And it was so fucking heavy. She let her forehead and cheek slump against the bars.

Powder had to be alive. She had to be alive.

And Vi.... "Well, I could get it for you." She tried, hating how weak her voice sounded. "Just...not from in here." She laughed a little, an awkward puff of air. She lowered her eyes, shifted her gaze away because she didn't want to see the look; that superior gaze, the judgmental expression that said of course not, you manipulative bitch. Powder had to be alive. She had to be alive. She had to be... "In what mad world would I ever trust someone like you?" There was the anger again. She found the ends of it and grabbed, scrambled, held on desperately tight and pulled on them. Get angry, Vi. Get pissed. Listen to this self-righteous bitch. How dare she? Little porcelain doll that had never so much as broken a pinkie finger, who's only fucking accomplishment in life was being born lucky- "Someone like me? You enforcers are all the same- just asshole criminals in fancy uniforms." She snarled, shaking her head as there, there, it exploded in her chest and she used it to burn off the exhaustion, the sorrow, the pain. Powder was alive. She was alive. Vi had seen proof. "You know what? Find Silco yourself." "I will, thank you." Came the arched answer. Because of course. Of course the little Princess had to have the last word. Of course she thought she could do this on her own- of course she didn't care, didn't listen, didn't- no one did. No one ever would. She chuffed a laugh. "The Undercity's gonna eat you alive." She spat, with a certain satisfaction. It would feel good, seeing her come crawling back, traumatized and teary after so much as setting one perfectly formed, disrespectfully long and well shaped leg down there. She was stupid, and naïve, and fucking gorgeous. She'd be crying for her safe bedroom and mommy's hugs the first time someone grabbed her ass. There was no answer. It didn't matter. Powder was alive. She was alive.

And Vi would find her. With or without this bitch.

_________________________________________________________ Caitlyn had never seen desperation before. Not true desperation. Not a frantic, starving sort of hunger like she'd just dangled a steak in front of someone who hadn't eaten in weeks. Not until today. The look on five-sixteen's face had been...unlike anything she'd ever seen. Pleading. Frantic. She knew this person, who ever had drawn that...strange little monkey face. The person at the docks. That much was clear. She ran her fingers over the picture, frowning, remembering- remembering huge grey eyes and soft, full lips. God, she'd looked so young, so vulnerable, just for a moment. So pretty? Whispered a naughty voice in her head. She waved it off irritably. No, and she had no place thinking that. She was a criminal, and a dangerous one. She'd hurt- she'd killed- several people. And yet. And yet, when she'd slammed into the bars, she hadn't looked like a criminal or a hardened killer. She'd looked...she'd looked like a child, younger even then Caitlyn, like she needed a good meal and warmer clothes and- and a chance. She needed a chance. This is a mistake. You're being mislead by big grey eyes and a stupidly attractive lip scar. Maybe. She sighed, gripped her own hair for a minute. She hadn't felt threatened by five-sixteen. She'd felt...she'd felt... Turned on? Sad. Shut up. Whatever she felt, there was no denying that five-sixteen had some knowledge of the person or people she was looking for. It wouldn't be the first time a prisoner was pulled out to help with a case. There was a precedent for it, even if it generally wasn't violent, angry prisoners from Stillwater who could just as easily snap her neck as look at her.

She shook off the thought with gritted teeth. Five-sixteen needed her as much as she needed the convict. Didn't she?... Well, Caitlyn had never been one much for pussy-footing around. She knew, in the back of her head, that she'd already made up her mind. And once Caitlyn Kiramman made up her mind, there was very little changing it. Even if she was, somewhat, a little, terrified. Even if she was more interested then she should be. Those eyes- they'd caught her. Huge, expressive grey eyes that weren't the eyes of a hardened killer, weren't cruel. Don't judge a book by it's cover. She knew that. But something...about five-sixteen...something didn't add up. No record of her, but she'd been in there six years. Vicious, frightening, bad enough to be kept mostly locked in solitary but all Caitlyn had seen was a young woman with a shitty attitude and an exhausted slump to her shoulders. You wanna send in whoever's gonna kick the shit out of me so I can get on with my night? She'd sounded so tired. Not vicious. Not threatening. Tired. Worn down and beaten down, like a dog that had been deemed vicious and was kept beaten down and chained away from everyone else. No one should sound so nonchalant about being hurt, being hit. And so, with a deep breath and hoping and praying no one would call her on it too hard, putting aside her better sense and throwing caution to the wind in a way she would like to tell people she rarely did- never mind that in the back of her head there was a tiny voice whispering that was a lie, Caitlyn, look at where you are, look at what's happening, you're absolute chaos, your mother is sprouting more greys by the second- she approached the Warden for a second time. _____________________ She should have known better then to hope. Even for a second. She'd opened the door, she'd let it in, she'd dared to think that maybe, maybe, maybe this one was different. She'd come back. She'd listen. Just for a second, she'd dared. And now she was being reminded, viscerally, why you didn't do that shit. Clank-clank-clank clank and here he came. Here they came. Take in a breath. Roll the ache out of her shoulder. Don't brace, relax, bracing just makes it worse. Let the breath out. Find the anger. This wouldn't happen without a fight. Never did. Fuck 'em. Powder. Powder. Powder. Hold onto it. Hold on to it. She's alive. That's all you need for now. And turn. The smarmy comment died on her lips. Shock buzzed through her like the heavy, rumbling sound of her cell door, the huge clang that had made her jump every time once upon a time. Princess stood there, staring at her with head up and chin up, back straight and shoulders set, daring her to say a word. She met Vi's eyes, defiantly, and for the first time Vi saw her. Not stupid, actually. Shrewd, sharp blue eyes were set in, of course, a perfect face. Perfect fucking teeth, perfect skin, perfect clothes, and those damn legs to the ceiling. She was...hot. Fuck. She was hot, and she was proud, and she was fearless; she didn't show any fear or nervousness, standing with the door open, where Vi easily could have gotten to her. Vi could have flung herself at the opening, lunged forward and had the Enforcer down and helpless before she could even react. But she was unafraid. She was cautious, and curious, but not afraid. Her expression morphed into one that said she already regretted this choice, wasn't sure it had ever been the right one- but then she turned, and walked away. Vi froze, like a startled deer, waiting for the trap. For the lie. Afraid to step forward and out, even when one of the guards prompted her with a sharp let's go, five sixteen. Six years. She'd been in here six years and now the doors were just...open. Powder. Powder. PowderPowderPowderPowderPowder- It moved her feet for her. Slowly at first, then faster, a train gathering steam. Then she was all but trotting after the taller woman, a fine tremble in her hands that she clenched into fists to stop. (Five-sixteen was shaking. Caitlyn saw it,

despite her best attempts to hide it; trembling like it was ice cold. She was in some form of shock- her eyes were blank, focused dead ahead and mostly empty. When she saw Caitlyn looking, she turned it off, putting on the face that she had first seen in that cell- hard anger, cold indifference.) Bitch was too damn perceptive for her own good. Too damn nosey, too damn perceptive, too damn pretty. She didn't want the Enforcer to see. She didn't want her to see the fear, the hurt, the hope. Because now there was hope, and the closer they got to that door the more it blossomed in Vi's chest no matter how much she tried to pin it down and snap it's neck. Hope. Powder was alive. Powder is alive! Powder is aliveI And Vi- -Vi was coming for her.

[shibarirobot]

Aizawa fic - CH1 - Entrapment

+18 only

Shouta Aizawa x Villain!OC/Reader (?)

I’m going to do my best to keep this fic as ambiguous as possible so anyone can enjoy it. The first few chapters will be tamer to build intruig, but make no mistake this is going to get SPICY. It’s not exactly a reader insert, but I’m going to stay away from describing my lead character, apart from quirk abilities, to make it easy for those that enjoy a reader insert to lose themselves in this fic. 

That being said, this fic is centered around a villain who can manipulate electro magnetic frequencies, that’s pretty broad and I’m no science kid, but I’m fairly certain everything I have them do is plausable with this type of quirk, if you have any suggestions for how it could be used or if I have written something infactual to the ability feel free to message me or leave an anon. However, in a made up world of quirks and hot men, I’m not sure it really matters lol. Suspend your disbelief as they say. 

Anyways, enjoy.

~

Four o’clock rolls by so slowly I can feel myself aging. I look down at my watch for the fifth time in the last three minutes and let out a huff. 3:57. No time to start getting anxious. I push even the word anxiety out of my brain and take another deep breath, closing my eyes. Distancing myself mentally from the hum of drunken bar thoughts. This time trying to calm my slightly lifted heart rate as it now feels like time has sped up exponentially, I realize I have no time to take a smoke or even go to the bathroom. It’s about to happen. I look at my watch again and feel the lump in my throat drop to my stomach as I swallow my insecurities and pull my hand up to my hip, skimming my thigh as I go. I can feel this too, the weapon at my waistband that has been pressing hard against my skin and keeping my back rigid as I try to level my breathing. I make eye contact with a tall man across the room from me, already nursing a beer before 4 pm and for a brief moment the air is still, latent energy pooling around me as I suck in another breath and force myself onto my feet. I magnetize my voice and push it into their brains as the stagnant energy from before comes crashing down in waves around me. 

“Everybody on the floor! NOW!” I say it, but they feel it, they feel their brains being ripped in half by my voice. The splitting headache that I come to find familiar, comforting even, forced upon these self serving bystanders. The pulse behind my eyes reminds me I’m alive, if nothing more than in a physical sense I am still living. Ringing fills the air as I roar into them again, enjoying watching them all grip their temples and wobble as they start to lose their equilibrium. I’m effectively scrambling their brains and replacing what is left with my own force of will. “I… SAID… NOW!!!!” They drop to their knees, some flopping to the side, giving up fighting, they're all sheep. Fucking sheep that just do what they’re told. Fucking sheep that believe in heroes and laws, it’s all bullshit. Even these citizens know it, but they all fall in line anyways. Because it’s power that they obey. And right now, I have it. 

I lock eyes with the man from before and he tries to move to the door, still wobbly on his feet. I smirk a little at his attempt. There’s always one. Always a fool that tries to play hero. He wants to... what? Call for help? Prove he’s not weak? Make up for his otherwise lackluster life? I don't even try to stop him. He barely makes it two feet before the rest of my crew shows up, a power type goon pushing the hero wannabe to the ground in a matter of seconds, the other, deadbolting the door. He never stood a chance and I chuckle to myself, grinning wildly now. I hear a groan from the ground next to my foot and look down, a woman is curled up on her side, one hand grasping desperately at the side of her head, the other gripping the material at her stomach with white knuckles. Her lips are pale and there is a cold sweat dripping down the side of her forehead, tears gathering at the corners of her big doe eyes. She’s honestly quite beautiful and it makes the terror in her eyes that much more satisfying when she looks up at me and whimpers a small, desperate, “Please.”

I stare down at her for a moment and absorb the painting before me. Such raw emotion. True pain. I laugh again, whole heartedly as a chorus of groans erupt from my captive audience, my screeches drilling a hole in their skulls. They don't even know what pain is and they fold at the waist and buckle at the knees, this is just a taste and they can hardly stomach it. While I'm laughing, I wrench my leg back and kick the woman in the stomach. Hard. My boots are steel plated and weighted, 15 pounds each, so I know it hurts. “Stupid bitch! Haha!” She screams, coughs, then hurls. Vomit mixing into her hair. I kick her again then lean down and grab her by the jaw, rubbing hard circles into her cheek as I yank her forward by the neck. Her eyes had been closed, but they snapped open when I did that, the vomit in her hair making it stick to her face. “You look so pretty when you beg, shame it will get you nothing here.” Dropping her head back to the hard, tile floor as I rise, looking down on her in disgust. I spit on her cheek from above and survey the room, all eyes are on me. She starts crying and I kick her one last time for good measure, for her distraction. “Whore.” It falls from my lips and I almost feel bad, but then I don't. I don't feel bad for these people, she would have thought the same thing about me and smiled to my face, not knowing who I am, what I’m capable of. She would have been comfortable in doing so to know her thoughts were private. They wouldn’t have been. I would have heard her, as I’ve heard countless others. I shake my anger away in the moment, getting  back to business, now is not the time to let my emotions get the better of me. 

Everyone was hearing me before, but now that I’m focused my voice is poignant, rumbling in the back of everyone’s minds like distant thunder. Like the booming voice of god. In this moment, I might as well be god. “Enough theatrics. If anyone moves I will LIQUIFY your brains, got it?!” There’s a prickle of anxious realization in the room as they all come to terms with the fact that I can do it and have a clear disregard for any of their well being. “Good. Now be darling little hostages and lay there in agony while the big mean bad guys rob the place, ‘kay?” My voice had lost the murderous quality it once had as I start to talk to them how an owner would to a new puppy. Lovingly, but condescending. 

I now look back to my crew, all people I barely knew, hired hands to make my plan run smoothly, expendable, but crucial. I see they have sealed all exits and my muscle men are manning the door. Well, muscle people I should say. One is a hefty looking mutherfucker with steel brackets around his wrists and ankles. His muscles swell and retract like they're breathing, as if his muscle was an entirely different entity from his body. It’s mesmerizing and somewhat disturbing to watch. The other is a short, toned woman with a spiked, pink mohawk and a killer smile. Her teeth are sharp and platinum and she grins, chomping her jaw to herself. It makes a distinguishable ‘Clang Clang’ when her teeth lock into place with each other. 

Knowing they have the hostage situation handled, I make my way to the back of the bar. There is a door in the corner and I reach for the handle as I approach, but a wave of hesitation hits me as I do, something tells me to move away from the door. With a quick dodge, I leap backwards as the door explodes, a fist appearing at the center of the explosion. A hero. Dammit. I was hoping to get this over with before we had a chance for interference. I ‘tsk’ my tongue and toss a scowl over my shoulder. What’s the point of a hired lookout if they don’t even tell you when the ops are coming? When I look behind me I see my lookout, the only person I hired on a quirk specific level, toppled over with a dart in their neck. Fuck. They were supposed to see around corners in the getaway. My eyes scramble around the room to see where it came from but there’s no one, just a small crack in the window where I assume the dart broke through. Someone on the roof.

Frustration overtakes me and I scream up at the ceiling. What’s the point of planning if I have to do everything myself anyways? The scream ruptures into everyone’s thoughts. The civilians. The heroes. The other villains. They all feel my wrath. I stand and kick the hero that had just blasted through the door and my plans in one fell swoop. I've seen him on tv, he’s getting pretty famous, some new chump that can balloon his fists. He really thought a physical quirk could beat me? He grunts then goes slack, some hero. The ones that never get hit can never handle it when they eventually do. I step past his body and again past the debris of the door. There’s a small room back here with metal shelves on each wall and one in the middle forming three neat rows, pilled with bricks of gold, artifacts and a computer on a table in the back. There’s another hole in the wall across from the door, seems as if this loser busted through both walls just for a shitty sneak attack. Easy escape though. Rolling my eyes, I march past the gold and the shinies and dig a flash drive out of my pocket, shoving it into the USB port, it immediately starts glowing red. I kick the chair to the side and lean down, tapping the keys furiously as I transfer file after file to my drive and delete them from the computer's hard drive. When I’m done, I pull the drive from the port, not worrying about ejecting the drive. It will just have to deal. I straighten my jacket and brush the hair out of my face, leisurely strolling back to the hole in the wall. 

