#TW: graphic depiction of open wound

[mlmxreader]

Say You'll Haunt Me | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Can I request “I thought I’d fucking lost you for good for a moment” with Ghost please? Thanks

summary: he's gone, he's gone for good... or at least, that's what everyone tells you.

tws: swearing, smoking, graphic depictions and descriptions of severe injuries, blood, death

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

All of the lights were off, they had been all day as you no longer had the energy to do much anymore; the lights were off, all the doors were locked, and aside from the quiet television playing old reruns of some stupid adult animation that you didn't even look at, all was silent within the house.

The bedsheets smelled like fresh washing powder, and the blanket was still warm from the tumble dryer; the curtains had not been opened in weeks, and did well to keep the light from the street lamps out properly.

Old clothes were packed into boxes, ready to go into the attic where they would stay; they didn't smell like the bedsheets. Dishes were still piled in the sink, ready to be washed after hours of supposedly soaking; the bins were nearly full, had been for days, and were almost ready to be taken out.

But none of that really mattered, there were bigger things on your mind; sleeping alone should have come naturally, you did it often enough before you had met the love of your life, but it never really did.

Late and long nights were more than regular. The king sized bed just never seemed the same without your lover there.

You sniffled, putting the phone down as you ignored the texts from your friends; you knew that they were only trying to be kind, to help you along, but you couldn't bear the thought of speaking to anyone.

Gaz called two, three times a day. Soap called, texted, sent you voice messages. Laswell texted throughout the day. Price did his best. You didn't want to speak to them, you couldn't.

You sighed, frowning as you dragged yourself to the kitchen; you made yourself a cup of coffee, justifying it by knowing that you wouldn't sleep anyway. You lit a cigarette, knowing it might help. It was better than nothing, at least.

It was better than spending another night in a house that just wasn't a home anymore, a house that was just an open, gaping, sore wound.

It started to feel different, though, you felt like you were being watched when you turned your back; you tensed up, swallowing thickly as your heart began to thud in your chest. You could have sworn that you locked the doors, you were sure of it.

But still, something was there with you, and when you heard the harsh and heavy footsteps, you could hardly move; you just about managed to back yourself against the counter, holding onto it tightly as you listened closely.

They were getting closer, and closer, and closer until-

"Don't turn the lights on."

You knew that voice, and relaxed when you realised, even daring to smile as you laughed softly, shaking your head. "Simon, you dick! You scared me."

"Sorry…" he was just a shadow when he stepped forward, entering from the hallway as he held his hands up. "Just… don't turn the lights on."

You nodded, taking a swig from your coffee as you hummed. "What happened? They told me… Price said you'd been… y'know."

Ghost's shadowy figure shrugged, and he sighed heavily. "Doesn't matter."

You figured that he probably just didn't want to talk about it, so you shrugged as you finished your cigarette and dared to sit up on the counter. "Well, I'm glad you're home. I thought I'd fucking lost you for good for a moment."

He nodded, but didn't make his usual move to stand between your legs like he usually did when he first came home. "I missed you. I'm sorry I never said goodbye."

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side. "But… you did - at, at the airport."

He shook his head. "No, I mean… forget it."

You were worried, pouting as you frowned and cleared your throat. "Simon, what's going on?"

He swallowed audibly, but when he spoke, his voice was starting to sound more and more like radio static; crackled and buzzing, broken and bumbling. "Don't worry, I just… I only came to say that I'm sorry."

"Simon," you whispered. "Please, talk to me."

He couldn't stop you when you reached for the light, and nor could he stop you when you gasped and shuddered as you looked at him; half of his jaw was missing, the exposed flesh burnt and dripping with blood and pus. His stomach had a clear hole through it, exposing his bottom two ribs and how they were cracked, how his entrails had been split and were dripping all over the floors. His eyes were white and had thick yellowish crust growing over the lids.

You trembled, taking a step back. "Si- Simon?"

"I told you not to turn the lights on," he wheezed.

You shook your head, looking at how the muscle and fat of his left arm was exposed and weeping. "Simon?"

"You shouldn't have turned the light on," he was becoming more and more unintelligible. "I have something to tell you, one last time."

You were speechless, bottom lip trembling as everything started to become a multi-coloured blur; something warm and wet was on your cheeks, but his static laced, buzzing voice was all that you could hear.

"Before I go," he hissed. "I loved you."

You wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation for what was going on, to beg and plead for him to just tell you what the fuck had happened and why he looked like that, but by the time that you had wiped your eyes and nose, he was gone; all that was left, on the countertop next to where he had been standing, was his identification discs.

When you held them, they felt hot and nearly burned your hands; they were dented, the shape clearly that of a bullet, and your heart sank. Price had told you that they couldn't find Ghost's discs, but now you had them in your hands, and you understood what had happened, why Ghost had come back but hadn't stayed.

"Simon," you whispered, swallowing thickly. "Please haunt me again."

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Disobeying Tommy's orders, you're back in Small Heath. Your rebellious attitude starts to really bother him but you don't care. All that matters is that you're reunited with Arthur and John, the two men of your lives. From then, nothing can go wrong. Nothing, right? -- Featuring John Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.5k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, allusions to self-harm.

Notes:

✞ Theme song on repeat if you want to break your heart: HERE

✞ Quotes from the TV Shows are in bold and italics

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT CHAPTER

The deafening howl of the train’s honk boomed in Small Heath’s station, quickly followed by a whistling sound. The steel giant had barely opened its heavy doors when the foul-smelling wind of the city rushed into the wagon and made you wrinkle your nose in disgust. It was not that you hated Small Heath strictly speaking, but the stark contrast between the industrial city and the green landscape of the forest in which you lived now was difficult to process. The sound of your stiletto soon clicked on the metallic steps as you got off the train, attracting people’s eyes to your tiny frame. Yet, you weren’t really sure if this sudden attention came from their sound, or rather the sight of your short black dress adorned with the most expensive white fur coat you had ever owned, and the gold choker necklace you wore, whose shape was one of a barbed wire wrapped around your neck. When your heels found the dirty concrete of the platform, a gargantuan hundred pounds Cane Corso with a spiked collar followed you closely, like a silent but off-putting bodyguard. He was your shadow, mimicking each of your movements and grazing your steps,  except if told otherwise. Loyal guardian, Kaiser was even more protective since Arthur left. Without minding the fascinated or curious stares that were looking at you, you walked out of the station with the dog’s leash in one of your small hands and a cigarette in the other.

“Mrs. Shelby? Here is your bag.” A man told you, all the while putting the said luggage at your feet. 

