#ITS JUST FESTERING IN MY BRAIN SO I GOTTA VOICE MY THOUGHTS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lillaxtrigger · 3 years

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Young Hope: Chapter 40

The afternoon sun beats down upon the planes of suburbia just outside of Townsville; some of its warming light beaming straight through the window of a residence and cast upon the bottom half of a blue haired woman, who stands atop a step stool as she reaches up to her kitchen ceiling fan. Carefully does she continue to unscrew the fan’s frame keeping it atop the kitchen, each screw she twists out dropping down into the palm of her hand; one of them winds up slipping out from her grasp and falling to the tile floor. As she peers down to the screw that had just dropped, the woman is left astonished when finding a lone limb of pure black slither through the air underneath; the shock alone upsetting her balance and causing her to fall right off the stool and onto the floor. Amidst shaking off the short fall does the blue haired woman then watch’s the slithering limb split apart into two; one part reaching over to the fridge while the other heads up to the cabinet beside. From within the fridge does one strand pull out the jug of whole milk while the other takes out a tall glass out from the cabinet; pouring the milk right up near the rim of the glass before neatly putting the galleon right back inside before slithering back through the kitchen with glass in hand.

With a short breath escaping from her lips does the woman’s daughter race right on into the kitchen; giving the woman a hand as she asks:

“Mom! You alright?”

“Yeah Mally. Just got a little spooked by Roy’s new arm is all.” the mother explains as she’s pulled back onto her feet. “Oh yeah. It’s taking me a little bit longer to get used to too.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m so glad for Roy getting a brand new arm to replace the old one he lost several months back, but the way you described how it just came bursting out from his arm socket still has me concerned. Have you at least talked to him about it yet?” “I’ve been giving him some time to enjoy having both arms again before spoiling the fun. It’s been only a week now since we got back home.”

“Well when do you think it might be time to let the party train grind to a halt to check the cargo its got in the back?” “I think I might just start.” the orange girl answers before strolling off towards the hall.

Waltzing right through their hallway does Mally head towards the slightly cracked open door set along the very end of the hall; the roller bladder slowly pushing the door open and letting the hallway light seep into the darkened room. “Roy...You in here?” she says out tot he dark, baiting nothing but silence. Among peering through the dark recesses do a pair of violet glowing eyes emerge from the void; the silhouette they belong to lumbering closer as they stare upon the young lady. Finally pushing the bedroom wide open does the hallway light flood through the room and reveal the purple angel himself standing before the girl; Roy looking to her with a calming smile and uttering:

“Hey there.”

As the merc starts to drink the glass of milk held in his arm of pure black, the orange lass slowly steps into his bedroom as she asks:

“Hey Roy...So uh, h-how have ya been feeling this past week with your new arm?”

“Holy shit. It’s been so fucking great. I didn’t think I’d miss having both arms this badly. Plus with all that my new arm is capable off, I’m finding new ways to put it to use that his old limb could only gestural feint over; some uses far more pleasurable than before.”

“Yeah, I get it. You can have sex with people using your arm. What I’m really asking here is if you’ve felt even the slightest bit off since it came bursting out yer side? Any odd or upsetting thoughts going through your head...like more depraving than usual?” Mally retells. “Eh...outside of wondering if a dead body could be stuffed inconspicuously inside a recliner for about a week without no one noticing, haven’t really had much like that on the mind.” “Any physical pain or altercations?”

“Hmm...Nope.”

“Really?...Take your hoodie off then.”

“Whoa, whoa, Mal. I know were not blood related. But I still see you as a little sister so that’d be pretty damn wro-”

“Just take it off!”

“Alright, fine. Jesus.” the merc complies with, starting to slip off his treasure purple hood.

Upon finally beholding her brother’s bare chest do the skater’s eyes widen as her pupils shrink, nearly falling over as she screams out through the house:

“Holy shit!”

“Mally! What did I say about cussing in the hou- Oh my god!” the mom comes over to scold, though left just as taken aback when beholding the same sight as her daughter. Both of them are left horrified when discovering numerous black veins that run right across the purple merc’s bare chest like an encroaching infection and covering his upper body; Roy left wondering to both of them:

“The hell are you girl’s screaming about?” “You can’t be serious.” Mally utters.

“Honey, have you checked yourself in the mirror lately?” the mom questions with quiet worry. “Oh, you mean all these going through my bod. Pretty damn cool, right?”

“No!” the blue haired mother blurts out.

“I-is-is that-I Iiis all that even hurting you, making you bleed out or something!” Mally asks. “Chill, alright. I’ve never felt better. All this is just fine.”

“It’s pulsating veins are literally rooting through your body!” the mom adds.

“Oh my god. I seriously can’t believe you two. I finally gotten a break after all the messed up bull I gone through and your practically demonizing the prize I won at the end. Can’t you people be happy that I got an arm again, one that’s better than the old one?” Roy complains. “Roy, were not worried about you having a new arm. We’re worried about what it’s doing to you.” the mom specifies. “How do you two know it ain’t doing anything bad, maybe all this black veins going through my bod is improving me like nanomachines making him stronger; like that one guy in Metal Gear Rising. What was his name again? How the hell am I forgetting his name?” “We need to see a doctor about this.” the mom claims. “Mom, what would a doctor even start to make of this? I doubt they could give a feasible diagnosis over something this outlandishly dark appendage that came spurting out.” her daughter mentions. “What else can we do about it?” the blue haired woman questions back. ‘Uh...Alex said that this thing was made up of the same stuff he was. But that really doesn’t say much. Roy, you got his number right? Think giving him a call might be best on the table.” the skater comes to. “Already tried. Every call just goes to voice mail. Can’t sense him anywhere in Town either. Fact, he’s been off the grid since we got back. Hope the little gremlin hasn’t gotten into anything serious.”

“Right, fine. With that option out, we’ll just have to stop by a couple friends to see if they can help. But who to see first?” the skater wonders aloud. The merc suddenly snaps his fingers as he flashes a smile, stating how:

“Senator Armstrong! That’s what his name was.”

The very first stop that both Roy and Mally take under this investigation is with the potion witch herself, Serena; who they meet in the Townsville Library. More specifically within the recently uncovered underbelly of the library filled with enchanting books and mystical tomes. Sliding her finely polished nail across the wall of ancient hardback, the witch pulls out a lone book straight from the shelves; all the while telling the two behind her how:

“I seriously can’t thank you two enough for discovering this incredible collection hidden away underneath the library. All the new potion recipes that I’ve gotten from their pages have been one hot seller after another since you two dug it up.” “Ain’t no big deal. Really we just stumbled onto this by complete accident. I just hope the clean up crew removed all the trap set up in here.” the orange skater responds. Right on that mark do they all then here the sound of a magical explosion go off along the side; all of them peeking right over to find one of the library goers having his lower torso replaced with that of a spider, all while scream out in an utter panic. “Ah! Ah! Oh god! Why!?” the poor bastard shouts as a batch of silk spews out from his fresh new abdomen.

“So...What’s this little book stop gotta do with what came bursting out my side?” Roy get back on track with. “During one of my little glazes through this uncovered library, I stumbled across a tome of Mythological Chinese stories. One of them kinda reminds me of your arm in a strange way.”

“Where’s that.” Mally questions. “Think I last saw that Tome along the very back of the right side of the library. It might be the one sitting in the middle of the shelf.” “Kay, gimme a sec here.” the purple merc tells them, casting forth his arm of pitch black out beyond the railing and right across the outlook; stretching straight out to the other side. Slithering through sections does the arm slide past several other library goers, each one of them left astonished as the limb moves past. Skimming along the spines of every single book on the shelf does the merc finally pull out one in particular labeled as “The mythical fables of the ancient east” and withdraws the tome back to his side. “This it?” “Yep. The very same one.” the potion witch confirms. “You know what that story you mentioned says?” Mally asks. “Mm. I’ve olny read about a paragraph or two while on my recipe hunt.”

“That case. Guess we better just crack this thing open and feast on the festering brain food dwelling inside.” the merc goes. “Roy, dial it down for god sake.” his sister tells him as they both head over towards a desk.

Slapping the old book right onto the ancient stone library desk do the two of them get started in the table of context as Serena tells them that:

“Alright you two. I’ll be looking through more of the shelves if you need me.” “Careful of tripwires along the floor.” Mally warns her with as they part. Cracking the tome right open, the two of them immediately begin their search through the table of contents; reading out the titles of numerous legends such as: “The Oni and the flowerpot” “The natural Maiden of white snow” “The myth of the True eye Hawk bow” “The meeting of the Nord and the Imperial Lord”. “Ah...Oh, here might be something, “The tale of the Samurai and the black demon.” the orange young lady grabs her brother’s attention with.

“Long ago in an ancient land, a great and powerful mass of black had descended from the heavens and arose as a powerful shape shifting master of darkness; determined to dominate the land of China and all who dwell within with unspeakable evil power unmatched. Before the mystical land could be swallowed by such unrelenting darkness, the land’s lord sent away his only son and the one katana of evil’s bane out from their homeland so that his heir would escape to one day defeat this powerful and liberate his homeland. Through out every corner of the globe has this young heir hone his skills with many masters as his guide; his abilities and way of the blade growing alongside his age throughout the many years.

After a long 15 years of grueling training, the boy, now a fully fledged samurai, was ready to return home; determined to free his people from the monstrous evil that had scarred the land of the east. Among his return upon a horse of white; the powerful demon stared down upon the Samurai as he had stepped forth to appose him; the monster burning eyes staring down upon the Samurai as he unsheathed the blade of evil’s bane. The battle for not just the Samurai’s homeland, but for the world over had finally begun its finale.

Long and harrowing was their fight, the demon assuming many forms in opposition to the Samurai; who with fleet foot, tore through the monster’s very form that no other mortal could. No matter what form the demon had taken, no matter what trickery or power it had fought back with, the monster of darkness could not stand against the holy weapon of the Samurai; the katana slicing off piece after piece of the demon’s body. In the final moments of the grueling battle did the demon lay helpless before the Samurai; it body scattering to dust when the last blow had been struck. Finally, after decades of suffering had the demon been defeated and the land of the east free from its harrowing evil; the Samurai, reclaiming his kingdom and bringing forth a long awaited age of prosperity and peace.

Yet despite this victory over the demon of evil, its remains are left scattered throughout the world; ever seeking, ever yearning to be whole once more with its very kin. Yet for what reason does it continue to live? To regain control over the world it once sought to rule, or to return from the very stars it once came to be. Only time shall bestow upon us all such an answer.”

Upon finishing this tale of triumph and warning, Mally is left taken aback by all that they have read; sitting back along the side of a stone shelf as she goes:

“My god. Can’t believe that demon just came down and took over China in just a day. If Serena thinks that monster might be related, what’s that even say about what’s attached to your side?...What’s it even say about Alex?” “Come on Mal. You’re taking this way too seriously. You really think this charcoal Spaghetti strand attached to my side is gonna turn me into an unsympathetic horrible tyrant?”

In thinking over this does Mally try to take a few moments to think over her brother’s answer; Roy’s expression souring with each passing second. “For fuck sa-. Fine, if you still on the fence, then how bout we stop over at Hank’s and have him call up Melvin. That boy got a sweet set of demon hands like my arm and the worst he’s ever been was a compact ball of insecurity and anger issues wrapped up on a 14 year old twinkus. And that was even before he got them.”

“Checking up on him might not be a bad idea. Last time we hung out wasn’t exactly a pleasant spelunking trip.” the orange skater agrees.

Along the suburban skies above does a young boy strapped into a decked out wheelchair glide through the clear blue skies; the chair bound boy yipping and cheering with the sort of glee a 10 year old on Christmas would make after seeing all the presents in the living room. Right below this airborne lad does both Mally and Roy finish up speaking to the chairbound pilots cousin; Melvin leaning along the side of Hank’s abode as the orange skater finishes explaining how:

“That’s pretty much how Roy’s new arm came out. Came straight out of his side like an actual chestburster.”

“Shit man. Way I wound up getting my hands ain’t nowhere as gory as that. Worse I got was some broken bones and bruises.” the young man claims. “Think you could go into detail about how ya got them?” the merc request. “Nah, fuck that. I ain’t tellin.”

“Can you at least tell us if you’ve felt anything strange or off since ya gottem. Any physical pains or strange thoughts going through your head.” Mally then asks. “Outside a couple of mildly weird dream. Got nothin going on.” Melvin ultimately concludes. “Huh...good to here at least.”

Its then that their attention is drawn up to the young man gliding in the skies above them, pulling off rolls and loop de loops as his cheering echoes across the neighborhood. “The hell he’s so giddy for.” Roy wonders. “Couple a guys came over the other day and asked him to join in some little club and he’s been flying high since.” Melvin answers. “Who came over?”

“The Vanguard League!” all of them hear he chairbound genius cry out, the three peering over to watch as Hank comes in for a landing; his wheels kicking up a cloud of dirt as he skids to a stop before them all.

“They came over!? That’s incredible, Hank! What position did you land a spot in?” Mally ecstatically questions. “Ya’ll looking at the new head of the Technological Department. Making new gadgets and inventions to help fight crime, save lives, and help people worldwide; all alongside the greatest of young minds this generation has to offer. I can’t wait to get started after the announcement this coming weekend.” “Had a feeling they’d come around to check you out sooner or later. I don’t think they picked a better boy for the job.” Mally congratulates Hank with, the chair bound genius letting out a bright smile. “What about you Melvin, you think about standing alongside your cuz and the other heroes?” the boy then questions. “You shitting me, right? You think you’d catch me being bossed around like that? Hell no.”

“What about you Mal?” “Uh. Leaning on it, but I ain’t too sure which department to join.”

“Hey, no pressure; just good luck with whatever ya choose. Meantime, I better spruce up and polish up my equipment before the weekend announcement comes around. Catch you later.” the chairbound genius bids farewell with as he presses a couple of buttons on his chair; an exhaust along the back firing out and rocketing him right on inside. From listening to several things crash and break from inside, Melvin decides to race right on after while exclaiming:

“Dammit, the hell did we talk about doing that indoors!?”

“Whelp, guess we don’t got anything to worry about. See ya.” Roy claims while in the midst of taking off out into the air. Before the violet angel could ascend too far up into the cloudless skies, the shell of a yo yo wraps itself right around the merc’s very leg; Roy peering down from the string to see Mally ready to bring him right back down. With but a single tug does the skater manage to send the purple merc straight down towards the earth; the angel crashing right down into the grassy backyard in a plume of dirt. “Yeah, were nowhere near done yet. We ain’t closing this case til we figure out what this arm of yours is made of and where it came from.” the orange lass claims. “Agh! That book we read up on said that whatever it was came from space; serious fucking doubt you know anyone else that came from beyond the star.” Roy explains while climbing out from the dirt, soon finding his sister wearing a knowing smile.

Traveling deep within the very heart of the woodlands just outside the city, the two of them step right on inside of a downed space ship; whereupon the violet angel beholds the alien trio that his sister had befriended.

“Hot damn, Mally. Can’t believe you were keepin this little part of the woods all to yourselves and didn’t bother saying a thing to us.” Roy smoothly exclaims. “Figured you might’ve sensed them all out anyway. Surprised you didn’t know until now.” Mally acknowledges. “You kidding. With all the weird shit that goes on in this town already? How you figure I was gonna stumble on this?” “Also thought they might enjoy the privacy and not have every government agent or crackpot conspiracy nutter come knocking at their door and demand to know what sort of part of congress they control or whatever excuse they pull outta their ass.”

“Still, not hard to imagine why you and your teach would want to keep these choice pieces of intergalactic intimates all to themselves; you serious stumbled onto one hell of a galactic goldmine with this set of sweet sweet alien asses. Definitely like to double down on the fish guy and the girl with the eyeliner in an intergalactic seafood platter; maybe finish off with the hooded piece of alien booty as dessert right there. This spread here’s the fucking motherload, and papa Roy here don’t want a piece, he want’s the whole fucking buffet.” the purple angel elaborates aloud, the three growing further upset and creeped out as she continues speaking.

Amidst the merc’s overwhelming horniness does a comically oversized wrench come flying and hits the back of the violet angel’s head; Roy holding the spot he got struck as he violently trembles. “Fucking…”

“While it’s flattering that you primates have at least decent tastes in knowing a fine catch when you see one. I am very aware when the line of thirst starts to cross harassment territory.” Vain assures. “Seriously kid, did you really just stop by just to have this purple prick gawk at us like an overly excited Splartian Hound in heat; ready to thrust its privates into anything that can bother pulsating in view. Cause I thought the fact that were stuck on this damn rock was getting you off enough.” Catastrophe questions. “Actually, we were hoping you three wound help us out with trying to figure out what exactly my bro’s new arm is made of.” the orange skater finally answers. “Really? I thought that human’s just grow their limbs back when one of them’s broken, just rip it right off to have another one come in the following week.” the charming alien fish boy comments. “That is...nowhere near how human biology works. Seriously hope you weren’t planning on testing that.” Mally worries. Right on that very queue does one of the boxes in the room tip over and partially reveal an unconscious man stowed away within; moaning aloud as he attempts to climb out with one of his arms taken away and stitched up wounds. Discovering this, Mally turns her upset glare over to the trio, Cat claiming that:

“Hey, don’t give us any bull. Dumbass just seriously wondered in here.”

“We gave him some amnesics to make him forget.” Tizzy adds. Clutching the barely conscious man by his shoulders does Cat stroll over to the door while dragging the poor guy along the floor; the alien girl tossing the guy straight out into the woods.

“Why you up and figure it was best to come here to try a figure out the hell is your bro’s arm.” Tizzy asks. “Well, one book we read on it mentioned that this stuff wound up coming from the depths of space and was hoping that-”

“Oh yes, I see. Since were not from your planet, that would make us the knowledge keepers of all that occupy alongside the stars. Is that it?” Vain accuses. “I was thinking since your parents were intergalactic conquerors, figured that maybe they’ve seen something like this before during a conquest.” Mally quickly gives context for. “Afraid your shit outta like, neither of our mom’s speak a mere mention of whatever disgusting growth came out of your brother’s side; pretty sure if we did, they’d tell us in the form of a terrifying bedtime story told to make ya piss yourself.” Cat explains. “Indeed. Truly humiliating.” “Vain, didn’t you wind up soaking your entire mattress once?” Tizzy wonders. “That was when we got back from swimming and you know it!”

“Kay here. Doesn’t this ship has some advance tech straight out from the realms of a shitty 90’s cartoon? You guys gotta at least got anything that can tell us what his arm’s made off?” Roy then interjects with. “If this ship didn’t take a crashing nosedive straight down into your planets crap that you call soil, we wouldn’t be talking right now. You really think that they wound up getting anything working in the span of a month since we touched down on this overpopulated rock in the middle of the space boonies?”

“Actually, I just finished getting the Material Analyzer up and running a few days ago. We could try that?” Tizzy then mentions.

“Ugh, fine whatever. The sooner you start, the sooner you leave. Make it quick.”

Somewhere within the ship does Roy have his arm of demonic pure black stuck right in a spherical chamber as numerous lasers and lights scan every single inch of them limb; all the data it collects showing up on a screen outside the chamber that Tizzy carefully observe. From this high tech device, a small beep them sounds off; queuing Tizzy to tell them:

“And the analysis is finished. You can take it out now.” “Holy shit finally. Started getting numb after the last half hour. Stuck my hand up something longer, but that’s a story for another day.” Roy states as he slithers his fresh pitch black arm out of the analysis machine’s inner chamber. “So, whatcha come up with?” the orange skater asks. “Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything else belonging to your brother inside. No bones, veins, blood, nothing. Kinda shocking given how close to unstable it is.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, there’s one detail that popped up that bothered me. The genetic make up of his arm primarily consists of strung together chemicals compounds such as Epinephrine, glutamate, Cortisol, Adrenaline, and slight traces of Serotonin. The stuff in your brains that make you feel angry, sad, and scared.” “Is that seriously... why did a bunch of emotional brain juice burst out from Roy’s side and solidify into a working appendage?”

“Maybe that’s something you should ask him.”

The alien suggesting this, the orange skater turns over to her purple brother to ask of him:

“Roy, what might’ve been going through your head moments before that thing came out of you ?” “Well...ya know how we were fighting that giant wood guardian in that hidden Jurassic land and how Alex got fucking impaled right through the stomach?”

“Yeah. I still remember how I felt when I saw that. But how did that wind up triggering you to grow an arm?”

“When I beheld the site of the little devil on a stick, something flashed before my eyes; an image that I felt burst out from the depths of my soul. Two figures, one stabbing the other through the stomach, one wearing a gleeful smile while the other leaked tears from above its horrified frown; both staring out with their hollow white eyes. That alone reminded me of a site that I kept buried deep down for years; and it all suddenly just came up at once like an explosion of confusion, regret, and rage. The closest I could describe it being like would be his mind of the proverbial traumatic edge; teetering on the cusp of madness.”

Upon hearing the purple merc elaborate on the thoughts going through his head is the entire room left at a complete silence; Mally gazing to her violet brother with a mixture of remorse, pity and regretful guilt. Before the orange girl could give even a little word of comfort to him do all of them hear a sharp whistle cut straight through the quiet; the three peering back towards the door to discover Catastrophe leaning against the doorway. “Now that shit’s a full season of a show right there. Closest thing to entertainment I got since crash down on this pathetic little rock.”

“Cat.” Tizzy lightly snaps out. “Something about my emotional trauma funny to ya?” Roy then questions. “You kidding? It’s like one of those shitty characters with a bad backstory crowbarred in to make idiots think they’re deep. Fucking riot right there.”

Amidsts stepping up against the hooded alien girl, the violet angel’s wings sprout forth as the fingers along his pitch black arm starts to get antsy; going on to trash talk on how:

“Guess being on your mama’s little warship for most of your life, ya never really got to feel what its like to be on the other end of life’s massive jackboot. Never really feeling what its like have shit throw right at ya. The fucked up thoughts going through yer head as the memories of all that ya lost come flooding out and crashing onto your psyche til your heads on the verge of melting from the madness…You wanna know what that sort of self inflicting degradation can feel like?”

“That a threat?” Cat wonders with a confident smirk; both of them stand face to face one another as the two give off an overgrowing sense of rising tension. Right as Roy was in the midst of transforming his new arm, something along his other side takes a gentle hold upon the merc’s other limb and breaches through to him, quelling the building rage within; the purple angel gazing off to the side to discover his little sister staring up to him with the look of “Please don’t do it” in her eyes.

In seeing the desperate plea set in his sisters eyes does the purple merc let out a small sigh as he finally breaks away from the antagonizing alien, marching right past Catastrophe and out to the corridor; the violet angel punching the side of the doorway hard enough to leave a hell of a dent. As Mally takes her leave after her pissed off brother, Tizzy approaches her sister with a hammer and tells her to: “Come on. You’re helping me hammer that dent out.” “Like hell I am. Why the hell should I fix something that our guest broke in his little pissy fit?” “Pretty sure you threw a pretty similar one when vain used your little blanket as a dung disposal cleaner.” “You swore never to bring that up!” the two of them hear their semi aquatic brother shout out to them.

As both brother and sister exit out from the downed spacecraft, the orange lass between them starts to apologize with:

“Roy...I-I’m so sorry. I just can’t believe that I didn’t catch on what was bugging you sooner than later. I-I didn’t realize that you were thinking about what happened at-”

“Mally, chill. Ain’t know way you could’ve known the sort of shit that was going through my head. I get you were just worried. But I’ll be just fine. Kay?”

“Hey! What happened back then effected Tore and I too. You ain’t alone on this...Anything ya wanna talk about, we’re here for ya.” “Hm hm hm...Thank’s Mal.” Roy returns with, a heartwarming smile etched across the merc’s face. “No prob...So...You thinkin about headin home?”

“Nah. Still got some stuff to take care of. I’ll be home a little later.”

“Kay. Just don’t get into too much trouble.”

Warning her brother of this does the orange skater swiftly don her skating gear and take off out into the woods; Roy in turn sprouting forth his angelic black wings and taking off into the orange twilight skies.

Among his glide above the nearly thick woodlands, Roy flies back out towards the city of Townsville with the setting sun glistening its twilight gaze at his back; his smile starting to dissipate the farther he flies. “You’ve been awfully quiet about all this.” he suddenly says aloud to break the silence. Out from the depths of his mind does a woman’s voice echo through the merc’s head; responding in kind to him with:

“What do you mean by that?”

“Hera, you usually just chime in in the middle of all this to give some sort of support or to stop me from doing something arguably reprehensible. What’s the deal this time?”

“Roy, have you ever thought a goddess such as I has other duties and responsibilities to tend to then communing with the only mortal I can converse with?”

“...You hiding something aren’t ya?”

“What!? Preposterous! What would urge you to accuse me of something like that?”

“Even with only having clocked in about 16 and a half years in this fucked up game some of us have to call life; I’ve been around long enough to see the warming signs of someone having a long list of secrets hidden somewhere in the bunkers of their head. And a goddess like you without a hell of a doubt’s gotta have some stowed away that vault ya call a head. With what’s on me having been once part of a mighty monster that nearly overtook the world; you think that keeping an eye on even a piece of it would warrant obligation. But Guess not, guess we’ll just blind move along through life; leaving me ignorant of what a threat this could possibly grow into until its far too late and lives are lost. But hey, what’s it with mortals wanting to question what may become of them midst affairs which affect their world, right?”

“Roy, believe me when I say I can’t bring myself to simply tell you with my own words. But if you really wish for the truth and what your arm has to do with me; then I can point you in the right direction.” the goddess in his head assures. “Eh, fair enough. Lead the way.”

The night upon Townsville had come to blanket the city in a think darkness, with nothing but the shadows to accompany the roaming night owls. Atop the mayor building, a dark winged figure hovers down to the very top of its dome rooftop; where upon its arm transforms into a sharp blade that cuts right through its very stone. Cutting a piece right off the roof, the figure lifts the piece right off and slips right on inside.

Along the inside the main office is the door unlocked when a substance of black fills the hole and turns the lock; letting the door creak open and letting the figure walk right in. Within does the figure behold the usual fittings of a mayoral office; books, chairs, desk, computer, bowl of mints, nothing out of the ordinary. And nothing to stop the intruder from venturing over to the desktop and taking a seat behind the screen. With the press of a button does the entire monitor let out an incredible bright light; Roy shielding his site from the intense glow as his eyes adjust to the glow, peeking between his fingers to behold his first obstacle. The password. Rather than blindly attempting to guess the password locking the desktop, the purple merc instead shoves his hand right into his pants pocket and pulls out what appears to be a lone thumb drive; plugging the drive right in and watching the password box fill with numerous letters and numbers until coming to the right code. As the desktop starts to load in, Roy is met with a site that honest to god just baffles him to no end. Is...is this seriously running on Windows 7? That’s 2010’s old. This a government owned desktop! Why the fuck haven’t they updated it yet for security!? Everytime on one of these government owned consoles, they always just have the most out dated Operating systems. One of the computers in the France federal agent building was running on Windows XP for shit sake!? Why!? It doesn’t make any god damn-...Gah! Whatever, not the problem here.

Getting over that strange conundrum, Roy takes the mouse and clicks right into the file explorer, where he starts his search right into the documents. See here...Billing info, Construction plans, Federal investigation, Homoerotic Fanfiction...Incident report. Clicking onto this folder is the purple merc astonished to discover the list of city incidents a literal mile long, the square of the scroll bar being absolutely tiny. Hmm...Dino monster attack, Fire monster attack, slime monster attack, Alien monster attack. Shit, alotta monster attacks here; practically makes up most of the list. Lets try sorting by date. Rearranging the reports by the date they had been documented, one title in particular catches the merc’s attention. “The lady of pink against the Cerberus. 1984” Interesting...Let’s have ourselves a peek here. Clicking right on this title, the document soon loads and present its very text through a writing application, starting his read on the incident beginning with:

“A terrible storm bellows from the east as horrible fires burn through Townsville, centers and businesses crumbling at the seems as a gigantic, dark three headed beast topples everything over in its rampage. Police and military efforts seemed ineffective as fired ammunition seemed to be devoured under the horrible cerberus’s tar like hide. Despite efforts to evacuate, few people escapes from the Chaos as dozens were left injured or burned; or a rather cruel mix of both. As hope for the city had waned to its worst, a female figure donning a heavenly pink glow had flown out from the roaring flames to face the terrible beast; her long blonde hair flowing in the wind. The best this report could describe the ensuing battle was of gods straight from tales of greek mythology; a recreation of the gods against the titans playing out before mortal eyes. With the godly woman of bright pink keeping the terrible beast of black at bay, officials were able to effectively evacuate civilians more effectively.