Something glints in the corner of my eye and my focus is shifted to a beautiful diamond necklace that has to be worth more money than I have ever seen in my entire life. I’m about to take another step when the urge to possess this object takes me over so abrasively I can't even think about ignoring it. My hand darts out to the necklace, making quick work of securing it around my neck. I slip a gold brick into my pocket as well, reveling in the thrill of theft. Unplanned theft that is. 

Now that I’m satisfied with myself, I continue my trek to the hole across where the door used to be, leading to the alley, ready to make my one person escape only to be confronted face to face with glowing red eyes, barred behind shuttered goggles. 

Thank you for reading my first chapter! I hope you have enjoyed it!

Maybe leave a like...? Just a thought XD

I will be updating this and adding it to AO3 as soon as I get an account (I’m on the waiting list). There will be a link availiable to my new AO3 and other content as soon as I have that ready. Thanks again! 

CH2

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

Additional Tags: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, One-Sided Love, Romance, Canon Compliant, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Manga Spoilers, Kissing, Implied/Referenced Sex, Crying, Eren Yeager-centric, Sad Ending

Words: 6k

Summary: Eren has a dream that he will never live to see. So, at least, he wants to make this one small dream come true.

Eren has always been a dreamer.

Ever since he was a kid, he’d stare upon a wall and imagine the world outside. He’d dream about what he would do when he finally gets to go outside the walls. Armin would dream with him. The days inside the cramped walls would be a little brighter when he gets to dream of soft shredded ice falling from the sky and rivers of red molten rocks. The waves of glittery blue saltwater, the waves of green hills unending. To stand on top of the mountain and gaze upon the blue sky, seeing where it starts and ends in the horizons.

The dreams wouldn’t have gone wild nor wonderful had it not been for Armin. The naive creative boy that he always is, came up to him with big blue eyes filled with dreams that infect Eren on sight.

Looking back now, Eren doesn’t know whether his dreams had become everything he lived for, or a slow poison killing his insides.

Because all his dreams are dead the moment his lips met the back of Historia’s hand.

He grimaced at the memories. It took every will that he has to not vomit then and there at Historia’s feet.

Everything was never the same after he knew.

They ride out to the beach, and there it is. Infinite saltwater, blue as the sky, glittering in the sun. Yet he can’t feel happy about it, he had seen it with the previous’s attack titan’s eyes. The magic is gone before he gets to experiences it on his own.

His eyes stare longingly at the ethereal scenery in front of him, but all he sees is the enemy across the ocean.

Eren had a lot of dreams. Hopeful little dreams that all lead to one thing. He wants to be free. Free to explore. Free to be who he wants to be. Free to love. He can have none of those, because of the enemy that lurks behind the glittery waves.

If we kill the enemy, the one waiting for us on the other side, will we be finally free?

Not realizing that he said his musing, Armin steps by his side.

“I don’t think we can ever be fully free,” his blue eyes are as blue as the sky, as blue as the water. Eren wondered if Ymir put those eyes in him because this moment was destined too. “Even the people across the ocean aren’t free too, that’s why Grisha ended up inside our walls.”

Eren had fallen to a deep depression after the memories barged in, Armin’s words almost sealed him into rock bottom.

Almost, until Armin adds, “But we’re people. As humans we’re given a will, a choice to do things, even if there are consequences, nothing can ever truly stops us from doing what we want.”

Yes, this moment is truly meant to be, Eren thinks as Armin’s eyes filled with hopes and dreams, like it always meant to be.

“There’s always going to be enemies, Eren, but we worked our hardest to break out of the walls, and though we’re not fully free yet, we’re still rewarded.” Armin looks at him, and for a moment, the clouds parted, and it’s bright. Ever since the medal gifting, Eren had slowly ignored them all. This is the first time in many months that they meet eyes again, and of course, the hope and dreams latch on deep and rooting yet again.

“Right now, we’re being rewarded with the sea,” Armin looks down to the conch he’s holding, lowering it to the crystal clear water to sit in the sand. “We have big dreams, and it hasn’t come true yet, but the small dreams do. Didn’t we always dream to see the sea? Now we finally do, it came true. We broke out of the walls, the possibilities expand, there’s going to be a lot of small dreams coming true before the big one.” Armin looks at Eren with a mischievous glint, but Eren is too mesmerized to see what’s coming. “Like how you... can enjoy... a fist full of salt!” Armin throws a big splash of salt water on Eren’s mouth.

It’s so salty that Eren almost hacked his tonsils out. He doesn’t remember ever eating something so salty, ever. He used to beg his mom to put more salt in their dishes, but salt was a rare commodity and they’re far from rich. Now, Eren just had a fist full of salt.

Eren paused, and everyone’s stiff stares turn worrisome for him when Eren broke down into a manic laugh. As if the salt in the water isn’t enough, Eren contributes with his tears streaming down along the water in his hair.

Swimming in the clear blues, salty mouth, and vision almost whiteout by brightness, Eren feels like flying. He takes the saltwater and splashes Armin back along with Mikasa behind him.

Armin’s face broke into a wide smile and kicks the water at him. Eren gets completely wet, so is Captain Levi behind him. They all paled at the Captain’s scowl, but then Hanji squeals, “WATER WAR!”

And Eren will take water war over the other war he’s going to evoke.

++++

Small dreams

Or so Armin had said.

Once again, Armin filled him with hope. Maybe not all of Eren’s dreams are dead. It never occurred to him that he could settle for less.

Once upon a time, Eren dreamed of living in a cabin far in the woods. Where he can run and not bump into someone. Where he can breathe in crisp air instead of the damp breaths of other people. He dreamed of making a family in that cabin. Be in love, never feeling alone.

He had planned to do that with Mikasa. It’s so easy to love Mikasa, how couldn’t he? A stoic face that only brightens at Eren. She’s a quiet kid, but she shows affection with actions. Like how she’s always beside him no matter how petulantly Eren pushes her away sometimes. She’s distrustful but still trusted Eren the most. Her smiles are rare, but when she does, it’s always for Eren. It’s endearing.

Also, she’s beautiful. She doesn’t realize it and Eren sometimes wants to scream at her. But Eren never said anything to her, never admitted out loud. He knows since the day he met her that Mikasa is special. She’s calm, collected, mature and so strong. Eren never gets why she loves him, but Eren is afraid if she realized how special she is then she wouldn’t choose the lame, regular, non-special Eren.

But he wants her. He promised himself if the war is over then he’d confess his feelings to her and just... love her.

Eren wants to feel loved, to be loved, to be wanted and cherished. Wants all the romantical shit with that person. He’s loved by Mikasa, and he knows if Eren asks, Mikasa will never say no to Eren under positive circumstances.

Now that Eren knows the truth about Ackermans, he can never see Mikasa in the same light again.

Mikasa’s love -now that he gets a double-take- is scary. She gave her whole heart in her palm, her full dedication and love only for Eren, no questions, no hesitations, no doubts. What did Eren do to deserve it? To work for it? Nothing.

All Eren did was save her, and gave her a scarf because she looked cold and Eren’s mom taught him to be good. If Mikasa was a depraved kid lacking affection her whole life then Eren would’ve understood why Mikasa was taken by him. But no, Mikasa’s parents were good to her, what Eren did was not special to her.

She loves him, sure, like a dog loves its master. Unreasonably unconditional. And the dog doesn’t know what’s good for themselves, blindly loving their masters. Just like how baffling it was that a selfish serial killer like Kenny suddenly have a heart to follow a hidden king just because he begged prettily.

Having Mikasa love him doesn’t bear the same euphoric feeling. Eren isn’t special, just a lucky kid at the right time, she could’ve imprinted on anyone. Eren had thought this dream is dead.

Eren still loves her, she’s still a person, just a fucked up gene. So at that night infiltrating Marley with the team of survey corps, Eren asks her, “Why is it that you care so much about me? What am I to you?”

Mikasa blushes prettily, her breath quickens.

“You are family,” Mikasa admits shyly.

Unlike the dog that loves its master, Eren knows better. It’s not that Mikasa is pushing him away, Eren is family, Eren is her everything, that’s why all she said was those three words. And she feels all these things without any reason at all, so much that she can’t compute.

Then the family of the boy he helped offer alcohol, and Eren gulped it down. In a way, Mikasa broke his heart. Eren wasn’t special to her. Eren isn’t wanted, he’s being obsessed by, being followed by someone that doesn’t know better.

Morning comes. They’re in a boat on the way back to Paradis Island. Eren decides to give his dream one more try. Maybe it doesn’t have to be romantic? He settles for even less.

He finds Armin by the deck at 6 AM. The only ones awake around are them, the captain behind the wheel, and the fishes under.

His blue eyes take in the dark sea, the pinkish color of the dawn sky.

Eren knows why they both are the only ones up this hour after a whole night drinking. Turns out being a Titan means that you regenerate everything. They don’t get drunk too long, and they don’t get hangovers.

“Armin?” Eren can’t help the desperation in his voice, not in front of Armin. His best friend has seen him at his worst, and he’s still here, it must mean something, right? “What am I to you?”

Armin -who had been looking at him curiously the moment Eren spoke- drops his jaw. They look at each other for a while, and Armin seems to sober up from his shock and looks stern.

A pair of arms smack on either side of Eren’s face. It sobers Eren of all the melancholic brooding, even more now that Armin is putting a nagging face on. “Eren Jaeger, you listen to me. We’ve been friends since we’re gaggling children. You were a trouble-seeker even though you’re weak, couldn’t even land a punch on some goons! We all survived childhood purely thanks to Mikasa.”

“At least I tried to fight, unlike you, taking it laying down,” Eren growls, lifting his hands to pinch both of Armin’s cheeks. Gone the baby fat, they’re a little bit skinnier from growing up, and a bit too many muscles replacing it.

“Ow!” Armin grabs Eren’s wrist and to Eren’s surprise, Armin pulls his hands away easily. The strength stuns Eren’s mock anger away, and Armin looks at him with a solemn gaze. Eyes tinted pink look a bit lilac purple.

“I could never understand why you would befriend a weak kid like me, but then I figured it out.” Armin takes a deep breath, and suddenly Eren feels weak. Why is Armin looking at him like that? “You, Eren, are the most important person in my life. The one I cherished the most, and closer than family. No one realized how big of a heart you have, and your pride gets in the way of asking for help. But you care so much about everyone when no one was looking.” And Armin looks at him, Eren hears ‘but I did’, from Armin all the same.

“You’ve been different since we stepped into Marley,” Armin says, freezing Eren on the spot. Eren hoped he schooled his face as well as he thinks. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone. Alright? You have us, and we’ll always be on your side.”

Eren was done before he knew he started. Tears bursts from his eyes, lips frown deeply, holding back sobs.

“Oh! Eren, uh...” Armin awkwardly pats Eren’s back and Eren pulls him into the hug. It takes exactly one second for Armin to completely melt and wrap him into a tighter hug.

His heart bleeds. Armin did two things with his words. Makes Eren feel loved, and tore him a betrayal yet to be done.

It hurts because Eren knew, they can’t be on his side. They won’t, and that’s how it’s meant to be.

“Armin, can I try something?”

“I... guess?”

Maybe it’s Armin’s unpredictable blush or Eren’s half-broken heart, but it’s easy to just dive in. Eren didn’t realize how small Armin’s face is until he cups it, touched its cheekbones, trails the jaw, cradles the back of his blond hair. Leaning in is easy. Once meeting Armin’s lips, he felt some sort of instinct. It tells Eren to leans closer, tilts his head, licks the lower lip, and parts his own.

Eren wondered why lips taste so sweet and feel so soft, or was it just Armin?

When Armin’s arms find his sides and clutches, Eren feels heat riding up his spine, up to his head. He wants more. The morning is cold and every gentle move Armin does to kiss him back warms him with life. Finally, Armin parts his lips too, and instincts take over again. Tounge between teeth, roaming into his mouth.

Still, the best feeling of kissing is not how Armin feels on him, but how Armin is feeling him up. Armin kisses back with curious vigor, lips moving quicker, hands clutching tight. When Armin moves his hand to cups the back of his head and grabs his hair, Eren shivers. Eren wants more, wants Armin to want more of him.

Armin doesn’t feel the same, as he shows by stepping a wide step back. Eren gasps at the sudden space, cold strikes him like a slap, arms awkwardly hugging where Armin was less than a second ago. Blue eyes widen, in shock, but not in disgust, and Eren hoped.

“But... I thought Mikasa...” Armin stutters, hand on his lips. Eren empathizes, his lips still tingle too.

“I don’t think of her that way.”

“Liar, I saw you... You...” Armin’s words died away. Yes, he saw Eren looks besottedly at Mikasa when no one was looking. It changed though, and even though Eren isn’t transparent, Armin can read him like a dog-eared book.

“I don’t think of her that way anymore,” he corrects.

It’s true. Eren did think of her that way, not anymore. Eren loves Armin, but he never thought of him that way, now he can, and somehow it makes sense. His wild dreamer of a head can see it.

Armin’s silence is discouraging. Self-consciously, Eren feels that he might be moving too fast.

...

What’s Eren doing? What’s next? Going on a date? Be boyfriends? Share sweet nothings under the stars until Eren eventually betrays them all?

He knew he had to give up on his dreams, small as it is, and he won't live to see his one most important dream come true. Eren sees the suffering and the screams, but not the peace that came after.

Still, a part of him yearns and reaches desperately before Eren can pull away.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Eren says, every word ripped from his flesh. Eren smiles apologetically at Armin’s confused expression. “It’s nice... I-I... You’re my everything too.” The confession is terrifyingly easier. Eren feels the heat on his face now, and the shaking cold of his fingers.

Armin takes a deep breath with his slacked jaw, still startled, but something changed in his face, softer.

Eren walks away, but a strong grip holds his wrist. Eren realized that strong as Armin is, he’s not as strong as Eren’s. Eren is just so weak for him. Since when? How could he never notice?

Well, he notices now, and it makes him flush when he kisses him. It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing can come out of it. Eren can’t dream of it.

“Since when?” Armin asks vaguely, but Eren still knows.

“Since just now,” Eren says truthfully.

Armin lets him go then. Eren doesn’t look at him when he walks away.

+++

But Eren never stopped yearning.

Everything starts coming to place. So fast, so perfectly that it scares him.

These moments with his friends are numbered, and with all the power given to him, he can’t stop time.

He remembers what Armin says, and what Eren can realistically take from it. Enjoy it while he can. Cherish his friends while he can. As embarrassing as it sounds, Eren was saying the truth when he said he wants none of them inheriting the Attack Titan. These people live through hell with him, and he’ll make sure all of them make it in the end. No need to bear the Titan for the sake of foolish wars. It all will end with Eren, and it’ll make one of Eren’s dreams come true. The friends most precious to him will live in peace till they’re old and grey.

All of this is for the dreams that Eren will never live to see.

But the small ones, his mind says in betrayal, it can come true right?

Those words are what got him yearning still for the one thing he had given up on, or trying to at least.