“Thanks, sir.” You replied with a brief polite smile, before stubbing your cigarette on the nearest wall and throwing it away. At first, you had been surprised by the care the staff provided you during the whole trip until you saw the glow of fear in their eyes as soon as they noticed your family name on the ticket.  She’s Arthur Shelby’s wife, you better be ready to help her with her stuff if you don’t want her husband to knock at your door and break your skull. That was what the ticket inspector told one of his colleagues when he met him in another wagon a few minutes after this frightful discovery. Waiting in front of the train station with a slight feeling of uneasiness, you swept your surrounding with your celeste blue eyes, whose coldness equaled the freezing English wind.  Looking around you in the hope of catching sight of a cab, your fingers absentmindedly brushed the almost imperceptible white burn scar on your wrist. The circle-shaped wound the cigarette had left on your skin had miraculously healed in a matter of days.

“Welcome home, little Angel.”  A familiar voice echoed right behind you. You turned around in one swift movement, and your freezing gaze turned into a child-like expression: John’s smile welcomed you, its charms so blinding that it made you momentarily forget about the dreadful feeling you carried in your soul. 

“John!” You exclaimed, unable to hold your joy any longer. Kaiser’s bark followed right after when he recognized who the man was. Without further ado, you rushed into him to pull him in a hug. Amused, John could not help but chuckle at such a vivid reaction before wrapping your body with his muscular arms and tightening his grip around you with the firm desire not to let you go, “What are you doing here?” You asked, looking at him. Your enlightened expression adorned your doll face and made your hypnotizing eyes shine with elation.

“That ain’t the right question, love. What are you doing here?” He teased you, raising one of his eyebrows, then stared right at your eyes. His tongue pushed the toothpick that was in his mouth from the right corner to the left before he went on, “When Arthur got your letter he told me about your arrival in Birmingham. Hell, he was so happy and terrified at the same time I thought that bastard was having an aneurysm. I’m the one who came at the train station ‘cause Arthur still has to make a few last-minute adjustments to welcome you here.”  As he talked, the young Shelby brother had freed one of his hands from your delicate body to pat the big Cane Corso’s head. The latter closed his eyes, mouth wide open and tongue hanging in bliss.

“A few adjustments?” You frowned.

“Like, threatening all the men of Small Heath not to even look at you, and dealing with Tommy’s reaction. He’s fuckin’ mad at you, eh.” 

Of course, he was — you could not expect less from Thomas Shelby. God, you barely arrived in town he already found a way to bother you, even if he was not here. At this stage, he had real talent. “You know what? Fuck Tommy. If he thought I’d be dumb enough to stay out of the plan while my husband and you risk your lives, well it’s his problem, not mine. And if Changretta’s men come to my door, I’ll put them in the dirt myself.” That being said, you waved off the topic, “But let’s not talk about Tommy, please” You concluded, then laid a soft kiss on his chin.  As your juicy lips crashed against his skin, John half-closed his eyelids and let out a soft exhale from his nostrils.

“Yeah, I bet you will,” He stated, referring to you possibly burying Changretta’s henchmen six feet deep. John enjoyed the physical contact for a few extra seconds, then he gently parted from you and closed his fingers around your wrist in a soft grip. You raised your gaze to him, surprised.

“Wait a minute. I just wanna check something before you get in my car.” His smile vanished, handing over to a very serious expression that kind of unsettled you.

“What‘s the problem?” Your smile followed his somewhere else. You didn’t know where, but what was sure was that it had left your face. 

Without the slightest warning, John raised your arm above your head and made you twirl one first time, “Would you look at you, little angel! What a stunning outfit!” He exclaimed, before spinning you again to admire your otherworldly beauty, “Oh my God, I’m in love. Last time we met you were barefoot in the grass like some kind of ethereal nymphet and here you come in the shape of a goddess, dressed like a queen?”  You suddenly chuckled at his unexpected reaction.

“Hey fuck you! You’ve scared me!” You nudged him in the ribs with your free arm, but it only made him laugh louder. 

“My little heart can’t resist that.” He winked at you, his grin stretching in an adorably annoying smile only he could do before making you twirl again. Sometimes, you wondered if Tommy and he were really brothers. He is so different from Arthur and John. You thought.

“John! Shut up, dumbass. Your little heart can’t resist girls in general — or more like your cock can’t resist girls.” You rolled your eyes, faking an annoyed pout which only resulted in John protectively wrapping your shoulders with one arm. 

“That’s my mean angel! Fuck I’ve missed you and your quick wit so bad. C’mon!” He said, grabbing your bag with his free hand before you started walking away. Kaiser ran and hopped inside the car a few seconds before you did.

The whole trip went well, casual conversations and joking with John had managed to alleviate the anger in your heart, which was far too focused on the driver’s joyful voice and stunning eyes. He talked to you about the kids, about his new house, and about some childhood stories. Surprisingly enough, each of his sentences had snatched a smirk from you despite the anxious situation in which the Shelbys were embedded. Nevertheless, your mind drifted away at some point and you stopped listening to him though. Not that he bothered you, but it was rather due to the fact that you lost yourself in the contemplation of the smallest details of his face. The adorable freckles, his little round ears, his pinchable cheeks… Everything about John Shelby made you feel at home. 

“Is that fine with you?” His voice suddenly popped your thoughts bubble.

“Hm?”

“I was saying that you’re going to live a few days at me house just the time for Arthur to secure Watery Lane properly. You’ll spend Christmas with me, Esme, and the kids.” He repeated, noticing he had been talking to himself for a little while.

“Ah,” You started, batting your Bambi lashes quickly to chase away your daydreams. That was all you could say, for you dive into your thoughts right again. A comforting silence fell between you. After a little while, John slightly bit the inner of his cheek and glanced at you. The truth was he had been hesitating on his next move for five solid minutes. No matter how goofy John Shelby could act, he was a sharp observant. Considering his ease at analyzing people, he naturally noticed the way your fingers nervously played with the fabric of your dress, indicating your inner turmoil. The young gangster slowly moved his hand towards you, still conflicted about what he was about to do — Was it appropriate? Were you going to slap him? He hoped not, for he didn’t want to crash the car on the side of the road and explain the reason behind the accident to Esme. But worst than facing his wife’s wrath was to offend you.

No, no he wouldn’t want you to hate him. Yet, John was not the kind of man to let the demons of his mind win. Acting first, and thinking after was a motto he often applied in real life. He briefly looked at you again, his sky-blue eyes meeting your aquamarine iris before they shifted their focus back on the road. The young Shelby brother finally gathered his courage and rested his warm and strong hand on your thighs. 