From what military that stayed behind described, the woman in pink had battled the vicious beast of dark with energy of bright light; her conjured weapons seemingly damaging the monster than any of our conventional weapons could only hope to do. Yet despite the warriors best efforts to defeat this great evil that had descended down upon the city, beast had ultimately worn down the woman midst hours of fighting; the horrible monster in the end devouring the woman in but a single gulp. All hope had seemed utterly crushed as the black demon had cackled upon its very victory; soon turning its burning eyes to the units that had stayed behind. All three of its heads bored a sinister smile as it crawled its way out towards the military unit; some of them fleeing from the seems on its approach while other’s stood their ground, knowing full well there was little they could do to escape from its wrath. Just as the three headed beast was on the verge of striking down the unit, the bowels of its stomach had began to glow a light of faint pink; a glow that quickly began to grow larger and brighter every passing second. In a matter of seconds did this very light explode in a flash of bright pink; blinding every single soldier that stood before the beast of darkness. Once the overwhelming glow had finally dimmed, the unit peered back to find the Cerberus that had terrorized the city was now but in pieces; all with no sign of the brave woman in bright pink light nowhere seen among the remains.

When the cleanup crew had arrived on the seen, most of the remains of the beast had been successfully picked up and stored away from researching purposes; those on the scene had described each piece of the monster as alive, pulsating and wriggling like worms plucked out from the soil. Other’s had witnessed some parts of the monster’s remains slipping away into the night and had attempted to contain every piece before they could escape; while most of the creatures remains had been successfully stowed away in containment, staff have admitted that few pieces had escaped into the unknown. What those pieces of the terrible beast had fled to or what they plan to do is as of yet unknown; something of which may never be realized, else that night may just be only the beginning.”

Its after having read every single paragraph of this report does Roy slump down into the office chair; processing every single detail that he had just read. “Can’t believe it…You gave up living alongside your family just so they could have a future.” Roy awe’s aloud.

“Indeed. And it was with that very sacrifice that I had been chosen to become a goddess.” Its in the midst of this realization that a small, uneasy chuckle starts to escape from him as he leans forward onto the mayor’s desk, Hera wondering in worry:

“Roy?...What’s wrong?” “What’s it worth becoming a god if it meant you couldn’t hold the people you love in your arms anymore; to not longer cherish their very presence as they take in yours? Why not just move on? Why not end it? Suppose those were your final moments inside that thing, weren’t they?” “Roy, when I was offered the position of a goddess. I was told it would involve ensuring the balance of the magical through the universe. Doing such, I could ensure those she left behind had a chance to live for themselves. It has not been easy since then...everyday, I wish to speak them once more, to hold my precious daughter and grandchildren in her arms.”

With all that he had discovered of the very beast that his new arm was once a part of, the violet angel gazes into the dark abyss held within the palm of his hand. “What do ya want done with it?”

“Pardon?” Hera questions. “Its thanks to the monster this arm came from that ya can’t go back to her family; to embrace the ones you loves in you hands. Just knowing that a piece of it is attached to the only person of this world you can converse with must piss you off to no end. Wanting to make sure what happened that night doesn’t befall anyone else.” “I assure to you Roy, that what happened to me that night was something I had decided for myself. I had chosen to give up my life so that others could live. But to make that choice for someone else...it something she could never bring myself to do. Whatever you decide, I’ll stand with you on it.” “No matter where it had came from, this damn thing had taken all the grief and anger that had wielded inside me and had given it a form; but only under my rage has it appeared and obeyed. With what Tore said he could do with life. I wonder if this is what I can do with what’s here?” “And is that what you wish out of it?” the goddess questions. Its in being asked this does the merc’s arm of pitch black clutch into a tight fist, the angel’s uncertain glare transforming into a determined grin. “That’s what it should be.”

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

Thought that a little downtime would be appropriate here after the last chapter. Not a lot going on here beside a quick piece of lore and chemistry between characters. Though I purposely set this Chapter up as a repeat of the one where Roy was coping with the loss of his arm, thought it'd be thematically appropriate here.

#lillaxtrigger #Young Hope #callyieverse

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that-one-fandom-vore-blog · 5 years

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chained and bound (to this hopeless town)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

Ao3 Link

Good things happen to bad people. Bad things happen to good people. Which must mean Anna Shephard must be the best fucking person to have ever lived, or, at least, the best person left alive. Lucky her. To be fair, she hasn’t got much competition. As far as she knows, she, Steph, and Nick are the only people still alive. After a year of fighting off the undead, struggling to come to terms with her new reality, Anna is suddenly thrown back into the midst of her past without so much as a warning. Old friends, old faces, and old fears all resurface, along with zombies that seem to be getting smarter with every new day. So much for a warm welcome...

Co-written with the wonderful @thebadhalfofafandom! Warnings up here for: Flashbacks, panic elements, gore, swearing, zombies, and vore.

“Out of all the places for the damn engine to freeze up, it’s here?!” Anna shouted as she swung herself out of the car, slamming the blue painted door shut behind her for good measure. She could practically feel Nick and Steph looking at her as she stalked to the front of the car, looking helplessly down at the blue hood as if she could convince it to start up with a glare. It had been running just fine— fine enough, for the clunker it was— three bloody seconds ago, but now, fucking now, the engine had finally quit.

Anna scuffed a shoe on the ground before delivering a swift, sharp kick to the blasted thing’s tire, hard enough to send a jolt up through her foot. “Fuck,” she hissed under her breath, then again, louder: “FUCK!”

Drawing back her foot, she kicked the vehicle again. Harder, this time, squarely on the side of the door with a dull thump with enough force to chip the paint.

“You don’t have to blame the car,” Steph huffed, coming to stand beside Anna with her hands stuffed firmly in her pockets. “Blame the snow— or the idiot,” she paused, giving Nick a pointed glare, “who was driving.”

The glare she earned in return was almost as heated. “Oh, fuck off, Steph,” Nick shot back, “s’not my shitbox that got us stranded, anyway!” His volume rose dangerously at the end of his sentence, the words coming out in a near bark.

Neither of the others dignified him with a response as his boots crunched in the snow, grumbling under his breath. It wasn’t worth trying to decode anything he said— Anna had dated him before, and if she was being honest, she’d rather date a zombie. He practically was one, anyway.

...he’s gotten better.

A year of travel had done the tensions in the group good, and besides, he didn’t eat brains.

Though… as Anna watched him pace in a circle around the hood, she was beginning to doubt he even had one in his thick skull. She’d definitely rather date a zombie, and where better to find one than Little Haven? That, as far as she knew, was where it had all started…

Out of all the places to break down, why did the little blue shitbox have to pick here?

Anna’s gaze drifted from the sight of Nick and Steph glowering at the engine, which was now starting to let off a good amount of smoke, to the surrounding countryside. There wasn’t much there to see, not really, but Anna didn’t need the visual. She could see it so perfectly in her mind’s eye, the snow stained with blood, the smoke rising in the horizon. She could feel it, too, feel raw terror curling in her chest like a poisonous snake and the feeling of another hand locked tight with hers, but then it was being pulled away and she was screaming, screaming with a voice that splintered and broke—

“JOHN!”

Her grip on the candy cane she called a weapon tightened. Her heart started to beat harder in her throat, like when she’d watched— she’d just watched— as her best friend was—

Do. Not. Think. About. That.

Snapping back into the present, trying to force those thoughts out of her head— thoughts of gentle eyes and bloodied screams— Anna crossed her arms and watched with a clenched jaw as the other two bent over the hood. Steph had popped it open, and although Nick looked like he wanted to help, Anna knew Steph wouldn’t be letting him anywhere near the engine.

Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she began to saunter over. She held the plastic candy cane in a too-tight grip, though, managed to look as casual as she could. Her breath formed a cloud in front of her face as she carefully stepped closer, squinting over Nick’s shoulder to see what the problem was.

...whatever the problem was.

Was a car’s engine supposed to look so black?

The whole thing smelled like gasoline, though, and she was quick to cover her nose against the stench.

“Fuck,” she intoned again, slamming one hand down on the hood for good measure, loud enough to make Nick jump back in fright. “Fucking— god— how come it had to be here?” She moaned, unable to keep her voice from sounding far too sharp. “This has got to be the WORST place on earth—”

“Yeah, and screaming about it when there could be zombies around is a great idea!” Nick cut in, shuddering violently in the cold. “S’fucking freezing, Anna, and there’re more important things to worry about than the fact that the ruddy car broke down, alright?”

"What? Am I not allowed to be upset that the moment we get back into this shitty little town in the middle of winter, we get stranded. And now you're just standing there!” Her gaze flicked down to the weapon hanging loyally at his belt, and she gestured blindly at it. “Being all 'at least I got a cool gun now' as if that'll help us! News flash, asshole, it won’t! Not unless it’s loaded with screws!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steph flinch.

“It’s like you’ve never even seen a car before—” she tried to joke, though, Nick’s voice was louder.

"At least I'm not screeching about it!" He hissed at Anna, who looked like she was going to beat him with her candy cane as he stalked closer. She felt like beating him with her candy cane, come to think. It’d be satisfying to just bash his head in and—

She barely realized she was raising the lawn ornament until Steph stepped between them and raised a hand in Anna’s direction. Her eyes were narrowed in a glare, and although her tone was light, there was anger flickering just beneath its surface.

"Hey ladies, why don’t we just focus on finding a place to stay rather than arguing who's being the least productive?” She asked, seemingly immune to the glare Anna shot her way. Instead, she locked eyes with the taller girl. Her hand came back to rest at her side, though, not before scrubbing over her face. “Look,” she started, taking a step back to stand before them, “this is ass, but you don’t have to be assholes about it, okay? So shut the fuck up, let’s ditch the car,”

“Shitbox,” Nick corrected.

Steph pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled sharply. She looked almost ready to snap, though, as the engine belched out another thick plume of smoke, she sighed. “Shitbox…” she corrected, glumly, turning her eyes to the still-steaming engine as she continued, “and find somewhere where we won’t get eaten alive, okay?”

Anna didn’t answer.

Nick shuffled his feet.

Again, Steph sighed, heavier and harsher. “Okay?” She tried again, elbowing Nick hard in the ribs for emphasis.

“Fine, fine, okay— just keep your hands off me!” He sputtered, annoyance written across his face. The snow crunched under his weight as he stepped to the side, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. “So what’s the plan, then?”

All eyes turned to Steph.

The silence that fell was somehow worse than the argument. It was awkward, broken only by a few little sputters from the shitbox’s engine trying dogeddly to start.

“Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that!” She protested, though, after a moment of silence and a kick delivered to the ground, she exhaled heavily. “What about the school?”

Anna stiffened, but before she could speak, Nick shook his head.

“No. Too risky. After Savage let those fuckers in, they probably got stuck inside,” he explained. “And voila, zombie motel.”

Steph set her jaw. “What about an actual motel?”

A snort escaped Anna. “A literal zombie motel. Check-in at the front desk, gotta be out by ten, don’t mind the bellhop, he bites.”

It sounded funnier in her head. It came out too sharp, too sarcastic, and was met with an awkward sort of silence.

She coughed and looked up at Nick. “This whole town’s gonna be completely infected.”

“It’s been a year,” he returned, evenly.

“Great.” Anna’s cold glare only intensified as she started speaking again. “A year for all those things to get hungry and fester. You’d need a bunker if you didn’t want to—“

In a flurry of motion, Nick gave a shit-eating grin and snapped his fingers. “A bunker!”

Anna couldn’t help but snicker. “What, you know where one is? Got one in your backyard?”

Nick’s grin only grew. His chest puffed out with pride and as Anna watched, he put his arms to the sides. “The military base! It probably has backup generators, or at least of a lot of stuff that we can burn. Won’t smell great or anything, but the army’s fucked off from there, so the place is ours.”

"Holy shit, you're right!" Steph exclaimed. Nick’s enthusiasm was contagious, apparently. The short blonde gave a laugh of disbelief. “We could probably get there before dark, if we really hoof it.”

Anna looked up to the sun where it sat in the sky and squinted for a moment through the clouds before giving a small, apprehensive nod. “Okay,” she huffed out, before giving a soft snicker. “Can’t believe we forgot we had an airbase. It’s practically on our doorstep.”

Steph’s nose wrinkled. “It practically was on my doorstep,” she grumbled back, though, any irritation was masked with a crooked smile. “Military assholes had no concept of when was too early to be practicing their shooting.”

As the trio began to march forward through the snow, Anna gave a snicker. “Yeah, reminds me of our asshole, here.”

“Hey!”

Steph exhaled a laugh and shook her head, once again, moving to jab Nick in the ribs. “Quiet, remember? Don’t wanna attract any zombies.”

“Yeah,” Anna agreed with a cheeky grin, “‘specially not because you’re firing that thing at the ass crack of dawn.”

The three fell into an easy step together. If Anna squinted, she could almost pretend things were back to normal. It was just like they were hanging out during a snow day, really, with the small flakes that were beginning to fall and their breath fogging up the air. The snow had masked the town Anna remembered as Little Haven, masked the carnage and blood that had been there as they’d sped off in Steph’s bright blue shitbox.

They didn’t talk much, though, they didn’t need to. The place was a ghost town. Nothing seemed to move, not a zombie, nor another group of survivors. Little Haven had never been much— it was Little Haven, for fuck’s sake— but it seemed so much more barren than she’d remembered.

Because you’re remembering it before everything went to shit.

Those memories were getting blurrier. With everything she saw, every broken window, every unhinged door, they began to replace the thoughts of riding her battered bike down the streets. When things were better. Back when her and her father would make snow angels on the lawn, and John would be over, smiling that crooked smile and—

Don’t.

She quickened her step. That was the last thing she needed to be thinking about. He was the last thing she needed to be thinking about. She didn’t need to think about his dreams, or how she felt when his arms were wrapped around her and the horde was converging, grabbing at him with their spindly fingers and—

Fucking don’t.

Setting her jaw, Anna lowered her head and tried to focus on where they were going.

“This place gives me the fucking creeps,” Steph commented, breaking the silence that had been steadily growing around them.

Nick scuffed a boot against the snow. “Yeah, ditto,” he agreed.

There was an awkward silence where Anna should’ve spoken, but instead, she slung her candy cane over her shoulder. The hard plastic resting on her shoulder was a small comfort. It kept her grounded, reminding her of the fact that Little Haven as she knew it was gone. She bumped it up against her shoulder between steps, harder with every second

The sun had just begun to set as the group finally found the chain-link fence that surrounded the base. That sinking feeling that had accompanied Anna right from the start— that feeling she could only describe as Little Haven dread— had only gotten worse, and it intensified when she looked upward at the cold steel.

“Shit…” She mumbled.

She knew it wouldn’t be easy— it was a fucking military base, for Christ’s sake, it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Steph took her pack off her shoulder and began to sift through its contents.

“I can’t fucking see anything,” Nick grumbled. “How am I supposed to—“

Steph hit him in the back of the head with a flashlight, ignoring the sharp yelp of protest she earned in response. “Here.” She snapped, passing another to Anna without making eye contact. Her gaze was fixed upward, and as Anna looked up as well, she saw what Steph was looking at.

Sharp spikes of barbed wire lined the top of the fence.

“So we’re not climbing,” As she spoke, Anna’s eyes began to travel along the length of the chain link, looking in vain for any sort of opening. Zombies wouldn’t be able to get in, she hoped, but neither would they…

The snow was piled high beside the posts, and just as Anna was trying to figure out if it was worth trying to climb—

“You just gonna stand there looking pretty?”

Anna flinched. Her gaze shot to where Nick had been standing moments ago, though, as she flicked on the light, her brow furrowed.

Where—

“Over here,” his voice came again, and as Anna tried to locate it, she turned her head back to the impossible fence—

To meet Nick’s gaze and cheeky grin from the other side.

“Gate’s open,” he remarked, gesturing over to his right with his flashlight beam, swinging it at enough of an arc to momentarily blind Anna.

Swinging one hand up in front of her face, squinting through a scowl, Anna managed to focus on the fence once more—

Oh for fuck’s sake.

—and the obvious gap in it where the gate began.

“You snuck in here, before?” Steph questioned, beginning to trudge forward with Anna behind her. Her pack jingled with every step, punctuated by the crunching of her boots and the steady swaying of her own, heavyset flashlight. It cut through the darkness with a wide beam that made the snow glitter.

“No,” Nick returned, “I thought about it, though,”

“Should’ve,” Anna fired back, her shoulders tensing further with each step she took past the gate, “they would’ve turned you into swiss cheese.”

The noise of mock protest she earned from Nick hit her with a wave of familiarity so sudden that it hurt. Swallowing hard against a sudden knot in her throat, Anna pushed ahead, reaching the door in a matter of minutes.

The door, like the fence, was unhinged and hanging loosely open. Anna shared uneasy glances with the other two, but not a word was spoken as she pointed her flashlight beam into the dark interior.

Rank air wafted out to greet her, sending a cold chill down her spine despite the warmth of the building. They filtered in single-file, Anna with her cane raised in one hand, Steph with her flashlight ready to bludgeon anything in the way, and Nick with his hands shakily clamped around his gun.

Their beams, minus Nick’s, which only illuminated his pocket, shone outward in a wide fan, casting long, humanoid shadows that seemed ready to come off the walls and grab them.

Anna shifted her grip on her cane. "We should split up,” she hissed out in a whisper, “cover more ground. Maybe if we're lucky we can find a new engine or car, and hopefully, get out of here as soon as possible." The last part of her sentence was lost in a whisper, more to herself than either of the others.

Get out.

Like John never did, because he’s dead— he died here, did you think about that, Anna—

“Sure,” Nick’s voice cut in, breaking her out of her thoughts, “I’ll take…” He looked to Anna, who shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” she shifted her weight before turning her light to the nearest hallway, “you can take that one, I’ll…” She hesitated, before turning right. “I’ll take this one. Steph, you can take the one on the left. Meet back up in… an hour?”

She shone her flashlight back toward the group in time to see them both share nods. She found herself bobbing her head in agreement as well. For a moment, she wanted to say something else. The air was charged, not tense, mind, but there was an energy that couldn’t be denied. She could feel it— feel it in the tight feeling in her chest and the fact that she was digging the plastic hook of her cane deep into her shoulder.

“An hour,” she said, uneasily, and before she could try saying anything else, she turned sharply to the right and disappeared down the hallway.

Her footsteps seemed far too loud. Anna trudged through the halls cautiously, trying to see with her barely working flashlight in one hand and candy cane at the ready in the other.

It didn't take her long to stumble upon a barely-open door. She quietly opened it with her shoulder, clutching both items tightly. The light weakly shone on the room’s contents, only illuminating a few feet before her. She squinted, daring to stick her arm into the room a little farther in and shining the light from side to side. It was reflected on a few objects she couldn’t make out, and for a moment, it looked like eyes—

Remember when you thought it was safe and it wasn’t? Remember who paid for it?

—it wasn’t eyes.

She knew it wasn’t eyes.

Inhaling through her teeth, Anna squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.

It wasn’t what she was expecting. As she swept the light’s flickering, shaky beam around in a wide circle, she was made aware of shelves surrounding her in neat rows, and their contents. Vials upon vials of contents. Their labels were scratched and worn, and as Anna squinted at a vial containing a bright, ugly yellow liquid, she felt a chill wind down her spine.

It was weird, how everything was just… left like this.

Some places looked completely fine, like the untouched vials. It was nothing new, truly, everywhere was a ghost town now that everyone was dead, but it still made unease creep across Anna’s skin like a cold wind.

Shuddering, she began to walk down the rows of shelves, paying less attention by the second to the vials decorating them. What use were a bunch of random chemicals, anyway? What use were—

The hook of her cane bumped against a shelf with a sharp clang, causing Anna to let out a sharp yelp.

“Shit!” She hissed, swinging her light around in time to see a vial wobbling. The liquid inside it was red, and although it quickly settled back down, she didn’t move the light away. Beside it lay a stack of papers. They were tucked messily in place beside it, dog-eared and yellowed, but still intact.

Carefully, Anna reached forward and took the packet in her hands, carefully setting the cane up against the nearest shelf to better leaf through the hand-scrawled notes. Her breath stuck in her throat when she finally managed to decipher what it said.

UNIDENTIFIED PATHOGEN CURE PROTOTYPE TESTING: TRIALS 1-10

“I knew they were working on a cure,” she whispered to herself, both excitement and anger filtering through her voice.

Dad could’ve made it.

John, too.

Nobody would’ve had to die… not Chris… not Lisa…

Even thinking their names made her heart sink.

Anna grabbed the packets, already planning out how to best tell Steph and Nick what she’d found— how maybe, maybe things could finally go back to how they’d been— when something cut through the noise of her thoughts.

A clumsy, sluggish shuffling cut through the silence, followed by a low, feral growl.

The papers tumbled from her grasp before she could stop them, though, she barely noticed. Already, she was shoving her flashlight in her pocket, grabbing her weapon, and beginning to raise it. Her steely gaze was fixed on the door she’d come in through, listening in tense silence as the shuffling drew closer… and closer…

When it finally entered her line of sight, it was alone. Just one. Nothing she couldn’t deal with. Already, she was readying herself to swing, but—

Recognition flashed across her face.

Her stomach dropped.

No.

It was wearing a tattered sweater, smeared with blood and torn in spots, but—

No, please, no...

If the brown hair and soft face didn’t give it away, that Christmas sweater with the tree and lights did.

Her best friend.

One of her only friends.

John. John Pine. Still wearing that sweater he’d been so proud of, the one that devoured batteries by the dozen. His head was cocked harshly to the right, though, as Anna tried to back away, it began to straighten out.

The second those eyes— deep brown, just like she remembered— met her own, the creature gave a little snort of excitement and began to stumble in her direction with its— his—deadened gaze fixed on hers.

“No…” Anna’s voice was soft and shaky. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room— like it had been sucked out entirely. Her hands felt clammy. Her heart was beginning to beat like a kickdrum, thumping through her veins at a rapid tempo. “No, please, John… don’t do this,” she begged, trying her best not to let her voice break.

John didn’t register anything she was saying. If anything, he was growling louder by the second, an awful, grating noise that rose above the panicked rushing of blood in her ears. It was barely human— hardly a noise she could ever picture him making— but it was escaping his throat regardless as he shuffled closer and closer to his potential meal. His gait was shambling, closer to a limp than the goofy stride Anna remembered—

He was limping before it happened, don’t you remember? He fucked up his leg and then—

Anna gripped her candy cane tighter. She had to kill him. If she didn’t, then he’d rip her to pieces. Zombies were vicious— all of them were vicious beyond repair, they were hardly human anymore—

But John isn’t—

The creature before her gave another throaty growl. His whole body seemed to wobble unsteadily, as if he couldn’t decide which direction to walk, or if he could even walk at all. Everything about him was wrong, clashing so horribly with how she remembered him. She was frozen to the spot, looking into those eyes that were so familiar it hurt, those same eyes she’d looked into before the horde had converged on him and she’d screamed, screamed so loud her throat had hurt—

“JOHN!”

Struggling to inhale, Anna began to back away. She kept her weapon raised, the wicked, plastic hook up over her shoulder, trying to ignore the way her hands trembled and the fact that the memory was rising in her mind faster than she could hope to block it out.

“LET GO! L-LEMME GO—”

Another set of arms wrapped around her. She tried to beat them back, her body shaking. Her hands were clenched in tight fists. Her legs kicked out wildly as she tried to get her footing, broken, terrified sobs catching in her throat.

Nick’s voice was loud, but not louder than the noises, the sounds of a horde beginning to feast— “No, Anna, no! Leave him!”

Her eyes welled with tears. She had to kill him. He wouldn’t want to live as a zombie. Living as a zombie wasn’t living at all, surely he’d known that, he’d had to have known that. Her only option was to swing but…

“Leave him.” Nick had said again, ignoring the way her hands beat against his side.

She couldn’t. Her grip loosened as she backed away at a faster pace than before. Fuck, she was useless.

She could feel her throat closing up as she tried to find an exit, not taking her eyes off the creature— it’s not John, it’s not, stop pretending— shambling toward her. His head was cocked to the right, mouth slightly open, glossy eyes boring into her own. She felt her stomach lurch at the sight of dried blood smeared around his mouth, her insides turning to water. Bluish, broken veins decorated his cheeks, and when he gave another lurch, right hand swinging downward, her gaze tracked automatically to the vicious bite embedded in the back of his hand.

The same sort of bite that he’d use those crooked teeth to give her.

“John?” She choked out in a whimper, frantically searching his eyes for any recognition. He was closer. There were only a few feet between them, and that distance was closing fast.

“Please, you don’t have to do this, please...” Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she gathered what little courage she had left and screamed: “JUST GET OUT OF HERE—“

Anna’s back slammed against one of the shelves before she could process what was happening, barely having enough time to register, the various glass vials on the shelf began to crash at her feet. Chemicals splattered across her coat and shoes, and as she tried to stumble away, momentarily forgetting the zombie—

Something crashed against the back of her head. Things went dark immediately.

They were quick to flicker back in a mess of disjointed sounds and messy colours that blurred and spun drunkenly around her. Spots were dancing across her vision, and as she blinked blearily and tried to focus on the overwhelming, dizzying sensations, she was made vaguely aware of something pooling around her.

All over her, actually—

Shit, my head—

Everything was too slow. Raising one hand, frantically feeling her hair, she gave a sharp gasp as the feeling of something liquid—

Blood or chemicals—

Shit, both are bad—

And if the shelf fell—

With a wince, Anna struggled to get to her feet, feeling as though she was forgetting something, addled mind fighting to put it all together and—

Wait, what about—

“SHIT!” Anna’s eyes snapped open remembering the zombie in front of her, but she wished she never opened her eyes. Everything was… wrong… horribly wrong. Her frantic eyes shot to the shards that were around her feet— should’ve been around her feet— and the puddle that looked more like a small lake than anything.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

The shards littered around her, their wickedly sharp points glinting in the low light, were longer than her arms. They were longer than she was tall, which was impossible, and how—

How much had been in those vials?

How hard had she hit her head?

This CANNOT be happening.

I can’t be—

A sudden sound from above caused her blood to run cold.

Shit.

Her hands felt clammy.

Shit, shit, shit.

Frozen in place, whole body trembling, Anna shakily began to look up… up, up, up…

Her heart plummeted to her shoes. Her grip on her plastic cane suddenly felt weak—

At least I got something my size...

She managed to think through her panic. Her face paled exponentially, all the strength she had draining from her in one fell swoop. She tried to open her mouth, to scream, to cry out, to beg for her life— anything— but no sound escaped her lips, save for a strangled squeak.

This can’t be happening.

He was huge.

John had always been taller than her, that much was true, but the zombie before her was easily a giant. He didn’t seem to be looking directly at her, though, and as Anna watched, paralyzed by fright, she realized he didn’t seem to see her. His glassy eyes were out of focus, trained on the shards around her, and although he was growling— a horrid, awful sound that shook her to her core— it was quieter than before. Confused.

Hope flickered to life in her chest.

Maybe he can’t see me.

Was it possible? Maybe his eyes had decayed enough that he wouldn’t bother with her, or maybe she was too small for him to care. She just had to get out of his way and then—

Another growl shook through her. Louder this time.

No—

Her small victory was quickly cancelled out as suddenly, John’s eyes locked onto her form. His lips began to curl back in a snarl, showing off a dizzying array of teeth that used to smile the sweetest, most crooked smile—

A snarl vibrated through her chest. Panicked, Anna tried to stumble away, her fight or flight instinct finally kicking into high gear. Her little body chose flight.

She stumbled forward, boots slipping in the puddle surrounding her. She skidded, terrified at how quickly the tables had turned— she’d been bracing herself to kill him and see his blood speckle the floor but now—

Anna tried to tighten her sweat-slicked grip on her weapon. Her vision was blurred, though the panic coursing through her veins was making things sharper. Everything was picking up to speed with her racing heart, and as she helplessly skidded, she could feel him getting closer.

No, no— NO—

She couldn’t outrun him. She was too small, now, and her head was pounding with every second that passed.

Panicked beyond belief, voice shaking, Anna forced herself to meet his gaze, looking in vain for anything familiar in those hollow eyes. “John—”

That’s not John, he’s gone, he’s not there—

“—p-please!” She stammered, “I-It’s me, it’s— it’s Anna! You— W-We— We’ve been friends for— for years, years, John, PLEASE—”

Her words broke into a scream as John lurched forward. Stumbling backward, brandishing her weapon as though it would help, Anna let out another broken plea.

“NO! P-Please, John— you— you have to remember me, I— You— You were going to go to art school, a-and I was gonna go to Australia—”

It seemed like a distant dream. Australia. Art school. Things that had mattered before the world as they knew it had ended without any warning.

Her throat began to close up. She sucked in a sharp, frantic breath through her teeth, trying to say something— anything— that wouldn’t end in her demise—

He reached forward. That hand— that monstrous, discoloured hand riddled with bluish veins— was inches from her, and the distance was closing.

“Y-You jumped in front of a horde just to save my life!”

Do you remember his hands around your waist? When you were calling to him? He wasn’t answering.

The hand less than a centimeter from her face. Instinctively, she put her hands up to her face and gave a sharp, guttural cry: “PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!”