Nothing changes between him and Armin. Eren has more practice in acting, he finds it easy to have a poker face, seems like his face does the same thing if he’s in despair, so he lets it take over. Armin is a bit different. The tension is there though faint. Lurking glances at the corner of his eyes, disappearing just before Eren could turn and see. It was Eren that says they don’t have to talk about it.

He hates it. Hates that even without meeting his eyes, Armin still gives him hope.

Eren knows he’s been sneaking into Annie’s jail cell. A part of him feels jealous, another part feels relieved. Relieved because Armin can move on, and maybe they’d pretend they’re never a thing to begin with. Yet Armin never stopped staring, and Eren could never really let go.

Eren knows that inherited traits from previous owners of the titans are possible and real. Eren is almost entirely sure that Armin’s affection purely came from Bertholdt. Eren had the same lingering feelings too. Bursts of instincts and thoughts that came out of nowhere. He feels weird with his hair short. All he thinks of his mother is not her love anymore, but guilt. So he clutches the feelings he knows are his own. New as it is, his feelings for Armin are one of the things he’s confident in. One of few.

He’s a compilation of previous Attack Titans now, but he’s still him. Eren is more than a shell, more than a pawn. Still his own self. Still Eren Jaeger. Still his mother’s son.

“Still human.”

“What?”

Eren snaps back and sees Mikasa’s searching eyes. They’re helping around Historia’s orphanage again. The horse he’s brushing is nudging him to continue where he left off.

“Nothing,” Eren mumbles.

Mikasa looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. She drops the hay she was carrying to the feeding bin and steps out of the barn with a worried look.

Eren can’t help but wonder if Armin would’ve said or done something different.

+++

It’s dark, nothing but the moon, the fireflies, and his oil lamp for light. His friends are back at the orphanage having a game night. Eren had said he was tired and wanted to sleep early, then sneaking out to take a walk alone along the dirt path from Historia’s orphanage. Eren feels misplaced in the group, detached. They’re all smiling, having fun, but Eren feels like he’s alone. For all the plan to work, he just needs to keep his mouth shut and trusts Floch and Yelena to carry on the plan.

Eren wishes he could tell someone. Wishes that it didn’t have to be genocide. Wishes he could live to see his dreams coming true and live for them. Wishes he has someone... just someone to cry on. To share his fear because Eren is terrified-

“Eren?”

He didn’t hear anyone coming, he was that deep into his head. Of course, it’s Armin, and of course, he looks worried.

“Oh,” Armin says, sad. “You don’t have to hide when you needed to cry.”

Eren takes a deep breath, taps his face, and turns out the dampness in his face was not from the humidity.

“Talk to me,” Armin is close to begging, but not quite enough for Eren to fold.

Eren can’t talk to Armin, or he’ll say it all, undo a nail in the dam and all the water will break through. All the fears nearly choke him to death if he lets it.

“Do you have small dreams?” Eren asks because he can’t handle doing the talking.

“I do,” Armin says easily. He gestures to one of the trees facing the clearing Eren was heading towards. They sit there, watching the sparse clouds moves. “The sea is one of them,” Armin says once they sat, the oil lap turned off. The moon is full, Eren can see every detail of Armin’s face.

“What else?”

“Well there’s the mountains, and the snowy dunes, Onyakopon says it’s called the artic... I want to travel the world.” Armin looks to the moon with his hopeful eyes, and Eren’s heart is pulled.

Yanked painfully.

“You can do that,” Eren says, trying to smile.

“How about you?”

Eren looks down to his hands, “I’m not a dreamer like you,” He lied terribly, “It’s hard to, isn’t it? We’re still in the middle of the war, there’s a chance we won't make it.” I won’t make it.

Armin furrowed his eyebrows, “This is not the Eren I know,” his voice rising, “The Eren I know won’t give up until he has vengeance! His goals and hopes and dreams! Until he’s free! The Eren I know is always brave!”

Eren grits his teeth, his dead dreams flash in his eyes. “Fine! I’m a coward! I’m setting my expectations realistic Armin! We can’t always have what we want because we’re tied with obligations-”

“Why does it matter! Why is it ever the reason we stopped dreaming, huh?” Armin rises to his knees, looking down at Eren with fury coated with shadows. The moon looms upon his blond hair, tears falling down his face. “And we’re all scared Eren! I don’t think I ever stopped being scared since a Titan peeked from the walls of our home and literally kicked the gate open... the Titan that I am now.” His voice weakens, hands by his side shaking in balled fists.

Eren wants to touch him. Pull him to sit down, wipes his tears, pull him into his arms, curled into him, because yes, Eren is scared too, more than he’s sane to handle sometimes.

“But being brave means that we keep trying despite being scared... Being brave means that we have something to push through fear. That’s why we can’t stop hoping, having dreams! You can’t stop hoping Eren!” Armin sits back down, hands clenching on Eren’s shoulder. “Don’t give up on them! If you do... then... then what do you fight for?” Armin’s voice is broken and desperate.

“For all of you,” Eren says weakly, “I told you that before. I want all of you to be free.”

“But what about you!” Armin shakes his shoulder, “What about your dreams for you!”

“There’s none! Alright?!” Eren snaps, gripping Armin’s hands, and pushes him away. His breath is fast and shallow. A bundle of nerves wanting to run. Stars break behind his lids

“Eren, please!” Armin clutch his wrist, “You have to have something to live for. Don’t...” Armin’s broken voice makes Eren look, not surprised to see Armin looking heartbreakingly sad. “Don’t throw your life away so easily! I know our years are numbered and no one can tell whether we die in this war or not... but I’d-I’d... if we found peace within our years, I’d... want to spend however little left of my life with you.”

A sob came out first before the tears, Eren can’t hold it back. He’s been clutching everything hard so close to his heart that he just couldn’t hold himself together anymore. He wanted to say it all, lay the sins he hasn’t committed, and be loved despite so. He knows Armin would, and he would help. Eren wouldn’t be alone, but he can’t.

Armin will have his dream come true, having peace in his lifetime.

Armin’s war will be over in a few years.

Eren’s war will never end, not till he dies.

“Please, don’t let me hope,” Eren begged.

“But-”

“I can’t have small dreams, I just couldn’t!” Eren snaps again, throwing up all his anger in his throaty scream, “I can’t! I tried Armin but I kept wanting more. I want more and everything! Nothing is ever enough and this fucking war is...” this fucking fate, her fucking wish, “It’ll take everything from me.”

“No, not yet,” Armin says solemnly with new determination, face still wet from crying. “I have a plan okay? Don’t you trust me?”

Eren is thrown again between pain and anger. His scowl rained down with tears. “You know I do!” I’ll betray you but you’ll pull through, I believe you will. “This has nothing to do with it. We... it just... I can’t...”

“Tell me what it is,” Armin begs, “I’ll help it come true, I’ll help in any way I can. Please.” Those honest eyes look at him, tear down the walls he puts up. Why does Armin always make him hopeful? Even though Eren has nothing left in his future? Why?

Why after years of guarding his desires, one look from Armin unravel him instantly?

His heart finally bare of walls, hands clenched so tightly they shake, Eren screamed his soul out, “I WANT TO BE FREE!”

He screams so loud to the blank indifferent sky that his voice echoes. He hadn’t dared voiced that dream of him anymore, knowing he’ll never have it. It was all he wanted, but there’s a chain of fate in his neck.

Even though he’s chained, doesn’t mean he’s muffled. Not anymore, his heart yearns openly. “I want... I want a life! A long life with someone I love. A cabin in a large space in the forest, where the air feels cool in our lungs. I want kids on my own, I want to grow old with someone! Someone that loves me despite who I am,” despite what I’m about to do. “I just want to be myself.... not a weapon, not a soldier, not a tool.” Not fate’s fool. “I just want to live... build a life, build a home, be with someone that cherishes me for me.”

Eren makes a mistake in looking at Armin, finding the blue eyes mimicking the heavy rain pouring from Eren’s. The worst is the despairing look on Armin’s face, the full mournfulness of the usually boyish hopeful look.

Eren’s mouth still loose, the adrenaline from the truth makes him brave, “I want... I want more than just a kiss.” Armin’s expression doesn’t change, still in that heartbroken despair, it’s like he’s not surprised. “I want to go... spend time with you... more than-than just a friend.” At that, Armin finally looks surprised.  Eren’s face burns, but it’s easier to say without the suspense of how well Armin is going to take it. Whether it’s a yes or no, the answer is already chosen by circumstances.

“You-You’d want that?” Armin’s tone in disbelieve.

“Yeah,” he croaks, already sore from screaming.

“I thought...” Finally, Armin looks down, “I thought you were just curious about the kiss, not necessarily me.”

“Well... both of that. The kiss and... you.”

Out of nowhere, Armin barks a laugh, stilling Eren looking at him like he’s crazy. “Geez, I should’ve known. You’re really an all-or-nothing guy.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Eren pouts.

“No, not bad, but by gods, your actions can be baffling sometimes,” Armin smiles. Oh if only he knew.

It’s eerie how they can fall to banter easily, smoothly, and Eren can’t help to imagine a lifetime of this. He tamps it down instantly.

Eren feels oddly lighter, but he knows tomorrow he won’t. He’ll mull about tonight, and nothing will be done about it, then it’ll add to the list of things he broods about.

“Wait,” Armin says, before Eren gets to ask what, a pair of lips landed on him. It’s more chaste than before because Eren still put up his guard. It’s still too sweet and Eren still got poisoned.

They lean back, flushed and a bit breathless. Armin is flustered, nervous, but Eren is carefully stoic, which means he’s despaired.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” Eren clips.

“Unlike you, I’m more selfish.”

“You didn’t even like me like that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And Annie?”

Armin sighs, “I don’t know why... but I just feel if we could’ve had time, me and her could be something.” Eren knows the reason, an indescribable instinct. “But Eren,” His hand grips Eren’s, pinning Eren at place with his gentle touch. “Annie and I didn’t become anything. She’s frozen in a crystal, and you’re here.”

Eren should feel like chopped liver, really, but why is he hopeful instead?

“And I want you.”

Eren watches his best friend, watches closely. Their transparency towards each other goes both ways.

“I know maybe... my feelings aren’t as deep as yours yet, but I still want you.”

Eren finds no lie, and it’s harder to not let his soul soars in joy. Yet.

“Nothing can come out of this.”

“Who says?”

“Armin...”

“See the smaller picture,” Armin put his hands on Eren’s face and his mind stops. “I know you’d always want more, but isn’t having something small is better than not having anything at all? Did you ever regret kissing me the first time?”

“No.” Eren knows he’s utterly defeated yet again by Armin’s wits.

“Would the future you regret kissing me some more?”

Eren weakly smiles, “I-I think future me will thank present me.”

“Well.”

They both lean in this time, knowing what to expect, but still getting surprised by what they get.

Their third kiss is better, both of them anticipate it, both of them wanting. They know better how to slot their bodies together. Their lips were a bit chapped, tasting like the apple pie they had for dessert today. Their hands move more confidently. Eren goes along Armin’s back and jaw, feeling the newly shaved undercut. Armin’s fingers go to his nape, feeling his grown-out hair. Those fingers trail down Eren’s chest and pull his shirt.

Suddenly Eren’s backed against the tree trunk. Momentarily they part their lips, just to look. Eren doesn’t know what Armin is finding that makes him blush and doe-eyed, but what Eren finds is that Armin wants him too. Armin, who could’ve waited for Annie, who could’ve had anyone, wants Eren. No genetic conditioning. No previous titans making him like Eren. This is Armin as he is, wanting Eren as he is.

That’s all he needs. It’s all he wants.

Eren is wanted. Not as a tool. Not as a weapon. Not his power.

Just Eren.

When they kiss again, skin touch skin. Hands pressing on pulses. Their breathing sound loud in the dead of the night. No one is listening but them.

No one stopping them.

In the protective cradle of the forest, they finally get to be curious teens fooling around.

++++

They’re not anything, but not nothing either.

Something noticeably changed between them, but it’s not hard to hide what they are when even they are not sure what they are.

They have nothing but stolen kisses, sneaking out in the night to spend time alone. They don’t really talk, just touches that keep getting bolder. Eren’s feet coming up Armin’s legs under the table as he explains strategies. A hand on Eren’s inner thigh at a group dinner. Sex in the closet. Disappearing at night. Sneaking into each other’s room. Sneaking out in the morning.

Eren admits that feeding his hunger is exhilarating, he’s never felt this alive since he sees the future. Eren would never admit that this happiness scares him.

Eventually, the carpet will be pulled from under his feet, and Eren will have no one to blame but himself.

But Armin was right. Small dreams coming true are still better than dead dreams. Eren is living in his little secret of peacefulness whenever he’s pulled aside where no one can see them.

“Eren,” Armin murmurs, voice hoarse, curling towards Eren for warmth. Eren pulls the blanket over their naked shoulders, shimmying closer. He nuzzles on top of blond hair and smells the sun. Legs bare and long stretching along with Eren’s, Armin rest his temple against Eren’s. Since when did Armin get this tall? Armin plays with Eren’s shoulder-length hair. Since when did his hair get that long?

How did time pass so fast?

“Go back to sleep, it’s still early,” Eren says with familiar affection, a soft spot dangerously tender. He kisses the top of the blond hair by instinct and felt his heart squeeze. He wants to keep Armin here, in his arms, forever.

“I can go back to my room if you want,” Armin offers sleepily, knowing that Eren has been having difficulty sleeping, but not knowing the real reason why.

“Never, stay,” Eren feels a lump in his throat, small mercy grants him for it not to show.

They’re in Eren’s room at the furthest corner of the house that’s far inside the woods. They’re here for Titan experiments, the only other people in the house are Hanji and her assistant.

The window curtains are parted so they can see each other, can’t risk the lamp on to alarm anyone. As always, whenever they’re together, the moon is their only witness.

Eventually, the carpet is pulled from under his feet, Eren has no one to blame but himself. Still, his small dream coming true is still better than nothing at all, Armin was right, nothing surprising there.

He tucked Armin closer to him, caressing his back languidly, not wanting to let go ever. Tears building up his eyes, chest contracting, heart pounding, crying silently.

“I love you, Armin,” Eren says, as clear as saying hello in broad daylight. The body in his arm tensed. Blue eyes still bright even in the dark, open wide in shock, but the softness in his expression means Armin at least expected it.

For a while they say nothing, just stare and touch. Eren’s hands snake up to cup Armin’s jaw that keeps getting more defined. Both of them are nineteen, still growing, and Eren can never see what a handsome man Armin will grow into. Will he keeps his soft features? Or will he has a growth spurt to grow really tall and broad-shouldered? Eren will never have the answer.

But Eren has this.

This Armin that’s his. This Armin wants him. This Armin gave his firsts to Eren and given Eren’s firsts. He’ll take it, he’ll keep it till the day he dies.

Small dreams partially coming true. Is it still better than dead dreams?

“You don’t have to say anything,” Eren adds, knowing he still visits Annie, still has indescribable feelings for her. It doesn’t stop Eren leaning to kiss him by the sunlight roots. This part of Armin will forever be his, Annie can have the rest of Armin’s life.

Armin nuzzles closer, face buried in the crook of his neck. Shaky breaths hit Eren’s skin, arms tightening around his torso.