“Hey. Are you okay? You didn’t tell me what you think about living at me house.” 

“Oh yeah,” You slightly shook your head, “That’s fine with me John boy.” You finally said, punctuating your sentence by gently covering his hand with yours and, to his greatest surprise, your small and cold fingers clenched around him. The physical contact almost immediately sent a wave of comforting warmth into your soul. John’s lips stretched in a caring smile and he replied to your sweet gesture by turning his hand to intertwine your fingers together.

That was definitely fine with you, for you knew that as long as John was around, there was no place for the storm.

Only for the sun.

A sun as bright as his smile.

“Get the fuck off my way.” Arthur’s gruff voice thundered in the hallway, followed by a noisy thud and Michael’s flourishing insults.

“Piss off, Arthur!” 

The tall gangster had been so eager to rejoin his sweet angel after two awful weeks of loneliness that he had shoved Michael right into the nearest wall for the sole reason that he had been walking too slowly for Arthur’s tastes.  All the while walking through the corridor, he had thrown his beret out of frustration and had brought his hands in his hair to nervously slick them back. He busted into the living room and his shiny steel blue eyes, sparkling with a gleam of hope, searched for you. 

“Hey, Arthur.” When your soft voice swirled in the room and reached his ear with the tone of a mesmeric siren’s chant, goosebumps of excitation appeared on Arthur’s skin. Moving your body with a wildcat’s grace from the sofa, you stood up and looked at your husband with an adorably shy smile, like a young bride seeing her groom for the very first time. All the confidence you’ve felt kinda disappeared now that you were standing in front of him — would he be happy to see you? Or did you deceive him by disobeying and coming back to town despite Changretta’s men lurking in the shadow? You hadn’t the time to think about the matter though for Arthur rushed to you without waiting any longer and, with an uncontrolled strength enhanced by the power of his overflowing emotions, hugged your little frame. The gangster then lifted you from the ground, causing a cry of surprise to break free from your plumped and glossy lips.

“Bloody Hell, angel! I’ve told ye to stay safe at home!” 

He said, putting you back on the ground right before cupping your face with his large, warm, and calloused hands, before you could even react, “I’ve told ye it was too fookin’ dangerous here! What if Changretta and his men would have attacked you on the train eh?!” He exclaimed, a bit more aggressively than intended. At first, you opened your mouth to reply but no sound came out. The sight of his pained eyes and his worried expression suddenly made you feel a bit guilty: if there was one thing you hated it was being the cause of his worries. “Hmm?!” He insisted when faced with your silence. His piercing blue iris dived into yours, looking in their celestial frost for the answer your mouth could not produce. 

“I— I don’t care. If you’re in trouble then I am too. If you fight, I fight. If you die, then I fucking die. We’re one, and I’m sick of acting like the good frail wife waiting for her husband to come back from the war,” You started, shaking yourself out of your silence; and the more you spoke, the more your confidence came back, backfiring, “I don’t care about the danger, Arthur.” A desperate smile stretched the corner of your lips, making your eyes squint a little bit. A smile both tainted with sadness and mad love, “The first time we met I’ve made the promise that you’ll never face Hell alone ever again and I don’t plan to back up now that we’re at its gates.” 

“Yer fookin’ crazy, I swear you are.” He replied. His eyes shone with dawning tears as he observed your holy pulchritude, “Out of yer goddamn mind, Heaven Shelby… Fookin’ bonkers.” His face relaxed, anger swept away by the winter breeze that had rushed into the living room through the open window. Arthur finally let out a nervous yet endeared little chuckle and shook his head in disbelief, "You're so much trouble eh."

“I’ve learned from you.” You straight off replied, gently pressing your forehead against his in this intimate gesture that was so proper to him. Yet, he didn’t reply right away, still shaken by your fierceness — these last two weeks had almost made him forget how untamable you were. He wanted to scold you for behaving in such a reckless way — He really did. But the truth was big bad Arthur Shelby couldn’t resist you. And God knew how hard it was to function without your heavenly and reassuring presence. If he had to be honest, he would admit that he wasn’t sure he could do it without you anymore. He was consumed by his love for you, body and soul.

A little sigh escaped from his lips as his boiling worries slowly faded away, drowning himself in the little details of your face. With trembling fingers, Arthur grazed your snow-white hair. Fuck, he had missed you bad. Very bad. To the extent of drinking himself to sleep almost every night and lashing out at the boxing ring, mercilessly beating his opponents, for these were the only ways he had found not to slip into pure insanity. 

“Angel —“ He started, wanting to say so many things at once, but words choked in his throat. Closing his mouth, Arthur swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he did. The joy of having you there was so intense that his mind could not find something relevant to say: he wanted to talk about Tommy, about the letter he had sent you, about the Changrettas but nothing mattered anymore. What did though was you and him. That was why he finally gave up everything to hug your frame again, his spine bent so that he could bury his face in your small breasts. “I promise I’ll protect ye with me whole life, Angel. No one’s gonna hurt ye. Not on me watch.” He finally mumbled, the sound of his words muffled against the soft pale skin your cleavage exposed, thus turning his plead into more of a symphony of low grunts than anything else. 

“I’m here, darling.” You reassured him. Arthur squeezed your body a bit too painfully in reply, but you didn’t mind. The uncomfortable pressure of his brutal grip chased your worries away and made your whole soul flicker — It made you feel so tiny, so fragile, as no other men did before, and you genuinely liked it. So, he could break you in half with his hug if he wanted, you would be okay if it was the price to pay to keep feeling his possessive and aggressive love all around you.

With the desire to soothe his heated spirit and confusing thoughts that were bumping into each other in his confused head, you let your small fingers lose themselves in his messy hair. Your gesture brought immediate relief, whose warm sensation spread in his bones at the contact with your frozen skin. Arthur’s whole being gradually relaxed, and he could finally let out the pressure of these last two weeks. All of sudden, you felt salty and wet drops running down your chest, “I’ve fookin’ missed ye.” He lamented, his crystal tears dying in your cleavage. Parting from you was the worst idea ever, he thought, and he didn’t want to experience it ever again. 