He would rip her to pieces in seconds. He’d use those same clumsy hands she knew so well to tear her from limb to limb, those teeth would pierce her, and her blood would speckle the floor and—

She screwed her eyes shut tight for good measure at the crunch of glass under one of his feet coupled with the sliding of fabric across the floor.

He’s kneeling.

Her stomach twisted in a knot. She had seconds left to live, seconds left to muster a final plea, or an attack, or even an escape, but—

A soft, rumbling noise rolled through the air, close enough to make her whole body buzz with the sound, then…

Then, nothing.

Nothing at all.

...what?

Anna slowly lowered her hands, after a few quiet, tense moments. Her breathing was quick and sharp. Why… why was she still alive?

Why hadn’t he killed her?

His hand was still there, his huge fingers poised and ready to snatch her up without a second thought, but—

They hadn’t.

He hadn’t.

Questions began to swarm in her mind, but above them was one desire: to get away.

Stumbling under her own weight, Anna made it about three steps back before a shard of glass met the bottom of her boot. It skidded along with her, prying a startled yelp from her throat and prompting her to swing her arms out for balance.

John flinched. That hand that had been so close to brushing her skin shrank back.

Anna’s mind was beginning to race as she looked into John’s eyes, her balance still somewhat wobbly. Her confusion was clearly written across her face.

It didn’t make sense.

Is he—

She couldn’t let herself hope.

No.

Impossible. He’s probably just wondering if a small human is just as satisfying as a normal-sized human.

She didn’t want to believe it. Those eyes seemed lucid— they looked so much like his that it hurt. A knot formed in her chest. Her legs wobbled like those of a baby deer as she forced herself to keep her eyes locked on his, ignoring the fact that his veins were too prominent, his teeth almost unnaturally sharp.

He’s just sizing me up.

A cold chill spread across her body. Her instincts were screaming at her to run— he was frozen, for fuck’s sake— it would be easy enough to make a mad dash for cover, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t force herself to move. Her fingers weakly twitched at her sides. She felt like she was going to throw up.

Trying to stand, sitting up as well as she could, Anna felt her whole body sway unsteadily. The room spun in a nauseating fashion, everything around her blending in a mess of nonsensical swirls that immediately brought her back to her knees.

Shit, definitely concussed.

That was the last thought Anna had before that hand reached out to her again. Accepting her fate, Anna looked down, closed her eyes and hoped it would be quick, but… that moment never came as she noticed. She gave a small gasp at the feeling of something touching her, something cold and almost clammy that started at the top of her head and trailed its slow way down her back. She held her breath as it stopped, then repeated with a tad more certainty.

It took several seconds for her to realize he was petting her.

Petting?

Why would a zombie—

Why hasn’t he hurt me yet?

Daring to hope, Anna looked up, trying to get her vision to focus on the soft, concerned eyes of her friend. It seemed so familiar. She wanted so desperately to believe that he remembered her, but it was impossible… right?

Struggling to find her voice, Anna managed to quietly, incredulously ask: “Am I dead?”

The petting stopped. Those eyes she knew so well were hidden by a slow blink for a moment, and then John did something that made her heart skip a beat. He shook his head. Like a human would. Like he was alive.

Anna’s eyes widened. “Wha— c-can you—

Slow down.

Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “—do you remember me?” She asked him, hardly daring to hope. It was probably just a twitch, and her size had distracted him from thoughts of eating her, that had to have been it—

He nodded. That soft face she remembered sported a small, crooked little smile that she could recognize anywhere. Twitchy and uncertain, sure, but there.

Before she knew it, she was sobbing. All of the anger, sadness and regret she held for the past year overwhelmed her. Her throat ached from having shouted at the creature before her, her sobs coming out in hoarse sounding barks. Her tears ran down her cheeks faster than she could try to wipe them away. She was vaguely aware of a soft, concerned grumble and forced herself to look up again through her tears.

“N-No, I— It’s not your fault, I— oh my god, John—”

Another bout of wracking sobs made her chest ache, causing John to pull his hand away. His brow was furrowed, his eyes tracking her every move.

Anna tried to wipe her eyes and gave a broken laugh. “I-I’m just so glad to see you again after all this time!”

Glad was an understatement. Her legs wobbled as she forced herself upright, stumbling toward his hand unsteadily. “A-And you— you remember me, you— it’s really you, I—” She swallowed hard against the knot in her throat. “—I can’t believe this, I— what’re the odds?”

One in a million. One in a billion. Less, even.

Laughing again, close enough to his hand that she could’ve reached out for it if she wanted, Anna finally caught her breath. The adrenaline— that giddy rush that had surged through her— was fading. “The only thing that could make this any better would be if I… was…”

Wait—

“Normal sized!?” Her voice took on a sharp lilt of confusion as, yet again, another reality crashed down on her like a ton of bricks. “Holy shit, what the fuck happened to me?!”

She watched John’s shoulders give an unsteady shrug.

“I— How—”

It must’ve been that cure. The vials she’d knocked over her had done it, but how it had happened was beyond her—

She was snapped out of her thoughts by the sensation of John’s fingers curling around her waist. A breath caught in her throat. She gave a sharp, frightened gasp and clung tight to her weapon, the ground suddenly so, so small. His whole body swung uncertainty, and although his fingers weren’t too tightly clasped around her, Anna’s chest felt too tight. Her head was still throbbing away. She couldn’t find her voice.

Shit, no—

He wouldn’t. John wouldn’t—

But a zombie would.

Fear began to spike through her, but she managed to give a small whimper of: “J-John?” Using her free hand to bat at his fingers, she tried to grab his attention, but all she earned in response was a little grumble. Her whole world pitched dangerously as he stood, causing her to squeak. This was terrifying. She was so high up— John had always been tall but this was taking things to a new level. One hand wrapped tight around her cane, the other in a tight fist, Anna felt her stomach lurch as he got to his feet.

Christ, they were high up.

Anna managed to get in a sharp breath before John’s grip on her abruptly switched, depositing her on the surface of his palm. A small rumble shook through her, and as she looked up, she nearly yelped. He was so close, close enough for her to feel his breath.

Zombies breathe?

She’d never been close enough to find out— nobody ever had, without getting bitten or ripped to shreds, but as the seconds ticked forward, she realized that John was just… watching. He didn’t blink, but his warm eyes were trained on her, his brow slightly furrowed.

She exhaled.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Right, o-okay, I—” Shakily, standing as well as she could, she turned her head and forced herself to look down at the mess she’d created. The liquid looked almost like blood puddling around his feet, and as she squinted—

Wait—

The papers she’d dropped weren’t soiled by the puddle. They were a little crumpled, splashed in spots, but otherwise fine.

A cure. They were working on a cure.

Turning back to face John, she gestured down to the papers on the floor. “Can you grab those papers?” She asked him, continuing to explain as he tilted his head and focused his bleary eyes down where she’d pointed. “Th-They were testing all this shit so it’s gotta be recorded. There’s gotta be a way to reverse this!”

Both the zombie thing and her reduced height…

Clinging to John’s thumb for balance as he bent over, Anna watched him fumble with the papers for a moment before—

A growl shot through the silence, followed by another.

John’s hackles raised near instantly and he stood back up with the papers in his grasp with a sudden, jerky motion that caused Anna to yelp.

“Shit, the vials!”

Of course they’d heard the crash— fuck, she was an idiot— and now they were going to come and rip them to shreds—

Would they attack John? He was one of them, and maybe that would keep him safe, but Anna certainly wasn’t, and now that she was bite sized—

Shit.

“We gotta go!” She urgently instructed, earning herself a nod from John.

She didn’t do a thing to protest as he carefully drew her closer to himself and began to take one limping, shuddering step after the other. Was it fast enough? Her mind was racing from one panicked thought to the next, and the speed of them only intensified with every step he took toward the still-open door.

Please, please, c’mon…

She inwardly begged, holding John’s thumb in a deathgrip, trying to see if anything was coming their way.

They were mere inches from the door when the first zombie made itself known, lurching so suddenly into their field of vision that Anna let out a shrill scream and shrank backward. Its lips were pulled back, thick, black strands of drool oozing from its open jaws, and it wasn’t alone. More and more began to pour through the entrance in a swarm, some of them still sporting military garb.

No, no, please—

John began to growl, the noise low and grating, making Anna’s ears ring and her headache thump harder. His grip on her shifted.

Hundreds of scenarios began to race through Anna’s mind, each one more brutal than the last. There wouldn’t be any escape, and they didn’t seem interested in John at all. She’d been reunited with him for nothing, and soon, she’d either be one of them or nothing more than a red stain on the floor, and nobody would ever know—

Before her thoughts could even finish, John’s fingers once again closed around her waist and she was suddenly lifted, that nauseating feeling of being picked up too fast causing her head to spin. Trying to focus, legs swinging wildly, cane nearly slipping from her hands, she realized she was being dangled above John’s face.

More specifically, his mouth. Her panicked gaze met his own.

“J-John,” she stammered, “what’re you—”

She was cut off by the intimidating sight of John’s mouth opening beneath her, those teeth that seemed inhumanly sharp mere inches from her feet. She barely registered the thunder of his voice, though, once his maw was closed, she processed the one word he’d managed to wheeze out.

“Safe…” Even though voice was thick and gravelly, like he had just had woken up dehydrated, she understood.

But… what did he mean, “safe”?

Heart lurching into her throat, Anna struggled to cling onto his fingers. “Wait, wh-what are you talking abou—” Anna didn’t have any time to wonder what John meant before, without warning, his loose grip on her was gone entirely.

Down she plummeted.

A strangled scream escaped her throat. She looked down, and as she was being dropped—

His jaws opened to greet her, wider than before, displaying in horrific detail the inside of his maw and his pink, quivering tongue.

“JOH—”

The rest of her protest was lost in a wheeze as her little body hit a slick, foreign surface. She hardly had time to register what was going on before her surroundings went dark with a snap that caused her to let out a shriek and ball up. Her body was shaking, and as she forced herself up onto her hands and knees, she nearly lost her balance. The ground below her—

That’s not the ground, that’s his tongue, you’re in his MOUTH—

—shifted and slid as she frantically tried to process what had happened. There wasn’t much light, but it filtered between his lips enough for her to see the faint, pinkish tongue beneath her and the terrifying, pointed shapes of his teeth fencing her in. Her heartbeat was rapid, her breaths short and laboured.

Why—

Why did he—

I thought he wouldn’t—

Was it a trap? Anna felt like she was going to be sick as the muscle beneath her shifted, sending her sprawling onto her front once more. Saliva was pooling around her little frame, and as she struggled to get up— to claw and punch and kick everything she could reach— an annoyed sort of grumble rang through the space, loud enough to make Anna clap her hands over her ears. The tongue beneath her curled slightly, the edges of it pushing on her sides and keeping her confined to the middle of his mouth despite her squirming.

The noises it made were making her repulsion grow by the second. The muscle squelched beneath her weight, and there was another annoyed little grumble before something smacked against her side. Something hard and plastic.

My cane!

Rolling sharply to the side, Anna snatched it up and moved to stab him with the sharpened end, trying her best to stand in the cramped space. She ended up bent awkwardly in place, her shoes sinking into the fleshy surface beneath her, her back pressed up against the roof of his mouth above her.

Bracing herself, Anna tried to force his jaws open from the inside to no avail. Saliva dribbled down her sides in thick strands, enough to make her shudder violently. She began to shove at the surface above her harder, digging her nails in—

Everything pitched hard to the right. Anna’s legs gave out from under her, and clutching her candy cane tight against her chest, she landed on his tongue with a squelch, giving a sharp gasp when everything turned to the left, then right again, almost as if he was shaking his head.

Shit, my head.

The throbbing feeling was getting worse by the second. Struggling, landing a good hit with her heel to the flesh beneath her, Anna moved a hand to clutch at her wet hair.

This concussion isn’t going to get any better if he keeps doing that, not that it’ll matter if he doesn’t let me out!

When she pulled her hand away, thin strands of drool connected it to her head. Her hair was practically slicked down to her, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim, faint light filtering through his teeth, she realized the rest of her was hopelessly soaked as well— her jacket, her shirt, her tie— covered in saliva.

What the fuck—

Is he—

Is he fucking TASTING ME?

Terror surged through her once more, though, it was quickly followed by a rage that bubbled over her and made her ball her hands into fists. “JOHN!” She shouted, bringing a fist down as hard as she could manage on the tongue beneath her, “LET ME OUT! I KNOW YOU’RE STILL IN THERE! PLEASE, PLEASE SNAP OUT OF IT!”

For a moment, everything stopped.

She lay there, panting, covered in spit and feeling absolutely disgusting as the surface beneath her curled over her side once more.

“John, please…” She whimpered, moving to crawl further toward the front of his mouth. All he’d have to do was open up his mouth, and she’d be home free—

Before she could say anything else, Anna was suddenly pressed against the roof of the mouth, squishing all the air out of her in a sharp wheeze.

No, NO, NO NO NO—

Everything tilted back. Anna dug her fingers into the surface of John’s tongue in vain, panic rushing through her veins. She kicked and squirmed wildly, though, with a soft squelch, she felt the muscles of his throat begin to latch onto her legs.

Her eyes widened.

A deafening gulp muffled her scream. She was forced back faster than she could grab anything. Her desperate, reaching hands skimmed one of his huge teeth before disappearing into his gullet entirely. The light disappeared instantly, and although Anna couldn’t see, she could still feel the powerful muscles of his esophagus engulfing her tiny frame.

“NO!” She was forced downward at a rapid, terrifying pace. Her arms were pinned up above her head, and with each tug from the slick muscles, more slimy substances connected with her body.

“NO, N-NO, JOHN—”

Another swallow cut her off, the muscles around her squeezing the air out of her lungs and making the panic coursing through her intensify. She could barely move. The darkness was smothering her, alive, squeezing her every inch of the way down—

Her legs were free.

Eyes widening, knowing what it meant but refusing to believe it, Anna tried one more time to claw at the walls of his throat, but it didn’t matter.

With a final squeeze from his gullet, Anna dropped onto a cushy surface. She managed to land on her knees, her panicked eyes darting this way and that in the darkness. Everything was eerily still and quiet, the only thing she could hear the quick pounding of her heart.

He couldn’t have.

Her chest felt heavy. Slime dribbled down the back of her neck, making her shudder violently.

Where else could she be? Her senses were on overdrive. She was painfully aware of the feeling of sticky saliva clinging to her body, but also aware of the noises surrounding her— soft gurgles and growls, uneven, shaky breaths, and—

A low thumping from above her.

His heartbeat.

He just put me in and…

God, she couldn’t even think it.

...like I didn’t even matter?!

Her best friend— someone she’d thought was dead, had eaten her. Whole and alive. Her days— her minutes — her seconds were numbered. How long did it take a zombie to digest? How long did she have to breathe the stale tasting air and wait for acid to melt her into nothing?

A gurgle echoed through the fleshy chamber, loud enough to make Anna jolt and grasp her weapon—

I still have it.

Without hesitation, she dug the pointed end of it into the stomach’s floor as hard as she could manage, standing on wobbly legs. She braced herself against it, driving it in deep before tugging it free with a sickening squelch.

“NO!” She snarled, stumbling forward, ignoring the dizzy feeling that came with standing up, “I am not dying in some SHITTY TOWN,” she punctuated those words by driving the sharp end of the cane into the closest wall, “in some BROKEN DOWN BASE,” she pushed it in further, “where NO ONE WILL KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!”

Running on sheer desperation, the shrunken survivor used what little strength she had left to drag the sharp tip through the wall of flesh, feeling her entire environment abruptly tense around her. A growl rolled through the space, making everything vibrate.

It only encouraged her to continue.

Removing the edge, Anna began beating him with the blunt end, hitting him over and over again as if the cane was a baseball bat.

“If you want me to stop” she hissed through her teeth, “then LET! ME! OUT!” She hit him with every word, choking up slightly as she did.

Those three words suddenly made it all real. Her whole world began to crash down around her, the realization coupled with the churning motions of the stomach around her enough to bring her to her knees.

She was stuck in this horrible small town. She was in a worn down military base. Her friends wouldn’t know what happened to her. She was tiny. And she was in the stomach of one of her closest friends.

Anna Shepherd was going to die.

Her grip on the candy cane loosened to a point where it slipped from her fingers, though, she barely noticed as it hit the fleshy floor beside her. Her eyes began to sting from tears. There was no joy in them. Not this time.

Alone in the dark, alone with the realization that John, her closest friend, the person she would feel safe to talk about anything around— the person who helped her through her mother’s death and always, always been by her side, the person she cared for the most—

Another organic rumble from the stomach around her sent a cold chill through her body.

John was going to kill her, and nobody would ever know.

As the adrenaline faded and her limbs grew weak and heavy, Anna began to curl into a ball, her hands shaking violently. She wanted to scream out to him, or hit him with the cane as hard as she could manage, maybe even carve her way out. If she just managed to claw hard enough, she could do it, couldn’t she?

All she did was let tears trickle down her cheeks and curl up tighter. What else could she do?

She was alone. Stupidly alone. Had Nick or Steph been there, they would’ve been able to bludgeon him and this whole thing never would’ve happened. They wouldn’t just give up, either, they’d fight with everything they had and then some, but…

She was so tired. Her head was pounding at a mile a minute, and her limbs felt so, so heavy. She was going to pass out, soon.

And I’ll never wake up again.

Before the darkness behind her eyes engulfed her limited vision of the soft walls surrounding her entirely, Anna managed to choke out a sentence so quiet, it sounded like a breath.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you…” She whimpered.

Then, there was nothing but the darkness and a low, slow heartbeat thudding above her.

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years

Text

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E5; Chapter Five, Dig Dug - [Pt. 4 - FINAL PART]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

After a run-in with Will, a troubled Y/n teams up with an unlikely ally in her search for answers. “Bob the Brain” tackles a difficult problem.

Warnings: Racism

||3rd Person POV||

"Alright," Bob calls out. "I got 2.5 inches. What'd you got?"

"I'm not sure" Mike calls from Joyce's room. "Mrs. Byers."

"Hold on!" She calls, stretching the measuring tape around the corner.

The group had set out to find the x on the maps. With Bob's help, they were able to pinpoint most of the locations depicted through Will's drawings. Unfortunately, they had yet to find the spot where Hopper was. Bob was at the kitchen table, mapping out coordinates while Mike and Joyce measured the distances between marked areas.

"Twenty-one feet, four inches."

"What about Tippecanoe to Danford Creek?" Bob asked.

Joyce's face scrunched up as she thought of where she last saw it.

"Da-Danford, Danford?"

"Dining room!" Will answered excitedly. Joyce joined him with the measuring tape. She turned to face Bob who was in the other room.

"Sixteen feet, ten inches."

"What about Danford to Jordan?"

Joyce sighed, hurrying across the room to Bob's side.

"That's gotta be enough?"

Bob began sputtering, shaking his head sadly.

"It's not. It's really not."

"Can't you f-figure it out?"

By now, everyone was regrouped around the table. Everyone was watching Bob hopefully. He shrugged.

"Well, it's hard. The ratio isn't exactly one to one. I-I mean, if you're twisting my arm, and you're twisting my arm, I would say the x is" he drew a few lines on the map with his ruler, double-checking his math. "maybe, a half-mile southeast of Danford?" A beaming smile found its way onto Joyce and she exclaimed happily.

"Thank you!"

She leaned down and planted a big kiss on Bob's cheek, bringing a smile of his own to his lips.

Grabbing the map, she took out of the room, Mike, Will and a confused Bob behind her.

"What? Are we really going?"

×××

Dustin pulls his bike into the Wheeler driveway. Hopefully, Mike was home. And hopefully, he'd have a pretty damn good explanation as to why he wasn't answering his coms! He stood at the front door, repeatedly ringing the doorbell and waited impatiently. He could have sworn he heard a muffled voice call out.

"Ted, can you get that please?"

When Mr. Wheeler opened the door, Dustin tried to remain as cool and collected as possible though it was difficult. He looked Mr. Wheeler in the eye and spoke carefully.

"Your line has been busy for over two hours, do you realize that?"

With the same unimpressed look painted across the man's face, as it always was, he nodded simply.

"I do realize."

"Is Mike home?"

"No."

"No?" Dustin repeated, his composure cracking. "Well, where the hell is he?"

Mr. Wheeler's usual plain and tepid voice raised suddenly as he looked behind him into the house.

"Karen, where's our son?"

"Will's!" Came Mrs. Wheeler's voice from inside.

Mr. Wheeler calmly and disinterestedly looked back to Dustin.

"Will's," he said simply.

Dustin sighed heavily.

"No one's picking up there. Nancy, what about Nancy?" He tried.

"Karen, where's Nancy?"

"Ally's!" She answered shortly.

"Ally's," Mr. Wheeler said and he shrugged. "As you can see, our children don't live here anymore. You didn't know that?"

Dustin felt all his hope evaporate as he looked at the dull man.

"Now, are we done here?" He asked pointedly.

Dustin sighed heavily, all efforts to be polite were long gone.

"Son of a bitch, you're really no help at all, you know that?" He said over his shoulder, as he walked away.

Ted called put lazily after the boy, his heart not fully in the fight.

"Hey, language!"

Dustin had returned to his bike, he picked it up hotly, now feeling completely on edge. His ears perked up when he saw a car pull up near the sidewalk. He watched in curiosity until he saw someone unexpected climb out. Steve Harrington. He was lazily carrying a bouquet of roses that hung at his side and he was nervously muttering to himself as he made his way across the lawn.

"Listen, I've been thinking, love you, I'm sorry. 'Sorry', what the hell am I sorry for?" "Steve!"

Steve was equally surprised to see the Henderson kid eagerly making his way towards himself. He stopped as the kid approached him, and he gestured to the flowers in his hands.

"Are those for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?" He asked.

Steve gave the boy an odd look and shook his head.

"No, they're for-"

"Great," Dustin ripped the bouquet from his unsuspecting hands and headed for Steve's car.

"Hey, what the hell? Hey!"

"Nancy isn't home," Dustin answered simply.

"Well, where is she?"

"Doesn't matter. We have bigger problems than your love life. You still have that bat?" Steve watched as Dustin opened the passenger side door and looked to him expectantly.

"Bat? What bat?"

"The one with the nails." He replied, obviously.

"Why?"

"I'll explain it on the way."

Dustin climbed into the passenger seat and only then did Steve snapped into action. Breaking into a jog, he couldn't help but ask.

"Wh-? Now?"

"Now!"

With that, Dustin closed the car door and watched impatiently as the boy made his way to the front seat.

×××

Hopper groans as he swipes yet another handful of dirt behind him. He stops for another break though he knows he shouldn't. If it hadn't been for his watch, he surely would have lost all sense of time. And all his had managed to show for it was a hole in the wall two feet long that barely fit his torso. An overwhelming sense of defeat blankets the man and he feels himself slide down the wall of dirt and onto the floor.

He could feel the tickle in his lungs grow stronger and he coughed weakly. Despite the tightness in his chest, he does what always brings him false feelings of comfort. He pulls out his pack of cigarettes. In his weakened hazy state, Hopper fails to notice the small but thick tendrils of vines snaking their way towards his legs.

Before he can do anything to stop them, he sees the thick ropes curl around his ankle and he jolts at the sudden contact. He scrambles to his feet in a panic, momentarily losing his balance.

"Son of a bitch!"

He bends down and begins to claw frantically at the vines. Stopping himself before he can waste more time, he searches his pockets until his fingers land on the cool metal of his knife. Quickly, he pulls out the tool, unsheathing the blade and he brings it to the vines that are now up to both his knees. Unfortunately, he is too focused on the vines at his feet, he fails to notice the vine that has made its way up to his back and around his neck.

Hopper grunts as his back hit the ground, knocking the air out of him. Hardly any time passes for him to be completely ensnared in the sentient undergrowth and his cries for help are quickly smothered and snuffed out, buried underground with him.

×××

"And that was the last we ever saw her. After that, she was just, gone. I can't believe it's been that long, it feels like yesterday." Lucas finishes.

Max nods, a concentrated frown on her face.

"Yeah, I mean, I bet," she says, lifting Lucas's hopes. "Wow"

Lucas nods, a sense of relief washing over him at how the skeptic was taking it. She had, for the most part, remained silent during his story. She didn't show any effort to hide her confusion but seemed to go along with it.

"It's crazy, I know."

"It's crazy, but," she shrugged. "I really liked it."

It was Lucas's turn to be confused. "You like it?"

"Yeah," she frowned slightly, a tight smile on her face. "Well, I mean, I had a few issues?"

"Issues?"

"I just felt it was a little derivative at some parts."

Lucas was flabbergasted, and his high hopes came crashing down to the ground.

"What are you talking about."

She shrugged simply, tucking her palms in her lap as she looked at him with irritation. "I just wish it had a little more originality, is all."

Lucas could feel anger bubbling up in his chest. He leaned forward, a frown etched into his brows.

"You don't believe me?"

Max chortled and gave the boy a pathetic glance. Her voice began to rise steadily, her own anger taking over her false intrigue.

"Lucas, come on, seriously? How gullible do you think I am?"

"Why would I make this up?" Lucas shot back.

"I don't know! To impress me, or something? Or, you're just like, insane." "I tell you all of this," Lucas declares hotly, rising to his feet. "I mean, top-secret stuff, risking my life, and this is how you react?"

Max scoffed, still not allowing herself the possibility of believing what he had told her to hide the small seedling of fear that had burrowed itself inside her. She did as she had learned to survive. Brush it off. She looked at him with an amused expression painted on her face.

"'Risking your life?'"

The frustration festered inside of Lucas at the girl's unwavering amusement at the traumatic experience.

"Oh, so this is funny to you?"

"Yeah, I mean, kinda funny?"

Lucas only glared at her, and a smug smile finds its way onto her face as she rises to her feet.

"Stupid, but funny."

Shrugging him and the properly burrowed feeling of fear off her shoulders, she waltzed towards the door, her board in hand.

"Where are you going?"

She stopped and gave him a passing look. "Story time's over, isn't it?"

Lucas feels the harsh sting of her words and decides he wants to put in a few of his own. As she strides out of the arcade, he stays on her heels.

"What is wrong with you? I gave you what you wanted."

"I wanted to be a part of the group, not apart of some joke."

Her mask of anger had begun to crack, and shining through was genuine hurt. Lucas did his best to convey his seriousness, though at this point he didn't know how much good it would do.

"It's not a joke," he said again slowly.

"You did a good job, okay?" She said, nodding though Lucas could still detect a hint of sadness. "And you can go tell the others that I believed your lies and get your little experience points, or whatever."

Quickly, she turned on her heels, her red hair whipping over her shoulder and he quickly followed, grabbing her arm gently. She turned to look at him shocked, but he quickly released her and spoke softly once more.

"We have a lot of rules in our party, okay? But the most important thing is, friends don't lie. Never, ever, no matter what."

"Is that right?" She said confidence dripping from her words knowing she had caught him. "Then how do you explain this?"

This time, she gestured for him to follow her. They turned the corner and into the isle of games. She swiftly ripped the piece of paper from the screen that read, OUT OF ORDER, and stuck it on Lucas's chest with remaining bits of tape that resided on the back.

Lucas sighed, ripping the piece of paper off his shoulder and gave her a pleading look. "I had to do that, to protect you."

Max snapped once more, her anger and her own frustrations getting the best of her. "Protect me from who, exactly?" Max's voice began to rise in volume. "The big government baddies at Hawkins Lab." She rested her board against the machine, and she angrily stuffed her hands into her pockets for coins before inserting them into Dig Dug as she yelled at the boy.

As calmly and discreetly as possible, he spoke to her as his eyes darted around the arcade.

"Keep your voice down."

Her demeanor shifted to quickly to that of exaggerated understanding.

"Or maybe to protect me from the Demogorgon from another dimension."

"Max, I'm serious, shut up!"

Ignoring him, and his voice still rising, she turned to him, this time speaking with exaggerated excitement.

"No, no, no. I know, it was Y/n and her other superpowered friend, what was it? Eleven-" Max's eyes widened when Lucas suddenly threw his hands over her mouth. His eyes were pleasing and he whispered under his breath, begging her.

"Stop. Talking." He glanced over her shoulder worriedly. "You are going to get us killed. Do you understand?"

Only then did it click for Max when she saw the desperation, the fear, in Lucas's eyes. It was enough to chill her to the bone. She pulled his arm away from her face and looked at him seriously for the first time since he tricked her. Desperately, she searched his eyes. For anything, any sign of humor, any hint that he was putting up an act to convince her. But to her horror, she saw only fear.

"You're serious?"

He stepped back, his voice still low.

"I really wish I wasn't."

She quickly recovered, and while she had begun to believe, her skepticism was quickly trying to convince her otherwise.

"Prove it."

A defeated look washed over Lucas. He shrugged lightly.

"I can't."

"So what? I'm just supposed to trust you?" He nodded solemnly. "Yes."

She shifted on her feet lightly and something clicked.