“I wish we have more time,” Armin’s voice broke, “I wish we’re not.... here.”

Eren hugs him closer, letting his heart falls. He knows Armin doesn’t mean it the same way as Eren would, but he lets himself wishing for it too. Wishing that this was another world, in another time, where they can be something and have more than a decade to live.

“I know. Me too.” Eren doesn’t let himself sob, so he just curled.

They say nothing more. Just holding each other until they fall asleep.

Or, only until Armin does.

Eren counts the seconds to his deep breaths before detaching himself from Armin. He doesn’t look away from Armin, not even when he picked up his clothes from the floor and dresses. Eren let one more tear escape as he put one last kiss on Armin’s temple and lips. Eren tucks him under the blanket and closes the curtains so the morning light won't be too harsh on him.

One last look before he closes the door, let his chest cave in, nurse the hurt that’ll last his short lifetime. Eren takes a deep breath, wipes his tears, and closes the door gently. Too weak for goodbyes.

Eren sneaks out into the stables, sushing the horse with pets and apples he stole from the pantry. Cloak on, hiding his face, he rides out into the pier where Yelena and Floch are waiting for him there.

Eren retraces his plan with Floch, and goes out on the boat with Yelena towards Marley. She hands him the Eldian uniform that fits him suspiciously well. Eren doesn’t hesitate to pierce one of his eyes and cut his leg.

When he’s finally at the Eldian camp, the despair in his eyes is barely acting.

++++

++++

+++

When they meet again, Armin sees him with nothing but betrayal.

No love left there to scavenge.

But, once upon a time, Eren was wanted for the human he is by someone who could’ve chosen anyone.

Those eyes had looked at him fondly. He was precious to someone.

His small dream did come true.

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 006

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Aftermath of the dance! We learned about the rest of Billy’s night. Both babies struggling before school starts up again. TW: Pica and self loathing. Mentions of guys pursuing underage girls. Taglist open!!!

Chapter 6: Hard Candy

   “Anyone up?”

   “No, everyone is hungover.” Evie looked around. Everything frosted this morning like a peaceful snow globe. Eternal winter. Gorgeous and destructive. She didn’t kiss Fredrick goodbye. “Thank you.”

   “We’ll talk again when school starts up. Don’t call, it’s too risky."

   "But-"

   "I’m just...risking everything to be with you, do you know that?”

   He snatched her wrist when he said that. Pressed down on the pulse there. It sped.

   “Yes...I’ll be careful. Do you still love me this morning?” Unsure of what answer would scare her more.

   He smiled, grip loosening.

   "Yes."

   That sufficed. Evie slid out in her dress from yesterday. Watched some dead leaves whirl through the forest before she got onto the sidewalk. Cherry Lane awaited. Bowers turned his car on to slip away unnoticed so she could walk to her house. Mona's car was gone which meant errands. 

   And whoever her mother brought home to celebrate the New Year with hadn’t stayed.

   Evie had the displeasure of running into a few at breakfast. These men who never lasted. Who froze like a deer in headlights to offer sheepish smiles as if she was stupid about why they were there. Who thought they'd be back. Ha ha. Thankfully, Mona mostly slept with guys not from Hawkins. 

   Billy’s Camaro was nowhere in sight either. Evie went into her house. Greeted Bourbon and crossed to the bedroom. The mess there replayed all of last night again. Dresses strewn all over her bed. Makeup spread on the vanity. 

   Evidence of a girl excited to have a great night. With a striking boy. Where she felt beautiful. She pictured herself holding dresses against her body at the mirror. Spinning. Happy.

   Wishes.

   Evie sucked in some air. Tied her hair back. Hung each dress up again. Pulled her own garment off and tossed it in the trash.

   “Maroon is stupid.” She mused in her bra and underwear. “You should have worn blue.” Sighing to sit at the vanity, fingers rubbed her eyes pink. She organized makeup. Tried and failed to avoid the reflection in the mirror.

   Her mother wouldn’t want to hear of this. So, Evie tried to look on the bright side. Pressed her palms flat. Looked at the mirror. 

   “I danced with a boy. A pretty boy and he made me feel…”

   Isn’t it funny? Pretty funny. The words caught. Piled up and went back down her throat. Perched like they could become a scream but never returned with a vengeance.

   She looked at her skin. Excess flesh. It didn't always bother her. Evie knew what she looked like and how the world preferred to see her.

   A fist banged into her collar. Growling, she beat at herself. Unable to stop. Weak little bashes against herself.

   “Why?" She clenched. "Why do you look like this!”

   Fists rubbed her eyes again raw so no tears could flow. Nothingness. Just her soul spinning out of control all sweet and silent. She always did the world and her mother that courtesy. No use crying over spilled milk, just appreciate what you have. Depression and anger, those were ungrateful little phases and pushing them aside was ingrained into her synapses.

   Mona made it look so easy.

   Evie knocked into the side table, sending her needle felting project to the floor.

   “Fuck.” Snatching items up, a sharp edge plucked her finger.

   Blood beaded against the skin. A single prick like Sleeping Beauty. Evie calmed at the grim sight. Brought the finger to her lips. Sucked.

   Slowly picked up everything else and saw a shiny button there. The same color as her dress from last night. Two fingers held it up so light could stream into the holes. Tiny heavens opening.

   Her mouth watered. She no longer heard the laughter. Fredrick’s heavy breathing in her ear. Her mother chided her to smile through pain. Take bitter life pills with a spoonful of sugar. More noise fluttered away. Thunder while she hid in a dark closet. A hand on her leg.

   Evie ran the big, acrylic button across her lip. Clicked it on her teeth and liked the sounds. Wind chimes in the fall glimmering.

   Hard candy.

   It slipped along her tongue. Shifted around saliva. Evie tipped her head back. Eased it down her throat as if it were another bitter pill.

   Why do this? Just to see if she could. To see what would happen. To silence all the chaos she choked down.

   Dead silence when it was done. Evie sat there tracing her lips with curious fingers. Pictured the pretty button decorating her insides. She could make art inside herself. Snapping her heart back together.

   The exact sensations drained.

   Tired and sore, Evie crawled under her bed covers. Decided to sleep and dream as deep as she could.

** ** **

   Billy’s night before wasn’t much better.

   “What the fuck?” He had blazed back into that shitty bar. Found Brock laughing around his friends and grasped his shirt. “You-”

   “Billy, I think you want to let me go, my dad has too much influence. He’s friends with your mayor, you know.” Brock had his hands up to wave his boys off. Billy growled low at him, inches away.

   “You think I give a shit that you’re rich?”

   “I”m just saying I can make shit difficult on your family. I’m sure your daddy won’t like that, I hear you guys make a lot of noise on Cherry Lane. Could make Fenny’s life harder too, if you care.”

   Billy’s grip loosened and Brock smiled. Tommy saw Billy's eyes change and hadn't even chuckled when the boy returned.

   “Aw, Hargrove’s gotta little crush. That’s cute.” More laughter. 

   That did it.

   A fist smashed into his cheek.

   Brock was sent flying back out of his chair at the same time Billy raced out. Didn't care to watch and enjoy the sight of that boy nearly doing a back flip.

   Money tore from his pocket and shoved into Bubble’s hand.

   “Take this.” Billy didn’t count how much he’d given her. Picking up the pace before Brock and his goons could pursue him. 

   “Billy!” Tommy had called after him, but the boy was out into the cold and headed toward his car.

   Evie was long gone. He still scanned the city in his Camaro trying to spot those brown curls and that maroon dress. Felt like an hour passed. She looked empty when she’d left.

   Billy almost wished she’d cried or hit him. Something. Anything.

   “Shit.” He pulled up to a little blonde waiting in the chill. Holding an oversized jacket close and craning to see down the street. “Hey, weren’t you Brock’s date?” Her face was pinched in discomfort. Shifting steps before she gave a nod. Seemed smaller there alone as drunks rushed about in celebration. “What are you doing?”

   “Mm...waiting for the taxi.” She had a paper towel pinched between her fingers, trying to get a wet stain out of her dress collar. Billy’s gut twisted because he knew what it was. 

   “Get in, I’ll drive you home.” Billy sat back and waited. Reluctantly, she crossed over to join him. Face splotchy like she might have teared up earlier. Pulling pins out of her hairstyle. Billy figured Brock must have ruined it getting his blowy.

   “Thank you.” 

   He revved to go in response after getting the address. Stony and intent on the road for once.

   “It’s this one.” Was all she said once they’d gotten close to her building. Run down and dilapidated. Reminded Billy of the shitty apartment complex he’d lived in with his dad after mom walked out.

   “How old are you?” Billy turned to see her and she cringed.

   “I’m...fourteen.”

   Fourteen. Barely a year older than Max. 

   And he’d only been fourteen when...

   Nausea swept up his throat. Billy hitched to breathe and dug into his pocket for whatever was left of the cash Brock gave him. Felt like a true piece of shit.

   “That guy, don’t go near him again. He asks you to come out or do things for him. Like sexual things... Don’t do it. Just stay away from him. Got it?” Billy reached out and dropped the wad of crumpled cash into her palms. “And don’t get into anymore cars with older boys. They’re gonna hurt you.”

   “You’re not gonna hurt me.”

   “No, kid, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Billy gestured. “Go inside, it's cold.”

   She listened, getting out to disappear into the building. Billy rubbed his eyes because they watered. Music turned up to drown the world out before he skidded off. Made it back into Hawkins and parked at Lover’s Lake.

   Decided sleeping in his Camaro was the better idea than going home. Not wanting to face Evie’s bedroom window or her old, scrutinizing cat. She wanted nothing to do with him.

   Reclined in the back seat, Billy touched his lips and fell into an uneasy rest.

   Woke with his head pounding and birds calling out. A truly grey day. He huffed to get out, pissed near a tree, and made it home to park in the driveway next to Neil’s car. Hadn’t left for work yet.

   A groan as Billy climbed the steps to go in, felt like he might vomit at the scent of a warm breakfast. Susan playing housewife. Setting plates at the table between Neil and Max.

   “Billy, are you hungry?” She caught him. Billy eyed his father reading the paper.

   “No.”

   “Come, sit down. Eat the nice breakfast Susan made.” Neil’s snap had Billy turning to plop down. He looked like hammered shit. Susan settled a plate of fluffy eggs and bacon down in front of him. Max was staring so Billy shot her a look to stop. “What do you say?”

   “Thank you, Susan.” Billy rasped, picking up a fork. 

   “What’d you do last night?” Neil asked without looking up from his paper.

   “Just some party.” A shrug followed. Susan had sat down with her own plate when the doorbell rang.

   “Answer that.” Neil pointed her off so she left her plate to get cold and went into the next room. Billy wondered if Susan's ever eaten a warm meal after getting with his dad.

   “Susan!” Mona’s chirpy voice piped up.

   Billy dropped a bit of eggs in his lap. Had Evie told her?

   “I’m so sorry to bug you early. Can I trouble you for a cup of flour? My poor Evie’s taken ill, I wanted to make her something nice for breakfast. Forgot to pick some up, I didn’t know we ran out. For pancakes. I’ll owe ya.”

   Billy’s eyes were darting all over the table.

   “No problem, come in.” Susan came back in with a measuring cup. “Sorry to hear about Evie.”

   “Just an upset stomach, a couple of my fluffiest pancakes should do the trick.” Mona had followed. “Morning all. Happy New Year. I hope Hawkins made good on the festivities.”

   Billy couldn’t look at her. Just shifted scrambled eggs around aimlessly.

   Neil peered at Mona’s tight clad legs in her little shift dress. Already looking her best this morning after running quick daylight errands.

   “Now, Max, I’d love to see you at my salon with your mama.” Mona clasped her hands and Max snickered because she hinted at that every time she saw the younger girl.

   “We’ll be sure to visit before school starts up again. Won’t we, Max?” Susan filled the cup.

   “Be sure to bring, Billy, I love doing boy’s hair too.”

   “You might convince him to cut this all off.” Neil remarked plainly when Billy’s tired eyes lifted. Mona just smiled.

   “The boys love to look like rock stars these days, sir. It's the in thing.” She took the flour. “I’ll leave you to your meal. Say, how about I make you your first dinner of the new year? I know it’s been such a change.”

   Susan opened her mouth and shut it, peered at Neil for his answer.

   “That’s a wonderful offer,” he replied, “only if we can bring the dessert.”

   There he was. The charming family man.

   Mona gave a cute giggle.

   “I’ll take you up on that. Is six alright?”

   “We’ll be there, Mona, thank you. I hope Evie feels better by then.” Susan wiped her hands on a towel and showed her friend out. 

   “Oh, she’ll be fine. My girl's strong.”

   Billy grew bright pink. Fuck.

   Susan came back to sit down. Got a few bite in before Neil stood and kissed her cheek. Dug a few bills out of his wallet.

   “Make what you like, have it ready.”

   “Thank you, honey.” She jumped when Neil unceremoniously smacked the back of Billy’s head.

   “What!” He cringed away in his chair, dropping the fork with a clatter.

   “You see the kind of attention you get when you look like a fucking fa-”

   “She was just being nice.” Billy shot back.

   Neil sneered and was already making his way out. Max wordlessly reached to pick up the fork and settled it next to his plate. She eyed him again once the door slammed and Neil made his way to work. Susan stared at her cold eggs.

   “We should go.” Max sighed. Something happened between him and Evie. Something ugly. “To the salon.”

   “You hate that shit.” Billy lost his appetite and sat back. Pushing up out of his chair.

   “We’ll need a ride anyways. Neil always has the car and it’s better than the bus.”

   “Do I look like I’m your damn taxi?” Billy snapped. Noted Susan flinching, but she didn’t get between them. Max sat straighter. Too calm and observant.

   “No, you look sad.” 

   “Fuck off.” Billy shoved up and left his plate there.

   “Maxine.” Susan stood. “Billy-”

   A door slammed. Max debated it and went after him.

   “Don’t, he’s upset.” Susan snatched her daughter’s wrist. 

   “Yeah and he’s not Neil.” Max slipped off, leaving Susan to frown at her plate and pull her sleeves down a little lower.

   Summoning more courage, Max knocked.

   “Go away.” Came the muffled reply she ignored. Pushing in. “Just fucking go away.”

   Billy was under the covers. Having tossed his jeans and shoes aside. He didn’t raise his voice, it only got raspier. 

   “Didn’t you take Evie to that party? What happened?” Max shut the door. Crossed toward the bed.

   “Doesn’t matter.”

   “She came home before you. This orange car passed when I was sitting in the open garage fixing my wheel. I saw Evie come out at the end of the street and go home. She looked upset.”

   “An orange car?”

   “Yeah, like a rusty orange. Old car too, a Plymouth like my dad used to drive. I saw a man in the front seat. He looked like a dad too. Evie was in the car with him.”

   Billy’s head lifted to see her. Max didn't often see this look on her brother's face. Horror.

   “A dad?”

   “I don’t know, it was weird. He didn’t drop her off at her house. He passed it and she walked back.” Max shrugged, dared to sit on the bed when Billy pushed up.

   “Did you see his face?”

   “I think I’ve seen him before, I don’t know where. I was too far away. He kinda looked like Neil. Lighter hair.”