“I’ve missed you too.” You said in a whisper. Ceasing to caress his hair, you put your hand on the back of his head and pressed his face a bit more against your bosom, keeping him still until his grip finally loosen around you and his tears run dry. Now that the storm of emotions was slowly calming down, Arthur sniffed one last time and raised his head, his lips reaching for yours. The press of his kiss, eager and hungry, dissipated the last couple of clouds of his troubled mind the moment your flesh reunited. Weakened by his scorching passion, your legs shook at the sweet and liquored taste of whisky on your tongue, while his strong hands explored you just as if the tall gangster wanted to make sure you were really here. To make sure he was not dreaming. His hands grabbed you, rubbed the sides of your thighs, ran up the curves of your ass, and then clenched on your shoulder blades for a short while before going down again to seize your waist in a bruising movement. You squeezed your eyes tighter, shaken to the core by the way his fingers left streams of fire in their trail, melting the ice that had settled under your skin the night he had left the house without you. Arthur deepened the kiss, almost leaving you breathless.

After an undefinable while during which you both lost the notion of time, his tongue gave yours one last stroke before he finally broke the kiss and reopened his eyes. Yes… You were still there — to his greatest relief. You let out a faint feverish sigh, the sensation of his kiss still tingling on your swollen lips, then you tilted your head to the side. Betrothed by your adorable pout, Arthur’s smile widened until the crow feet at the corner of his eyes appears. 

“Look at you. You’re fookin’ stunning, little one.” He laid his big hand on your cheek and you gently rubbed it against his palm in reply.

“What about you tell me what you're up to instead of treating me like a little girl, Mr Shelby?” You teased, your reunion definitely erasing the worries out of your brain, even if the threat section D had sent you still lingered at the back of your mind. 

“Listen,” He started, his thumb brushing your lips with utter desire but he tried not to get too distracted by them, “John should have already told ye but you’re going to stay here ‘til Christmas hm? The house isn’t safe yet and you’ll be safer with Esme and the kids. Also, John will stick around to protect you. Just until Christmas right?”

“What about you?” You retorted, furrowing your brows. 

“As for me Tommy and I will figure out what to do. But don’t ye worry… " He brought his face closer, his mouth reaching your ear, "Each night I’ll be back in your arms and I’ll show ye how bad I’ve missed you.” He whispered, his low voice alike the growl of a starving wolf, “I'm a little afraid ye’ forgot what’s like to feel your husband, hmm.” A little amused snort came from your nostrils at the delightful perspectives. For sure, Arthur’s way to make up for the last two weeks of loneliness you’ve both been through was particularly exciting. 

“You think so? Little evil me is not so sure if she prefers Kaiser’s presence next to her in bed rather than yours. ” 

“We’ll see, love.” He was about to kiss you a second time to shut your bratty mouth when Esme appeared at the doorframe, arms crossed in her chest and one brow raised.

“There are kids there.” She reminded, her voice cold and slightly bothered. Of course, she wasn’t enchanted by your stay here, but it has been two years since you joined the Shelby family, which had given her all the time needed to tame her hostility toward you. Your relationship was still rocky, but at least she had stopped insulting you on every occasion. 

“Oops, sorry Esme.” You replied with the biggest and most charming smile you could do before taking a step back from your husband to help him —and you— resist the temptation of giving in to your burning desires. Arthur could not help but chuckle at the comment. He slipped his hands into the pocket of his long black coat, coming to the conclusion that it was safer if they stayed there.

“Alright, no need to bark Esme.” He grunted, but the sincerity of his grumpiness was definitely undermined by the faint smirk etched on his lips.

“I’ve made tea.” Esme went on, her magnificent brown eyes going from Arthur to you several times. Their dark color struck you for one second for their hard beauty reminded you of autumn leaves spinning in the immensity of her iris. You did not hate her. You never did. As harsh as her behavior had been, you had come to understand that her reactions were dictated by fear rather than spite. As a very catholic person, Esme was more than terrified by evil spirits — and she ultimately thought you were one, not seeing the enamored twenty-five-year-old girl you were, but the evil witch you could be. You could not blame her though, for she wasn’t entirely wrong. Somehow, you were convinced that Esme was the only one of the family who truly understood your dormant dangerous nature. What she did not grasp though was the sincerity of your feelings, “Hurry up.” She said, turning around and returning to the kitchen.

“Come on,” You gently wrapped your arms around your husband, “Kaiser is waiting in the kitchen. He’s going to be so happy!”

“Ah right, let’s see the man who took me place in bed.”

Arthur had barely stepped into the room when you heard the dog’s frantic barks, soon followed by his muscular body running toward his master to greet him with great enthusiasm. The sight of Kaiser almost reaching Arthur’s height, with his two front paws on his shoulders, filled you with joy.

It was at this very moment that you were almost convinced that nothing could go wrong.

The calm of the forest was a type of peacefulness nothing else could outmatch. All that was lacking from this grandiose landscape was the mighty shadow of the old and wise mountains of Haute-Falaise, whose silent lullaby could only be heard by those who paid close attention to it. From where you came, Christmas was always synonymous with snow along with the cold sensation of frosty wind biting at your face. Each time you would come back home after a joyful moment of playing games outside with your little sister, the warmth of the hearth’s fire would welcome you. But this Christmas, like many others since you left France, there was no snow. No mountains. And no little sister anymore. You were alone in the forest, wandering among the dead trees and the howling breeze.

Katie had woken up with a light fever, and she had cried in her father’s arms for twenty strong minutes before he managed to hush down her sorrow. Following a quick discussion with John, you informed him that you knew a natural remedy against fever and then, you went in the forest to collect the few plants you needed to concoct a healing tea. Esme would have naturally disagreed with the idea if John had told her, which hadn’t been the case. Instead, you simply replied that you needed some fresh air when she asked you why you were venturing outside the house on Christmas morning.

Oh, fuck it's you. Got nothing better to do on Christmas morning? // Tommy wants everybody at Charlie's Yard now, come on.

You’ve been wandering for over one hour when you finally found all the plants you needed for Katie’s tea. Satisfied, you headed back home with a light heart, already thinking about the pleasant breakfast that was waiting for you. A small grin flattered your lips at the thought of the children tearing their gifts’ paper apart and screaming with awe at the discovery of their new toys. 

What's gonna happen man, it's fucking Christmas.

Moreover, you could not wait for the adults to open their gifts too. Even if Ada told everyone to focus on the kids, you could not help but buy a little something for the house’s hosts: a beautiful silver necklace with a protective crystal pendant for Esme, and an expensive ring for John inside which was engraved the sentence “Le soleil brûle dans ton sourire” which meant "The sun burns in your smile". 

John. John, come to the meeting. All right? Think about the kids. Come to the meeting and if you want to leave, then fine.

For sure you could not wait to see their surprised expression slowly shifting to joy the moment you would give them their gifts! A little smile flattered your lips at such adorable thought. In truth, you had stopped celebrating Christmas for so long that the perspective to do it today delighted you. It was going to be a wonderful, wonderful day.