"Can't Y/n show me her little trick or whatever, just-"

A car engine roared to life outside, cutting her off. She sped to the window and much to her chagrin, it was exactly who she had suspected.

"Shit, I gotta go."

Pulling yet another surprise from her sleeve, she faced Lucas and grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked deeply, but briefly, into his eyes, giving him a pleading look of her own.

"Don't follow me out. Okay?" She whispered gently.

She released his hand and opens the door, heading out. Lucas couldn't stop the words that left his mouth in desperation.

"Do you believe me?"

She never answered, and he watched solemnly as she scurried to the blue Camaro and scrambled inside. Someone pushed past his shoulders trying to get by, the door still cracked open unknowingly giving away his presence to Billy Hargrove. Max scrambled inside the car, tucking in her feet and her board and closed the door. Billy, who had his head resting on the headrest and looking out of the window seething.

"The hell I tell you?" He growled.

Max gave him an odd look.

"I'm not late."

"You know what I'm talking about."

Swallowing her fear, she quickly recovered and masked her face with confusion.

"Oh, Lucas?"

Billy scoffed in disgust, his brows furrowed under his sunglasses as his anger rose.

"So he has a name now, huh?"

She cursed herself for stammering, knowing he would pick up on it but prayed he didn't.

"It's a small town, okay? We weren't hanging out." She assures him.

Billy shrugs lightly, and his voice lowered. "Hmm. Well, you know what happens when you lie."

Max shook her head.

"I'm not lying."

For the first time in their exchange, Billy looks at Max. His head lazily rolled over to his other shoulder and he searches her face quickly. Thankfully, he seems to buy it and returns his gaze to the road, his left arm still hanging out of the window and the car speeds off. After the car is gone, Lucas seems it safe to exit and he scurries to the parking lot, watching the car disappear. Worriedly, she looks out the window behind her before quickly looking forward in fear of being caught.

×××

El and Y/n watch patiently in the kitchen as Becky cuts an old towel in two. She holds it up to them, the cloth now the perfect size and shape for a makeshift blindfold. "Like this?"

El nodded, her chin still resting gently on her palm.

"Yes."

The three returned to the living room, and Y/n, per El's request, had turned the volume up on the television set so the static echoed throughout the room.

El sat on the carpet, legs folded beneath her as she folded the cloth into a proper blindfold. Becky sat to the left of Y/n, who sat criss-cross just a foot or two away from El, giving her space.

"It's okay if I sit here, right?"

"Yes," El said, securing the blindfold around her eyes.

"And I won't mess it up or anything?"

"No," El answered, growing short.

"Okay." Becky licked her lips nervously, looking longingly towards her sister.

"If you talk to Terry, will you tell her that I love her very much? And that I'm sorry that I didn't believe--"

"Stop talking," El said crossly.

"Okay, sorry," Becky mumbled.

Y/n caught her eye, and she mouthed a 'sorry'. Becky's lips pressed into a firm line, shrugging, implying she didn't take it too seriously. Her attention was mostly concentrated on her sister, and Y/n had begun to feel the same as Becky did. In the aspect that she felt out of place while El communicated to her mother.

"Breathe. Sunflower. Rainbow." Terry mumbled, her fingers twitching and lips twitching. "Run. Breathe. Sunflower."

El awoke in the familiar dark landscape, her toes curling slightly in the imaginary water.

Her mother sat before her, just as she looked moments ago in the living room.

"Run. Breathe. Sunflower. Rainbow."

El timidly made the journey forward, growing closer to her mother which each step. She only hoped this would work.

"Three to the right, four to the left. Four fifty. Run."

"Mama?"

"Sunflower. Rainbow."

"Mama, it's me..."

"-four to left. Four fifty."

"...Jane."

Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she did her best to remain calm. Her mother was only feet away, she was upset with herself for being nervous, she had wanted this her whole life. Yet, the closer she got the more nervous she became.

"Breathe. Rainbow."

"I'm here now,"

"Four fifty."

El took the final step, now only inches away from her mother. After the words left her tongue, everything happened quickly. "I'm home."

The women's head snapped in her direction, her eyes boring into El's, desperation clouding them.

"No."

Terry reached for her daughter, her hand reaching out and snatching El's hand, startling her. El was jerked forward and before she knew it, she felt her eyes open on the black landscape. Instantly she had been transported further into her mother's mind, but she had yet to figure that out. To her it felt as if everything was rebooted, like she had only just now woken up in the void and the last few moments hadn't happened.

But she was alone.

"Mama!"

Her wails were interrupted by uneven footsteps scurrying behind her. El whirled around to see a woman in a long orange dress running to the right. Eagerly, she followed and she watched in horror as the woman she now recognized as a younger version of her mother, had begun to slow. She was grasping her very pregnant belly and panting heavily, seemingly trying to catch her breath and continue on. Before she could reach out to her mother, try to talk to her, El found herself watching curiously as her mother looked worriedly over her shoulder.

Her eyes were filled with sorrow and she whimpered, her lip quivering as she tried not to cry. Curiously, El turned to see what her mother was looking at and her eyes widened at the sight. El noticed she was wearing a hospital gown similar to the one she wore back in Hawkins lab. Her [m/b/t] (mother's body type) figure wobbled tiredly across the landscape, heading straight for them. She was panting heavily like she had been running a great distance, and her speed was rapidly decreasing. Behind her, a swarm of angry men in uniform - bad men, El realized - hot on her heels.

"Terry!" She cried. "Go! Now! You can still make it! You know where to go-!"

The woman was tackled to the ground, and she wailed in pain. El jumped back in fear even though she wasn't too close. El got a better look at her, and she watched in sorrow and guilt as the woman was grabbed roughly and yanked to her feet. She was dragged away, screaming and kicking, fighting for her life.

"Terry, what are you waiting for?! RUN!"

El watched aghast as the [m/b/t] (you're mother's body type) woman was pulled farther and farther away, her screams never ceasing. Unlike anything she had ever seen in the void, she could make out the bad men turning a corner and they disappeared around an invisible corner. Before El could make put what happened, a loud bang was heard and the screams stopped. El stumbled back in fear, tears streaming from her eyes. Her ankle caught something and she fell backward into the thin pool of water. She hid her face in her hands, the panic rising in her chest and she realized she was hyperventilating. The sound of her mother's wailing brought her out of her panic, or at least it redirected it.

Her mother had similar tear streaks running down her cheeks and El knew her mother was in the same boat. But her eyes fell to her mother's large stomach and she finally noticed the emerging bloodstains running down her dress. Throughout the whole ordeal, El wondered why her mother didn't take the woman's advice, why did she stop? And where was she telling her mother to go? Millions of questions like these had bounced around her brain as everything unfolded, too caught up in the horror of what just unfolded to try and answer them. But now El knew.

She knew why her mother stopped. She was in pain and she was bleeding a great deal. She scrambled to her feet to help her mother but she did not know what to do.

"Mama? Mama!"

Just as soon, her mother groaned in pain and stumbled to the ground, grasping her stomach. El immediately and tearfully knelt beside her sobbing mother, laying a shaky hand on her mother's arm.

"Mama! Mama!"

The woman wailed, clutching her stomach, completely unfazed by El's presence.

"Oh, my baby!" She cried worriedly.

"What do I do?" El asked frantically. "Mama, what do I do? Help me!"

A familiar voice echoes out, calling out fearfully.

"Terry? Terry!"

"Mama, what do I do? How do I help you?"

"Terry, where were you? Oh, my God!"

El looks up in the direction of the voice, only for everything to blur. El is transported outside, nothing she can identify but she sees the face of the familiar voice. It's Becky, she's younger and she is looking right at El.

"Oh, my God," she sniffles, looking around worriedly. "Okay, breathe. Just breathe, alright? Breathe."

She sees her mother lying on the grass yards away from a house, and now she knows she is not seeing through her own eyes. She is reliving her mother's past.

"They're on their way, okay?"

El sees her mother's hand reach for her bleeding stomach and look back at Becky.

"They got her. [y/m/n], they got [y/m/n]. I have to go, I have to leave! I have to get her out, I h-have to get her out-" Terry wails in agony, clutching her stomach. "She did it. She got... her out... I need to go- AAHH"

Becky shakes her head, reaching out for her as she takes Terry's hand in comfort.

"Terry, no! Just breathe, alright? You need to breathe, I've told you, no one is coming for her, alright?"

"They wanted her, and they're gonna want Jane! Don't make me do this," she wailed, shaking her head.

She lets out another wail of agony and everything begins to fade.

"Terry!"

Everything goes black and the next thing El knows is she is being wheeled through a hallway, two nurses looking at her.

"Stay with us, darling. Stay with us."

El sees her mother writhing in pain on the moving bed, clutching her stomach.

Big lights swarm her vision, and she looks around as several people in green clothing and latex gloves stand and move around her. El sees her mother groaning on the table in pain, and slowly a gloved hand brings a mask of some sort to her face.

El sees a small blade glide across her mother's skin, blood dripping from the cut and the next thing she sees is a tiny infant come into view. It cries with its small high voice, visibly animated in movement. El realizes it's her, and her mother is fighting to stay awake. A set of eyes, all too familiar to El, come into view. The man's face is mostly covered by his mask, but El knows all too well it's Papa. Confirming her suspicions, the man pinches the white mask and pulls it down to his chin revealing the face of the man that tortured her for years.

Everything goes black once more. It is quiet, and for a moment El thinks the vision is over. But a bright light reveals itself, and the first thing El can identify is a vase of sunflowers.

Her vision plans over to see a tearful Becky. She gives the weakest of smiles and speaks, El can hear the lump in her throat as she is holding back her tears.

"Hey, there."

Her mother stirs awake on the hospital bed. She groans, and looks around worriedly.

"Jane? Where's Jane?"

Becky shakes her bowed head, tears clouding her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She croaks, reaching forward and taking her hand. "Honey, she didn't make it. I'm so sorry, Ter, I'm so sorry."

Terry shakes her head, anger and panic rising in her.

"No, I saw her!" She said simply.

Becky shook her head.

"No, no, she wasn't breathing."

"She was crying!"

"No."

"Oh, God." She breathed, the memories swarming back to her. "Becky, it happened. I saw her, an-and he was there! He was there! He had her and-!"

"No," was all Becky could muster, sniffling.

Becky took a deep breath, still shaking her head, unable to meet her sister's eye right away.

"Terry, no, I'm sorry, I wish that were true-"

"It is! Becky, I'm telling you, I saw it! We have to get her! He took her!"

"Who was there, Terry?" Becky asked, trying to calm her through her own tears.

"He took her!" She said, growing more frantic.

"Terry-" Becky warned.

But Terry had already begun to sit up despite her sister's efforts to keep her in bed.

"No, no, no! Don't take it out! Terry!"

She had ripped the IV out of her arm, and seconds later a nurse came in, holding her down.

"No, no! I need to get her! Becky, I told you!"

"Terry!"

"-I told you this would happen! I need to get her!"

Terry was soon restrained, several members of the hospital staff were pinning her down and El watched as a syringe was plunged into her skin. The scene quickly changed, she could see several papers and file folders strewn all over the floor. She could hear her mother's voice nearby.

"Three to the right. Four to the left." She mumbled.

She sees the dial of the safe click to the zero, and her mother opens the safe. Inside, sitting atop several papers and envelopes is a gun. Shakily, her mother picks up the gun, she sighs as she stuffs several bullets inside.

Her mother is now in a car. She takes a deep breath, collecting herself before exiting the car, purse clutched tightly in her hand. She closes the car door and El sees her mother cross the parking lot to the familiar building she escaped from. Trailing behind a few similarly dressed women, she blends in effortlessly with them. That is until she stopped by a security guard.

"Ma'am, can I see your badge?"

Terry stops, taking a deep breath. She turns around, pulling the gun from her bag. She aims it at the man and anybody that tried to approach.

"Stay back. Stay back!"

She sees the guard reach for his gun and she panics, pulling the trigger. The last thing she sees is the guard falling back before everything goes black once more. She can hear alarms blaring, and Terry is now rushing down a hallway, several people in lab coats jumping aside. She hopes from door to door, peering inside and asking for her daughter.

"Jane? Jane?"

She looks over her shoulder and that's when she spots it. The rainbow room. A door across the hall with a small rainbow painted on the inside of the doorframe.

Eagerly, she opens the door. Inside, she finds two young girls playing, one of them she knows to be her daughter. She steps forward cautiously, but happily. Each of them give her an off look and she smiles, leaning down to her daughter.

"Jane... No!"

She is pulled away from Jane before she can grab her. She fights and kicks to the best of her ability but the men's' hold on her is too powerful. The girls watch curiously as she dragged away and Terry only fights harder.

"No! No! She's my child! No! She's my child!"

The sight of the tiny rainbow painted on the walls is the last thing in focus as she is dragged far away.

The next thing she sees comes in flashes. Hands struggling and hair whipping around as Terry struggles the grip of several bad men.

"No! No."

El watches helplessly as her mother is roughly pinned down again once more, several straps fighting around her form. As she struggles, her head falls to the side and there before her is Papa. Standing still, watching as she is restrained.

Her cries of protest are muffled when they place a rubber mouth guard between her teeth. A pair of gloved hands bring two metal rods to her forehead, Terry becomes increasingly frightened, like she can guess what comes next but El does not.

"Four fifty," Papa says.

One of the men nods, reaching over and setting the dial on a silver and black box. A low hum grows louder as he sets the dial, she can hear it in the rods and she knows what's coming. Terry's muffled screams cry out in protest, but it does not stop the man from flipping the switch. Her mother begins to convulse, her muscles go stiff and she writhes and shakes in pain. Her hands lose grip on the metal poles of handles at her side and she goes limp, tears in her eyes and she pants heavily.

Everything starts over in quick flashes as she stares at the ceiling. All of it, happing in short spurts.

"RUN!"

BANG.

"Oh, my God! Okay, breathe. They're on their way."

She's wheeled through the hallway.

"Stay with us, darling."

Jane crying.

Her eyes open and El can hear her mother's voice.

"Sunflower"

"He was there!"

Nurses retrain her.

"Three to the right. Four to the left."

She unlocks the safe and shoots the gun.

She sees the room.

"Sunflower."

The dial turns.

"Four fifty."

"RUN!" A gun goes off.

"Breathe." Jane cries.

Flowers at her bedside. "Sunflower."

Gunshot, she approaches the door. "Rainbow."

The dial turns. "Four fifty."

She convulses.

"RUN!"

"Breathe,"

"Three to the right. Four to the left."

"Breathe"

"Sunflower."

"Rainbow"

"Three to the right."

"Breathe."

"Four fifty."

"Breathe."

"Rainbow."

"Three to the right."

"Run!"

El rips the blindfold off her eyes in panic, her breathing heavy and uneven. As she is brought back to reality she looks up at her mother in her rocking chair. There are tears in her eyes and she is sadly uttering the same words.

"Run. Breathe. Sunflower. Rainbow. Three to the right. Four to the left."

El feels a pair of arms wrap gently around her and she can feel her own shaking, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly. She feels a hand grab hers and she knows it's Y/n. She squeezes her hand for comfort and Y/n gently runs her thumb over the back of her hand, showing her support.

No one says anything for a while, and apart from her mother's mumbling, she sits in silence embracing the support given to her as she tries to calm her racing heart.

×××

"There's nothing. There's nothing here." Mike says worriedly.

Mike, Will, Joyce, and Bob were all packed inside Joyce's Ford Pinto in search of where they believed Hopper's location to be.

Worriedly, Joyce spares a quick glance at Bob who holds the map in his lap.

"Are... Are we close?"

"We're in the vicinity," Bob replies.

"What's that mean, the vicinity?" She asked worriedly.

"It means we're close. I don't know. It's not precise." Bob sputters, feeling the guilt and pressure weighing on his chest.

"But we did all that work!" Joyce exclaims, exasperated.

"I told you, the scale ratio is not exactly one-to-one. We needed to take--"

"Turn right!" Will shouts suddenly.

Unbeknownst to the group, Will had closed his eyes. Taking Mike's advice to heart, he took advantage of the information, his now memories, stored in his brain. Quietly, he had sat, his eyes darting back and forth sporadically under his eyelids as he searched the tunnels in his mind.

"What?"

Everyone looked to Will, even Joyce, but she made sure to return her attention to the road.

"I saw him!" Will answered.

"Where?"

Joyce began looking around, squinting around the vicinity and Will feels the panic boiling I'm his chest. He leans forward urgently, his words turn to a quick panicked shout as he tries to convey his words without missing the turn.

"Not here. In my now-memories"

A knowing gasp falls over Mike and Joyce, while Bob whirls around to look at Will, flabbergasted.

"In your what?" Bob asks.

"Turn right!" Will yells again.

Everyone is thrown to the side of the car, Will bumping into Mike, and Bob nearly falling on Joyce as the car violently jerked to the side. A horrible screech filled everyone's ears as the tires flew across the pavement. Everything happened in a matter of seconds as the car took down a sign attached to the wooden fencing, as well as several clumps of hay that temporarily covered the windshield. Before they knew it, they were thrown forward when Joyce slammed on the breaks, stopping only inches away from the back of Hopper's car.

Joyce whirled around to look at Will, then Mike.

"Are you okay?"

Will nodded and she faced the front once more. Everyone was panting heavily still, collecting their breath.

"Superspy," Mike confirmed between breaths.

"What's Jim doing here?" Bob asked, recognizing the car in front of them. "Joyce?"

Ignoring his questions, Joyce returned her attention to the back seat and looked between Will and Mike.

"Boys, I need you to stay here."

Will shook his head frantically as she climbed out of the car.

"No. Mom, Mom, Mom, it's not safe." He called desperately, leaning over to look at her.

"That's why I need you to stay here! Stay here!" She ordered.

Slamming the car door, the boys sat in silence as they felt the car shake slightly. Bob and Joyce trudged across the field, careful not to step on the many rotten pumpkins.

"Hopper!" Joyce's worried and shrill cries echoed across the field and into the night.

Easily spotting the small crater in the dirt, Joyce descended the hole Hopper had dug and Bob followed cautiously. His arms were outstretched after Joyce who held her arms out for balance as her feet slipped across the unstable dirt.

"Hey, be careful." He shook his head, nervously spewing commentary in disbelief. "Just going down the hole."

At the bottom of the pit, a large circle roughly the size of her dining room table had caught her eye. Bridging the gaps over what normally would have been a hole in the ground, was what looked like several worms the size of large snakes. But they weren't, they were a dark purple-pink and they did twist and move, constantly interlacing themselves, seeing themselves together in a big lump, it soon became clear to Joyce what these were. Hopper's last few words to her echoed in her mind.

"Vines." She gasped.

Hesitant to break her gaze away for too long, she gestured to shovel that stood near Bob's feet.

"Give me that."

"The shovel?"

"Yes, give me the shovel!"

Compliantly, he handed the shovel to Joyce who eagerly grabbed it tight in her hands. With all the strength she could summon, she brought the metal spade down into the vines. They shrieked and hissed, and her contact had hurt several of them. Unfortunately, this came with a splash of dark smelly goo sprayed from the vines and painting Joyce and Bob's clothes.

Cringing, but quickly recovering, Joyce began to repeatedly stab the colony of vines. They hissed and squealed once more but they one by one they hastily recoiled back into the dirt. Deciding enough room had been made and enough vines were gone, she threw the shovel to the side and whirled around to face Bob, a determined look in her eye.

"I need you to help me get down there." She ordered.

Growing frantic and increasingly worried, Bob hunched over slightly and waved his arms.

"Joyce, what are you talking about?" "Bob! Now!" She roared, extending her arm.

Joyce gasped in horror when her feet hit the ground, her eyes had adjusted to the dark almost at once, and she was panting heavily at the sight around her. Not allowing herself any more time to waste, she stepped further into the tunnels.

"Hopper!" She called. "Hopper! Hopper!"

Frantically, she looked between the two directions the tunnel stretched in. She didn't know how much time she had, but she knew it wasn't much and she certainly couldn't risk checking each path. She heard a thud behind her, and she turned knowing Bob had descended. Sure enough, she wobbled slightly, catching his balance from the long drop and he collected himself. "Joyce, what is going on? Where are we?" Stammering, she reached out to Bob and looked him up and down, making sure he had safely made the drop.

"Bob, are you okay?"

Bob's attention was pulled to his surroundings once his eyes had adjusted. He looked around in amazement and shock.

"Tunnels. Is this Will's map?" He asked.

She had reached into his jacket pocket, knowing he always kept a small flashlight for emergencies.

"Hopper!" She called, scanning the tunnels for any sign of the chief.

"Are we in Will's map?" Bob asked once more.

Biting the bullet and picking a direction, she began navigating the tunnels, calling out for the missing man.

"Hopper! Hopper!"

"We're in Will's map," Bob mumbled excitedly, following Joyce close behind.

"Hopper!"

"We're actually inside Will's map!"

"Hopper!"

"How did he know all this?"

They both quieted when they reached a fork in the path. Glad Bob had kept his flashlight on him, and glad she had used it, she stepped forward when the light caught a broken cigarette on the ground in front of the left tunnel.

"Bob! Over here!"

She knelt down by the cigarette, she picked it up and showed it to her boyfriend.

"It's his! He's gotta be this way! Come on." Before he could respond, she took off down the left tunnel, mindful of her steps and the large ridges protruding from the ground. Giving one last uneasy look from where they came, trying his best to memorize the details of the path, he quickly fell back in line after Joyce.

Just outside above the entrance, Mike and Will had exited the car and slowly approached the edge of the crater.

"Do you see anything?" Mike asked. "I mean, in your now-memories?"

Will shook his head, watching the ground uneasily. The sound of several engines captured the boys' attention and they turned around to see several vehicles flood onto the field from where they had come. To his horror, Mike recognized the white vans labeled HAWKINS POWER AND LIGHTING as the very same ones that had chased him and his friends the previous year. It was a fleet from Hawkins Lab. He was suddenly grateful Y/n had left, wherever she was, she would be safe from them. At least, he hoped.

The tunnels below their feet were filled with the echoes of Joyce's cries for Hopper. The pair had reached a cavity in the tunnels, the walls had pooled out into wide space that Bob silently identified as the x from Will's map. Joyce was much too preoccupied with the task at hand, the beam of the flashlight scouring the ground and she felt her heart leap into her throat when she caught sight of a large arm poking out from underneath a pile of vines. The pile of vines, she realized, had almost completely covered the man.

"Oh! It's his arm!"

She scrambled forward, Bob close on her heels and they collapsed to the ground beside him. Handing the flashlight to Bob, she began clawing at the vines around him, several of them breaking and snapping. Bob pointed the flashlight to Hopper's neck, the man lay fighting consciousness and Bob began tugging with his free hand at the thick vine surrounding his neck. "It's choking him!"

Joyce redirected her efforts to the vine that struggled to tighten itself around Hopper's neck. Much to their surprise, Hopper spoke in a strained voice. "Knife!"

Joyce looked around desperately for the tool, but Bob was quick to answer. The beam fell across Hopper and next to Joyce. "It's over there!"

Sure enough, just inches away from Hopper's grasp, was the man's pocket knife.

Quickly, she got to work and it wasn't long until the vine around his neck snapped, Hopper gasped for air, and looked to his hands.

"Hands!"

Joyce cut his arms free next and he was able to fight back. He took the knife from Joyce's hands, cutting himself loose from the tendrils surrounding his chest while Bob and Joyce continued clawing at the remaining restraints. Finally, Hopper broke free with a maddened cry. "Bastard!"

He sat up, swiping the blade across the restraints on his ankles, once more the goo erupted from the screeching vines, by now he was covered in it but he didn't give two shits. Bob and Joyce helped the man to his feet and Joyce hurriedly checked him for injuries, and she took his face between her trembling hands.

"Oh, my God. Hopper, are you okay?" She panted.

"Joyce."

"Are you okay? Are you okay?"

Hopper nodded, patting her on the arms gently and she released him. He swung his arm behind him and patted the man beside him.

"Hey, Bob."

"Hey, Jim."

The trio huddled together, backing away from the advancing vines. Joyce turned and jumped in fear when she saw a figure next to Bob, dressed in a hazmat suit.

"Oh, my God!"

"Go! Go! Go! Clear the area!" The figure ordered.

The trio did not hesitate to evacuate the area, heading back through the tunnel each of them had ventured. When the three were out of range, the figure, who had been properly equipped, aimed his device and a violent spurt of fire erupted from the end. The vines writhed and shrieked violently as they shriveled up.

At that exact moment, Will - who had been waiting worriedly outside as the army of men surrounded and descended after his mother and Bob - collapsed to the ground. Mike dropped to the ground quickly after him, grasping his friend trying to get him to calm. But it was no use. Will was now lying on the grass, his entire body felt like it was on fire. His vision was as white as the white-hot searing pain running through his veins.

"Will, what's wrong?" Mike wailed, feeling helpless.

Will convulsed uncontrollably, his limbs on fire, spreading as rapidly as the flames in the hub below. As the vines screamed in agony, Will screamed too. He was now on his back, screaming violently into the night. Mike jumped back startled, watching helplessly in horror as his best friend writhed in the grass, his mouth wide open and his eyes rolled back into his head as shrieked in agony.

+++

Tag List: @dickkwad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely @missmulti @youpi-chan @peeperparkour @ba-responds @bibliophilesquared @blogforhoes @witch-of-all-things-soft

DM me if you want to be added!

77 notes · View notes

gore-hovnd · 5 years

Text

Don’t Breathe: Part Two

As per request of @hydra-trash-spot

Warning For: Toxic/Controlling Relationship, Emotional/Physical Abuse

(Also, side note, I’m literally incapable of proofreading unless things are in post format so please excuse my typos pff)

(Side Note pt 2, electric boogaloo; I edited it and now it’s not as BAD. Idk if this is gonna retag but if it does I’m SORRY, bc I’m awful and I’ve been fixing the formatting smh)

Sweat droplets rolled between his shoulders in a way that made his skin crawl as he shifted in his seat. Staring blankly at the paperwork in his hand, Jack began to read the paragraph at the top of the page for the fifth time.

Of course there was maintenance happening on the building’s AC unit, of course today was the hottest day of the week, and of course Brock felt the need fuck him over in more ways than one by not letting him call off work for that day. When he looked at it from Brock’s standpoint as a commander, Jack understood why. The STRIKE team had an urgent mission come up, they would be leaving for it in three days, and they needed everyone to be ready. But when he looked at it from Brock’s standpoint as his boyfriend, Jack knew it was just Brock being the biggest dick imaginable at that point. It hadn’t been enough to drag him around the house in a dog collar that left dark, saturated bruises in its wake and made speaking a chore. It wasn’t enough to humiliate him by claiming that the bruising across Jack’s nose and beneath is eyes was from him coming into unfortunate contact with the shower rod the night before. And it wasn’t enough to make Jack come to work in a heavy jacket, zipped all the way up, in ninety degree weather to hide the bruises over his throat. Because nothing was ever enough and despite trying to stay out of Brock’s line of sight all day, Jack knew he’d always be Brock’s primary target.

“I need you to pick up training with Cap today.” Brock stated plainly while JAck shared a lunch that only one of them ate.

Jack recoiled, looking up from the slowly cooling chicken pasta in front of him. He’d only gotten three bites in before he decided that it hurt too much to swallow.

“Why?” Jack grumbled, his voice low and weak from both the abuse to his vocal cords as well as disuse. He hadn’t said a word to Brock all day, the anger in him once again rising, bashing against the cage of his resolve like a wild beast trying to break free.

“‘Cause Pierce called me about havin’ another meeting this morning. I don’t got a choice here, Jackie, I already told the big guy you’d be there.” Brock explained as he scrolled through his emails at his computer.

“Why not jus’ fuckn’ reschedule.” Jack grumbled under his breath, rising from his seat and throwing his lunch into the bin by Brock’s desk with more force than necessary. The combination of the action and his attitude had Brock looking up from his work, staring at Jack with an irritated look despite the upward turn of his lip.

“What was that, mouth?” He asked and Jack hesitated for a second. He could challenge it, could try to put Brock in his place, but the lingering threat of the previous night’s events bred an unfamiliar fear in his chest and he pulled his gaze away.

“Nothin’.” He mumbled, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets before making his escape.

***

Jack sat in the gym for twenty minutes waiting for Steve.

And in that twenty minutes he contemplated what the hell had just happened. He’d never been afraid of Brock before. Upset? Yes. Wary? Of course. Angry? Abso-fucking-lutely, but afraid? Never. And whatever was causing that fear to fester in his chest was making him sick.

The doors to the gym opened and Jack broke from his thoughts, staring up to meet the bright, happy smile on Steve’s face that oh-so-awfully contrasted from his own bitter mood in a way that was borderline annoying.

“Been a while,” Steve chuckled, offering his hand to help Jack get up from his place on the floor. He took it, pulling himself up and suppressing a hiss of pain as his body ached. That brief tumble down the stairs last night must’ve taken more out of him that he originally thought.