   “Mustache. Blond.” Billy’s eyes searched. He got up. “Gotta shower.”

   “Billy, what’s going on?”

   “Nothing, Max." A dismissive hand waved. "Just stay out of it.”

   “You messed up, didn’t you?” She paused when he whirled around. Thought he’d get upset. But, he only exhaled and turned to go. Stopping again when his thought was too much.

   “Max, you know not to get into cars with older guys. Right? Even if they’re pretty? Even if they call you pretty too.” Billy found her eyes and looked defeated. Something else rare for him to show.

   “Duh.” Max shrugged. A beat. “You haven’t told Neil about Lucas.”

   “You haven’t knocked my dick in the dirt with a fucking nail bat. Don't care that you see boys as long as they don't... Just don't let Neil know you hang out with them.” He opened the door. “Out.”

   Max beamed a little.

   “Apologize to Evie.” She passed with an obvious huff.

   As if it was that easy.

** ** **

   “Mom, I really don’t feel good.” Evie mopped around in a robe after taking a long shower. Mona was touching her forehead. A barely there graze before she went to sort some items in the cupboard.

   “You feel fine. It’s just dinner. Socializing is good for the soul.”

   “Mom, I really don’t-”

   “Evie, just smile for a few hours. Please, I want them to feel welcome. You can do that.” Mona waved her hand about.

   Evie shut her mouth. Flashed teeth beyond twitching lips. Moved to go off into her room where Bourbon sat sleeping. His eyes cracked before he gave a purr and resumed slumber.

   "Least one of us had a good New Years." Evie organized some empty decorative boxes and dishes on one of her bookshelves. Hummed in thought at another shelf full of collectibles. Felt the cool metal of an antique key no bigger than her pinkie.

   It tasted vaguely bloody. Clanked around in her mouth. Harsher than the button. Such a forbidden thing. That much was almost thrilling. Evie tried once to push it down. Choked. Coughed it up onto her desk with a small clatter.

   Just grin and bear it. You can suck it up, Mona said in her head. Encouragement. Always necessary. Evie picked up the key, spit trails came from it. Forced it to the back of her tongue. Swallowed once. Twice.

   It seeped awkwardly down. Dropped into her stomach with the few buttons she’d eaten too.

   Evie wondered if they’d dance with her as she navigated the world. Falling back into bed. Debating the musical clicking sounds underscored by growing flowers inside her. 

   She thought of Fredrick winding around her frame. Kissing her jaw. Teaching her things. There was a soft boy before him, but he’d moved out of state. Mr. Bowers plucked her off the floor after her father left. Talked about how it was forbidden too, but it never stopped him from kissing her. 

   This is so wrong. Kiss. But, you're irresistible. Kiss. The world just doesn't understand. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

   It was funny how you could be so desired by a person who also constantly tells you it's wrong.

   But, that won't stop them. Excess skin. Age. What would bother people more if they knew?

   She’d sit on his bed and he’d join her. Put his hand up her leg and…

   “Evie!” Mona called. “Can you help me here? I won’t let you stay in that room all day for New Years.”

   Evie sprang up to gulp air. Held it. Felt in total control of her existence.

   “Coming.”

** ** **

   Evie hung back when the knocks rang. Stuck her head in the freezer and swallowed an ice cube whole. Wondered if this new habit would ruin her appetite. Wondered why she wasn’t horrified and ashamed of herself. It was just so quiet when it happened. Soothing. None of the ugly white noise in her daily life clustered.

   Nobody needed to know. It was wrong, that wouldn't stop her.

   “Honey! Come in and say hello.”

   Another ice cube slid down her throat. Felt like good practice.

   Wiping cold, wet fingers on her denim skirt, Evie appeared around the corner to see the Hargroves standing in her living room. Billy tried to catch her eyes.

   “Hi,” a shy wave followed, “Happy New Year.”

   “Evie, you look so pretty today.” Susan crossed to greet her with a dish. “I made cherry cheesecake for dessert.”

   “Looks good, thank you, I’ll put it in the kitchen.” Evie pulled it from her hands. Candied and red on top of fluffy filling.

   “Mona, I insist on helping.” Susan had gone on.

   “You’re my guest, Susan.” Mona looked up from Neil’s hand. Pressed in a nice polo and blue slacks. He offered a little bouquet of snapdragons tied together with tissue paper and twine. Also had a bottle of white wine. “It’s almost ready, please sit at the table. Evie just set it.”

   Evie snuck out of the kitchen again and saw Billy there staring pointed at her with an expression she couldn’t read. Averted her eyes to the little redhead next to him.

   “Hey, Max, enjoying break?”

   “While it lasts,” she glanced up at her brother as Evie shuffled away. Mona handed her the flowers to put in a vase. “That bad?” Max addressed Billy quietly.

   “Yeah.” 

   Evie looked at him like he was nothing to her. No anger, no sadness. Just a big, gaping nothing.

   Somehow that was worse.

   “The flowers are lovely, Mr. Hargrove. Thank you.” Evie came out to settle the vase on a side table in the dining room as he pulled out a chair for Susan.

   “We’re neighbors. Neil and Susan are fine, Evie.” He was all sweetness. The doting husband. Billy crept around the corner with Max.

   “I should help my mom.” Evie made herself disappear. 

   “It smells good.” Max crossed to sit down as well across from Billy.

   “I made something special from home. Jambalaya. Tried to go easy on the spice for your stomachs.” Mona brought a dish in after Evie sent some fresh rolls at the table. Her cheeks flush because her mother sat down too quick. The only free spot was the opposite head of the table between Max and Billy.

   She suppressed a groan and crossed to take it. Offered sodas to Billy and Max wordlessly. 

   “Would you like to join me in the prayer?” Mona offered her hands out to Neil and Max.

   “Of course.” Neil only smiled. Evie shifted in her seat. Felt Billy’s eyes burn. Took Max’s hand and stared at Billy’s open palm. Was this a game to him?

   She took it. Squeezed it maybe a little too tight. Stared ruefully at her empty plate. Max noticed Billy’s knuckles pale and smirked at his tense expression.

   “Bless us, Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ. Bless the Hargroves, we are truly grateful to have them join us tonight. Please guide our children through a successful year, we pray. Amen.” Mona smiled. “Please dig in. I always make so much.”

   “Allow me.” Neil plucked up the wine and poured three glasses for the adults.

   “First Christmas and New years in our town. I have to ask if it was a memorable one?” Mona started conversation. The rolls and dishes were passed around.

   “First white Christmas we’ve ever seen, it was beautiful.” Susan radiated.

   As the adults chattered about boring Christmas gifts, Max turned to Evie.

   “Mom got me some of that felting stuff, you can teach me how to do it now.” She flashed a smile. “Can you show me after dinner?”

   “Sure.” Evie was tearing her roll into two pieces. Eyed the butter next to Billy and decided to eat it without. “Eager to stab something a million times into a cute shape?”

   “Duh.” Max kicked Billy’s ankle. Tried to get him to speak, but he shoved a huge bite of rice into his mouth. “Maybe I can show, El.”

   “El?” Evie sipped her soda.

   “This new girl I’m hanging out with. Chief Hopper’s kid, he wants her to have more girl friends.” Max chuckled, twirling her fork around. “We didn’t...get along at first, but it’s better now. We found things in common.”

   Another kick at Billy’s shin. He glared. Nudged her foot back.

   “Easier when you’re younger.” Evie remarked.

   “We’re gonna find Evie a talent agent this summer,” Mona had spoken across the way, “she won all these competitions these last few summers. Sung for the governor himself at an event when she was only thirteen.”

   “Mom…” Evie blushed. She loved this food and today, it looked ghastly somehow.

   “Being a singer is difficult work.” Neil spoke. “How are you going to make money in the meantime?” 

   “She’s good,” Billy found his voice, “real good. She can make money singing.” A cold stare penetrated. “Miss Mona, weren’t you a pageant queen?”

   That turned the adult conversation for the rest of the dinner. Mona and Susan prattled with Neil stuck between them. Miserable and having to hide it. Billy turned to Evie. Smirked.

   “Can you pass the butter?” She blinked at him. Reached for another roll.

   Billy cocked his head and handed it over. Evie didn’t want to fall into those pretty eyes again. Listened to her mother and Susan chatter eagerly with Neil chewing and nodding every so often.

   Evie saw him fill his glass of wine three times.

   “Let me help you clear this for dessert.” Susan was stacking plates so Evie got up to help. Neil drank his last glass down as he sat back. Clearly extremely relaxed.

   “Neither of you are going to offer extra hands?” He’d barked under the sound of dishes in the sink and the TV in the next room.

   “It’s fine, we have it.” Evie came to set the pie down at the center of the table. Neil snatched her wrist to observe her expression. Eyebrows lifting.

   “You’re a very kind, young girl, Evie. You should sing us something.” Alcohol on his breath welled hot. He was drunk and hiding it better than most. Barely ate any dinner because the spices weren’t for him.

   Max’s fists clenched on the table and Billy moved like he might stand up.

   “Oh, I couldn’t.” Evie replied, another bout of strawberries crept up her cheeks.

   “Can’t be a singer if you’re shy.” He chuckled.

   “She was sick this morning, she probably shouldn’t.” Billy came out of his chair carefully. Eyes direct on his dad clutching Evie’s wrist.

   The fingers loosened so she crossed behind Billy. Paused there so Neil could see who her shield was. Got back into a chair.

   Billy slowly sat back down.

   Neil would deal with him later.

   “Susan, this looks delightful. I hope you’re willing to share the recipe. I haven’t mastered the cheesecake yet.” Mona ushered her friend back in. Neither felt the tension as Neil and Billy stared at each other. Not stopping when the cake was cut and passed around.

   “I’ll write it down for you.” Susan offered Billy a piece, caught Neil’s eyes. “Neil says that’s what made him fall for me. Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” 

   Neil pressed this tight smile and laughed with the two ladies. None of the kids followed.

   “Better if you just go through his chest.” Max had mumbled. Stabbing a bright red cherry with her fork. Evie suppressed the urge to snicker. Swallowed the sweet treat and excused herself when the meal ended. Max trailed after.

   “Want to show me? No plans tonight.”

   “Sure.” Evie twitched a smile.

   Mona was pulling Susan out onto the back deck while Evie grabbed a basket she kept her craft items in. A body blocked her in the hallway.

   “Evie, can I see you outside?” Neil wasn’t particularly tall, but he certainly had a presence. 

   Her eyes went steady on Billy at the end of the hallway behind him.

   “Yes, sir.” She glanced again and Billy disappeared. “Max, want to use my desk? You've seen my room, I can show you this. Don't mind Bourbon snoring, he's been extra tired today.”

   “Yeah, sure.” Max took it after an uneasy beat so Evie followed Neil out front.

   “It was a lovely dinner, I don’t go much for exotic food.”

   “From New Orleans, Louisiana.” Evie replied flatly. “I guess.” Neil was all pleasantries. Shifting on his feet and breath smelling of wine.

   “You just seem nervous around Billy. My boy has a history.” He gestured. “Not a very nice history with girls like you.”

   “Girls like me?” Evie’s nervous hands rubbed together in front of her. Shoulder’s lifting.

   “Girls who are just a little…” Bigger. Darker. Stranger. Exotic. “Different.”

   “Billy and I...Well, we don’t really talk.” 

   It was clear Neil wanted some admission out of her. Just for the sake of it.

   “I just mean, if my boy has been unkind to you. I’d like to know about it. Billy gets into trouble and it’s my job to keep him out of it.” Neil stepped in. “You’re a very nice girl, boys take advantage. That's all I'm saying.”

   “We…” Evie’s lip wobbled. “We don’t talk, sorry. Billy hasn’t…”

   “If my boy steps out of line, Evie, I’d like to know about it.” Neil smiled again. “Tell your mother I said thank you for dinner. No doubt, she’ll keep Susan busy another hour.”

   “Sure.” Evie watched him step down the porch. Stumbled and recovered quick. “Goodnight.”

   The moment Neil went into his house, no doubt for another bottle, Billy slid out of the front door.

   “You didn’t say anything. To your mom or anyone.” He observed plainer. Unreadable. "Why?"

   “Your dad’s gone, Billy, we don’t have to pretend anymore.” Evie replied without a tone. Stepping around him. Sparing him a beating maybe. No emotion to give him.

   He wasn’t worth it.

   That replayed over and over again. No tears, no anger. Just ice. Cool and sleek. 

   Evie went back into her house. 

   Billy decided another night in his car away from Cherry Lane was better.

** ** ** **

   “You can glue the eyes in now.” Evie applied some from a tube and pushed two tiny eyes into Max’s project.

   “Looks like a monster.” Max snickered at the hideous yellow blob. “It was supposed to be a baby chick.”

   “Ah, takes practice. Just keep stabbing. Give it to your mom, she’ll display and love it forever because you made it.” They sat at her desk under a little lamp. Max looked at Evie twisting wool around to make a shape, plucked up the project she’d made. “Kinda strange, you stab something a million times until it’s pretty. Keeps my hands busy though.”

   “Trying to stay distracted?” Max piped in. Bourbon lifted his head behind them and wandered over for pets.

   “When you get older, all you want is distractions.” Evie shrugged her shoulders and sat back. Let her cat sweep their legs.

   “What happened with you and Billy?”

   “Huh? Nothing.” Evie managed to smile.

   “I know he took you to a party and...he came home  without you looking trashed like he crawled out of a dumpster.” Max paused. “Someone else took you home.”

   “I just got a ride from another friend. I don’t rage like Billy does.” Lie.

   “You’re mad at him.”

   “I’m not mad. I don’t…” I don’t want to feel anything. Sadness and fury. They weren’t to be processed or discussed. They made you ungrateful. 

   “Did you have a bad time? Did he get mad? He gets mad and does stupid stuff.” Mad Max was too sharp for this entire bland town. Evie sucked in her cheeks.

   “No, I had a great time actually. That was the problem.” A wave crashed into her. Covered in metallic confetti. Magical. Crushing.

   “What happened?” Max pressed.

   “It’s not for me to say, I don’t want to-” Evie sprang up and the door opened.

   “Sorry girls, Susan was headed out.” Mona dipped in without knocking. “Having fun?”

   “Yeah.” Max stood up. “Thanks, Evie, I’ll keep practicing. As long as it takes.” Felt like she was hinting at something else.

   “Night, Max.” Evie watched her mother show the younger girl out. Quickly swept her craft supplies back into a basket and plucked up her old cat. Listened to him purr. Decided another long night of sleep and late morning was better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! Chat with me if you have time :))

Tagged:: @80sbxtch​ @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @billy--hargroves

[sonicgetsrawed]

Bleu Cheese

Another Varain x Hugo one shot! I told y’all I dying on this ship! Warning: mentions of blood, vomiting, and injury!! Enjoy!!

Varian’s heart felt like it might explode out of his chest. Granted he felt like that most times he was around Hugo, but he knew for a fact that was not what was causing it this time, despite Hugo’s hand being wound tightly around his wrist. They had barely managed to escape Donella’s goons, after quite a few close calls it seemed they’d finally lost them thanks to his sticky bombs and Hugo’s smoke bombs. Finally Hugo released his wrist, both doubling over to catch their breath. Luckily they had separated from Yong and Nuru to cover more ground in the large cave, he just hoped they also managed to avoid the fight. Once he had regained his breath sufficiently enough he pulled the taller male into a quick kiss.