Get in the fuckin' house!

The petrifying detonations of gunshots tore the forest’s silence apart, which caused a cloud of afraid birds to erupt from the trees’ thick foliage. One shot, the surprise made you wonder if you had really heard that or if it was just the traumatizing memories of men chasing you down in the forest that was playing with your mind. Two shots, you turned towards where the noise was coming from, realizing it was real. Three shots — they stirred a brutal pain in your chest. A pain so vivid your fingers loosened their grips on the plants, letting them go, and grabbed the place where your heart was. It was drumming so hard in your chest that you felt it was about to burst your ribcage open. Crushed by the unexplainable ache and a crawling feeling of anxiety, you leaned against a tree not to collapse on the muddy soil. Your throat felt tight, to the extent you could barely breathe anymore. With eyes wide open, you desperately tried to calm yourself and comprehend what was happening to you. And suddenly the macabre evidence of the whole situation hit you like a train — a suffocating panic seized you again as you realized that the gunshots were not coming from hunters in the forest but from John's house.

No.

Your body moved slowly from the tree, taking a few wobbly steps.

“No!” Your voice yelled but no one was there to hear your desperate cry except the pristine nature, which had sent the wind to howl in pain with you. A surge of adrenaline ran through your body and, as if you had received the fiercest whiplash ever, you started running to the house as fast as you could. You ran faster and faster, with the cold breeze biting your face and brambles clawing at your exposed skin as you rushed past thick bushes. That was all you could do anyway for every other function of your being had shut down to focus only on your restless race. You could not think straight anymore. You could not hear anything else than the brutal beating of your heart resonating in your skull. Gosh, you couldn't even see properly, your vision narrowed into a small point in the horizon that was John's house. So you just ran, you ran no matter the insufferable burn in your lungs and the soreness of your legs.

"Hey! Come back, little doe". You could almost hear them behind you. The cruel men who hunted little thirteen years old you in the dark woods of Haute-Falaise. "We’re not gonna hurt you! Fuck — where’s that little slut?!"

Moving away the last branches aside, you jumped above a thick root and broke the last meters that separated you from the house. That was when you heard it, the agonizing scream of Esme. Her voice, filled with pain and fear, almost pierced your eardrums like the wailing lament of a Banshee. You reached the front of the house and suddenly, your legs made an abrupt stop, refusing to move anymore. In front of your wide-opened eyes, from which tears were already leaking, laid the inanimate body of both Michael and John in a crimson puddle of their own blood.

"John! Oh my God, John! No!" Esme yelled, her face contorting with indescribable sorrow and insufferable ache. She was kneeling on the pavement and hugging the motionless frame of her husband, whose skin already faded two shades paler. The young Romani beauty shook him but John's eyes remained shut. At first, you wanted to scream along with her, giving in to panic, but no sound came from your mouth. Instead, you let your quivering body drop to its knees and immediately put the moist palms of your hands on your best friend's wounded chest — The numerous bullet holes had made flowers of blood blossom on the white fabric of his shirt.

You took a deep breath, threw your head back, and closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to channel all the magic that was running in your blood to save him. After all, you had witnessed your mother performing similar miracles in your childhood. All you needed to save him was a faint beating of his heart, even the weakest would do the trick. Thus, you focused on your task the best you could and drained yourself of most of your energy in the hope of seeing John reopening his magnificent blue eyes and offering you one of his beaming smiles. You were pretty sure that he would come back to life, just like the bird you had found in the garden two years ago. Yes, you were going to bring him back to life, and this awful nightmare would be over and you would all have a good fairy tale ending.

— But life wasn't like the tales you loved: his heart had stopped beating for too long for you to do anything. It had been only a matter of minutes but still, you came too late.

You came too late.

When you understood it, a river of tears streamed down your angelic face. One of your hands gently moved up to his throat, and you pressed two fingers on his carotid artery to check his pulse in a desperate and last attempt to feel something, but there was nothing. Only the dull silence of Death. You slowly backed off and looked at the surprisingly peaceful expression on his face, forever frozen by the Reaper's cold kiss.

John was gone.

And so was the sun.

✞ A little note now that you've finished this chapter: Heaven did not ignore poor Michael by the way. When walking past him she noticed that his wound was not as serious as John's, so she decided to check him after checking John.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ gif by the amazing @fkmylif3

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader @alexandra-001 @dearshelby

[forwhump]

a/n; I know I say this every time but this is like my third post today so I am sincerely sorry I won’t stop posting lmfao idk what’s happening to me I don’t even LIKE posting it’s so scary but I’m getting addicted to the adrenaline rush I guess but I’m sincerely sorry you’re suffering the consequences

here we go again <3

tw/cw: mentions of noncon, graphic depictions of violence, beating, mutilation, guns, misgendering, transphobia, character death, major character death (but he dies all the time)

human weapon whumpee, revenge, creepy whumper (I think he’s creepy anyway idk)

Wren didn’t want him to know.

He’d done everything he could, as a matter of fact, to keep Silas from knowing, and at first, it had pissed him off. Not that he didn’t want him to know, but that he wouldn’t let him put a stop to it. That Wren would keep suffering in silence, knowing that if Silas had known, he would’ve done something. He would’ve saved him.

They’d argued about it, when Wren was well enough to argue with him again.

“No,” he’d said, like he was talking to a particularly stupid dog.

Silas scowled down at him. He was curled up in Silas’ bed, just like he’d been over the last few days, but there was more life in him, a bit more of himself, and the relief had only strengthened Silas’ resolve. He wasn’t gonna let this happen again.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he replied, “if you really think I’m just gonna sit here and let them fuckin’ touch you again.”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” Wren told him.

“The fuck it is,” Silas said.

“You’re not going to do anything, actually,” Wren told him, sharp. “You’re not going to —“

“What are you gonna do?” Silas taunted, leaning in closer, raising his eyebrows. “You gonna stop me?” Wren had poked him really hard between the eyes. Silas recoiled quickly. “Ow?”

“You are going to get yourself killed,” Wren snapped.

He groaned loudly. “I am not.”

“Are you absolutely fucking kidding me?” He seethed. “You are. You’re going to do something stupid and you’re going to get yourself killed and you’re going to make me watch it happen.”

“Who cares what happens to me?”

“I do!” Wren snapped.

Silas heaved his shoulders. “Too bad.”

“Silas —“

“I’m not going to sit by and let them hurt you, Wren,” he said. “You can do whatever you want to me. You won’t stop me.”