As the two of them readied themselves; stretching, wrapping their hands, and ultimately building dread in Jack’s stomach, he couldn’t help but lose himself again.

“Are you gonna wear that the whole time?” Steve piped up, pulling Jack back to reality for the third time in the past hour.

“What?” He asked, forcing his shoulder to stretch despite the strain of his muscle.

“That jacket.” Steve elaborated, gesturing at him to emphasize.

Jack glanced down at it, somehow momentarily forgetting he had it on, before shrugging with a nod.

“Yeah.”

That was all he chose to say before the two of them stepped into the ring. There he stood: in a jacket, white basketball shorts, and black athletic ankle supports, staring at Steve who wore something similar, just with a tank top instead.

The two of them sparred for a bit and from the very beginning, Jack knew it wasn’t going to end well for him. The soreness that blanketed him only seemed to get heavier the longer he tried to force his body to move. It slowed his reactions, made it impossible to keep up with the living god that was Steve Rogers. Jack didn’t think he could take goddamn Captain America down even on a good day so trying to on a day where all of his muscles were simultaneously on fire definitely wasn’t going to work in his favor.

And try as he might, one particularly well timed hit to his ribs had him on the floor. When he looked at the clock, he’d found that they’d been at it for a solid forty-five minutes and Jack was almost impressed with himself. That is until Steve fussed over him like a damn mother hen.

“Shit, Rollins are you alright?” Steve asked, dropping to his knees to seemingly try and get a closer look at Jack who, in turn, waved him off as he spit his mouthguard out onto the floor.

“M’ fine,” Jack wheezed unconvincingly as he pushed himself up with one arm, the other wrapped securely around his chest. Steve didn’t seem convinced, deciding to go for the jacket which had Jack pulling away reflexively.

Steve paused, staring at him for a moment before he pulled the collar of the jacket down and all Jack could do was look up to avoid seeing the concerned look on Steve’s face. He let Steve unzip the jacket and pull it from his shoulders, getting a closer look. Even the gentle grazes of Steve’s fingers over the bruises on his neck had him flinching, less from actually feeling any pain and more from expecting it. What the hell had Brock done to him? And to think, for a few delusional hours, he thought he was lucky to have that man.

“What happened to you?” Steve asked but Jack didn’t answer, responding by shrugging the jacket back over his shoulders and forcing himself to stand despite how much his body protested. “Did someone try to kill you?”

For a single, cursory moment, Jack paused while his brain took time to do a hard reset. The suggestion felt so ridiculous that he wasn’t sure what else to do but play along with it. So he shrugged and watched as Steve shook his head in disbelief.

“Did you file a report?” He asked and Jack released a bitter laugh.

“What? Hell no.” He snorted. He knew that Steve’s mind was somewhere else entirely but he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like trying to file a report against Brock. He’d be killed, likely. Pierce already hated their relationship, said it was a “conflict of interest.” Jack thought it was asinine at first but now he was beginning to think Pierce, slimy bastard that he was, was right.

“You need to, this is important!” Steve demanded. Jack wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to react and instead just shrugged it off with a quiet ‘s’ fine.’ only to earn himself a frustrated sigh from Steve.

“It’s not fine, it’s dangerous! You know what we do, it’s...our line of work isn’t exactly a forgiving one.” Steve huffed. ‘Tell me about it,’ Jack’s thoughts chimed as he shook his head, staring at Steve with a tired look.

“I gotta get back to work. STRIKE team ships out in three days, be ready.” His voice was monotonous and bland as he turned to head back toward the locker rooms. That’s when Steve grabbed his arm and a rush of adrenaline tore through his body with the force of a fire hose as he turned to throw a punch that Steve quickly dodged, releasing him in the process. Jack didn’t know when he started trembling but now that he noticed, he couldn’t calm his nerves. The sad look that Steve gave him did nothing more than ignite an angry fire within him and suddenly, he was overwhelmed with the feeling that he wanted to fight again.

“You don’t have to do this alone, I can help you.” Steve offered, taking a step forward and offering a gentle hand, only to have Jack grab hold of his wrist with an unnecessarily intense grip.

“Ever stop to think I don’t need your fuckin’ help, Rogers?” Jack growled. “Ever stop to think I might just need your head outta’ my ass?”

With a grimace, Jack shoved Steve back and turned without a second thought, zipping his jacket up as he retreated to lick at the wounds rubbed raw by Steve’s pity.

***

Going through a week long mission with Steve, while simultaneously trying to hide the bruises Brock gave him, had been absolute hell. So it was understandable that all Jack wanted to do when he got home was sleep. Unfortunately for him, all Brock wanted to do was fuck.

“I’m serious, no.” Jack growled, pushing Brock’s hand from his hip only for that same imposing hand to latch right back on.

“Oh, c’mon, Jackie, I need you inside me.” Brock purred, licking at Jack’s throat. By then, the bruises had become a sickly yellow and were faint enough for Jack to stop wearing hoodies and jackets to hide them. The rest of his body healed accordingly and things could go back to being relatively normal, something Jack wasn’t sure if he wanted. Because Brock made him hate normal.

“I said I don’t want to.” Jack said more firmly this time, finally managing to shove Brock back on his haunches. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Jack held Brock’s glare before his commander finally scoffed and stood up from their bed with a huff.

“You know, you seriously make me wanna fuckin’ hit you sometimes.” Brock growled as he left the room, undoubtedly planning to sleep on the couch. He always slept on the couch when he was sick of looking at Jack, when seeing Jack made him angry. He knew this, he knew Brock got mad when he said no, knew that Brock didn’t like it when he refused anything, especially sex, and knew that Brock wanted to hurt him because of it. But Brock had never actually said it aloud before. And for whatever reason, actually hearing it was unsettling.

He didn’t sleep well that night and when he woke up the next morning, he found that Brock had seemingly dropped the entire thing. He was bad about that, about ignoring any sort of argument they had, but Jack didn’t really have any other choice but to deal with it.

Over time, Brock got worse. Just as he always had. After a while his threats stopped being threats and he stopped warning Jack all together. Sometimes Jack could anticipate it but most of the time, it felt entirely random. Brock would smack him in the back of his head, shove him around, punch him, even, if he was in a particularly bad mood. And Jack was at a loss.

There was a war waged in Jack’s mind, his emotions tumbling between hating Brock and adoring him. Brock was a terrible man; he was violent and volatile and fear had become a familiar friend to Jack in the months that had passed since the choke chain incident. But every few days, he would be gentle and kind and he’d make Jack feel like nothing short of a god. And for those few, fleeting hours, Jack was on cloud nine.

But the good times never seem to last and eventually he was sick of making up excuses to stay.

“Come on, Jack, yer gonna leave over that? Over a love tap?” Brock growled as he followed Jack through their home.

“Does it matter?” Jack grumbled, shoving some of his clothes into an old backpack. “I’m a grown man, I can leave if I want to.”

This response, however, wasn’t good enough. Brock’s hand was almost instantly around his arm and Jack recoiled, throwing his elbow back and landing a hit across Brock’s mouth, effectively bloodying his lip.

“Sonuva-” Brock barked, staggering back when Jack landed another hit on his face. Spitting a mixture of blood and spit out onto the dark carpet, Brock wiped a hand across his chin before glaring at Jack, who was frozen. Multiple thoughts raced through his mind in that moment and somehow he was both proud of and angry with himself. But both of those were overshadowed by the terror that crashed through him like a startling rush of electricity when Brock advanced on him.

The two of them fumbled around for awhile, battering and bruising each other until eventually, Brock got his hands around the back of Jack’s head pulled, bringing his knee up to collide with Jack’s nose.

A sickening crunch filled the air and the two of them paused as Jack covered his face, panting while he tried to gather himself. Sitting down on their bed, leaving a bloody handprint on their white comforter, Jack tried to sniff but he couldn’t. Blood dripped down his mouth the same way it had months prior when Brock had pulled him off of the couch and all he could do was wonder to himself why he was stupid enough to stay so long.

“Let’s go.” Brock growled under his breath, taking hold of Jack’s bicep and forcing him to stand like he was a child. Jack shrugged him off, even going so far as to shove him away, before the two of them trudged out to their car.

The ride to the hospital was silent and when they got there, Jack refused to explain how it happened. It wasn’t that he was trying to protect Brock, he was just so exhausted… He didn’t have the energy to make up excuses or answer any questions.

Luckily, it only took fifteen minutes for a doctor to be made available for him. Unluckily, Brock followed him back into the room. And as if his broken nose wasn’t punishment enough, Brock continued to berate him.

“You jus’ dunno when to quit do you?” Brock growled, his arms crossed over his chest. His lip was swollen, the gash that ran through it shining angry and red. Drops of blood stained the collar of his grey shirt and in that moment the two of them stared at each other with equally intense looks of pure hatred.

“What?” Jack snapped, trying desperately to convince himself that Brock wasn’t worth a trip to prison.

“You don’t know how to fuckin’ quit, Jack! You always do this! You piss me off, then gimme that pissy little look when I get mad! This shit wouldn’t happen if you didn’t get me so fucking riled up!” Brock barked and all Jack could do was laugh incredulously, disbelief filling him as he stared Brock in the eye.

“No, this shit wouldn’t happen if you weren’t such a fucking psychopath.” Jack hissed and just like that, Brock was on him again. First, there was a knee to his ribs, then a fist under his jaw, but Jack wasn’t going to lay down and let Brock beat on him anymore. He’d finally decided that everything Brock did to him was complete and utter bullshit. It wasn’t warranted and he wasn’t ungrateful when he got upset about it. And for the love of God, he didn’t fucking deserve it.

So he fought back. He kicked and he growled and he fought with everything he had. Landed a few good hits too. At some point, the doctor must’ve come in to the two of them fighting and called security. They pried Brock off of Jack, his eye swollen shut and his lip re-busted-open. Jack grimaced, wanting nothing more than to pounce on him while he was restrained. But the security guards were too quick to get him out of the room.

The doctor didn’t ask Jack any questions, simply got him cleaned up, reset his nose, and offered him a phone to call someone. Jack accepted the offer with a grateful, albeit quiet, ‘thank you.’ And he sat for an hour contemplating whether or not he should do what he wanted to do. He didn’t really have much of a choice, though, did he?

“Hello?” Answered Steve’s familiar voice over the other line.

“If I ask you to come pick me up from the hospital will you promise not to ask questions?” Jack asked. He never was good at easing into a conversation.

“The hospital? What happened? Are you hurt?” Steve immediately started and all Jack could do was sigh and weigh what options he would have if he decided to hang up.

“Steve, please.” He begged quietly. He wasn’t proud of the pleading tone in his voice but he couldn’t take it back. Couldn’t hide it. Not anymore.

Steve didn’t say anything for a long time. The quiet that fell over them was the kind that was deafening and suffocating at the same time and he wanted nothing more than to scream just to fill the space. But before he could, Steve started talking again.

“I’ll be there.” He said softly.

And he was. In twenty minutes, Steve was at the hospital and the second he saw Jack, it looked like his entire world had been crushed. An odd look of knowing crossed his face as he flicked his head and without a second thought, Jack followed.

After another wordless car ride, Jack found himself in a new place. The unfamiliar space of Steve’s apartment left him feeling vulnerable and exposed, like a rabbit in a field of rabid dogs. But Steve’s gentle hand guided him and it sickened him that his mind was already waiting for that softness to be replaced with anger and pain. But nothing happened and Jack scolded himself for thinking something would.

They sat on the couch with the same silence that had hovered over them on the phone weighing tension on their shoulders and Jack once again felt the urge to make noise so it wouldn’t feel so heavy on his chest. But just as before, Steve came to the rescue to fill the silence before Jack had to.

“I guess this is how Bucky always felt when he saw me all beat up.” Steve tried to chuckle and Jack couldn’t help the little snort that left him.

“Guess so.” Jack grunted in response, sighing as he refused to meet Steve’s eye. It was then that an arm slowly wrapped around him and with cautious curiosity, Jack let it happen, willing himself not to flinch. He half expected other advances to be made but nothing ever came, and he liked it that way.

Steve turned the T.V. on and for a while, Jack zoned out while late night sitcoms flashed on screen with mediocre, cheesy jokes filling the quiet with a comfortable drone. And eventually, as Jack grew too tired to ignore the exhaustion any longer, he rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and found a relieving sense of peace when Steve leaned on him too.

And for the first time since he’d met Brock fucking Rumlow, he felt safe.

#mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #whump #whump prompt #fic sequel #dark fic #hydra trash party #tw: abuse #tw: toxic relationship #jack rollins #brock rumlow #crossbones #hydra husbands #rumrollins #beaufic

17 notes · View notes

coffee-obsessed-writer · 5 years

Text

When You Least Expect It: Part Six

Jensen x Musician!Reader

Also featured this chapter: Jared Padalecki & Briana Buckmaster

A/N: This is a slow burn fic that I have been working on for a while. Its a story I wrote for myself and just wanted to share with everyone. Yes, the “Dee” in the story is who you think, but there is no intended hate on her or their actual marriage. It is a work of fiction, that is all. Part five is from BOTH POVs. There is also a playlist to go along with the series. Series Playlist: “When You Least Expect It” (Spotify).

Beta’d by @closetspngirl who has contributed so much to this fic! Thank you for not only indulging my lunacy but encouraging it with gusto!

Chapter Summary: The fall out from New Year’s Eve isn’t exactly what Y/N had hoped for but after some counsel from a friend, she makes a rash decision that could either be the answer to her prayers or be the beginning of her nightmare.

Chapter Warnings: Angst (We’re sorry. Kinda.)

WC: 6.8K

*Banner created by me; pics & gifs found online

Y/N barely remembered the ride home. She remembers Bri parking and walking her to the door, but the ride itself was a blur. She was sad and confused, but mostly angry with herself for running out on Jensen. She just kept thinking if they hadn’t stopped, if she would have just not been a hot mess for a second, she could have stayed, then he would be the one bringing her home.

“Come on, you go up and change, and I’ll make some tea.”

“Hm?” Y/N asked as Bri’s voice pulled her back from the dark winding alley of what if’s.

“Tea?”

“Oh, yeah. Help yourself. I have a bunch of different kinds in the cabinet,” she replied, vaguely pointing towards the kitchen.

“Ok,” Bri said, and guided her towards the stairs. “Go up and get comfy. If you got a pair of sweats I could borrow, I’d love ya forever. This dress is cute and all, but I believe the rest of the evening calls for comfort.”

“Bri, you don’t have to stay. I feel bad making you leave the party. I’m sure things were just getting started.”

Bri waved her off. “It’s fine. I’d much rather be on that couch over there talking to you with something warm and soothing than getting drunk and dealing with handsy men.”

“I thought you were married,” Y/N chuckled as she climbed the first two stairs.

“Who do you think I was talking about?”

Y/N laughed and kept climbing. “I’ll bring you down something.”

“Bless you!” Bri called after her before she disappeared to the second floor.

Y/N walked into the bedroom, her luggage still packed from her trip home; the clothes she wore on the plane still in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. The bags her dress and accessories had come in were in a crumpled pile in the middle of her comforter. Slowly, she unzipped the dress and laid on the chair in the corner of the room. One by one she removed all her jewelry, except the necklace Jensen had given her. For the second time that day she stared at her reflection and was disgusted with what she saw looking back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” she asked herself softly. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see her face any longer, or the tear-streaked mascara that currently painted her cheeks. She concentrated on clothing, then found an extra pair of sweats and a T-shirt for Bri. The thought of the woman downstairs currently making tea made her feel a little better, and knowing she wouldn’t have to manage this night alone, helped to calm her nerves just a smidge.

When she returned back to the kitchen there were two mugs on the island, with tea bags ready for steeping. Y/N handed Bri the clothes and when she left to change, Y/N continued fixing the tea. She tried to just focus on that for the moment, and not the line of questions her brain wanted to throw at her. Y/N knew she’d be answering those exact questions from Bri any minute now, so why bother going through it twice?

“So much better, thank you,” Bri moaned as she came back into the kitchen. “This is a great place you got here.”

“Isn’t it? I told him it was too much house for me, but…”

“He insisted.”

“He did.”

“Of course, because that’s Jensen.”

“I know,” she sighed and stopped what she was doing to rest her hands on the edge of the counter, her head falling down to hang between her arms.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Bri said and was at her side with a hand gently laid on her back.

“You didn’t Bri. I’m just so mad at myself right now. You’re absolutely right. That’s just... Jensen. Generous and overly kind. He is one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met.”

“Agreed. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the problem? I know I was sort of teasing you about it earlier, but I wasn’t kidding when I said I saw you two walk in. Anyone that looked at the two of you and thought you were just friends would be crazy to think that.”

“Or in denial,” she added, making Bri laugh.

“Or that.”

Y/N pushed off the counter and grabbed her mug. Bri followed suit as they transitioned to the living room and sat on opposite ends of the couch. Y/N sipped at her tea, and while it offered the calming comfort she needed, she still regretted that it wasn’t another shot of bourbon with Jensen at the bar.

“Seriously though,” Bri said after placing her tea on the end table. “What happened? I know we’re new friends, and I don’t want to be intrusive, but when you run out of a room like that, leaving a man that fine standing there with his heart in his hands… there’s gotta be a reason.”

Y/N was quiet. She could feel Bri’s eyes on her but kept hers cast down into the cup as if she was trying to read tea leaves.

When she did finally answer, her voice was raspy and small. “There’s a reason.”

“Do you want to--”

Y/N nodded. “It’s not a question of whether I want to talk about it or not, I think I need to. Especially to him… but where do I start?”

Bri considered this and shrugged. “The beginning?”

“Might as well,” she sighed. “But that level of… truth. That amount of vulnerability, how do I know I’m trusting the right person with it? How do I know that Jensen wouldn’t use it again me, or judge me, or--”

“Because that’s not Jensen. Honey, look…” Bri slid along the couch to get closer to her and rested a comforting hand on her knee. “We all have a past. We all have trauma and baggage… exes…”

Y/N’s head snapped up at this, confirming Bri’s already established suspicions on the reasoning for her quick departure.

Her voice was still barely above a whisper. “I know.”

“But,” Bri continued, “at some point, you have to realize that all that crap you carry along with you, is only going to weigh you down. It won’t let you actually rise up to experience better things. And, as far as knowing who you can trust, I think you already know he’s different. I think that if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“You’re right… he is different. I know that. I’m just a fucking coward who doesn’t know what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out. I know it’s not always as simple as follow your heart. Especially not when that heart has been pulled out, torn to shreds and glued back together with Elmer’s as I suspect yours has. So, before you make up your mind in any way, you need to figure out what’s most important. For you.”

Y/N sipped at her tea and was grateful for Bri’s sudden appearance in her life. There were a lot of things she was unsure about, and the way that Bri could offer counsel without judgment or telling her what to do was not only greatly appreciated, but much needed.

“I will say one thing though,” Bri continued, and when she sat up straighter on the couch, Y/N worried for a moment that she was wrong and the barrage of judgment would begin. “I may not be as close to Jensen as say, Jared and Robbie, but I’ve gotten to know him well over the last couple years. That man is as genuine as they come. There’s not an ounce of pretension or malice in him. He’s been through it, too.”

“Dee?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, and others. I can see he likes you; everybody can see that he likes you. All I’m saying is, if he likes you, he means it. I doubt he would go above and beyond for just anyone. He’s had his walls up, too. So maybe, instead of second guessing yourselves, you both need to start taking those sledgehammers and do some work, hmm?”

Y/N knew Bri was right, she had a lot of work to do. The most important of which was to call Jensen and apologize. The problem with that was she wasn’t sure what else to say, other than she was sorry for leaving him the way she did. The same fears and concerns were still there, festering due to years and years of insecurity, distrust, and mistreatment. Her disappearing act was due more to herself than to Jensen, and he needed to know that; if he would even still talk to her.

“I should call him,” she said, more to herself, but Bri nodded along with her.

“Yes, you should.”

From the kitchen, the sound of Y/N’s cell phone ringing made them both sit up straighter and start laughing.

“Well, if that’s not perfect timing…” Bri giggled excitedly. “I bet it’s him calling to check on you!”

The thought made Y/N’s stomach both drop and flutter with excitement. She put her tea down and slowly walked into the kitchen, almost afraid to pick it up out of her purse and answer it. By the time her fingers were able to retrieve it from the bottom of her bag, it had stopped ringing. She brought it with her into the living room and once she was back on the couch, she felt brave enough to swipe up and see who it had been.

One Missed Call

One Missed Text

Y/N saw it wasn’t Jensen that had tried to reach her, but Nathan. If there was a word for the feeling of both being disappointed and relieved at the same time, she didn’t know what it was, but that’s exactly how she felt. She wouldn’t return the call, but she did read the text after she made sure her read receipts were turned off.

>>Sorry I called so late. I know you were at your work thing, just wanted to say Happy New Year. I hope this is the year we can find our way back to being friends again. Call me soon, ok?

“From Jensen?” Bri asked eagerly. “What did he say?”

“Not Jay, Nathan.”

“Nathan?”

“The ex.”

“Oohhh,” Bri said, elongating her response and leaned back into her corner of the couch. “So, the complication has a name.”

Y/N looked up at her and wasn’t sure how to answer. The longer she just looked at Bri and didn’t speak, the more she just wanted to cry. In the years since Nathan had left, many tears were spilled and at some point, she’d had enough. A switch was flipped in her, and she went from one extreme to another; having gone two years without one of her sobbing, snotting breakdowns. Now there was one lurking, she could feel it bubbling up from the depths of her heart; the parts she’d closed off to just about everyone. Sitting with a stranger, in a strange city wasn’t the best time for it, despite the fact that Bri was starting to feel like an old friend.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “He, uh… he just recently came back into my life and…” she didn’t know how to finish it because she thought her feelings about him had resolved. Clearly, she had been wrong. Nathan had been terrible to her in the last year they were together, but before that… there had been decades of good times. Could she really just walk away from all that? Nathan was one of the reasons that made her walk away from Jensen, she knew that. Now, Y/N needed to understand why Nathan was on her mind at all.

It wasn’t hard to sense that Y/N was going to open the flood gates, but Bri could also tell that it was hard for her to trust that she’d be safe enough too. Y/N’s eyes were brimming with tears and the way her bottom lip was quivering just trying to hold it in, broke Bri’s heart. She swung her legs to the floor and motioned for Y/N to come and sit closer beside her.

“Come on… you gotta let it out, honey.” Bri rested her arm along the back of the couch and watched as Y/N slowly moved along the couch and curled up in the crook of her arm. “Just let it go. And when it’s all out, we can talk about it, or not. But you can’t deal with anything until you just let it go.”

That’s just what she did. And when she was done, having soaked through part of her new friend’s shirt, Y/N fell asleep with a new understanding of what it means to truly be vulnerable.

The pain in Jensen’s head woke him before the afternoon sun did. There was no use in trying to remember how much he drank, just that it was somewhere in the vicinity of a bottle of bourbon and maybe a couple tequila shots for good measure. When he was finally able to command his body to move, he pushed himself up on his elbows and waited for the thumping in his brain to stop. Of course, it didn’t.

“Motherfucker…” he groaned, finally able to sit up a little more. Within minutes, he was fully sitting, knees pulled up and his arms around the loose sheet covering him. His chest was bare, and he could feel the linen against his thighs, telling him that he was sans pants, as well. Trying to remember how he ended up Jared’s guest room, he rested his forehead against his knee and left it there. He knew he had to keep moving towards getting up, dehydration was imminent, yet as much as he demanded his body to function it refused to listen.

A soft knock at the door was what finally got him to lift his head.

Thump, Thump, Thump…

“Yeah,” he called out, though his throat was too dry to give it any oomph. “Yeah!” he tried again, this time seeing the door crack open as he winced at the burn it caused.

“You decent?” Jared asked and paused before coming in any further.

“Am I ever?” he quipped and groaned again when Jared came all the way into the room.

“Nope. Here, I thought you could use this.” Jared offered a bottle of water which Jensen took gratefully. “You hit the bottle pretty hard last night, man. Surprised you’re upright, to be honest.”

“I am? Cause in my mind I’m still laying down and passed the fuck out…” He twisted off the cap and sipped at it slowly. He’d learned his lesson a long time ago about the benefits of slowly hydrating.

Jared waited for him finish his drink and rest back against the headboard. “So, wanna share as to why I found you in the game room with an empty bottle of Jim Beam?”

“Nope,” he said again and went back to the water.

“Alright, at least tell me if it has anything to do with why you were alone and not with Y/N?”

Jensen’s eyes looked up quickly, the movement of which made black spots appear behind them. He blinked them away and brought his fingers to his forehead. “Can you give me like ten minutes to just remember where I am before you start the Spanish Inquisition?”

Jared sighed heavily and knew that his friend was simply stalling. “Dude…”

“Fine. Yes, it has to do with her, alright?” Jensen replied sharply.

“What happened?”

“I just said I didn’t walk to talk about it.”

“If I were anyone else, you could get away with that. But I know you. If you don’t talk about it now, you’ll bury it and all that bullshit. Then it festers and you act like an ass. So, talk.”

Jensen picked his head up and glared at Jared. Of course, he wanted to bury it; he felt humiliated and angry. He didn’t want to admit to what happened, not because Jared would judge him, but because he didn’t want to acknowledge his own mistakes.

“Y/N and I kissed at midnight,” he said flatly.

“Ok, and?”

“It quickly got… heated.”

“Oh,” Jared breathed and sat on the edge of his guest room bed. “I see. And then?”

Jensen shrugged his entire face. “Briana walked in. Y/N got… I don’t know, spooked? Then she ran out. Last thing I remember is Gen popping in to say that Bri was going to take her home.”

Jared leaned towards Jensen and inhaled, scrunching his nose at the smell of liquor still oozing from his pores. “Then you hung out with Jim and... José, apparently.”

“I guess, yeah.”

Jared mulled everything over in his head, but couldn’t quite grasp it. “I have so many questions…” he said with a snort, but when he looked back at Jensen’s expression, his smile faded. “Are you alright?”

The question hit Jensen harder than he expected. Was he? No. Clearly not, if he proceeded to drink as much as he did after she left.

“Honestly, I don’t know what I am right now except hungover.”

“Did you try to call her? Text? Anything?”

“No. I didn’t know what to say.”

“How about, what the fuck?”

Jensen snorted a laugh. “That may not have gone over well.”

“Jay, she ran out on you for no reason--”

“I’m sure she had a reason,” Jensen interjected.

“I like Y/N, but, maybe trying to hook up with her now may not be the best idea,” Jared said carefully. He wanted to help his friend, but he also wouldn’t enable him to make stupid choices on a whim.

“It wasn’t planned, Jar. It was a New Year’s kiss. That’s all.” He was lying and he knew it. That was anything but just a New Year’s kiss. If Briana hadn’t walked in, he’s fairly certain the night would have taken a much different turn. Not that he blamed Bri, there was that pause right before she walked in where Y/N spoke his name…

‘The way she said it, Jesus Christ...’ he thought as he rolled his head back again and closed his eyes. Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and prayed for the pounding in his brain to stop. He just needed five minutes of quiet to think, but his relentless thoughts both of the pain, and how she felt pressed against him, wouldn’t be denied.

“That’s all?” Jared laughed sarcastically. “Ok, you keep telling yourself that, champ.”

“Bite me.”

“I’m not trying to be an asshole, I swear. But you’re my best friend and I’ve seen you go through a lot of bullshit because of a woman. I just don’t want to see it happen again, especially with some girl you barely know just because you’re lonely.”

“I’m not lonely,” Jensen bit back defensively, even though he was once again lying to Jared and himself. He could tell that Jared didn’t buy it anyway. “At least not like… all the time.”

“You work like a dog, travel constantly, go from one empty apartment to another. The only time you aren’t alone is when you’re working on set. That’s partly why you started this whole project, right? To not feel lonely after Dee left? But then I had other shit to do, so did Robbie and Jason…and it left you alone, all over again. Until you met Y/N.”

“So?” he shrugged. He was starting to feel frustrated but didn’t want to take it out on Jared because his intentions were pure, even if they were annoying the shit out of him.

“So? Come on, man. Don’t be an ass. She’s gorgeous, she’s talented, she’s creative, smart and she’s just as wrapped up in the Brewfest as you are. How could you not want to take it further? Besides, be honest… how long has it been?”

“Since?”

Jared rolled his eyes and gave him the ‘give me a fucking break’, look. “You’re gonna make me say it? How long since you got laid?”

“Seriously?”

Jared nodded. “Yeah, seriously. I’m sure it’s been a while. Add that to the fact that you end up at a party with a pretty girl who looks at you like you hung the moon, then you have some drinks. Maybe she flirts with you a bit, makes you feel good. Oh, let’s not forget running into your ex, and then having said pretty girl stand up for you.”

“Oh shit… I forgot about that,” Jensen groaned. “What a fucking night…”

“My point is--”

“I get your point.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Now shut up and let me die.” Jensen let his body slide down into the mattress and covered his face with the other pillow.