“I almost thought we weren’t going to make it.” Varian laughed, watching as Hugo’s face flushed redder from the kiss.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to do that.” Hugo responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We agreed we weren’t going to in front of Yong and Nuru.” Varian countered. And it was true, they had decided to keep their relationship a secret for the time being, not wanting it to ruin the dynamic of the group when they were so close to fulfilling their mission.

“In that case,” Hugo cupped his face pulling him into a deeper kiss. Varian tangled his fingers in his hair the best he could with Hugo’s ponytail in place. Hugo placed his hands on Varian’s sides pulling him closer to further deepen the kiss. A pain shot through Varian’s side, he involuntarily bit down on Hugo’s bottom lip pushing away hurriedly. He sucked in a harsh breath, now that he had been made aware of the injury and the adrenaline had worn off, his side throbbed in pain. He barely heard the string of curses Hugo let out, through the pain filled fog his mind now seemed to be entering. He pressed a hand to his side, vision blurring when he spotted his blood soaked hand. He had come leaps and bounds from fainting at the sight of blood, but the amount that coated his hand, the slight metallic taste that lingered on his tongue from accidentally biting Hugo, and the blood loss made him sway dangerously on his feet. Hugo steadied him before he could fall over completely.

“Varian, I need you to focus on me. Do you remember what happened?” Hugo asked. Varian tried really hard to focus on what he was saying, but all he saw was the blood on his hand and the blood that had pooled on his lip. If he wasn’t nauseous before he certainly was now. He pushed Hugo aside just in time as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the cold floor of the cave. Varian couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. It was just his luck to get stabbed and vomit on his boyfriend’s shoes only a month after cementing their relationship. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to breathe somewhat normally each breath sending pain to his injury.

“‘M sorry.” Varian mumbled out, supporting himself with one arm against the stone wall. He flinched when Hugo grabbed his arm.

“It’s okay. We’re going to sit down. Can you sit down?” Hugo didn’t wait for him to answer as he guided him to the floor, away from the vomit. He felt Hugo gently pat his cheek. “Open your eyes, Var. I need you to stay awake.”

He shook his head. “Can’t look. ‘M awake.”

“Okay. I need you to talk to me then.” Varian nodded, sucking in a breath although he couldn’t bring himself to respond vocally. Hugo sighed. “I’m going to check the injury. I need to see how bad it is.”

Varian nodded again, hoping that Hugo was as gentle as he had been whenever it was just the two of them. He felt his shirt being lifted and the band of his pants being lowered just a smidge. He could feel his cheeks heating up, mentally scolding himself. Now was not the time to get embarrassed about such a small thing compared to the injury he had sustained. His eyes shot open when Hugo’s hand accidentally grazed the wound. He bit his lip in an attempt to suppress a cry of pain.

“Sorry!” Hugo apologized hastily, turning to rummage through their supplies. “So bad news is you definitely need stitches, the disinfectant is probably going to sting like hell, and we’re most likely going to have to camp out here for the night.”

“What’s the good news?” Varian asked, eyes focused on the ceiling not wanting to risk a look at the cut.

“You’re going to have a gnarly scar?” Varian scoffed, rolling his eyes. Hugo just laughed. “Okay, we’re going to get to be alone at least for the night, and when we reunite with the others I can use this as an excuse to have some more alone time with you.”

Varian’s face flushed at that, momentarily forgetting the pain. He was cruelly reminded of it when Hugo began cleaning the wound. It wasn’t nearly as bad as when he poured the disinfectant on though. He couldn’t stop the scream that tore from his throat, vision blurring at the white hot pain that ran through him.

Hugo shushed him, placing a soft kiss to his forehead before continuing his work. “It’s almost over. Just the stitches left, then I’ll set up camp and you can get some rest.”

Surprisingly the stitches went much smoother than the disinfectant. It was still uncomfortable but he kept his voice down, only the occasional gasp or whimper escaping him. Finally his clothing was returned to its normal position and all the blood was wiped away, save for the stained clothing. He pushed himself to his feet, not wanting to let Hugo do all the work, and set up their sleeping bags while Hugo started a fire. He settled into his bag after that, the exhaustion of the day taking its toll. Hugo joined shortly after, pulling Varian closer to him so that his head could rest on his chest. Varian sighed contently listening to Hugo’s breathing and heartbeat. It wasn’t long before he felt his eyes start to flutter closed, one of Hugo’s arms wrapped around him, his other hand stroking his hair.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Hugo said suddenly, quietly, almost as if he wasn’t sure he wanted Varian to hear or not. He hadn’t even realized he had scared the older male.

“Hey, Hugo?” He hummed in affirmation. “Thanks for being here with me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Varian mumbled deciding it best to ignore his previous statement. He felt Hugo’s grip tighten slightly as another kiss was placed on top of his head. He didn’t wait to hear if he ever replied falling asleep for once feeling safe and secure.

[wiccastark]

Fighter | C15 | George Weasley

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 |

EMILIA

I WAS in the middle of my Charms Theory OWL when I heard a faint explosion. I noticed some look around confused but returned to their test when was they couldn't find the cause of the commotion. I, however, was smirking down at my paper as I knew what...more like whom was the cause of the commotion. A moment later, there was another explosion but this time, it was louder. Everyone stopped their work and looked around as Umbridge walked towards the closed doors. She threw open the doors and looked around for the source of the banging. A firework buzzed around her nose before whizzing past her and into the hall and exploding into bright blue sparks. Umbridge looked down the hallway in confusion before the Twins appeared flying on their brooms. As they threw fireworks into the air and they exploded into bright sparks, papers began to fly through the air. I caught George's eye who gave me a large grin and winked, causing me to laugh and shake my head.

Everyone gasped when the twins set off a firework which formed into a large dragon. The dragon began to chase Umbridge causing everyone to laugh and cheer even louder when it chased her out of the hall and close its mouth around her before exploding, destroying all of her Inquisitorial Orders.

Everyone followed the twins out to the courtyard and continued cheering. George flew past me and grabbed my face. I gasped in surprise as he pulled me into a kiss, and I could hear catcalls echoing through the cheers. He pulled away and winked again before flying away. I clapped alongside everyone else while trying to calm the heat in my cheeks. More fireworks were set off and the sparks formed into a 'W'.

However, my celebration was cut short as I turned around and my eyes widened to see Harry on the ground. I rushed over to him and knelt down in front of him. "Harry!" I cried out when I noticed he was breathing heavily.

I continued crying out his name until his eyes finally forced on me and he gasped; "Sirius."

Harry's voice caused shivers to travel down my spine. I picked him off the ground and grabbed Hermione and Ron. Harry led us back through the castle as he explained what he had seen.

"Harry, are you sure?" Hermione asked as we rushed up the changing staircase.

"I saw it. It's just like with Mr Weasley. It's the door I've been dreaming about. I couldn't remember where I'd seen it before. Sirius said Voldemort was after something. Something he didn't have the last time, in the Department of Mysteries," Harry explained again.

"Harry, please, just listen," Hermione's voice caused us all to stop; "What if Voldemort meant for you to see this? What if he's only hurting Sirius because he's trying to get to you?"

"What if he is? I'm supposed to just let him die? Hermione, Sirius and Emilia are the only family I've got left," Harry said, looking down at me when he said I was family.

Hermione and Ron shared a look for a few moments of silence before Ron asked; "What do we do?"

"We'll have to use the Floo Network," I explained as we continued our way up the stairs.

"Umbridge has the chimneys under surveillance," Hermione denied which made me shake my head before answering; "Not all of them."

We all quickly changed out of our robes and into more appropriate clothing. I wore a black turtleneck to hide my runes which was tucked into a black pair of tight jeans. I was still zipping up my black leather jacket as I followed behind the others. I decided against my usual heeled boots as I wore a pair of flat black combat boots. I could feel the straps on the holster on my thigh which held a seraph blade encase I couldn't use my wand or whip.

We reached Umbridge's office and Harry used Alohomora to unlock her door. I had never been inside her office and my eyes wanted to cry with the amount of pink that was in the room. Hundreds of cats on plates lined the office and their eyes made me feel like we were doing watched. We knelt down the fireplace and activated the Floo when Harry spoke; "Alert the Order if you can."

"Are you mental? We're going with you," Ron remarked, knowing that none of us will let Harry go by himself.

"It's too dangerous," Harry tried to argue but I grabbed onto his shoulder and informed him; "When are you going to get it into your head? We're in this together."

"That. You. Are," the voice of Umbridge snarled as we turned towards the now open door.

She had tired Harry down into a chair while the rest of us were held back of her Inquisitor Squad. Ginny and Luna had been caught and had now joined us. "Caught this one trying to help the Weasley girl," Malfoy remarked as he walked in with Neville.

"You were going to Dumbledore, weren't you?" Umbridge asked as she bent down to meet Harry's eyes.

"No," Harry answered but she didn't like that answer as she smacked him hard across the face as she screamed; "Liar."

I went to launch myself at her, but I was stopped by Goyle tightening his grip on my arms. I couldn't use my enhanced strength on him as that wouldn't end well for anyone.

"You sent for me, headmistress?" Snape's monotone voice echoed through the room causing Umbridge to turn and look at him standing in the doorway.

"Snape, yes. The time has come for answers, whether he wants to give them to me or not. Have you brought the Veritaserum?" she asked the Potions' professor which made my eyes narrow at her.

"I'm afraid you've used up all my stores interrogating students. The last of it on Miss Chang," Snape answered which made us all realise that Cho didn't snatch...by choice anyways. "Unless you wish to poison him... And I assure you, I would have the greatest sympathy if you did. ...I cannot help you," he continued speaking before turning to leave.

"He's got Padfoot," Harry's voice caused Snape to stop before Harry continued; "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden."

"Padfoot? What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What is he talking about, Snape?" Umbridge demanded as Snape turned around before shrugging; "No idea."

Once Snape left, Umbridge turned around in defeat. "Very well. You give me no choice, Potter. As this is an issue of Ministry security... you leave me with... no alternative. The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue," she spoke which made my vision turn red.

"That's illegal," I snapped, struggling against Goyle's hold.

"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," Umbridge answered as she put a photo of Fudge face down.

She held a wand in front of Harry and when she went to say the spell, she was stopped in her tracks by Hermione crying out; "Tell her, Harry!"

"Tell me what?" Umbridge asked as she stared down at Hermione.

"Well, if you won't tell her where it is... I will," Hermione demanded which caused us to stare at her in confusion.

"Where what is?" Umbridge snapped, getting annoyed with Hermione's encrypted words.

"Dumbledore's secret weapon," Hermione finally answered, and I had to prevent my brows from frowning in confusion.

Hermione obviously had a plan.

Umbridge led Hermione and Harry out of room with her wand pointing towards them. Several minutes passed before Ron and I shared a look. I knew Ron had a few of Fred and George's Puking Pastilles in his pocket and I knew that the goons holding us were dumb enough to eat them. The other houses were always cautious when accepting candy from anyone else...but the Slytherin aren't because why would anyone give candy to a Slytherin?

"Man, I'm hungry," Ron groaned as he reached into his pocket and pulled some pastilles.

At the sound of food, Crabbe and Goyle pushed us aside and grabbed the sweets, shoving them into their mouths.

A smirk formed on my face as they began puking their guts out. I signalled to the others to rush out of the room as the Inquisitor Squad was distracted by Crabbe and Goyle vomiting everywhere. I quickly grabbed our wands which had been placed on the desk and tucked them into my pocket.

"Nice," I cheered as Ron and me high fived while we run as fast as we could away from Umbridge's office.

Ron knew where Hermione was taking Umbridge and Harry as we made our way towards the Forbidden Forest. When we were on the wooden bridge, we met up with Harry and Hermione run the other way.

"How'd you get away?" Hermione asked when we stopped running.

"Puking Pastilles. It wasn't pretty," Ginny explained as I began handing back everyone's wands.

"Told them I was hungry, wanted some sweets. They told me to bugger off and ate the lot themselves," Ron informed them which Hermione looked at him in shock.

"That was clever, Ron," she complimented him and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the tip of Ron's ears turn slightly red.

"Has been known to happen," he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"It was brilliant. So how are we getting to London?" Neville asked as we all looked over at Harry.

"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate everything you've done, all of you... but I've got you into enough trouble as it is," Harry explained as he walked past which caused me to cross my arms over my chest.

"Dumbledore's Army's supposed to be about doing something real. Or was that all just words to you?" Neville argued to which I agreed with.

Neville's words caused Harry to stop and look back at us

"Maybe you don't have to do this all by yourself, mate," Ron stated as I walked over to Harry and placed my hand on his shoulder.

"He's my dad, Harry," I said to him which made him look down at his feet.

"So how are we going to get to London?" Harry asked us after a few moments of silence.

"We fly, of course," Luna said in her usual airy tone which made me slightly worried.

Turns out Luna's idea was to fly on Thestrals. Everyone but Harry, Luna and myself could see the creatures so watching everyone's terrified faces gave me quite a good chuckle. To the Ministry, we go!

[quirkykayleetam]

Water Torture

Originally published for Bad Things Happen Bingo.  Reposting because of issues with tagging and notifications.  Direct sequel to Grabbed by the Hair.  Part of the Broken Pieces Universe.  Can be read as a one-shot.  Will be continued.  See tags for trigger warnings.

The last time the Faceless Men cut Jay out of their zip ties, Jay did not fight them.  As blood streaked down their neck, arms, and legs, burning through scars that were never left alone long enough to heal, Jay tried not to picture the whip cutting blood trails through their back.  They tried not to imagine the pain of the knife plunging into the soft spots of their rib cage and the agonizing twist their torturer always gave it before pulling it out.  They tried not to imagine their throat growing hoarse around screams they knew they could not stop.

It was just another day, Jay thought.  Another round of tortuous pain that they would endure for their mother, their clients, their bosses, anyone they could think of that would benefit from this.  Jay didn’t think that could get through it just for themselves.

This time when Jay was dragged into the solid metal room on unresponsive legs, there was no whip that they could see, no knife, no chafing manacles.  There was only a bucket of green and brackish water.  The goons behind them somehow forced Jay’s stiff and aching body into a kneeling position before the vessel as Jay stared at it blankly.  Then a new man forced Jay’s wrists’ together and Jay’s screamed.

The Faceless Man had broken Jay’s hands and fingers weeks ago, crunching them to bloody bits.  Jay had made sure of that.  While the rest of their body had frozen to numbness in their captivity, however, Jay’s hands still hurt like the day the hammer had slammed down on them.

I had to, Jay thought desperately.  It was the only way to…

Half-way through their thought and their scream, however, they were thrust forward.  Jay sucked briney water into their lungs as a strong hand, fisted in their hair, forced Jay’s head into the bottom of the bucket.

Within moments, Jay’s vision began to go black around the edges.  Their world was on fire.  The piercing agony in their hands was nothing compared to the burning that coursed from their throat through their entire body.