“If you do something fucking stupid,” Wren spat, “I will never forgive you.”

They argued about it for a long time, in fact.

It was Silas, of course, who relented, because realistically, Silas can’t deny him anything. If Wren asked Silas to kill himself, he’d find a way to make it permanent. He’d pinky promised to keep his hands to himself.

He’d been lying.

It wasn’t intentional, but it wasn’t the truth. Silas just didn’t realize quite how hard it would be to keep that promise.

They’re sitting in the common room. Silas is huge, so he takes up most of the loveseat, but Wren fits perfectly in the spot next to him, warm against his side. It’s where Silas likes him best.

He has his head leaned against Silas’ arm as he draws something in the book he has opened across his knees, but Silas has no idea what it might be. Wren’s been working on it for the better part of an hour and Silas hasn’t looked at it once, hasn’t looked away from Wren’s profile, from the part of his lips, from the length of his eyelashes.

He only looks up at the sound of the door; the beep of a keycard being swiped, a fingerprint being accepted, the massive vault lock being turned. The door to their unit grinds open, and everything goes to hell.

Machine gun held across his chest, it’s a man they call Wound that enters. Especially cruel, he’s always been one of Silas’ least favourite soldiers. That cements as Wren’s back tenses at his side, and Silas knows. He knows. Wren doesn’t even need to tell him.

Wound lifts his chin at Wren, then angles his head towards the door. “The girl,” he said, in the commanding voice all the soldiers put on when they speak to the assets. “Let’s go.”

Silas can feel the way Wren’s breath hitches more than he can hear it, and he’s on his feet before he really thinks about it.

Wren reaches for his arm, but Silas steps away. “Silas —“ he starts to warn, but Silas isn’t listening.

He’s looking at Wound. Wound is an especially cruel man, and Silas knows that firsthand, but he doesn’t know the kind of cruelty that Wren knows. He can’t imagine. Wound is big, and he’s mean, and the thought of his hands on Wren’s skin doesn’t make him see red, but black. It’s a darkness that starts to swallow him the second Wren’s back tenses and that he’s completely lost in by the time he’s on his feet.

He’d promised Wren he wouldn’t, but he didn’t know. The darkness had already spiraled up and out of his control before he even knew it was blooming.

He looks at Wound and he can see Wren, just as he’d seen him that day that Silas had picked him up off the floor. The bites at his throat had scabbed, started to heal, but Silas sees them just as they had been when they were fresh, the puncture of teeth, the bruising, the blood that had pooled in his collarbones. He sees the bruises, in the shapes of hands and fingerprints, so brutal they had welted. He sees Wound’s hands.

Silas had promised to just sit there, but come on. Who could ask that of him? Really? How could he be expected to let this happen? Wren, scared at his side — is Silas just supposed to watch him go?

Like hell.

“Sit down, Park,” Wound commands, almost bored. “I’m not here for you.”

Silas doesn’t even say anything.

Wound is a big guy, a lot bigger than Wren. Silas is a lot bigger than Wound.

He swings, and he puts all his weight into it.

And Silas, quite unfortunately, isn’t human, and he isn’t close. Silas is a weapon. Silas was genetically engineered for violence.

He swings, and he puts all his weight into it. The bone and cartilage of Wound’s face are crushed beneath his fist.

The common room explodes into screaming and chaos. Wren is screaming at him. Hal and June might be, too, but they might just be screaming, panicked and confused. Robin must’ve come running, because the bass of his voice joins the clamor, just as panicked and even more confused.

Silas could give less of a fuck.

Wound drops to the concrete at his feet with a really wet, choking sort of sound. Silas leans down, throws his fist, and cracks clean through Wound’s skull. It shatters against the concrete like ceramic and his liquified brain spills out around him.

It happens quick. It happens too quickly for anybody to stop it, but not so quick that the soldiers standing guard detail don’t hear or see it happen. The thunderous footsteps of the cavalry enclose on the common room, so Silas riffs the machine gun from Wound’s limp hands.

“Silas!” Wren cries, but Silas doesn’t have the time to turn.

He hoists the gun and the first three soldiers to near him are blown apart by the ammunition.

Silas has never been allowed a gun. He’s starting to understand why.

It makes him laugh, probably a touch deranged.

“Stand down, asset!” A different soldier commands, gun drawn, but Silas snorts and blows his head clean off his shoulders. What little is left of it hits the wall behind him with a surprisingly loud sound.

He laughs again, even louder, especially deranged. It’s in his veins now and it spreads through him quickly, that darkness, that monster. Silas, usually, has a pretty tight leash on it. He isn’t the most emotionally intelligent, and he wouldn’t describe himself as a patient man, but he’s never let the unit — let Wren — see what he really is. They’ve never seen the field tests, the slaughters. Silas is sure they can guess what he’s capable of by looking at him, but they’ve never seen it. Silas was very careful to make sure they’ve never seen it.

He has no control over it now. His body isn’t his own, and the thing wearing his skin was trained for slaughter.

Another soldier he has a particular dislike for, a man they call Church, he creeps up behind Silas like Silas doesn’t know that he’s there.

Silas is kind of mean, so Silas lets him get close. Comfortable. Lets him think he’ll get to walk out of here. Lifts Wound’s gun and shoots a different guy in the dick. His lower body explodes into a mist of blood and chunks of meat.

Church lifts his gun, angled toward the nape of Silas’ neck.

Silas throws back an elbow and Church’s eyeball bursts in its socket.

“Fuck!” Church bellows.

With a grin, Silas turns, and swings his prosthetic foot into his kneecap. It crumbles, and Church falls, dropping onto the broken bits of his knee with another bellow.

He tips his head back and starts muttering something quickly and under his breath. Prayer, Silas had come to learn.

“You’re wasting your breath,” Silas says, and takes him by the chin, hooking his thumb behind his bottom teeth.

“No —“ he starts to say, and Silas rips his jaw from his face.

Church makes a sound like he’s underwater and Silas yanks his tongue from the hole that used to be his mouth. He chokes, and Silas hooks his fingers behind his upper teeth.

One of Church’s hands finds his wrist, pleading.

He snorts and rips his skull in half.

With it, he turns, and he tosses the top half of Church’s head at the soldier drawing nearest. He catches it in his surprise, and Silas grins at him as he grabs a fistful of his hair.

“Ah, fuck!” He cries, and Silas grins a little wider. He gets him to the ground, pins him there with a foot to the back of his neck, and he squirms. Silas stomps on the back of his head, leans all his weight into it, and he stops moving pretty quickly.