“I guess I’ve tortured you enough for now,” Jared said and patted his friend’s foot as he stood up from the bed. “We got food downstairs if you want. Gen and the kids are heading off to see a movie, but I’ll be down there if you want to talk, ok?”

“Mmmmm,” Jensen growled, and Jared took that to mean, ok.

When Jensen heard the door click softly, he moved the pillow off his face and sighed deeply. Exhaling the air slowly through his lips, he allowed his eyes to close again and conjure up Y/N’s image. He thought of how she looked when she threw the darts and then celebrated hitting the target. He remembered how her skin felt when his hand rested on her bare back, and the look in her (y/c) eyes right before he finally kissed her.

Despite the hangover and despair his body felt, he felt his cock twitch at the thought of kissing her again. He tried to make himself stop, but it replayed in his mind as if it were a movie on a screen. “Fuck,” he growled and forcibly pushed her from his mind as the disappointment set in that it all ended so suddenly.

Jensen threw off the covers angrily and stood up from the bed, waiting for his knees to lock and safely support his weight. On the floor to his right were the clothes he’d worn the night before. He picked them up and went to get dressed, but the second he pulled the shirt over his head, he got a lingering whiff of sandalwood and lilac… Her.

“FUCK!” he barked again and ran his hands through his hair then back down over his face.

There was so much to think about and consider; not just the things that Jared said, but the things Jensen knew to be true. Yes, he had been lonely, and yes, Dee had crushed him… but hadn’t he deserved that? He wasn’t an angel in their time together; not that he’d cheated on her or anything of the like. He had, however, been withholding sometimes; maybe treated her like she wasn’t as important to his life as she should have been. Yet, when Dee would ask him if he was happy, or if he wanted something different, he gave her the answer she wanted, not what he actually felt. When she finally left, it shattered him and he reveled in that guilt for months.

Was he doing the same thing with Y/N? Was he dragging her along in a different way? In one breath he had said that he was so focused on the festival, there wasn’t time for anything else. Yet in another, he was kissing her like she was his long lost lover who he’d just reunited with. Maybe it was better that she stopped it. But then again, if she hadn’t… maybe it could have been something great.

“You need to just fucking stop,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled his pants on and fastened the belt.

From the depths of his pocket, he could feel the vibration of his cell phone notification. Something there was waiting for him; a missed call from Y/N, perhaps? He dared not let himself linger on the tiny shred of hope he had at seeing her name there; he couldn’t hope for anything from or about her until he decided what he really wanted from Y/N. When he unlocked the screen and saw he had a text message waiting, he nervously hovered his finger over it. Finally finding the courage to press the little message icon, he exhaled shakily when her name was highlighted with a little “1” next to it.

>>Hey, any chance you’re free for coffee today? We should probably talk.

Jensen sat back on the bed and felt his stomach bottom out. He assumed this would be where she told him she couldn’t do the job anymore, or be around him, and was moving back to New Jersey. The thought of which churned his stomach more than the bourbon ever could. He didn’t want to see her yet, he couldn’t. He needed more time, he needed to be completely free of the hangover and regret that corrupted him at that moment.

He hit reply on the text and realized she had sent it more than a few hours ago. Trying to think of an excuse, he used Jared and the kids as his out.

<<Hey. I wish I could, because we probably do need to talk, but I can’t today. Promised Jar’s kids Uncle J would take them to a movie. Rain check?

He hit send, sat back on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut while waiting for her response. When none came within a few minutes, Jensen gathered the rest of his belongs and decided it was time to go home, shower, and figure out what the Hell he was doing.

Y/N sat on a stool at the island counter of her kitchen, letting her fingers toy with the string of the envelope tie. In the padded manilla package were half a dozen proposals to various schools around the city of Austin and several contracts that needed Jensen’s signature. It was the last bit of business they had conducted for the festival before winding down for the holidays. Now it sat in her hands, almost mocking her. She wanted to push it off the counter like a child having a tantrum, but she refrained. Instead, Y/N picked up the envelope and shook the papers just loose enough so they were sticking out of the opening. She pulled the top one out and looked at his signature on the bottom of the page and ran her finger over it lightly.

A myriad of thoughts raced through her mind, including Bri’s words from both the night before and that morning as she was on her way out of the door.

“Remember,” she had said, her sunglasses pulled down on her nose so she could stare Y/N in the eye, “Talk to the man. Explain why you left, even if you just do it for you. Don’t lie, don’t sugar coat it. Be real, raw and if you like the man, tell him.” She left then, but not before wrapping her arms around Y/N and squeezing her tightly and making her promise to call or text soon.

Y/N did what Bri suggested, and decided that she did want to just rip off the bandaid and talk to Jensen. She had to. Him, Austin, the job… it was completely unexpected, but now that it had been a major part of her life over the past couple months, she didn’t want to lose it. That meant allowing herself to be vulnerable and explain why she ran out the night before.

Problem was, he said he was busy. She had texted him that morning, hoping he would be quick to respond with a ‘Yes, let’s talk as soon as possible’, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, he told her he was taking Jared’s kids to the movies. It didn’t sit right with her. Y/N wanted to believe that she knew him, but that was one of the things she was unsure of… did she really know him?

“Uggghhh!” She let her forehead hit the counter and covered the back of her head with her hands. “I can’t take this shit,” she muttered.

Picking up her gaze, she remembered the notepad in the drawer and hopped off the stool to retrieve it. Before she could really think about it, she began to write. Biting down on her bottom lip, as she always did when nervous or deep in thought, her hand scribbled furiously until the stream of conscious writing blissfully came to an end.

Y/N laid down the pen, exhaled shakily, and began to read back what she wrote.

Jay,

I really am sorry about last night. I want to explain what happened if you’ll let me. I know you were busy today, so maybe we can get together soon?

I am leaving this with the contracts at your place so you don’t have to wait until the start of business day tomorrow. I know you were anxious to get these off to the lawyer’s office ASAP. Things are really looking good to get these out with the information packets and in the mail to the various School Boards as well as the Texas Creative Arts Council. Everything’s moving forward nicely.

Hope you and the kids enjoyed the movie!

-Y/N

“Well, it’s not poetry, but, its to the point. I guess…” she trailed off as she started to second guess herself, then shook it off and quickly shoved the note into the envelope, and finally sealed it. Grabbing her keys and purse, she left the townhouse and headed over to Jensen’s place, before she lost her nerve completely.

It wasn’t more than twenty minutes to get to Jensen’s house. She had been there a few times since moving to Austin, and luckily he had already added her to the gatehouse’s frequent visitor list. Y/N’s heart was pounding harder with every mile closer and by the time she parked her car in front of his house, it was damn near rattling in her rib cage. Once she climbed out and began walking up the path to the door, she froze. She had planned to just leave it between the screen and front doors since he was out with Jared’s kids, but when she saw his car parked in the driveway it hit her that he had lied about being free to talk.

Y/N got her feet moving again. In the mere seconds it took to reach the front door, she asked a thousand different questions…. Should she leave it and go? Should she knock and just give it to him? Should she, should she…

She wanted to scream, is what she wanted to do. She was angry and hurt, and was hoping that it was just a fluke.

He wasn’t supposed to be home! She thought. Was Bri wrong? Was I wrong? Is he just lying to avoid me?

She wanted to give him benefit of the doubt… was it good timing on her part, maybe? Did he stop here and then go in Jared’s car? Possible. She couldn’t shake the thought that he did lie and in her heart, she knew that would be the truth.

Y/N knocked on the wooden front door with one hand as she clutched the envelope to her chest with the other. She was gripping her keys so tight in her fist the metal was beginning to leave its imprint in her palm. It took less than a minute for her to hear the lock tumbler and to see the door open. Jensen stood before her, his hair soft and still a little damp from a shower, dressed in dark blue sweatpants and a white V-neck t-shirt. His feet were bare, and in one hand, he carried a bottle of water.

“How was the movie?” she asked flatly, still holding onto the envelope for dear life. It was her anchor in that moment, and she was afraid if she released the tension she held on it, she may lose it completely.

“I--we… Gen took them...” he swallowed hard and sighed. “I’m sorry. When I saw the text, I just wasn’t ready to talk.”

“That was all you had to say, Jensen! You didn’t have to make up some bullshit.” She tried to stay calm, but she could sense the hurt feelings rising fast.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” he said. “I was hungover--”

“Just, stop. It’s fine. I just came to drop these off,” she paused, suddenly feeling the need to get away from him, and maybe Texas altogether. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna go back to Jersey for a while. This was the last few things we talked about before Christmas,” she pushed the envelope into his chest and released it, forcing him to take it or let it fall to the ground. She stepped back and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I need to finish up some things back home and I can do whatever else needs to be done from there.”

“Wait, you’re leaving now? Why?” he asked incredulously, his brow furrowed in confusion. “You just got back.”

“To be honest, I cut that trip short to come back here for the party,” she replied, lifting her gaze to finally meet and hold his. “Since you’re not ready to talk about it, then, I think it’s just better if I go back for a while. We don’t have that meeting with the Texas Creative Arts Council until the end of January, so until then…”

Jensen frowned and slowly nodded his head, but not in any way that really agreed with her. Y/N could feel his growing frustration, in turn making her both sad and yet still defiant. It was something she had always done, and on more than one occasion it got her into trouble. There was a stubborn streak in her, that wouldn’t completely allow her to just stop a trainwreck conversation in progress. She was both the conductor and the passenger on a collision course of misunderstanding, yet still completely helpless to stop it from happening.

“Maybe that’s a good idea. I gotta leave for Vancouver anyway. Work and all.” His tongue rolled out over his top teeth and raked back into his mouth over bottom lip. Y/N had seen that gesture when he was trying to hold back his frustration, but it had never been at her before. “So, just text me if you need anything, or give Robbie a call.”

They stood there silently for less than ten seconds, but to each of them, it felt like an eternity in Hell.

If he had just said he didn’t want to talk, instead of a stupid, pointless fib about a movie… she thought as she stood on his porch, still gripping her keys far too tight. If you had just stayed, last night… her heart countered. Her stomach fell, and she just needed to get away.

“I’ll text you anything important,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, ok,” he replied, but it came out garbled and rough. She couldn’t tell if this change in his inflection was due to disappointment, anger or both, but she hated it.

Not knowing what to do, she just stood there, waiting for him to say something more. Had she blown it all already? She could recant, say she would stay, and please could things go back to how they were? But after what happened the night before, not just her running out, but the kiss, Dear God, that fucking kiss, she thought… that kiss changed everything.

Maybe going home would be a good thing. She could go out onto the beach, watch the sunrise, and let her toes reconnect with the cold grains of sand; they were always able to ground her when she needed it. So much had happened in twenty-four hours, hell in the last week, that her head was reeling, her heart was hurting, and her feelings were a fucking mess.

“Alright then, well, I guess--uh--have a safe trip back to Vancouver, Jensen,” she said, unable to withstand the silence any longer. She turned to go, not wanting to wait for a response. He could’ve called out to her, called her back, told her to travel safe, but he didn’t. In her current state, Y/N continued to let the doubts, insecurities, and fears that had followed her around most of her life win out, as they continued to drive her away from Jensen, his house, and his city.

It cost a good size chunk of her savings, but Y/N found a flight that landed in Newark around midnight that evening. She had to move heaven and earth to get a seat on the flight that took her from Austin to North Jersey, and then at least an hour wait for a rental car. The drive itself put her pulling onto the dirt lane of her bungalow at almost three in the morning. Even as her tired, heavy eyes begged for sleep, the rest of her felt exhilarated by the smell of the salty air. It didn’t matter that she had just been here two days before, the feeling of walking up to the front door where she had spent all of her life was calming and much needed.

Y/N dropped her one carryon bag onto the couch and pulled her phone from her pocket. There had been a few notifications she ignored while driving and wanted to check them before she went down the hallway and fell onto her bed.

The first was a missed text message from Bri.

>>Well, what happened?! Did you get to talk to him?

The next was a missed call from an unknown number, but it had an area code that was local to Seaside. Ignoring that for the time being, she checked the last notification… this time it was from Jensen. She paused before hitting the little envelope on the screen, petrified of what it may say. Before New Year’s Eve, she would have been excited to open it, but now a feeling of dread washed over, making her worry that maybe he was texting to tell her to forget about the job after all, and she could just stay where she was.

>>I hope you landed and made it home okay. Can you just text me and let me know you made it safely?

Y/N went to the couch and fell onto it, using her carry on as an armrest, she put her elbow on it and rested her head against her hand. The phone was still in her other hand, and she absently scrolled through a bunch of text message exchanges she had with Jensen since first meeting him in October.

>>Hey Trix, I lost my copy of the grant proposal for the TCAC, any chance you got another laying around?

<<Only if you ask nicely.

>>Hey, I’m always nice.

<<Sure, when you want something ;)

>>.... So?

-----------

<<Dammit Jensen! I told you to wait for me. You suck. How could you go to Salty Sow without me? I thought we had something…

>>No one told you to spend three hours in the bookstore. A man needs to eat.

<<... Fine. Guess I’ll just order pizza like a college freshman...

>>Nom, Nom, baby.

<<I hate you. You owe me a Sow burger.

>>Deal.

-----------

>>Still up?

<<Nope.

>>.......

<<What? I’m half asleep. That counts.

>>Just wanted to say tonight was fun.

<<It was! I’m surprised. Never thought I’d be able to line dance.

>>You did great. We should go again when we aren’t scouting for bands. If you’re gonna be in Texas a while…

<<Only on one condition…

>>Yeah, anything

<<This summer you let me teach you how to surf.

>>Like in the ocean? With sharks?

<<Coward.

Y/N inhaled slowly and held onto the breath as she finally looked away from the screen. She thought about the messages, and then that last interaction she had with Jensen. She dared to let herself even think about the kiss they shared on New Year’s Eve. It did nothing more than add to the confusion she carried in conjunction with his name. The whole night, including her talk with Bri, the text from Nathan, all of it left her completely unsure of what was right, wrong, up or down. She needed to clear her head, figure out what came next.

Bri’s words rang loudly in her ear, “...before you make up your mind in any way, you need to figure out what’s most important. For you.”

With that, and despite the very late, or early hour, depending on how you looked at it, Y/N closed the messaging app and went to the recent calls to find who she was looking for.

Hitting call next to their name, she waited anxiously for the phone to stop ringing, and an answer on the other end. One ring later, she could hear someone fumbling the cell and waited for the raspy greeting she was bound to get.

“Hey? Hel--hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” she said, trying to sound relatively awake for three a.m. “Sorry to wake you.”

“No, no, you’re fine. What’s up, Y/N?” he asked, surprised to hear her voice.

“I was thinking… maybe it’s time to talk.”

“Now? Over the phone? Is that a good idea?”

“Well, I had a change of plans and I’m actually back in town. Thought maybe we could go have coffee tomorrow or something?”

“Seriously?” he asked, even more, surprised at that, then at hearing her voice at all.

“Yeah. I think Harry’s is open. Say around eleven?”

“Yeah… that would be great, Y/N. I’d love that.”

“Ok, awesome. Well, back to sleep, sorry I woke you. I’ll see you later today, Nathan.”

She ended the call and settled back into the comfort of her couch. Y/N closed her tired eyes and tried not to think anymore that day. Not about Jensen. Not about Nate. Not about anything, then the sound of the ocean waves off in the distance.

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#jensen ackles rpf #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x reader insert #jensen ackles fanfics #spn rpf #when you least expect it #part 6

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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It could be a beginning (Rajila) - vicisonhando

A/N: So I have finally evolved from lurking around and reading all the fantastic fics on this side to writing my own. I hope you like it, feedback is always welcome and if you cheer loud enough, there might be more to come in the future.

Also a big shout out to the amazingly talented @formercongressman, who was kind enough to beta for me. This would probably be kind of a hot mess without you.

Raja glared at the half empty glass of wine in front of her. Even though the Pinot Grigio was one of the best she had had in a while, it was still not enough to lift her spirits. Her phone rested next to the glass with its dark screen facing upwards. She was tempted to reach for it again, knowing full well, that it had only been minutes since she checked it last. When the waiter across the room caught her attention, she narrowed her eyes and stared him down. Apparently he got the message since he didn’t not approach her to ask once again, if she really wouldn’t like to order something while waiting. She was sitting tucked in a booth for two in a corner away from most prying eyes in what was supposedly Manila’s favorite Italian restaurant in all of New York City. The place was elegant yet cozy, with white linen tablecloths and black and white photos of old Italian opera singers on the walls. Eros Ramazzotti was softly playing from some well-hidden speakers and the waiting staff had been nothing but polite and attentive so far. All in all, the restaurant certainly seemed like the perfect place for a first date.

There was, however, one small problem. Manila, her date, was nowhere to be found.

Raja hadn’t thought much of it when she had arrived a couple of minutes before seven and was let to an empty table. When 7:15 rolled around and Manila still hadn’t shown up, she started to get worried. She had shot the other woman a quick text asking if she had been held up, but had not gotten a reply so far. By now it was a quarter to 8 and Raja’s brain was jumping back and forth between worrying that something terrible had happened to Manila and being pissed that she had apparently been stood up. Right now the latter was what she was focusing on and she was fuming. How was this bitch going to walk into work on Monday and look her in the eye? Or maybe it was all a joke to Manila. A prank with her group of faithful Heathers designed to set her up and have a nice laugh on the expense of the new girl… That was probably it, Raja convinced herself. She could see them sitting in some bar right now, laughing at how stupid she was for falling for their joke. How readily she had agreed to the date when Manila had asked her.

Her thoughts faltered for a moment as she remembered Manila timidly knocking on her open office door on Monday morning earlier this week, wringing her hands and biting her lower lip nervously. Raja had found the behavior rather endearing and was about to ask her what was going on, when Manila looked up from the floor and said in one rushed breath: “Willyoumaybegooutonadatewithme?“

“What?“

“I’m sorry!“ she back tracked immediately “That was totally inappropriate. We work together and you are probably not even into women. Forget I even asked. I’m really sorry. I’ll just go now, before I embarrass myself even more.“ Manila’s voice was still rushed as she kept on rambling, but she was at least a bit more understandable to Raja now.

“Wait!“ Raja interjected. “Don‘t go, please. I… I would actually love to go out on date with you.“

A small smile appeared on Manila’s face at the words. “Really? Because you don’t have to. I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… I really liked working with you the past couple of weeks and would love to get to know you better. It doesn’t even have to mean anything. There is this really great Italian restaurant near my place. They have amazing pasta and their Pinot Grigio is to die for. I mean, you said you like white wine, didn’t you?”

“Girl,” Raja laughed. “Relax, I already said yes.”

Manila blushed and smiled, looking away from her, pushing an unruly lock of her black hair back behind her ear. On an impulse Raja got up from where she had been sat behind her desk and walked over to Manila. Thankfully she had closed the door behind her, so Raja didn’t have to worry about any of their coworkers seeing them, as she stepped into her personal space and gently placed a finger under Manila’s chin.

Carefully lifting her face, Raja waited until the smaller woman looked up into her eyes before she spoke. “I meant what I said. I would love to go out with you. And as for that Italian place, you had me at Pinot Grigio.”

Manila laughed, her usual confidence quickly returning. “So predictable.” she teased.

Raja gasped in mock offense. Before she had time to reconsider, she leaned down and brushed her lips against Manila’s cheek in a short and sweet kiss. Pulling back and straightening up, she smiled. “How about you text me the address and I’ll meet you there at 7 this Friday? Does that work for you?”

Manila nodded in a daze. “Uhm, Friday…. Yeah, Friday is great. I’ll make reservations and text you the details. I ehm, I gotta go now.”

Raja watched as her hand came up to her cheek, while she turned and left the office. She could still feel her own lips tingling from the brief contact and the smile wouldn’t leave her face for the rest of the day.

Looking back at the interaction now, Raja had a hard time believing that it had all been a set up. But here she was, sitting alone in one of New York’s fancier restaurants on a Friday night. She drained the rest of her wine in one go - it was the second glass already - and checked her phone again. Ten to eight and still not a message from Manila in sight. Putting her phone down she waved the closest waitresses over. She was done with the pitying stares of staff and patrons alike. Settling her check, she noticed that her earlier waiter had not dared to come back, sending in a colleague for back up. She could hardly blame him. The last time he had come by to ask if she wanted to order something, she had almost bitten his head off. She smiled at her new waitress apologetically and left a generous tip. It was hardly the staffs’ fault that she had gotten stood up.

Dejectedly she ordered an uber and made her way out of the restaurant. She had really been looking forward to this evening. From the first day working at Runway, Manila had caught Raja’s eye, even though they started out on slightly rocky ground. As the new Head of the Fashion Department Raja was introduced to the team during a morning meeting and desperately tried to remember as many of her new coworkers names as possible. But only the quirky Head of the Arts Department, with her white blonde streak in her otherwise jet black hair and her obvious penchant for bright yellow colored accessories, truly stood out to her. Once the introduction was over and Raja took her seat at the table, the woman next to Manila turned to her and faux whispered: “Good luck with that one. Seems like her last job didn’t even pay enough to afford a decent hairdresser.”

Manila chuckled under her breath and Raja was fuming. While she hadn’t exactly been thrilled when she started turning gray in her early thirties, she had come to love the silvery streaks peppered throughout her black hair and she prided herself on maintaining it in excellent condition. But it was her first day and everybody of importance was gathered in that meeting, so she bit her tongue to keep a sharp retort from slipping out.

Later on she learned that the woman’s name was Delta and that together with Manila and another woman from the Art Department called Carmen they were known in the office as the Heathers. There wasn’t a piece of gossip going around that they weren’t aware of and they had a habit of joking at the expenses of the people around them, often toeing the line between casual meanness and downright cruelty.

But even though Raja was apprehensive of the group, once she started working with Manila more closely, she learned that the other woman had not only a wicked sense of humor and an infectious laugh, but also a sweet and gentle side to her, that only the people she actually liked got to see. Something else Raja quickly came to admire was Manila’s dedication to her job. She was full of creative energy and didn’t mind putting in extra hours to finish a project. After walking in on Manila once, absorbed by a spree of photos in front of her and completely oblivious to her surroundings, Raja made it her mission to sneak up on her as often as she could. Manila had the habit of furrowing her brows and chewing on anything that was at hand when she was concentrating and it was one of the cutest things Raja had ever seen. Luckily Manila didn’t seem to mind being snuck up on. Instead her face lit up with a bright smile whenever she noticed Raja’s presence.

Just as Raja sat down in the uber her phone lit up. Disbelieving she stared at the photo of Manila smiling happily up at her from the lock screen. That woman had some nerve. By now it was past eight and she was tempted to simply ignore the call.

Maybe if Raja had pushed away her own insecurities and considered her past interactions with Manila rationally, she would have realized how unlikely it was, that the other woman would stand her up on any volition of her own. But instead she had let her own hurt fester and so, when she answered her phone, she all but growled: “This had better be good, bitch!“

The line was quiet for moment, then there was some rustling and a quiet “ouch… fuck“

“Manila?“ she questioned.

“Yeah, I’m here….“ the voice on the other end was quiet and slightly raspy, nothing like Manila’s usual cheerful tone and Raja went from pissed beyond belief to worried in an instant.

“Are you okay?“

“No, I mean yes, I mean not really…. I am in the ER right now. I got hit by a car on my…“

“Where exactly are you? I’m coming to see you right now.” Raja interrupted her.

“What? No, you really don’t have to do that. I already ruined your night by not showing up for dinner. I don’t want to make it even worse by dragging you to some stupid ER. I just, I mean, uhm, I’m sorry for not calling earlier. I didn’t get my purse back until now and I’m just lucky my phone still works.”

Raja listened to Manila talk, smiling despite herself. If the other woman could still talk a mile a minute, chances were she wasn’t too badly hurt. Still, she had no intention of going home without having seen that Manila was safe with her own eyes. So the next time she stopped to take a breath Raja quickly interjected: “Listen, girl, you better tell me where you are right now. Because I’m coming to see you, even if I have to check every fucking ER in the whole of New York City.”

“You would really do that?”

“Bitch, try me.”

Raja could almost see the smile in Manila’s voice when she answered: “I’m at the Metropolitan hospital.” There was some noise in the background and then she said, “I have to go now. The doctor is here to check on my leg.”

“Okay, hang in there. I’ll be with you in no time.”

Raja ended the call and sank back into her seat with a sigh, her body releasing the tension she hadn’t even noticed she was holding in. Manila had not stood her up. It had all just been in her head. Suddenly Raja realized that Manila hadn’t even told her what exactly had happened or how badly she was injured. Consciously drawing in a deep breath to stop her mind from coming up with all kind of horrible scenarios she decided to focus on the task at hand. Checking her location on her phone she saw that the Metropolitan Hospital was only a couple of blocks away. She quickly told her driver the new direction and settled into her seat, trying to keep thoughts of Manila with a maimed arm or without the use of her legs out of her mind.

By the time she arrived at the hospital Raja felt slightly nauseous with worry. She made her way inside and walked up to the front desk with determination. She mentally prepared herself to tear the woman in front of her a new one should she try to deny her access to Manila. But to her surprise the nurse gave up the information of her whereabouts without a fight.

When Raja finally opened the door to Manila’s room, her heart almost stopped. Manila looked more disheveled and vulnerable than Raja had ever seen her. The first thing she noticed was the bright yellow dress. It was partly covered by a hospital duvet, but Raja could still tell that it was the kind of garment only Manila could pull of. If the situation wasn’t so grim, she would have laughed. Instead she frowned at the tears and dirt stains she could make out in several places. Next her eyes drifted to the cast on her right leg which is propped up in sling. Finally she took in Manila’s wild hair and smudged make up. Her eyes were closed and as Raja drew closer, she was able to make out tear stains and several cuts on her cheeks. Careful, as to not disturb the sleeping woman, Raja pulled a chair up to the bed. But as she sat down Manila opened her eyes and blinked slowly.

“Hey” Raja’s voice was soft as she spoke.

“You… you actually came.” Manila stared at her in disbelief.

“Of course I did, bitch. I told you I would. How are you?”

“Just peachy. Apart from the broken leg and the sprained rip and my body aching all over that is.”

“Sorry, that was a stupid question. Is there anything I can do?”

Manila shook her head and immediately winced in pain. “Not really. The painkillers are supposed to kick in soon. I’m sure I’ll be better then.”

“Okay.” Raja still looked unconvinced. She hated seeing Manila like this. She looked so small in the hospital bed. The yellow of her dress, that would normally serve to accentuate her playful personality, paired with the harsh fluorescent lightning of the room made her skin look sickeningly pale. A paleness that only set off the angry bruises that had begun to form around her eye and on her chest near the right clavicle.

“Actually,” Manila interrupted her thoughts, “There is something you could do. Can you grab me another pillow to help prop me up a bit more and maybe get me some water?”

Raja almost jumped out of her chair, relieved to have something to do beside staring at Manila’s injuries. She quickly made her way to the thankfully empty second bed in the room and grabbed the pillow on it. But once she was back at Manila’s side she was lost. How was she supposed to get the pillow behind her without hurting her anymore?

Sensing Raja’s insecurity Manila spoke up: “I can’t really sit up by myself. I tried earlier and it hurt like bitch. But my arms are mostly okay. So maybe if you come a bit closer, I can put them around your neck and you can pull me up and put the pillow behind me…” she trailed of.

“I don’t know. Are you sure it is a good idea for you to sit up if it hurts so much?” Under normal circumstances Raja would have jumped at the chance of having Manila’s hands on her body, but right now she was more worried about aggravating her injuries.

“It’s fine,” the younger woman assured her. “The nurse said I could sit up if I felt like it. She told me to ask for help if I needed any. But I’d much rather have you help me…” she looked away shyly at her admission.

Raja knew she had lost that battle then and there. How was she supposed to say no to this? So she stepped right next to the bed, put the pillow in her left hand and leaned forward over Manila. “Well, let’s give it a try then.”

Manila beamed up at her and wrapped her hands behind Raja’s neck. Her hands were a bit cold and Raja shivered when they graced the hair on the back of her neck. For a moment she imagined this is another situation. Maybe the end of an actual date and Manila’s arms would wrap around her to draw her closer. She would lean in, their faces only inches apart… Suddenly Manila cleared her throat and Raja realized she had been starring. She was impossibly grateful for her dark complexion, which made it far less likely that Manila detected the blush she was able to feel rising to her cheeks or so she hoped. Manila had interlaced her fingers and her hands rested right at the connection between Raja’s neck and her shoulders. Raja sneaked her right hand underneath Manila’s arm onto her shoulder blade.

“Ready?” she asked. When Manila nodded she slowly started to straighten up, trying to give her as much support with her right hand as she could. She noticed Manila’s face straining in pain, but before she was able to stop, Manila motioned for her to keep going. So she lifted her up a bit more and then managed to weasel the pillow between Manila’s back and the bed. Carefully she lowered Manila back down until she was comfortably resting against the pillow. It was an obvious improvement to before, since now she was almost sitting upright.