Jay wanted to relax, to let death take them.  Logically, they knew that was how this was going to end.  They couldn’t give the Faceless Men what they wanted.  As soon as they discovered that, this torture would end and their execution would begin.  But logic didn’t exist in this watery inferno.  There was only panic and pain and an instinctive part of Jay calling out to every fiber of their being that they were going to DIE.  Their legs tried to kick out in protest.  It came out more like a brief spasm.  Their head tried to struggle against the grip forcing them down, but Jay wasn’t strong enough.  They were already having trouble remembering which way was down anymore.

Just as they heart struggled with its last beat against the all-consuming blackness overwhelming Jay’s eyes, the hand behind them forced up them.

Air!  There should be air, right?

“Passcodes!” a voice barked roughly.  Jay did not hear it.  They were too busy dying on the floor.

Jay collapsed bonelessly with the hand no longer there to hold them up.  Their body spasmed wildly.  All they knew was that they were vomiting fire.

Water spilled from Jay’s lungs in hacking coughs as their body struggled to breathe again.  If Jay could have curled up into themselves, they would have, but they didn’t have the strength.  They thought they had known exhaustion before.  They were wrong.  The adrenaline that flooded their body only moments ago in an instinctual burst immediately spewed out of Jay, leaving him drained and shaking and… was disoriented the word for when Jay didn’t know what was the ceiling and what was the floor and whether there was someone else there.

Suddenly that hand gripped Jay’s throat, cutting off their air again.  Jay wanted to cry, to scream, to beg, anything, but couldn’t.  They just hung in their torturer’s fist like a puppet with its strings’ cut.

“Passcodes!” the man in the mask demanded.

When Jay didn’t move, he hovered the captive’s face over the bucket.

Jay’s whole body shook uncontrollably.  They couldn’t do that again.  It was more than just pain.  It was dying, the simulation.  In that bucket they could kill Jay again and again and still ask him for his mother’s Social Security Number.  Hell, they could ask Jay to confess to murder and Jay would do it just to make them stop.

Four, Jay’s logical brain supplied, picking their favorite number in the space between life and death where that logic still mattered.  Let me do this four times and then I can break and it’ll be okay.  I’ll have held out long enough.  I’ll have made my father proud.

Jay didn’t know if they made it to four times.

They didn’t know if it was strength or weakness that surged through them.

They just knew through burning fire and chilling water, hard metal and punishing force they managed to choke out two words: “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?  Go another round?” the man with the hand demanded.

“My…hands…” Jay gasped.  “Broken…you broke…my hands…”

The man lifted Jay up against and Jay grew desperate.

“Can’t give you…passcodes.  Not without…my hands…”  They tried to hold up their mangled appendages to prove their point, but that was too much.  The hand still had them by their neck.  It started dropping them towards the bucket.

No!  No no no no, Jay wanted to yell.  Then everything went black.

Jay awoke back in their cell.  The chair was gone so they huddled mutely against the wall.  They were wet to the core, but it didn’t matter.

Faceless Men cycled in and out in an endless spiral, getting Jay’s full story, learning of the final security measure to Morgan Security’s computer system, a measure Jay had programmed himself.

Jay was almost too exhausted to smile as he explained it.  The system required Jay to type in his own unique 6-phrase passcode, a passcode that would only be marked correct if the computer detected the exact speed and pressure of Jay’s typing presence, a typing presence that could not be mimicked by man or machine and that Jay would never be capable of making again, not with mangled, broken hands.

Jay could see the Men get desperate.  They brought Jay’s office desktop in for testing.  Jay didn’t know how they’d gotten it, but supposed it didn’t matter now.  They broke Jay’s nose anew, forcing his hands onto the keys, but one look at his crumbled fingers spluttering against the hard plastic convinced them it was useless.

Jay was now useless.  He had been useless for weeks when they could have tracked down other leads instead of focusing their might on him.

There was anger.

Jay took their beating in silence, finally able to curl up against the cold metal when they left.

You did it, Jay told themselves.  You did what you wanted to do, all that you could do.  You were a distraction, a stumbling block, a bug in their code.  Hopefully Morgan Security would realize that, would continue to take care of their mother after their death.  Hopefully the Faceless Men would never get their hands on what they wanted.  Hopefully…

But to be honest, Jay didn’t have very much hope left.  They knew their death wouldn’t be painless.  They doubted it would be fast.  They were struck with a sudden sadness that no one beside their boss would probably ever notice.  Jay would just seep out of this world with their only mark on it being a lack of evil, not a creation of anything good.

Was that something to be proud of?  Jay didn’t know.  So they slept in their cell and waited for the end.  If they shed a tear or two, would it have mattered?  Jay didn’t know that either, so there’s no use telling you.

Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!):  @stoic-whumpee, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall, @straight-to-the-pain, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @0idril0, @fallingstormphoenix, @whump-fantasies, @imagination1reality0, @whumpback-wail

[agender-mess]

My best friend and I are binge watching the MCU movies by chronological order.

I have watched almost all of them (a few of 'em years ago, Id don't remember all the details) while she only knows the basic facts of the most important heroes (Thor, Iron Man...) and a few more details of Coulson and Fury.

Her reactions are the best. Spoilers included.

Today we've watched:

Captain America: The First Avenger

- Ooohh - when Steve gets beat up in the alley, followed by an huff when he tells Bucky he had the other guy against the ropes.

- I dunno who that is but he's looking at them too much. - About Erskine listening to Steve and Bucky's conversation in the museum place near the fair.

- Intelligence, fellas. - Steve makes the flagpole fall by unscrewing that thingie.

- Surprised noises when the vita ray machine opens up, followed by an 'oh no' when Erskine is shot.

- That kid is the best! - the kiddo that is thrown into the pier by the Hydra goon Steve was chasing when he says he can swim.

- Did you imagine this as Captain America's beginning? - I asked the first time he puts on the suit and dances.

- I didn't know what I expected but this wasn't it.- the answer.

- When she thought Bucky had died she did this small noise that means she's sad. She didn't cry.

- Muffled laughs and distressed noises (we love to hug cushions in moments of tension) - Steve infiltrating.

- Ooooh boy they got a tank now. Ookay, destroy everything. Well, they're laughing, they're like kids with new toys. - the liberation of the prisioners.

- Distressed noises -He's gonna jump? Tell me he's not about to...ooookay he did it. - Steve jumping through the fire. - That's epic.

- Ha! In your face! He survived and now you have a new tank. - a few seconds - and new weapons. - another few seconds. - and another tank! - about Steve's boss looking at the now free prisioners.

- She got really scared for a second when Peggy shots at Steve's new vibranium shield to check if it worked.

- Oh, no. Buckyyyy. - the train scene, we all know what I'm talking about.

The rest of the film consisted on "that's epic" and "owww" in the romantic moments between Steve and Peggy. And in the end "Oooh Fury" as if understading everything.

There was also the moment when Red Skull holds the Tesseract and dissapears "Oh, so it's like the infinity stones: if you hold it you die." I look at her with a frown. "What? I've watched Guardians of the Galaxy."

- Captain America will be back in Avengers "Ogh come on!"

Captain Marvel

- Right at the beggining "It's been a few seconds and I don't know what's happening anymore. "

- That's the bad guy? He is. - Talon as a Kree kidnapping Vers.

- Rewinding memories? That's cool.

- She laughed out loud with the ARGGGGG - UUUURGH scene with the screaming-at-her-face Skrull and she returning the scream.

- She almost chokes laughing when Fury appeared for the first time. - So young.

- Owww Stan Lee.

-Ooooh shit. - Skrull as Coulson.

- I knew it. - Skrull as Fury's boss (sorry I don't remember the name)

- Kitty! - a second of silence - Eh. Fury. Fury. It's that you? Eh. He's...he's cooing at a cat. - Goose, of course.

- Coulson, I knew I liked you for a reason. - Coulson letting them go away.

- Well, the cat must be important, you told me it was when you watched the movie but I can't remember. (Thank God she didn't, her reaction was hilarous) And now he's cooing at it again. Ookay. - cat in the plane! purring Goose.

- That kid is adorable. - Monica's first appearance.

(A bunch of me complaining about why Marvel didn't show Maria and Carol in a relationship when THEY WERE RAISING A DAMN KID TOGETHER AND MARIA HAS CAROL'S JACKET AND MILITARY STUFF)

- It's a cat! It's not gonna eat you. - about Carol holding Goose against Talos. (I wanted to laugh so bad)

- Oh. So. The bad guy is good now. - Talos explains everything.

- I thought maybe the Tesseract was involved but maybe not and then here it is. Oww, kitty, don't touch it. - Tesseract and Goose.

- It's not a flerken! It's a cat! High danger, of course. -sarcasm and laugh when Fury isn't dangerous by that alien scan.

- SHE'S BADASS OH YAAAAS. That's so cool! - Carol's powers.

- What the fuck? - scared when suddenly Goose eats the Tesseract - Maybe it wasn't a cat. - I laughed out loud.

- You knew it wasn't a cat! - I said.

- I knew it was important, but not that it was an alien!

- The whole

answered by 'I have nothing to prove to you' quote and my friend almost jumps in joy, I swear. "So badass"

And then some muffled cheers (the cushions, I swear hugging one is great when nervous).

- Oh!! Don't tell me he loses the eye...?! Come on! He really does?! Hahahahahahahahahahaha!

Then I told her Carol wasn't gonna appear again til Endgame and he groaned like: WHYYYY. And me: Captain Marvel was released just before Endgame, she kinda didn't exist before.

- Is Goose gonna vomit the Tesseract? Tell me not. Oghh it did. - Postcreds scene. (Not the first one, we'll watch that one after Infinity War)

Iron Man

(I think I saw this one like five or six years ago and only the end. Fanfics were enough to fill the gaps, though I got surprised a few times during the movie too)

- I'm not gonna ask. I guess I'll now later what's happening. - right at the beggining.

- Sassy. I like him. - him talking to the journalist.

- He's so young my god. - us during the movie. (Me saying 'he's just a baby' under my breath a couple of times)

- Oh he's fucked. The irony. - Stark Industries missile.

- Btw, he's being operated on without anaesthesia - me being as useful as always with random data. - That's not good. - the answer.

- He's not gonna do it, right? - about the Jericho missil.

- That's not it. What's that? - about the arc reactor. - Ohw okay.

- He won't waste it. - Yinsen famous last words.

- Ha! He's got fire now! - Tony in getting out the cave.- Now it's the time to do a miracle and to get out of there! Oh. Oh, he can fly now. Great. Does he have...oh god, he doesn't. Well, at least it was sand and not a mountain.

- Owwwww. - to the 'I don't like job hunting'.

- I like him so much! A cheeseburger, that's my man.

- Please tell me the that robot is not gonna...Auch! That's gotta hurt. And now the robot uses the fire extinguisher, why not. - about the first try of Mark II.

- Owww he's so happy. New toys, I tell ya. - flying. - Don't you dare, you just got back! He's a bit suicidal, isn't he? - testing the height limit in the sky (you've got no idea, hun) - I love Dum-E! - fire extinguisher again.

- I don't like him, he can't be good. - about Obadiah.

- When Obadiah discovered Pepper copied his documents both of us screamed "RUN" at her, laughed, hugged and back to hugging the cushions.

- Btw, Marvel loves to torture Tony amd Peter Parker. Just a heads up.

- I can see that, this is too much tension.

- To Tony almost dying of cardiac arrest the reaction was hugging the cushion tigher. Same. She almost goes through the screen to hug Dum-E when it saves Tony's life.

- Is she wearing high heels? - Pepper runnng away from Obadiah.

- Yeah, I think so.

- Mmmn mnn. Makes sense.

A bunch of muffled cursing in the final battle.

And THEN the epic end:

- He's gonna improvise. No papers, come on.

- Hah! I love him!

(Postcreds: Fury is here. Of course)

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Lady Celista Spencer was in mourning.

All her life she’d imagined crossing the Atlantic with her aeroplane, and now it’s twisted wreckage lay half-buried like a statue of a mighty king that had been wrenched off its pedestal and left to sink back into the earth. She was heartbroken. As soothing winds whispered off the ocean, the waves crashing relentlessly behind her, she sat down in the dirt and began to cry. First it was just a quiet murmur, but within a few moments her child-like wails could be heard from miles around. She was the type of person who felt things more deeply than other people, whose emotions could overwhelm her without warning. She sprawled on her back and screamed her lament at the afternoon white. Eventually her sadness turned to anger.

When Big Sal arrived on the scene, Lady Celista had donkey-kicked a hole in the fuselage of her beloved plane. Her black hair swept around her face like the tentacles of a drunken squid. When she spun to inspect the intruder she found herself faced with a gargantuan Nova Scotian wearing stained overalls. At least 50 years old, she had black-stained fingers and close-cropped grey hair that stuck up like porcupine bristles. The two of them stood gazing at each other for a long time before either spoke. 

“I heard you were a feisty one,” Big Sal said. “You left ol’ Jim with a pretty mean shiner there. Not that he didn’t deserve it.”

Celista frowned. “And who are you to decide what people deserve?”

This made Big Sal laugh. “Well, I’ve been around long enough to figure out who has a functioning soul, and who doesn’t. It’s the type of thing you can see in somebody’s eyes the moment you meet them. And I’ve been around a lot longer than you, little lady.”

“Don’t call me little.”

“I take it back. I’m sorry. The fact is, it looks like you need some assistance. That’s why I’m here.”

“Unless you’re an expert at fixing planes we have nothing to talk about.”

Sal smiled. “As it happens, I do know a thing or two about fixing vehicles. I run an automotive shop up in Lunenburg that could use an extra hand or two. Plenty of scrap metal laying around. The type of metal that might be put to good use plugging holes like that one right there.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

She sighed. “Girl, there ain’t anybody you can trust in this world. Not if you’re smart. But it seems to me like you don’t have many options left here. Now I’m ready to throw you a life preserver, the only question is whether you’re ready to catch it.”

Celista had calmed down by this point. She bit her lip, weighing her options, as this giant woman stood stoic. Growing up she’d always been suspicious of men, but that didn’t mean she liked women either. Nobody had shown her true kindness her entire life, so she didn’t understand why Sal would even bother to offer help. She was a stranger, right? A foreigner? She studied the deep wrinkles of Sal’s forehead, the kind blue tint of her eyes. This was a woman with a hard face, but an honest one. 

“What are you proposing exactly?” Celista asked.

“Well, if you’re willing to put in some work around my shop I can pay you in room and board. Then, with your earnings, we can work together to get this thing back into flying shape.”

“Do you think it’s possible?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think is possible. The only thing that matters is what you do, and how well you do it. I’m not looking for dead weight. If you come work for me I’ll expect you to put your back into it. Do you think you can do that?”

That afternoon they transported the plane, which had broken into three pieces, down the winding highway to Sal’s shop. Celista rode shotgun with her window wide open, sucking back deep nostril shots of the ocean air. She loved the windswept lighthouses, the battered-looking historical churches and brightly coloured shanties. The yards she passed were full of fishing nets and lobster traps, old schooners up on blocks and deconstructed boats that yearned to return to the sea. Canada was nothing like the country she’d left behind. She was still far from her destination, but a hesitant hope was birthed deep in her soul. She could do this.