A different soldier tries to intervene, and Silas lifts the gun again. The soldier’s head bursts into blood and brain matter.

He doesn’t know how quiet it’s gotten until he hears Point’s voice, louder than anything else: “Silas.”

Silas tenses. Slowly, he turns.

Point is standing offside, just inside the common room. Wren’s on his knees on one side of him, his braid coiled around Point’s fist. Hal’s at his other side, gun to his temple.

Silas exhales slowly. “Darren,” he greets.

Point’s jaw twitches. “Why would you play with their lives like this, Silas?”

Something about it clears the fog a little bit. Wren’s face is shimmery with tears and Hal’s shaking like he might break apart. Silas sucks blood off his teeth and it isn’t his own.

“Don’t risk it, Darren,” Silas says.

“Stop fuckin’ calling me Darren,” Point snaps.

He shrugs him off. “Wren gets to call you Darren.”

“I fuck Wren,” Point spits, and then Silas isn’t in control of himself again.

He doesn’t even realize he’s moved, in fact, but then he’s in the common room, and Point’s throat is in his hands. He’s holding him clean off the ground, holding his mouth open with the end of the machine gun.

At the last second, though, he comes back to himself, and he pulls the gun out of his throat. “Any last words?”

Point, starting to purple in the face, still smirks at him. “Look out.”

And then pain explodes through the back of Silas’ head and everything gets really dark.

Not black, but dim, and when the light is turned back up everything is really blurry. Point is — where’s —

What’s — ?

And Wren is screaming, wailing, from somewhere really close but really far away, and Silas thinks, fuck.

He fucked up. Wren had specifically requested not to watch him die.

He lifts a hand slowly, and it shakes the whole time. It presses it to the bullet hole he finds at the back of his head. It’s hot to the touch, and for some reason that makes him really dizzy.

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say, but he doesn’t.

He vomits acid onto the concrete and keels over after it, face first. He gurgles just once before he dies.

[alastorsshade]

Happy Hunting

TW// depictions of violence, maybe creepy imagery? it wasn't that graphic tbh

Haunting laughter echoes off the walls of the alleyway. The single laugh distorting into many and slowly transforming into the screams of many others. Coming from every direction and yet there was no one in sight. Only screams to cage in the cowering overlord as the shadows grow heavier. They seem to claw and bite at her. Keeping her in place while a figure watches her from beyond the veil. 

Silently, observing their prey while a wicked grin slowly splits open their maw until their shadowed jaw detaches completely, showing off an endless void with millions of tiny, sharp teeth lining it. Perfect for swallowing sinners whole. 

Their nonexistent stomach rumbles and growls at the thought of such easy prey. An overlord she might be, but she was still far from the toughest that they’ve hunted. Reduced to nothing but mere prey when faced with an apex predator. 

She never stood a chance. 

From the start, they had orchestrated this whole cat and mouse game. Allowing her to run and fight only to further her entertainment value, but they grew weary with this game. She trapped herself in a corner with no escape, and yet she still looked for a way out.

“silly little mouse. you only made yourself tired.” They spoke, projecting their voice to echo around her in the dome of shadows she was locked in. 

It was amusing to watch her look for them, only to find no one there. Even now she held hope, she would escape. It only made them hungrier.

Without warning, the shadows crashed into her like a pack of hungry dogs, tearing at her but not quite killing her. The killing blow would be reserved for them alone, but for now her screams filled a different hunger within them.

They listened to her until her throat became raw, her shouts of terror turning into pained wheezes. It was only when they couldn’t see any more hope shining in her eyes that they descended upon her. 

Dismissing the shadows to the far corner of the alley to get a better look at her. Her skin was torn, crudely split open like a meat suit, and yet even now her body was desperately trying to mend itself. Try as it might, it couldn’t regenerate fast enough. She wouldn’t ever be able to reform into her former glory. Instead, she’d be destined to stay in this state of painful regeneration for the rest of eternity or until an exterminator’s spear rammed through her.

What a pity.

They cooed at her as she whimpered and moaned. Shushing her as they loomed over her. Maw still wide open. A bit of drool even sliding down their elongated snout to dribble down onto her face.

“hush now it’ll be over soon”

She only continued to stare up at the being with glazed over, terror filled eyes. They chuckled, dipping down letting their tongue lazily roll out of its parted jaw. The long black appendage raking over her face, collecting up the blood there. Consuming it like the finest red wine as they purred. Deceptively soft and yet each lick still hurt as it scraped past tender muscles and nerves.

The feast was slow. With them taking time to tear into any wound threatening to close. Coaxing even more delicious nectar from it. They drinked their fill and then some. All the while, the sinner beneath them could do nothing but pray to the god that had already abandoned her for mercy.

Their tongue slowly detracted, vanishing in the depths of the endless void it had come from. Without moving their mouth, they sighed out “soon you will hurt no longer” 

They sounded put out by the mere thought, and yet it lowered its gaping maw until her head was completely encompassed in it. They hovered there for several grueling moments before snapping shut.

A sickening crunch fills the night air as the sinner's skull completely collapses against the pressure. From there it only takes mere moments for her body to be consumed. No traces of her left except maybe for the sounds of her screams that would be played later on the radio.

A job well done.

They wasted no time zipping halfway across Pentagram City before slipping through the cracks of the radio tower’s trapdoor.

“Oh good your back. I made you a cup of coffee.” Alastor greets them without even turning away from his switchboard.

His shadow chirps delightedly. No longer resembling the predator they had a few moments ago. “thank you ma chaleur”

[kaenbl4ze]

Hi! I just reread Read You Lima Charlie for the millionth time. It's probably one of my favorite SEAL Buck fics, and I've combed through the whole tag multiple times. I know it's a bit of an older fic, but do you have any plans on continuing the AU somehow? I'd love to read more of that AU or hear your headcanons if you have any!

Hello hello! Thank you so much, you have no idea how excited I am to hear that! Please do feel free to ask any and all questions about the AU or my headcanons and I'd be more than happy to answer <3

I know it's been a hot minute (sorry heh work and life got a bit hectic) but I do have a draft of a fun little sequel sitting in my google docs which I've been writing on and off. Alas I am a perfectionist and also a slow writer so it's been in limbo.. BUT it is definitely there and almost done and will come out at some point! I hope!!

In the meantime thank you for reading and asking about it and being so patient and i love you so here's a little sneak peak action scene from the draft:

[tw graphic depictions of violence, blood/gore, death]

“Where’ve you been?” Steve’s eyes did a quick sweep over Buck’s body, analytical, checking for injuries. Noticed Buck’s empty hands. “Where’s your rifle?”