But instead of letting go of Raja it felt like Manila was actually tightening her grip. She looked up into Raja’s eyes, a small smile playing around her lips. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Like I could leave you on your on in the hospital.” Raja frowned as she watched Manila’s facial expression change. Her eyes shifted towards Raja’s lips and she worried her lower lip slightly between her teeth. Suddenly her eyes shot back up to Raja’s. Her pupils were blown and there was a slight blush on her cheeks. Raja wasn’t sure if she imagined the slight tuck of Manila’s hands at the back of her neck or if it was really there, but she couldn’t help herself.

She leaned in, closing the distance between them and stopping a mere inch away from Manila’s face. She felt the other woman’s warm breath on her face. Suddenly afraid she had misread the whole situation, she was about to pull back, when Manila closed the remaining distance between them. The first brush of lips was soft, almost tentative. Manila’s lips were chapped on Raja’s and against her usual instincts she tried to keep the contact gentle, afraid to cause the other woman anymore hurt or even discomfort. But Manila was having none of it. She wrapped her arms closer around Raja, one of her hands finding its way into Rajas salt and pepper hair tugging and pulling and truly messing up the up-do Raja had spent ages on to make it look effortlessly messy in the first place. Feeling Manila’s lips insistently against her own, her tongue licking softly against her upper lip, Raja finally gave in and let her take the lead. She opened her mouth slightly and Manila welcomed the opportunity to explore. Raja sighed into the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle Manila’s face gently. She wanted to pull her close and push her back into the bed at the same time, wanted to kiss and touch her all over while never breaking the connection between their lips at the same time.

Knowing that she couldn’t give into her desperate need right now, she pulled back reluctantly. Manila let out a needy whimper and tried to chase Raja’s lips with her own. Her eyes opened and her pupils appeared almost black. It took all of Raja’s will power to keep from moving back in. Only the thought of hurting Manila in her already fragile state gave her the strength to fully disentangle herself from their embrace.

Instead she sat down on the edge of the bed. The room was quiet and Raja was acutely aware of her heart beating furiously in her chest, almost convinced Manila was able to hear it. Uncharacteristically unsure of what to do next she watched Manila, who met her gaze but didn’t speak.

The silence started to become unbearable and Raja decided to break it with a soft “So…”

“I–” Manila began at the same time. They stopped and grinned at each other. “You go first.”

“No, you go first.” Raja refused.

But Manila shook her head and repeated, “No, you go first.”

And just like that it turned in a game of “No, you,” both of them trying desperately to keep a straight face, until Raja couldn’t help herself anymore. She let out a deep belly laugh. Manila was quick to join her and she was glad that they are back to their usual relaxed if slightly silly dynamic. However the relief was short lived, because almost as soon as Manila started to laugh she stopped again, clutching her side and letting out a string of curse words that Raja had never heard her use before. Worriedly, she tried to figure out what she could do to help.

She wondered if she should call a nurse, when she noticed that Manila had stopped swearing and was watching her instead. She lifted her hand from where she had been clutching her side and grabbed Raja’s, interlacing their fingers. “Hey, don’t look so terrified, Raj. I’m okay. Laughing just isn’t the best idea at the moment, I guess.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, the doctor said I was lucky. Apparently it could have been way worse. I mean my leg is obviously broken, and my ribs hurt like hell when I move the wrong way, or laugh apparently. But other than that, I’m mostly okay. They checked me for internal bleeding and while the doctor wants to keep me overnight to be on the safe side, she said it doesn’t look like I have a concussion.” While talking, Manila kept gently rubbing her thumb over the back of Raja’s hand.

Taking in the cuts and bruises on her face and chest, Raja wasn’t able to shake the feeling that she was downplaying her injuries to sooth her worries. And while it wasn’t quite working – Raja thought she probably wouldn’t stop worrying until Manila was up and about again – she decided to let her get away with it for now though and focused on something else. “So what exactly happened to you? You never said how you got here in the first place.”

“Well, after I got ready for tonight, I realized that for once in my life I was early, like really early. So I figured I could walk to the restaurant and maybe pick up some flowers on the way.” Manila blushed at that and it was Raja’s turn to run her thumb over Manila’s hand and smile reassuringly. “It’s really not that far from my place and I was certain I would get there with more than enough time to spare. So I was just crossing the street to get to the flower shop around the corner from my apartment and then everything is a blur. I mean, I think the traffic light was actually green when I crossed and I definitely looked left and right, but maybe I was wrong or maybe the driver didn’t see me. Well, obviously they didn’t see me. And then they must have hit me. I don’t really remember that part, or anything really up until waking up in the ambulance on my way here…”

Raja’s heart constricted in fear just thinking about how badly things could have turned out. Manila really had been lucky. Unsure of how to voice her thoughts, she decided to lighten the mood. “Good thing our work pays for decent health insurance, or this could have easily become the most expensive date of your life.”

But Manila didn’t laugh. She looked at Raja and her eyes were earnest. “I’m really, really sorry for standing you up. I tried to get the paramedics to give me my phone, but they wouldn’t listen. I felt so bad thinking that you were sitting at the restaurant waiting for me, wondering where I was.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Raja squeezed Manila’s hand softly and brought her free hand up to her face stroking her cheek, mindful of the cuts there. “Please, Nila, don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m just glad you are okay.” Then, after a moment she added: “But for our next date I’m definitely picking you up at home. Doesn’t matter how close you live to the restaurant.”

“There is going to be a next date?” Manila’s face broke into a hopeful smile.

“You really gotta ask?”

And before Manila could answer Raja leaned forward again and sealed their lips in another soft kiss.

#rpdr fanfiction #manila luzon #raja gemini #rajila #lesbian au #hurt/comfort #fluff #vicisonhando #concrit welcome #submission

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tenyatrash · 5 years

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Day 1: Aizawa and the Case of the Missing Lovebirds

This is my entry for Day 1 of the BNHA Noir Week 2019. Tumblr hates my ao3 links so let’s try this instead. @bnha-noir-week Shadow, Speakeasy, Gangster

In which gum-shoe Shouta Aizawa is on the trail of some missing love birds for his old flame, Hizashi.

Ships: Past Eraserhead/Present Mic

Characters: Aizawa, Minor Shinsou, Mic, and Kurogiri.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1447

The sounds of the city reverberate in his skull as Shouta steps through the filth of the back alley, crushed dreams running in dark rivulets towards the gutters and drains that never manage to hide the truth.

He sucks in a ragged breath and looks up.

Ah, more rain.

He wraps his scarf more tightly around himself before ducking underneath a tattered awning and huddling against the sooty brick of some forgotten loading dock. Good news, if anything can be called good in this festering city, is that he’s reached his destination, a nondescript metal door that hides a whole underbelly of pleasure and pain, for those who know how to look. Lady Luck’s never been much of a friend of his, but tonight at least, seems she’s on his side.

He knocks bruised knuckles against a shadowed door and slips out a crisp bill and a dubious passcode, courtesy of some goon who owed him one. The door swings open and the sounds of some dame trying too hard to croon sultry and the fellas too drunk to care mix with cigar smoke and the sting of whiskey.

He nods and slips in, leaving his rain-slicked coat with some void-faced bouncer who’s busier doing card tricks than checking the patrons. Shouta squints at the tendrils where his hands are supposed to be, noticing the cards that vanish and reappear just like real magic. He reassesses. Quirk like that, maybe it don’t matter so much how much attention you pay.

The too-tired gum-shoe pulls up a stool at the gleaming bar that hugs one wall of the speakeasy, careful to position himself as far from the band as possible while still being able to covertly surveil his mark.

There he is. Old Two-Tone Souchie. Two months outta the Big House and already back in the grift.

Folks never change. Least not for the better.

Aizawa orders a drink from some ghost-faced kid who’s got eyes too old for this world and a body too young to be mixed up in all this. Kid makes his drink neat-like and slings it over with a style that would be called flashy if he didn’t look so bored. Shouta thinks back to those early days of idealism, back when he was fresh-faced and feisty. He’d have shut this whole place down, found the kid’s parents, the whole shebang. But he’s older now, and he knows it don’t matter. Gangsters and bosses, their just cockroaches in three-piece suits. You take away one hole, they’ll just find another.

He knows better, yet he still finds himself slipping a card to the violet-haired boy in the hand-me-down vest.

“You ever want out kid, I can get you out.”

Kid blinks all slow and deadly, feeling the ridges of the cheap scrap of paper before rolling it up and sticking it behind his ear. Shouta knows he’ll never hear from him. Once the life’s got its claws in you, it’s harder than hell to drag yourself out, and the kid doesn't look awake enough to manage it.

He tosses back another drink.

Damn, why is he even here, slugging back liquor he can’t afford with people he can’t stand, assaulted by problems that he can’t solve? The lounge singer takes a break in the lap of some loose-fingered man and the radio crackles to life, mobbed-up patrons no doubt eager to hear if any raids went down tonight, if any flim-flam men got caught and were planning to talk. A voice like bedroom eyes fills the room, small speakers somehow doing nothing to diminish it’s power.

Oh, right. Hizashi.

Lord, that fella was going to be the death of him. Coming into his offices like he owned the place, like he could trade on their history for some long-overdue favor. Worst part was, the bird was right. Shouta never learned, and the moment Hizashi started in on the waterworks, he was good as gone.

You see, what had happened was: Hizashi was real popular in these parts, ya dig? With that voice and that style and legs that went on for days, cat was always in the thick of it, even with everyone knowing about his heroics. But being in the swing can be dangerous, and it wasn’t Hizashi who paid the price.

Nah, some mean mug broke into his place while he was up in the studio, took his prized pets as a message: You turn canary, and it’ll be these birds that get it. Hizashi loved those dumb things- a pair of lovebirds that he’d gotten ages ago from some young, dumb, lovestruck thing that couldn’t survive the light of Hizashi’s love. Shouta blushes faintly at the memory.

Damn, but he was a fool, even after all this time. And now he was turning away good work, paying work, easy work. All so he could deal with some birdnapping for the one that got away.

Souchie is paying too much attention to the Hizashi’s radio broadcast, no doubt tryna see if the goose is going to play along, make nice with these suits. He must like what he hears cause next think Shouta knows, he’s rolling back in noxious laughter, patting the chain that strains across his too-tight breast coat and letting the-

Ha. Got ya, sucker.

This is what Shouta’s been waiting for. A tell to clue him in on just where the two birdies were hiding, and when he sees the way fat fingers caress a jangling silver key, he knows he’s got his goon.

Now he’s just gotta be slow and diplomatic like. Get Two-Tone outta the speakeasy and into some private place, where he can lift the key and send a little message of his own, a message about messing with a jasper like Hizashi. With a darb he would kill for.

Ah, it’s no good. He can’t think about Hizashi all teary-eyed and shaking, waiting by the phone for word. He might act like a hard number, but truth is, he knows he’s a damn fool, more’s the pity.

He picks up his drink and stands up all slow-like and fiery, tossing coins he can’t afford at the kid he can’t save. He turns to the table just cross the way, where Two-Tone is sitting with a couple of goons. He can take ‘em. He just needs to get them out somewheres less crowded so they can have a friendly discussion ‘bout manners and respect.

He tosses his drink, hitting Two-Tone square in the eye. When the jokers start whaling on him, he’s careful to protect himself without giving too much away. Needs these fellas to think he’s easy prey, needs to make the two-bit boss man mad enough to follow them outside for some personal correction. A few epithets about his ma and his fat face does the trick.

Once they hit the seedy back alley, it’s showtime. Shouta surges up, with uppercuts and haymakers connecting with jiggling jowls and grifters who thought they were harder than they were. He ties up the patsies as a special present for his friends in the police force before turning to Souchie with gleaming eyes.

“Yous and me need to have a talk, Two-Tone.”

It’s a short talk. Real professional-like. Sure, Souchie might have taken a fall or two, and maybe it wasn’t the most diplomatic thing, to hang him off the roof railing til he was wailing for his ma and pa, but hey, Shouta never said he played fair.

He hums to himself mirthlessly as he scales the rusty pipes and ladders to get to the hideout, smooth silver key slipping into the lock like a skirt into a fast car. Soon as the door swings wide, he hears the cooing of those damn birds, all sleepy tones and huffing breaths.

As he slips out the back, precious cargo in hand, he tries not to let his heart hammer too hard.

The gilded cage has some sort of fancy plaque proclaiming the names of the inhabitants, as if anyone in their right minds would care what a couple of feather-puffs are called. Shouta be round the bend anyway, cause he damn near died when he read it out:

Welcome to the home of

Shouta and Hizashi

He reddens and dives headfirst into a hack on the main road, wincing at the breathiness of his voice as he recites an address that his fool-brain still has memorized, all these years later. He’s going to return the birds, get paid, and then murder Hizashi.

Damn fool had no right to name them that way. And no right to still have him blushing like a schoolboy after all this time.

#bnhanoirweek2019 #bnha fanfiction #erasermic #my writing

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ivyfics · 7 years

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Starved

Kei can’t make it this week. Next week, maybe, he’ll be here but Tetsurou is all out of patience.

Read on AO3

Pairing: KuroTsuki Rating: T Chapters: 1/3 Prompt: “I’m tired of being your secret.”

They meet at least one weekend out of the month, always on his end.

They plan it out, send the schedules and call ahead. When he has the itch to take a train and just go, he squashes it down and walks by the station. Doesn’t bother to check the times to see if he’ll make it before lunch, if they could spend the afternoon together, if they’d play together until they’re sweaty and smiling with exhaustion.

Maybe Tsukki would be too tired after school and practice and they’d just hang out in his bedroom and chill.

On those days he sends a flurry of messages. Sometimes he gets a response back immediately, sometimes he has to wait until late in the afternoon.

Tsukki calls at night those days so it’s fine.

It’s nothing.

It’s a rocky start, Kei being the way he is, Tetsurou being the way he is.

They were friends, he likes to think, before it became a longing to be closer worming it’s way under his skin and fusing to who he is.

I want to see him, and talk to him, hear him talk and get lost on how his voice dips and peaks —

Kei’s brother lives in Tokyo.

He stays there when he comes over, a compromise to keep everyone happy when he’s visiting so often. When his parents call to ask his brother how Kei’s been, he doesn’t have to lie. It’s not easy, even with that.

They still rely on texts and missed plans when Kei takes a day to spend time with his brother while he’s there. Tetsurou misses the way his fabric softener smells, curled up in his sheets, knowing they’re so close, a mere 25-minute bus ride apart when he’s used to measuring distance in days, arms tightening against his own chest instead of the phantom body he wishes was there.

The first visit was where it started.

Stepping off the train with a bag stuffed with extra clothes and headphones still on for the first time, Kei looked at ease. Tetsurou’s hands were sweaty, fidgeting from one foot to the other. His heart felt like it was galloping out of his chest.

It’s been more than several times since then but Tetsurou’s body still takes to that pattern every time.

The first visit was tragic, filled with awkward silences and strange brushing of hands that made no sense and all the sense in the world, both of them too chickenshit to actually do anything about it.

They were on the verge, then, standing on the edge and waiting to fall.

Some days, when Kei cuts their conversations short hastily, someone calling for him over the sound of laughter and yelps he wonders if he was the only one standing.

Kei can’t make it this week. Next week, maybe, he’ll be here but Tetsurou is all out of patience.

The problem, really, is that Tetsurou is not a patient person. He might seem it, with his demeanor, but he’s not, at least not when it comes to boys with snarky smiles that live too far away to have a piece of Tetsurou’s person belong to them.

Nine weekends have passed in a flurry of calls, texts, and all the things they can do to distract them from the fact that their lives are lived apart and meetings seem to happen only by chance. Infuriating, distracting, anxious, all put in a blender inside Tetsurou’s head going round and round till his brain is mush and he’s bit through his lip.

He can surprise his boyfriend every once in a while, can’t he?

Tetsurou would be a walking rainbow churning out smiles every thirty seconds if Kei ever decided to come over without calling. Without the planning and the warnings, and the train will be there at five, but Aki has a thing at six that I have to go so let’s meet tomorrow at eight in the park and then—

Forgo all kinds of digits and just fucking do.

Surely, positively, Kei would feel even a slight inch of the same.

He’d be happy, even if surprises aren’t really his thing, that after missing each other for weeks on end Tetsurou would be a physical body, a chest, an arm, a hand, a hug, a kiss, not a floating head in the digital void that’s Kei’s life.

Unless.

Unless Kei prefers him in the void. Unless Tetsurou only exists there for him, doesn’t bleed out into every aspect of his real life, the life he leads on his own.

That particular thought’s been eating at him and it’s hungry today. Famished, stomach growling and drooling like a beast eyeing its favorite morsel, gnawing at the walls of Tetsurou’s subconscious. Begging for a treat when he’s idle for a moment too long, momentarily shut by a call or a picture sent, like throwing a wolf a cracker and calling it a day.

Bokuto is hogging the ball. Up high and away from where Tetsurou could grab it, staring at him with a frown. “Go see him.”

“I don’t know. He’s busy doing his own thing, it’s why he hasn’t been here,” Tetsurou lies.

I don’t know if he wants me there, I don’t know if he’ll ask me to leave, what if I’m wrong.

I don’t know.

Bokuto brings the ball to his chest and squeezes it between his hands, knuckles going white. “Tetsu, I love you. I really do.”

“Aww, Bo, I lo–”

“But if I have to see your miserable face while staring at his picture when you think we can’t see you one more time, I’ll knock you out and deliver you to Tsukki myself,” Bokuto breathes out.

Kenma grunts from where he’s slouched by the shade, gaps between the leaves on the tree he’s leaning on casting pinpricks of light on his face, eyes buried in his game, “I’ll help. Anything to make it stop.”

Tetsurou ignores it.

He ignores it when he throws a bag together, ignores it when he’s stepping through the sliding doors. He ignores the voice telling him he’s not wanted and that he’s making a huge, colossal mistake all the way to the front steps of Karasuno.

Too restless to wait by the gates until god knows when and too much in knots to not look at Kei in the face where he sees Tetsurou’s here, he considers waiting for Kei nearby his house before he remembers he doesn’t know where that is.

Plunging to the deepest of his ribcage, souring the taste in his mouth, he drinks that in.

He doesn’t know where his boyfriend lives.

Is he imagining all of this?

Tetsurou needs to stop thinking about this right now before he spirals. Shaking it off, he heads over to the gym. He’ll peek through a window or something. See them in action, incognito. The chance to get a glimpse of Kei’s playing, of figuring out what that head of his is thinking from the look on his face is too good to pass up. He’s familiar with them now, the way Kei’s body moves from all the times he’s spent analyzing it when they play together.

Rounding up a corner, he’s almost to the ajar entrance of the gym, blonde hair a beacon on gray walls.

The look in Kei’s eyes is something he’s never seen before.

Sheer panic.

“What are you doing here?”

That stings, so Tetsurou coughs and looks away while he composes himself. “You couldn’t make it, so…”

More time. Tetsurou needs more time to compose himself before coming face to face with Kei. See him from afar first, take his time drinking him in. He gets this instead.

Panic.

Stiff muscles.

Silence.

Every tick of the clock is another realization made.

Kei’s not relieved to see him. There’s not an ounce of joy in his body.

Standing there, squeak of rubber on wood the only thing reaching his ears, it all comes crashing down. The silence growing more awkward by the second is the nail in the coffin.

What else is there to say?

“I’m going.”

That breaks Kei’s vow of silence. “Kuroo. What.”

Tetsurou’s fine. S’alright. Saw this coming. He shakes his head to clear it, “It’s fine. I’m going.”

Kei speaks, shock not fading, “Where?”

“Home.” Tetsurou stops.

Doesn’t want to do this. Really doesn’t.

Should’ve stayed back.

He has to now, though. He can’t keep doing this to himself. Gotta look out for Tetsurou.

So he does what impulse tells him. What that growing voice in the back of his head he’s left to fester whispers at him.

He starved. No more food.

No matter how much Tetsurou likes him, how much of a head over heels idiot he is, how he's probably in love with Kei.

“I don’t think you should come by next week. Or at all.”

Kei freezes, hands gripping the bottom of his white Karasuno shirt. “Why not?”

Tetsurou smiles, trying so very hard to hold all the tiny splinters of him trying their damndest to fall out, but it leaks anyway. How does he put this into words?

The sinking feeling coating his throat.

The wanting.

The waiting.

“I’m tired of being your secret,” is how he manages to sum it up.

The door flings open with amazing timing, really, big thanks to whatever being is keeping an eye out on his life for giving him an out to having to look at Kei’s face after that.

“Oi, Tsukishima, we’re gonna start without you- Ah! It’s Nekoma’s captain!!”

The shrimp is as loud as ever.

“Sorry,” Tetsurou winces, sends an apologetic look Kei’s way. Having Tetsurou show up here after months of silence must have foiled his plans to keep this quiet.

He turns to Hinata, “Don’t mind me Shorty, just heading out.”

Hinata gasps, not reading the mood or the atmosphere or the plain need to flee on Tetsurou’s face. “You’re leaving! You can’t! Tsukishima, tell him he has to stay and play with us,” Hinata rounds up on him, “I’ll tell Kenma on you!”

“I think you’re too much for me,” Tetsurou laughs, cold sweat running back of his neck. “Kei,” he says with a nod of his head in farewell because that’s what he calls him when it’s late and they’re missing each other. Or when Tetsurou is missing him, at least.

There’s a yank on his sleeve, Kei’s fingers gripping the black material tight. “Don’t,” sharper than Tetsurou’s ever heard addressed at him from the boy with golden eyes.

Whatever’s looking out for him isn’t a powerful being, he understands, so when the rest of the Karasuno crew piles up on the open entrance Tetsurou’s resigned to it all.

Yamaguchi’s the first one to see him, eyes raised all the way to his hairline. “What’s going on?”

“My boyfriend’s here.”

Absolute silence.

3, 2, 1.

“This is the boyfriend you skip Saturday practice for?! Sneaky, keeping him all to yourself.”

“Traitor! Dating the enemy!”

“Tsukishima you didn’t need to use your bedroom skills to steal his secrets, the sacrifices you make!”

Having the focus of the entire Karasuno team on you and around you is as terrifying as it sounds. Kageyama crowds him, ball in hand, along with the shrimp. “Kuroo-san, could you run some blocks for us.” Behind them, the heckling continues.

“You’ve been getting some special training haven’t you?”

It’s crazy.

Hinata’s voice soars over everyone else’s. “Eeeeeh, Tsukishima are you crying?”

Dread flashes cold.

“I’m not, short stack. Back off.”

“Liar, your eyes are all shiny.”

Things... take a turn. Get real quiet, real fast.

Crickets quiet.

Enough to hear the tiniest sniffle quiet.

Fuck.

“Everyone,” Ennoshita claps, somehow holding back the tiny libero and Baldie from murdering Tetsurou with their stares, Yamaguchi taking care of the first year duo, “inside.”

Tetsurou is having a heart attack. This is absolutely what a heart attack feels like.

When he’s regained the ability to speak, he mumbles, “You skip practice for me?”

Tetsurou should sound less lovestruck, but it’s been a day. His brain is trying very hard to catch up, maximum capacity, whirring and whirling.

Perhaps, perchance, there is a slight possibility that Tetsurou has gotten it wrong.

Embarrassingly, horribly, amazingly wrong.

“You didn’t have to. I could’ve come here.”

“They’ll hog you. You think you’re leaving this gym today? Hope you brought sneakers,” Kei glares at him, Tetsurou can feel it, thick swallow audible. Kei is still holding on to his sleeve.

He takes that as a good sign.

“We should talk,” Kei says. Tetsurou isn't looking at him but nods anyway.

Kei leads him by the sleeve of his jacket, silent.

The infirmary is empty so they sit there, side by side on one of the cots.

Kei starts with a shaky breath,“What just happened?”

“Well, your in-house Buddha doesn’t seem to like me all that much.”

Shaking his head, Kei crosses his arms. “I think you were breaking up with me. You thought I was keeping you a secret and were about to break up with me. You actually kind of already did.”

What does Tetsurou say to that?

Ding, ding, ding! Bingo!

“That’s what it felt like,” he rasps out. “Like you didn’t want anyone to know. About us.”

He doesn’t know where they are, if hugging is allowed. Tetsurou really needs a hug right now. He’s so tired.

Kei is looking off to the side, avoiding his eyes.

“If it helps anything at all, saying that was like punching myself. Really hard. I had to, though,” Tetsurou continues, “ you can understand that. I can’t pretend like I’m fine. It hurt.”

Everything is so quiet. They’re never quiet, the two of them, always talking garbage at each other without effort. This is like pulling teeth.

“I was going to wait for you on your way home and I realized I have absolutely no clue where your house is. You don’t let me visit and we meet when you come into town, and if you can’t make it, then we don’t see each other at all. Someone asks who you’re talking to and you hang up.”

At Kei’s sharp inhale, Tetsurou smiles, “Your friends' voices carry.”

He taps his knee to do something with his hand, building a rhythm.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m the only one excited that we’re together. A one-sided relationship won’t make me happy. It’s not something that I’m interested in. Do you care? Do you want to be together? Or is it simply something convenient? After so long I thought you’d be happy that I’m here but you—” Tetsurou’s voice breaks. “Fuck.”

Kei is slow to speak, awkward and stilted when it starts. They don’t do this kind of talk as often as they should, as it obviously shows. ”I don’t like it when there are people in my business. People around me aren’t exactly the kind to leave this alone, so I thought I’d keep you to myself for a while longer. I’m sorry, I’m not ashamed of you or anything like that.”

Fingers stop the hand tapping on his knee, bring it over to Kei’s thigh. Pale fingers wrap around his. “I really missed you. You’re important to me. I don’t want to break up,” Kei whispers.

“I really don’t, either,” Tetsurou whispers back.

Miraculously, that’s enough for now. Kei’s hand on his and tiny whispers is a full meal, like throwing the beast a prime steak.

They whisper a little longer before going silent, full of I'm sorry I didn't say anything before and please tell me next time.

Leading him up from their twined hands, Kei pulls him out of the infirmary. “C’mon.”

Tetsurou goes without protest. “We’re ditching?”

Kei nods. “I’m showing you where I live and then we’re going to make out in my room.”

#starved #my writing #kurotsuki #it gets good dont be scared #angst #haikyuu!!

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initiala · 7 years

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Dark Horse - Chapter 21 - COMMENTARY (3/3)

Last part of @yayimallamaagain’s request for commentary!

They agree to meet on Sunday. There's a park in town he's never been to, a bench near a lake, and as he walks up the path he sees Emma pacing. She's on the phone, her hair spilling out from under a blue beanie, the rest of her bundled up in a puffy coat and jeans. It makes him smile, watching the little hops in her step as she walks - trying to keep warm no doubt. As he gets closer he can hear her end of the conversation. "-no, it'll be fine. I appreciate the offer, but I've got a place lined up." She pauses. "Yeah, Airbnb, it's fine. If it's not fine, I'll take you up on a place to crash."

Emma in her lil beanies is always a delight.

Killian clears his throat, just loud enough to alert her of his presence. She glances his way briefly, then says, "Hey, I've gotta run. Have those guys in shape for me when I get there alright?" She laughs at something the other person says. "I'm serious, I don't want to spend half my time retraining people. See you in a few weeks."

She slips her phone back into her pocket, trading it for her gloves. "Tying up a few things," she says as she works her hands into her gloves.

He feels parched, though it's only been a few minutes since he's walked here from his truck. "Y-you're leaving, then?"

He shouldn't be surprised at such a thing - from things she's said, she's grown quite used to picking up and moving along every few months. He knows the life, understands it. Hell, he even longs for it some days. He spent most of the last several years more or less constantly moving, trying to find a place where he fit, trying to find home. Storybrooke - the Horn - hadn't always been intended as a long-term plan, but more and more he's found himself accustomed to it: being his own boss certainly comes with benefits, as do these new partnerships he's finding himself in. He likes the town, likes most of the people he comes across.

FINDING HOME!!!! Another big theme of this story is finding your home, and definitely part of Emma and Killian’s definition of home is where each other is. Though they’re not quite realizing that yet.

The longer he stays, the more he's sure he's not going to leave anytime soon.

But if Emma leaves…

Okay, Killian’s realizing it, Emma’s not.

He schools his features, annoyed with himself for the thought. If she leaves, she leaves. Tink had had the right of it the other day, it's not his business what Emma gets up to. He's making his own life here; the level of civility and involvement they have in each other's lives moving forward will be sorted today.

She's blinking at him, her eyes searching his as she puzzles out his words. "I'm doing a favor for a friend," she says finally. "They need someone for a few weeks at Aqueduct in January."