Big Sal’s shop became Celista’s home. Week in and week out she would labour away in the garage, rolling under malfunctioning cars to examine their undercarriages or change their oil. She began to learn all the different makes and models, quickly becoming Sal’s most efficient and trusted mechanic. And little by little she began to earn the cash she needed to repair her dreams. As one Christmas passed, and then another, she watched her aeroplane begin to take shape again. By the time she’d been in Lunenburg for four years it was sparkling and pristine, ready for the next leg of the journey. She didn’t want to stop until she reached British Columbia. She was 20 years old now, and had been reading book after book about the Shuswap. Her goals had crystallized around one particular body of water: the magic and meandering Adams River. 

“If there was a way to keep you here, I would try it,” Sal said, sinking down at a table across from Celista the night before she was scheduled to leave. “But I have a feeling like nothing could come between you and your goals.”

Celista didn’t say anything.

“Do you know how hard it is to find good help in in Maritimes? What am I supposed to do without you, girl?”

She shook her head. “I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a woman.”

“I suppose you’re right about that, aren’t you?”

Then Sal produced a rotund brown bottle with XXX inscribed on the side. She pulled the cork and poured two healthy shots. Celista could smell the stink of alcohol, and it reminded her of the disinfectant wash they used in the shop. She examined it with trepidation, thinking of all the stupid drunks she’d encountered during her years in Nova Scotia. Alcohol made people stupid, she knew that much, and Celista did not want to be stupid. 

“When I heard you were bound for the Shuswap, I decided to get you a special present. This here was brewed right in Salmon Creek. They call it Shuscotch.”

“Shuscotch?”

“It’s Scotch that was made in the Shuswap. They say they’ve got a distillery hidden off in the forest, and they smuggle the barrels down Salmon Creek to Shuswap Lake. This stuff is world famous. I thought you might like to taste it ahead of time. So you’ll know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Sal lifted her glass for a toast, and after a moment of trepidation Celista lifted hers too. They clinked, then each took their shot. Immediately she felt the fiery burrowing down her throat, like she’d swallowed an electric worm. She coughed into her elbow, tears in her eyes, then felt a magic warmth growing in her chest. She liked Shuscotch.

An hour later, as Celista stumbled drunk back to her lodging, her mind began to swirl above her into the purple heavens. She gaped with wonder as the clouds parted like theatre curtains to reveal a man’s rugged visage. Her vision filled with this man’s face, with his tri-coloured beard. He looked like a lumberjack of some sort, in red flannel, and as she watched he sprinted through gunfire. Flames licked into the air behind him as he jumped into a barrel and rode it bobbing down Salmon Creek. She gasped as the night sky exploded, beautiful orange flames overwhelming her and ascending hungrily. With that she doubled over, retching, and vomited until there was nothing left inside her to throw up.

The next day, nursing a vengeful hangover, Celista packed her belongings into the plane. As she prepared for her journey, she wondered about the figure from her vision. In all her life she’d never been attracted to a man before, finding them slovenly and entitled, but there was something different about him. He seemed more alive than most people, more magic, like his eyes were dancing with fire. She wondered if it was a dream or a prophecy of things to come. She’d never been religious and she didn’t believe in anything supernatural, but he seemed like the sort of person that could change her mind.

“I don’t suppose you’ll ever be returning this way, so I guess this is goodbye,” said Sal, reaching out her hand. “You were the best mechanic I’ve ever hired. I mean that. You’re going to do just fine in British Columbia, I believe that.”

Celista fought back tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Sal. I’m never going to forget you. I promise. And I’ll write you postcards once I get there, once I land in the Shuswap.”

Sal produced the jug of Shuscotch. “Why don’t you take this with you? As a token of my friendship. And if you ever track down the men who make it, let them know they’ve got a fan in Nova Scotia.”

Celista took it, then threw her arms around Sal. Throughout her childhood she’d always wanted a mother, and now that she found one she was leaving her behind. For a moment she doubted herself. She didn’t want to let go.

“Okay, Lady Celista,” Sal said. “It’s time for you to fly.”

The Kootenay Goon

[ginnie-darling]

@rexglass this answers your prompt for raspy breathing + jupeter. I had a great time writing it! Also please be aware of trigger warnings in the tags below. 

The tacky spot of blood at Juno’s temple stuck uncomfortably to the concrete floor as he lifted his aching head to blearily peer at his surroundings. How long had he been out? He recalled how he’d managed to stun a few of the bounty hunters that had cornered he and Nureyev in this warehouse before one of them, sporting a bionic arm, had lifted and thrown him against a pile of shipping containers. His head had snapped back sharply against the metal and then… nothing. He didn’t even remember hitting the floor.

There had been half a dozen people after them, and Juno’s blaster had left only three standing. Nureyev could hold his own in a two-to-one fight, Juno knew, but three-to-one was pushing it. He’d more likely have found a way to disappear. At least, that’s what he would have done if Juno hadn’t been there weighing him down. Hopefully he’d at least found somewhere safe to hide.

A choked-off cry cut short that hope.

Adrenaline shot through Juno’s chest, and within seconds he had dizzily pulled himself to his feet. He’d been concussed enough times in his life to recognize this one for what it was, once the headache and nausea made themselves known. Even so, it was mild enough that he could run through the maze of shipping containers, brushing through the clouds of tiny stars that obscured his vision. The sounds of a struggle guided his path, as did a trail of blood that told him Nureyev had landed at least one hit. It became clear all too suddenly that that one hit hadn’t been enough to save him.

Juno rounded a corner and found a scene straight out of the streets of Oldtown. Two bounty hunters stood behind his metal-armed friend from earlier, their eyes shining with bloodlust as they greedily took in the violence she was enacting. She had Nureyev pinned to the ground in a chokehold, with her knee pressing down on into his back, and one powerful arm wrapped around his neck, forcing his torso to arc upward painfully. He’d abandoned the knife in his hands to scrabble at the unyielding metal, but it clearly wasn’t helping. His face had gone a startling red, contrasting with the blue veins showing in his forehead. His mouth was open as if in a scream, but he made no sound. His eyes were rolling frantically in their sockets, searching for an escape.

Juno wasn’t a very good shot these days, and the concussion wasn’t exactly helping, but regrettably he was the only one in the warehouse on Nureyev’s side. So he fired his blaster…

And missed. Four times in quick succession. But the fifth one hit, and sent one of the goons sprawling. His friend went down a few shots later, looking around in confusion for the source of the barrage. Juno squinted through the sights of his blaster at Metal Arm, but it was no use. Nureyev was too close, there was no hope of stunning her without hitting him as well.

Not that it mattered, because it was at that moment that Nureyev’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped forward lifelessly into Metal Arm’s ever-tightening grip.

“Nureyev!” Juno yelled. He couldn’t help it, and besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already blown his cover. He stepped out fully from behind the corner of a shipping container, and leveled his blaster at Metal Arm’s head.

“You again?” she said, incredulously.

“Yeah, me again. I’ve been told I’m very persistent.” He adjusted his footing, doing his best to ignore the vertigo that told him the floor was pitching and shifting beneath him. “Now let him go”

She called his bluff. “You won’t shoot.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Do you? Your man won’t last much longer without air.”

Nureyev’s dark hair had fallen forward, partially obscuring the white of his half-closed eyes. His blue lips, dripping with saliva, still gaped as if he were gasping, although the last breath he’d taken had been more than two minutes ago. He looked like a corpse.

Juno dropped his blaster.

And Metal Arm dropped Nureyev. He fell unceremoniously on his face, and for a sickening moment, lay perfectly still. Suddenly, he took a deep and rasping breath, the single movement animating his entire body once more with life. He coughed painfully into the concrete floor, wheezed through a few more lungfuls of air, then repeated the process.

Juno was at his side before Metal Arm could stop him, falling heavily to his knees, tears of relief pooling in the corner of his eye. Gently, he helped Nureyev sit up so he could breathe easier, guiding him to lean forward against his chest. Juno held him up as he focused entirely on breathing, each inhale rattling horribly in his throat.

“Good to see you finally decided to join me,” said Juno, words slurring together in a head-trauma haze.

“That’s my line,” Nureyev responded, in a choked whisper that sounded truly painful. He gave a small, breathless laugh which seemed to take all the energy he had left. Then he took one of Juno’s hands in both of his, clasping it to his heaving chest weakly yet insistently.

Juno squeezed back, attempting to imbue the touch with all the comfort and reassurance he could give. If he was trying to reassure himself too, well, who could blame him? It didn’t look like there was a way out of this one; they were both at the mercy of a bounty hunter who seemed perfectly comfortable cashing them in either dead or alive. She was standing them over now, Juno’s blaster in her belt, the cuffs dangling from her fingers telling them their moment was up.

Nureyev guided Juno’s hand a few inches to the left, to rest over one of the many hidden pockets in his jacket. A look of understanding passed between them.

When Metal Arm pulled Juno to his feet by the collar of his coat, he drew the knife from Nureyev’s pocket and plunged it into her stomach in one fluid motion. She fell to the side, clutching her wound. Blood dripped down the handle of the knife, which jutted out between her fingers.

Juno barely had time to step away before doubling over and retching into an empty crate lying open nearby. By the time he’d finished emptying his guts, he could hear that Nureyev’s breath, though still audibly labored, had evened out somewhat.

“I don't guess you’ve got a-” he said, turning once more to face Nureyev, who was holding a pocket-sized pack of tissues up to him. “Yeah, that.”

Juno took the tissues gratefully and cleaned up his face, wiping away the blood from his temple and the vomit from his mouth. He glanced over to check that Metal Arm hadn’t moved, but the sight of the blood slowly spreading out beneath her nearly made him sick all over again.

Nureyev noticed his discomfort. “She’ll probably live, you know, if that-” he rasped, the sentence fading away as he ran out of breath to support it. After a few moments of panting, he finished “If that makes you feel better.”

“Good to know,” replied Juno, honestly. “But let’s not stick around long enough to find out.”

[sonderrow-moved]

Just a long ass and so average sounding introduction.

“Hey dude, what’s up? You look as smooth as a goddamn baby, did you had an office job and decided to 9/11 your building?”

The first time Archer met Jael, under the alias James, was when he was assigned his cell. In a close security prison. Immediately, he was greeted. A good sign compared to ignorance or worst… but Archer couldn’t have cared less. He was above this, and would be out in no problem. He had no rules to follow, and it was his choice to behave, as to make everything smooth for himself. He gave a polite greeting.

“What’s the fancy getup, missus? You look ready for prom.” Jael looked at the businessman up and down, noticing the proper, slicked back haircut and the uniform put on as cleanly as possible.

Archer gave a silent, disapproval look and set up his things at the bottom of the bunk bed. Immediately laying down. The rest was spent with no sound… or so the young man wished. Jael immediately yelled at the top of his lungs, and multiple voices joined in what Archer could only associate to apes mindlessly crying out in their cage. Disgust filled his throat, nearly causing nausea. He had to hold on, because those years were already starting to feel like an eternity.

Due to his uncomfortable sleep, Archer’s clothes were still wrinkled when he woke up, having fallen asleep before undressing. He felt as if he’d need to be a cat and nap all day… but he couldn’t, not with all those ants in his limbs screaming to destroy everything in sight out of frustration. Frustration to not be sitted at a table, a glass of mint milk and a clean line of powder while he’d plot to get out of the shithole the backstabbing public cursed into him.

Getting imprisoned was a casualty. A fucking casualty that could have been avoided. And he of all the assholes in this shithole of a corporates had to take it. Because he was so high, always aiming to not shine too much, but looked like he was unable to. Archer could only assume sex was what pushed people against him; charm and charisma apparently won over, maybe, all those big Hollywood shaped men. All those brown haired and tall, square jawline who dressed the same and talked the same.

And he was never interested by those stupid bitches who could only think with the hole between their thighs.

The trouble was palpable during meals. There Archer was. Back in middle school, with burly men who could only listen to their dick instead of little nuisances. Sharp looks were given, and the raven internally threw up, feeling sick. Not the kind which made you wobbly, the type which was about to make a vein pop in your goddamn forehead; he was impatient, for he was never patient. He needed something to forget, to pass time when in a slowburn plan, yet there was no silence, no clean place, all eyes on him at all time and this endless noise like millions of pans were clanked at his dying eardrums.

Sitting down alone, Archer caught Jael’s eyes, but immediately looked away, actually disappointed to have made any sort of interaction with someone whose appearance nearly made the businessman ashamed to put his eye upon him. Unkept hair and thrown around clothes, badly shaved beard atop this rugged look which only made the word dirt in the raven’s man. He was all smile and looked so comfortable it felt like he took this place like some youth association. Acting like a fucking jock on campus amidst his pals, comparing cock size when some niglet or beaner would look the wrong angle.

A stereotypically “handsome” man too who surely had it all so easy, Archer hated those. No matter what shit this man went through, he had the kind of shallow easy start stupid people gave pretty faces. Another Hollywood shit, because you couldn’t get rid of them; everyone all over the world was this retarded.

While Archer would like to kill his time in the library, his animosity had him walk out outside during free time, eyeing the watchtowers and wondering if someone was paid to shoot him under whatever dumb, covered up reason. Instead, trouble didn’t come from guards, but from his peers. After the initial whispering of his sudden appearance, Archer was immediately pushed around. Only this time kids don’t just push hard; those are grown adults who’d love to see his clean flesh turn blue. His surroundings smelled increasingly more of sweat, cheap stogs, sneaked booze, marijuana and so on, turning into a disgusting scent of heavy gruel vomit. Men of different groups standing tall while chewing some colourful ape-like speech. Burrheads, tacoheads, gweilos… didn’t matter, it was known; nobody likes a child abuser. And dropped charges or not, dunces didn’t care. Archer didn’t actually think of it, how the smell seemed constant. Unescapable. Just like all this crap he had no refuge within to just sleep well.

“Oh! Look, this twinkie think’ he’s smart.”

He didn’t waver, keeping his chin high, a piercing gaze, his elegant dignity clashing with the rest; white collar criminals weren’t supposed to be here, after all. He was special. A special kind of both scapegoat and the guiltiest and luckiest inmate at the same exact time. He didn’t feel small, at all. And he didn’t need to waste breath on some mean girls bitching. Archer was meeting their height without problem, and despite his slender build, those apes muscles didn’t intimidate him the slightest; muscles didn’t matter in this world. Only at its lowest. And his intellect never fell so low as to really think a punch could bring anything. There was no question how much, much more important he was. For way, way, way more was at stake than his little person being incarcerated… however, he was still human. Archer’s eyes widened when he was poked to the chest, so hard it cut his breath, but people were quickly spread when a guard blew his whistle, stationed ones ready to snipe if violence was about to break.

It didn’t matter to Archer. It was jealousy. He had so much power. And if he stood tall and kept doing what he always did, they’d follow. Even stupidities like those goons thrown in this hole by higher ups could respect him, with time. It was like Archer always did; power is in your charisma, attitude. Something you’re born with and then groomed, sharpened. Even in the lowest slums of illegal racing, he’d shine through and have women at his feet. Cars were gifted to him like pocket change just so he could remember someone’s name… there was no way these men wouldn’t fall for the most basic of humanity: power and greed.

He didn’t know how much his usual so high standard underestimated the first one, both that is and to be.