When I started this story, I had a set timeline. I knew this story would take place over most of the year and there would be big milestones to hit, and it was kind of poetic in that these things happened around the changing of the seasons. They met and started this lil’ dalliance in the spring, had a happy summer, big shakeup/breakup in the fall, and then they’d be back together at the start of the New Year. But something I always appreciate in fics is the notion that even after the story ends, life goes on for these characters. Here, while the majority of the story is wrapped up at the beginning of January, Emma’s still making plans to freelance and keep working after my set timeline ends. Later, Killian talks about his plans for winter and spring races. It’s little details that I like.

Despite his reaffirmations, there's an anxious knot in his chest that eases. "Ah. Apologies for assuming -"

"No, it's - I need the money," she says, going to take a seat on the bench. "And I'm probably going to be a little stir-crazy by then, though the timing could be better."

He gestures towards the empty spot next to her and she nods her permission to sit. He wonders after her timing comment for a moment before it hits him - Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, but his brains truly have been addled. "And how is Mary Margaret?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Emma smile a bit. "She's good. She says the last few months are the best and she looks it."

Hilariously, when I made Emma pregnant in a later fic in this universe, she hated the last few months. I completely forgot about this line.

"Good. She looked well when I last saw her, but we didn't chat."

It's easy, Killian realizes with a start. Talking to her is easy and some part of him feels like it shouldn't be - so many words between them, so much time since their last proper conversation, and certainly their last conversation had been confrontational. But then, he supposes, Emma's the one who contacted him, so she's trying to set the pace. The last time they properly spoke, her walls were sky-high again, her armor double-layered; she'd lashed out to protect herself, he understood that now - disliked it, but understood.

Dang, I started on about Emma’s armor in this story long before they got to it in canon. Everyone kept talking about walls because that was what was in the show, but I liked the idea of armor more than walls. And then we had Killian telling her not to put her armor back on because she was losing him and brb sobbing

It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it. If she's being vulnerable now, it's a kindness he's done nothing to deserve.

They watch late-falling leaves drift across the lake. There's ice slowly starting to creep inwards from the edges of the lake, but it hasn't been so cold as to freeze over entirely just yet. Emma hunches in on herself as a cold breeze gusts through. "I -" she starts, "I wanted - I felt like I should - I'm sorry." She says the last bit in a rush and Killian turns to look at her as she sets her mouth in a determined line. "I'm sorry," she says, slower and more clearly this time. "I walked out - I left when I should have stayed. I left a few times."

He senses she's not finished, just at a loss for how to word what she wants to say. He waits, leaning forward and bracing himself on his legs with his elbows. She lifts one corner of her mouth, her own eyes on her hands as she picks at the pilling on her gloves. "I lost my head when Henry got hurt, but something - something snapped when you…"

"Threw myself in front of a panicky, six hundred-kilo animal like an eejit to protect you," he finishes quietly.

"Yeah, that."

Her eyes close now, her lashes dark against the apples of her cheeks. She's pink from embarrassment or from the cold, he's not sure which. He notes the way her shoulders curve inward as if she's trying to preemptively shield herself from any harsh words he could throw at her, and his heart aches. He did that. He'd pushed her away, jabbed at her with his cruelty when he should have been willing to talk about what had happened. He'd taken advantage of her vulnerability, too wrapped up in his own misery to notice that perhaps she was hurting too and wasn't able to express it properly. "I was a right bastard to you," Killian says, watching her for some sort of reaction. "Apologizing doesn't begin to express how truly sorry I am for the things I said that day."

She huffs, steam blooming in front of her face as she grins briefly. "Well, it's a start."

He hesitates for a moment, then reaches over to cover her hands with his. Her eyes fly open, looking at their hands and then up to his face. "Emma," he says softly. He tries to remember how Tink had phrased it, how to deal with them: drunk words are sober thoughts left to fester too long. "I'm sorry for the way I behaved that morning. I'm sorry for… I'm sorry that I let things build up too much, that I spoke out of anger."

Her expression is guarded, but her eyes are wide and wary. "Did you mean any of it?" she asks.

Killian's eyes drop as he pulls his hand away. "Anything I said had its roots somewhere," he admits. He chews on the inside of his lip a bit. "Bloody hell this is difficult," he mutters and she chuckles in a dry way that says she's in agreement. "I had some issues, some unhappiness in how things were between us. But I should have taken them up with you earlier, discussed things rationally. I should have been brave enough - felt secure enough in how things stood between us to discuss them. But I wasn't, and perhaps that's an issue in and of itself."

He sees her nod out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah." It comes out as a whisper, followed by a lengthy pause. Then, "Killian, I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

A lot of people were upset this conversation didn’t happen earlier, but it never felt right. Well, what I should say is that when I was writing their big fight a few chapters earlier, I wrote a much tamer version, one that probably encompassed a lot of this. But when it came time to beta, something didn’t feel right. Then Tina said, and I agreed, that if the intent of it was to make them break up for months at a time, then I needed to go all out on it. So I did. Because otherwise it wouldn’t make them grow up. Conflict makes characters grow, and at that point in who they were, no growth would have come out of it. They needed to spend these weeks apart and heal to be able to have this conversation. Attraction only makes up a part of a relationship.

His gut wants to forgive her, knows it's a big step for her to be able to admit as much. But he needs a little more, he knows that now. "Emma, I meant it when I told you I loved you."

"But you don't anymore," she says, and the lack of doubt or questioning in her voice nearly breaks him. That she believes someone can throw her away so quickly pains him more than anything else.

He shakes his head. "That's not it. I still do, however I… I am a broken man, Emma. The last few weeks have proven that to me. I can't control myself, I can't handle the reality that's thrown at me. I drank myself into a stupor because I thought I lost you - because I lost Liam."

She stares, he can tell she's staring, but she doesn't ask what he means. Instead, she says, "Killian, you aren't broken."

There's enough conviction there that he almost believes her. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a wry smile. "Aye, the mass of metal in me mouth says otherwise," he says sardonically. "And that I drank myself into a stupor because I can't hear my brother's voice anymore - tell me, lass, does that sound like a sane man to you?" She reaches for his hand; he tries not to flinch at her touch. "Couldn't stop my brother's murder, my fault my girlfriend was killed, not good enough for you to stay. Everyone I love leaves. But perhaps it's for the best. You deserve better than me, lass. You deserve someone whole."

I saved that tamer conversation, still have it in my Google drive somewhere. I pulled this stuff from there, because I liked it – it just didn’t fit at the time. They needed to earn the conversation.

She recoils a bit and he is colder without her touch. She closes her eyes. "You're not broken," she repeats. "You miss your brother, your - your girlfriend, because they died in a horrible way and you couldn't do a damn thing about it. That's pretty normal. And I can say that because I've been unlovable most of my life." Her voice breaks and his heart breaks with it. She wipes her nose on the back of her glove. "I got passed around - no, I got kicked out of more foster homes than I could count by the time I was fifteen and they just gave up on me. No one wanted me, no one loved me, so they stuck me in a group home for a month. David took me home after school one day, his mom was so horrified about my whole situation that she kept me."

Emma takes a breath and he can hear the waver, the shake that betrays how much she's holding back. He looks up at her as she looks back towards the lake. "David's dad died because of me - or, I thought he did, but I guess he died trying to protect me," she confesses. "So it's still kind of my fault, even if he was drunk at the time. He got kicked in the head by one of our horses during a storm, died pretty much right then and there in front of me. His heart and lungs just kept going a while longer."

All of the air leaves his lungs in a rush as the pieces come together: why she left the hospital, her reluctance to approach him later. It wasn't that she didn't love him, that she didn't care for him - it's that she'd lived this story already. She knew how it ended. And she'd been frightened, wanted to protect herself from being hurt all over again.

She had her reasons. He just hadn't bothered to find out what they were.

See this is what I mean when it was interesting to watch the woobiefication of Killian happen in real time. There is always a reason for why a character acts a certain way, you just have to be willing to stick it out and find out what that reason is. Emma’s reasons for her behavior are valid for her story.

She wipes her nose with the back of her glove again. "James died because of me, and then Neal happened not long after that. You know the rest. Well, there was this guy Walsh, he was using me to cheat on his wife, but that's not quite as telling as the rest. So out of the two of us, you're the least broken." Emma glances up at him, her expression somber. Jesus, Mary and Joseph but she's been dealt a rough hand in life. He knows that if he said as much, or gave any significant attention to it, she'd shrug him off. Emma takes a deep breath. "But that's not all of it. I opened that letter."

He watches her expression change ever so slightly as she explains about the letter Belle had wanted her to read. He sees the anger as she recounts the contents, the anxious pinch in her lips as she talks about going to the prison on Thursday - that explains the inebriated phone call, then. He doesn't blame her for that. He sees the anger turn to fury as she tries to keep her voice level when she tells him about Gold.

He doesn't say that he already knew most of this. He doesn't say that Belle had come to him with her own fears of the situation, her own confusion and lack of direction about it all. He doesn't say that he'd done nothing with the information, because what could he have done? He's furious with Robert Gold, but at the end of the day Henry's not his boy and Gold's his employer - he's in as much a bind as the lad.

To detract from this a bit, I really love that this story gave me a chance to develop the friendship between Belle and Killian. It happens a lot more later, but planting little seedlings and helping it grow was one of my very favorite non-CS-relationship things in this universe.

He thinks she might notice when he relaxes at the news that Regina has a plan for moving forward. She doesn't fully know what it is - Regina's taking it as a legal matter and he believes they both trust her judgement there - but the news will allow him to sleep a bit better. "Truly, I'm surprised you haven't hauled off and knocked the man's head in again," Killian says when she's finished.

Emma fails to hide a small smile. "Regina and I talked about that - twice, actually. I was never very good at letting other people handle things, but I trust her to do things the right way. She says she's got enough dirt on him."

He chuckles. He imagines Regina has enough information - or the means to acquire it - about anyone she wishes to blackmail, not just Gold. "I imagine so."

There's another pause as the wind picks up again. Killian's not sure if he's just gotten used to it at this point or if he's beginning to court frostbite. Emma tucks some of her hair back, out of her face. "Killian, I asked you for time to think," she says quietly. "Maybe not - not asking, but I said I wanted to think, that day on the porch when…"

She falls silent again and this time he doesn't fill in the blank. They both know what day she's talking about. After another moment she looks up, her face set with determination but her eyes wide and betraying her nerves. "I was scared. I was scared about what all this meant, what you meant to me. But I've had a lot of time to think since September - a lot of people to talk to. And I'm done thinking.

"I want this. Us."

Killian's never experienced his heart swelling and breaking all at once before now. It's an awful feeling - if she'd said that six weeks ago, even a month ago, he would have been the happiest man alive. He'd have swept her off her feet, both of them laughing and kissing and dancing to a tune only they could hear. He'd have absconded with her to the bedroom - their bedroom - a pirate savoring his most precious treasure.

Tina called me/Killian cheesy for this part. I accept that as a badge of honor. Killian the cheeseball is also one of my favorite things.

But it's not a month ago. And he's realized a few things since the accident.

She says otherwise, but he knows he's broken in his own ways. He knows he needs to heal - he wants to heal. He wants to make peace with his past, he wants to have full control of his body again, he wants to feel whole.

He wants to be a better man for her.

Something that’s very important for characters, for me anyway, is to give them ways to grow and change without pinning it specifically on another person. I’ll get more on that in a minute.

"Emma," he says softly, but too much time must have passed since her confession, and he looks up in time to see her walls climbing higher than ever before as her expression grows stony.

She's on her feet before he can think to say anything else and then he's leaping to his own feet and following her, reaching for her hand. "Emma, please, just hear me out. I don't - it's not as you think, love."

She stops and it breaks his heart further to see her eyes shining with unshed tears as she faces him. He keeps hurting her and this is precisely why he can't let her in just yet. He glances at her lips, set stubbornly in a line yet he can see the slight quiver as she fights for control of her emotions. "Emma, I have not been kind to you, yet I have never lied to you. Please believe me when I say I am still very much in love with you. And it's because I love you that I know I cannot be with you right now."

"Why?" It's a broken thing, this small question with so many answers to choose from.

He squeezes her hand and she responds, a flash of a smile before it fades away again. Killian swallows hard, hating himself for this decision. "I'm - I'm seeing someone right now. A therapist," he says quickly as her face falls. "She's a friend of Belle's, she'll tell you I'm not lying. Belle suggested it to begin with, a way for me to recover from what happened. This was - this was after we fought, after -"

"Yeah," Emma finishes for him.

He smiles briefly. "Tink's helping me get my head on straight, move past everything instead of burying it under work and drink. I don't think - I suppose I've been dealing with my past the wrong way. And it affected us."

Emma nods slowly. "Have you -" She pauses when her words come out funny and clears her throat. "Have you talked about me - us - at all?"

Killian squeezes her hand again. "Just once. Apparently I lack communication skills."

She snorts, then covers her mouth when she starts to laugh. He smiles as she loses herself in her giggles - there are few and far moments when he sees her like this and he finds her just as adorable as she was the last time. "I'm sorry," she says after a moment. "That's just the most absurd thing -"

"I know," he says, grinning. "Different skills, apparently."

She sobers after another moment. "So this… us… What happens now?"

He pulls her towards him and she allows him to envelop her in a hug. Her arms go around him almost instantly, holding him like she's afraid to let him go - and perhaps she is. His bad hand is trembling as he holds her waist - a sign he's exerted himself a bit too much today, even if it is just emotionally - his other hand rubbing small circles against her back. She shifts in his arms, her head turning to tuck just under his chin. "I promise you, Emma, I'll get better and we can revisit this someday," Killian murmurs against her beanie.

"Yeah, someday."

He can hear the disbelief in her voice, as if someone else has said the same words to her and failed to keep the promise of that hazy 'someday'. His resolve hardens. "Emma, look at me." He leans back slightly and she looks up, with tears clinging to her eyelashes and all. "I'm going to be a better man for you. These," he reaches up and taps his head, then his jaw, "are going to mend. And we will discuss this - discuss us - again. We just need to give each other a little more time."

People were keyboard smashing at me over this, but I like a healthy dose of realism with my fiction, thank you very much. No need to put two people together when they’re not going to be good for each other. Also there’s so much more story to happen.

Killian holds her gaze until she nods. "Okay." She sighs, resting her head against his chest again. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm getting out of here for a little while," she says.

"New York?"

She hums an affirmative. "Anna and Elsa want to show me around Boston a bit this weekend, too."

There's a sour taste in his mouth. "Ah, yes, the younger Miss Adgarssen wanted to parade you about to a sports team," he says without thinking, forgetting that she hadn't known he was around to hear them.

He feels something like a pinch in his side as Emma pulls back, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Someone's a stalker," she says drily.

"Hardly," Killian scoffs. "The three of you were quite audible as you wandered through the throng of trainers, I happened to be among them." She pinches him again, but it comes across as more of a tickle and he squirms away, grinning. "Apologies for overhearing something I apparently wasn't to be privy to."

She shakes her head. "No, don't apologize. And Elsa and I already talked her out of that - apparently I'm supposed to swoon over calf muscles or thighs or whatever, but I'm not interested in any of it."

Killian snorts. He happens to know Emma's quite fond of his legs, but just says, "I'm pleased to hear you're unfazed by such superficial nonsense."

She smirks. "I just told her I like a man who knows his way around a starting gate."

And this was the point where I gave up trying to keep these two from flirting with one another, full stop. It’s very difficult sometimes.

He raises an eyebrow at that. He sees her eyes flick down to his lips, her tongue almost automatically peeking out to wet her own lips as she looks back up at him. He feels the pull as strongly as she does, his gaze lingering on her lips for a moment too long before having to look away. She makes a small sound, perhaps in protest, and he can't help but chuckle. "Emma, if I kiss you now, I'm not sure I'd be able to stop," he admits.

"I'm not sure I'd mind," she tells him softly.

Killian glances down again, the temptation strong as she holds him even more tightly, her body a welcome warmth against his in the cold. He's already bending down, or she's raising up on her toes, he's not entirely sure or cares to be sure.

One kiss couldn't hurt, right? A promise that they're not finished, not quite yet.

Yeah, really, I couldn’t stop myself. Like at all. I tried to think of other ways to do this, but I’m like a kid with my dolls, making them smoosh faces. Also another bone to throw at the readers for being patient lol.

It's a cold touch of skin on skin, the breath from her nose warm against his cheek as she sighs into him. She doesn't push - no teasing touches from her tongue - and he doesn't press - doesn't wind her hair around his fingers, doesn't tilt her head to deepen the kiss. He couldn't even if he wanted to, but he knows that the moment he pulls away, he should leave.

He doesn't want to pull away.

The cold vanishes as his focus narrows down to Emma - Emma and the feel of her pressed up against him, the little nibbles and teases of her lips against his, the gentle sway of their bodies to some unheard tune. It's chaste and sweet, a moment he wants to savor and hold fast against the uncertainty of the future.

He never wants it to end.

But everything comes to an end someday, and she pulls away first. "That was…" she breathes, an echo of his words from a warmer day, filled with no less passion or interest than today.

"To be continued," he finishes, and he presses a kiss against her forehead.

She nods and he starts to walk away, removing himself from the situation before he breaks his resolve to fix himself, to be better, to become someone she could be proud to call hers. His heart hurts with every step, but it stutters when she calls his name. He glances over his shoulder, pausing mid-step. "Promise me something?" she asks. He nods, not trusting his voice. She folds her arms across her chest, holding herself tight. "Be a better man for yourself first, okay?"

So, back to that character change not pinned on one person thing! This line is super important and one that Killian doesn’t quite believe he can do for himself. He wants to change for her, and usually that sort of thing doesn’t work out. But later we do see that he’s found himself taking on the challenge of being sober, trying to prove to himself that he can be better. It definitely starts off as being about Emma, but it changes to being about himself and challenging himself to be better, and it sticks.

She waits until he nods, then turns on her heel and walks off in the other direction.

Perhaps Tink is right, he does lack communication skills - in more ways than he previously thought. He could only nod to her question; he had no words to explain to Emma that without her, he has no true reason to stick to his guns and change.

#captain swan #cs ff #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs mc au #dark horse #dark horse commentary

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checanty · 8 years

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HELLO this might be a little personal so if you don't want to answer this question I completly understand. I was wondering how you deal with your (art)-anxiety (you know the thing: self critisism and knocking yourself down all the time, being scared shitless about the future because life is getting real now). Do you have some tips or thoughts? X

Alright. So this is a big topic. It’s not always easy to tell since we tend to make sure to project our best self via social media, but anxiety and self doubts are not especially rare with artists including the ones you think have *made it*. However, while I can talk about how I personally deal with anxiety, we all feel differently and not everything that works for me will work for you. Take what’s useful to you and leave the rest here. I’m just a silly 23 year old spewing nonsense into the void.

Also, if you struggle and feel like you need help, please do the scary thing and reach out to somebody you trust and/or talk to a mental health professional.

And obviously this is not a complete list because I have come to the realization that at the pace I’m writing we’ll be old and grey by the time I’m done.

Anyways here we go …

I. Assorted things

a. First, it helps to acknowledge that imposter syndrome, the fraud police or however you want to call it is a thing. Once I identify that nagging little voice for what it is, I can call it out on its bullshit. Sometimes it just haunts me in the back of my mind and I actively formulate the negative thought out in an ‘Ah yes, I’m a lazy little shit, that will never be good enough. That what you wanted to tell me, brain? Well, you gotta come up with something new because I know this trick and it’s not true.’ fashion. It helps me to recognize the pattern, pull it out into the open and then reject it. It’s easier than having my head buzzing with negative fragmented ideas that can continue to fester until I can’t deal with them anymore.

b. Trust others. When a person says they like your work? Trust that they do. Don’t draw the conclusion they’ll be your über-fan and throw money at you or that they’re an art critic guru, but take them by their word. That person likes your work and that’s awesome! (Obviously my grandmother predicting me to become a great artist won’t mean it’s true, but I believe she means it.)Also, somebody hires you for a job and it’s super scary and you feel like your going to fail? Trust the person who has hired you. They’ve seen your portfolio, they pay you (make sure they do), they believe you can do it. They’re not stupid.

c. When you’re sitting in your pajamas surfing the internet, eating cereals with a fork trying to eat away your felt 3000 failed drawings (But you’re lazy, so really you only drew like 5 things, but they’re so bad the failure counts for more.) of the day it’s hard to believe you can ever be as pro as those glorious drawing machines on the internet with their polished websites and portfolios who make it look so easy.

Now imagine stumbling upon yourself on the internet. What do you see?Your latest cool artwork, your work ethic (even if you really just queue your posts cleverly) … And this is just your online presentation. Think about the artwork. You know your stuff. You see it all the time. You know all the frustrating bits and problem areas. You know what parts you’re just winging or obscuring by drawing decorative ornamental elements on them and pretend it’s your style. Other people don’t. (They might if you tell them. So try not to be too negative about your work.) Try to see your work with their eyes. Design a book cover mock up with your artwork (or whatever is applicable to the area you want to work in) and imagine it’s by somebody else and you just stumbled upon it in a book shop. You might realize it’s actually kind of okay …You might actually start to really like some of your works. (or all of it.)

d. Trust in the fact that drawing is a skill that is constantly developing. Even if you’re not at the level you need or want to be at, as long as you practice and keep at it you’ll eventually get there. It’s a process. It might be a really slow one. But there’s just one direction to go and you have time. You do. Even when other people your age (or younger) seem to have made it (whatever that means), it’s frustrating, alright. Have a cry, that’s ok. Get back to the drawing table. You’re on different paths. Stay off the internet for a while if comparisonitis gets too bad. There’ll always be people who are better than you. Focus on your work. (My drawing teacher’s advice on this was: Get inspired, not frustrated. Which is easier said than done.)

e. Learn a new skill that has nothing to do with your art, simply for the joy of learning it and then fail a lot. It’s a lot easier to learn being accepting of your mistakes and failures this way. It’s much easier to learn when nobody judges you (grades you. Makes you take tests.). I’ve started yoga and learning a new language last year and I am still bad at both, but whenever I mess up my vocabulary or can’t do a pose it’s … okay. Nothing bad happens. And it’s lots of fun. The failing. The times when things do work. It’s easier to realize a mistake isn’t the end of it all when you practice with something that doesn’t already come with all the old pressures and expectations.

f. Get your sleep. No screens before bed time, seriously. Those are an invitation for insomnia. Try to keep a regular sleep schedule. I sound so boring with my whole scheduling habit, but it helps a lot.

g. Find a way to release stress. Do something besides work. When I find it hard to allow myself to do non work related things I tell myself being good at what I’m doing or being successful early on doesn’t actually mean much when it means I’m burned out by 24 and dead by 27. It’s really hard to follow your passion when you constantly fantasize about running away to hide somewhere in a forest cave living only on dirt and roots until you eventually poison yourself or freeze to death.

What also helped me to stop feeling like I’m not working enough was using a timer so I could show myself by the end of the week how much I have gotten done.Also using a schedule. And sticking (at least roughly) to it.(Although it takes a lot of trial and error to figure out how to best put your schedule together. It’s important to be aware of how you’re feeling and to be able to make some changes to accommodate your needs. Don’t start out by assuming you’re always your best and most productive self. Are you doing something that will probably exhaust you? Factor that in. Figure out how much you can actually effectively work. Buffer days in case you have deadlines. You might get sick or have a bad art day. Time off for regeneration. Don’t do the ‘I work best under pressure a day before the deadline’ thing if you can help it.)

h. Realizing you got time and you don’t actually have to be a fully functional amazing, successful artist person by, like, tomorrow. You don’t. You take the time you need. You make sure you’re okay first. Figuring out what exactly is important to you and what you really want to be and do takes time. It takes going down the wrong path sometimes. I started out wanting to be a comic artist, but ended up doing creepy dark fantasy illustrations. Now I’m realizing that this is not everything I want to do. It’s a process and nothing you do is in vain, but things take time.

(–> Goal setting on the other hand is a great way to succeed at something, but you have to know what you want first. Of course you can set a goal and realize on the way that you have no interest in reaching it anymore. I guess then it depends on what your goal is whether you want to continue or change course. E.g. I’d finish that big project you’ve been working on for years, but maybe stop trying to get that job you actually don’t want anymore.)

In a similar vein … Learning to be patient with oneself. Patience is always good.

II. The future is scary and I don’t know what to do

a. Research first! The monster is way less scary when you can see it clearly. Only once you know how it looks like you can plan on how to slay it. (It might not even be a perfect plan, it just has to be good enough to make you feel like things might turn out okay.)Hit the internet, read a lot. Learn what you can. See how other people do it. Ask questions. Try to find out where your crowd hangs out. My personal advice is to be a bit careful with those 10 ways to be a successful artist articles depending on how in depth they are. I either find them not especially informative or they’re a great way for me to spend the rest of the day crying (even and especially when they’re supposed to be motivational. There’s so much motivational stuff out there that really just makes me feel super insecure.) because after reading them I’m pretty sure I don’t do any of those things and am a horrible person anyways. Articles dealing with matters in a more nuanced manner might often be more to read, but have been way more helpful to me.

Some resources that help(ed) me a lot (consider I’m mostly doing fantasy art, so it might not all be for you):

http://muddycolors.blogspot.deAmazing artists and art directors sharing insights. There’s a lot. Maybe matching this ask’s subject:

Arrogance & Doubt

How to get what you want

The secret to success in art

@dearartdirector here on tumblr. Make sure to check out their prior asks&answers before sending them your questions. There’s already a lot of important stuff in there.

Bobby Chiu’s Youtube Channel1FantasticWeek Podcast (& Facebook Group)Drawn&Drafted

Giuseppe Castellano’s Blog and #arttips on Twitter

For children’s books: find the hashtag #kidlitart on Twitter

Otherwise try to find blogs and podcasts about what you want to do.

III. Everything is too much and I can’t manage or think or …

a. Sometimes things just get too much and I put everything on hold and write through it. I think faster than I can write, so putting thoughts to paper slows me down. I also see the stuff in my head written out and it is easier to confront it and recognize what actually makes sense and what doesn’t. The process is obviously different every time, but basically I try to boil down what upsets me and then find ways to deal with it conversation style. (I usually even include the bits where I don’t know what to say and then write exactly that down.)For example I’ve written myself through some phone call anxiety last year by listing what I am actually afraid of and why it makes me feel insecure and then writing down what I know to be actually true.

The last part looked somewhat like this: You’re safe. You’re sitting in your room on the floor and there is nobody around. Nothing can happen to you. You are physically safe.It is their job to help you. If you don’t know something, they will help you. If they are mean it is not on you. They might have had a shitty day. Also, they don’t know you and their opinion on you has no influence on your life. They talk to a lot of people in a day and will probably forget you. You are not important enough to ruin somebody’s day. If they make fun of you at home it has no influence on your life.Just be as polite as you can be and you have nothing to feel bad about.

And so on.

Most negative thoughts are similar. e. g. ‘I’ll never achieve anything.’ vs writing down successes (as small as they might be): I’ve been able to feed myself for a week. I can speak a second language. I survived school. I’m keeping my rats alive. I know myself better today than I did last year.

When I feel like I’m dancing on too many parties and feel like I am constantly forgetting something or feel just vaguely haunted I try to figure out what the immediate issues that freak me out are. Being as specific as possible. Being as honest as possible. It’s not like anybody has to see what I’m writing. This is not just about art. It’s about everything, even and especially the petty little things. If you gather enough of those they can be crushing. Once they’re all written down I can decide which have priority and which I can put aside. The important part is to make a conscious decision (really, decision making. Sometimes stressing about making a decision is worse than making the wrong choice.). I don’t have to answer my friend’s Facebook message today, I can just tell them I’m currently stressed out and will get back to them at some later point. Or let them wait for a day or two. They’ll survive. I can simply say no to this or that thing. I can totally schedule this thing to next week and not think about it until then. (Actually write down when you’ll do it, though. Everything you write down you don’t have to keep juggling in your head.)

Then I write down possible solutions for what is still left. Afterwards I figure out which ones I can implement and which one’s I cannot (for whatever reason.). What can I do right now? (Starting with the easiest fixes. That might be doing the dishes that have piled up over time.) What can I schedule? I need to have plan of action* for every problem on my list. Sometimes it doesn’t mean I’ll solve it, but at least I’ll feel like I’ve done everything I currently feel capable of doing.

* Those may be suuuuper small steps. Or maybe even acknowledging it scares me, but accepting that it is something I cannot influence and therefore something that just goes into my calendar and out of my brain. It’s a lot about planning and scheduling for me.

b. I use a friend of mine and my mum for reality checks sometimes when my brain gets stuck on something totally irrational and I need somebody to explain to me why I don’t make sense.

(I also use my friend when I’m not sure whether I’m interpreting a message or social situation correctly. Good to have a second opinion when your paranoid brain sees cryptic messages and overt criticism everywhere.)

c. When I feel I’m about to freak out and can’t sit down to write or think something through I have a book lying around that I can grab and read aloud until I calm down. I like Jack Kerouac for this because I don’t have to try and understand what is going on. It’s just a stream of pretty words and sound.

#ask #years later #this is quite long

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