“I was doing the laundry!” Buck replied through gritted teeth, eyes wide with exasperation.

He looked back around the corner of the building as Steve spoke behind him; soldiers dragging off the wounded away from the blast site, his teammates spread around with the other troops and suppressing the flow of insurgents, a few enemy fighters slipping through the gaps in fire, spraying bullets into the base in wide sweeping arcs before being shot down. 

“I don’t have a sidearm to give you. Head back to the armoury, grab your shit – give Command the sitrep on your way.”

Buck hummed in the affirmative, still scanning the combat zone, and was about to turn around and heed Steve’s instruction, but at the last moment caught sight of a combatant sneaking around behind a stack of crates. Slung over the man’s shoulder was a rocket launcher, and time seemed to slow as he swung the weapon around, gripped it tight, and levelled it at a cluster of infantrymen.

Buck saw red.

“Buckley!” Steve hissed, clawing at Buck’s sleeve in an attempt to stop him from sprinting towards the stray tango, but Buck slipped through his grip. He was too fast. Too focused. The last thing he heard was Steve muttering under his breath, “I swear that Kid is not right in the head.”

Planting a foot against a wall mid-run, Buck used his momentum to bound off and vault one-handed over the crates. He was airborne for half a second before colliding with his target in a spear tackle, bringing them both tumbling to the ground. The launcher clattered across the floor, and the two men engaged in a tangled mess of hand-to-hand combat.

Buck channelled his silent rage into the fight – got the large man into a grapple, caught an elbow to the mouth in the process, twisted the man’s arms as he yanked at Buck’s clothes. Buck had no gun. But he remembered, belatedly, that he did have a knife. Regrettably not one of his fixed-blades, but a folding knife that he had slipped into the pocket of his shorts a few days ago while rearranging his loadout. It would have to do.

The guy was a dirty fighter, strong, but he was sloppy. Poorly trained. More holes in his form than swiss cheese, and Buck fully intended to exploit them.

Buck ate a punch straight to his nose; didn’t let the sharp flash of pain or the momentary blur in his vision slow him down. He lunged straight for the opening in his opponent’s stance that he knew would be left undefended, torquing body mass and manipulating limbs to get the man into a one-armed chokehold against Buck’s chest. He quickly reached into his pocket with his free hand, flicked the lever to deploy the blade, and plunged it deep into the man’s neck right where Buck knew his jugular rested. 

With a jerk of his arms, simultaneously pulling the knife towards himself and twisting the man’s head away, he was met with a spray of hot blood and a wet gurgle.

Steve rounded the crates with his weapon raised right as the body dropped to the ground with a dull thump. Buck hung his head, catching his breath from the exertion and letting the blood from the blows to his face drip from his nose and dribble out of his mouth. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip to cut off the string of bloody saliva, then spat out the viscous mess into the sand. Beside him, Steve strode forward, glanced down at the body, and exhaled sharply through his nose.

In his peripherals, Buck caught a flash of movement. He whirled around instinctively, and in the same motion whipped his arm and let the blood-slick knife fly out of his hand. 

Two bullets from Steve’s rifle landed at the centre of the combatant's chest just a moment before Buck’s blade hit its mark, buried up to the hilt in the hollow of his throat. The man stumbled, eyes wide, and collapsed to the ground as his legs buckled beneath him. His weapon flew out of his hands in the fall, and his momentum carried his body a couple more feet before it finally slid to a twitching stop.

Buck straightened, scrunching his nose tentatively and sniffing. A deep buzzing sensation underscored the cacophony of battle around him, heartbeat steady and powerful in his core, fingertips thrumming with energy, vision crisp and vibrant. He blinked. Then, he turned to Steve, nonchalant.

“I had that.”

[zeke-in-devildom]

Dissonance - Bonus: Crime and Punishment

TW: Torture, TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Lucifer and Diavolo watched as Zeke was gently guided out of the classroom. They waited until he was well out of earshot before either of them spoke.

“I take it you will want to see to the offender’s punishment personally? I won’t object to it. While my subjects are free to think and feel however they wish, I forbade harm to my exchange students. Moreover, this was an attack against your family, even if they did not know it.” Diavolo’s usually jovial demeanor was replaced with a quite serious one.

“I will make an example of him. No one should be foolish enough to touch what’s mine. I will show what happens to those that harm my family.” There was a sadistic gleam in Lucifer’s eye as he planned out exactly what he intended to do to the demon that hurt his human. A commotion in the hallway drew him back out of his planning.

Both Beel and Belphie burst into the room, demon forms out. 

“I smell human blood.” Beel’s pupils were blown wide open as he sniffed the air.

“Where is he?!” Belphie’s voice was frantic but held a low, threatening quality.

“I leave it in your capable hands from here, then. Zeke may be excused from classes tomorrow.” Diavolo gave the twins what he hoped was a reassuring look as he strode from the classroom. He knew that it was best he not question how Lucifer handled his family, and knew that the twins would have to deal with both guilt over this incident and Lucifer’s fury.

“Where’s Zeke? He’s hurt.” Beel looked torn between concern and rage.

“Tell us where he is, Lucifer!” The accusing tone of Belphie’s voice caused the eldest to snap as he turned his cold fury onto his younger brothers.

“You were meant to be watching him!” Both of the twins flinched back as Lucifer’s demon form sprung free, voice causing the very air to crackle as he rounded on his brothers. “Zeke could have been killed because of your negligence. Could you not keep your eyes open long enough to keep him safe? Could you truly not pause and hold your hunger a few moments longer? Did neither of you really make sure that he was still behind you?!”

“Please Lucifer, is he okay?” Beel looked distraught, and even Belphie had lowered his head and looked close to tears.

“He received only minor injuries. As much as I hate to say it, you should both thank Solomon for doing your job. The sorcerer apprehended the demon and is treating Zeke’s wounds, then Asmo is taking Zeke home for the rest of the day.” Lucifer hated feeling as if he owed that damnable sorcerer anything.

“We’ll rip that demon to shreds.” Belphie growls, eyes glowing with malice and magic.

“You’ll go to lunch and inform the rest of your brothers of what’s happened. I don’t need any of them rushing out of a class Zeke doesn’t show up for this afternoon. You will attend classes as normal. I will be handling the demon’s punishment personally. Asmo will look after our human until school is over.” 

“But Lucifer!” Belphie clearly wanted to hurt the demon that dared touch their human, and Beel looked ready to run straight home to see that he was properly taken care of and safe.

“No. Consider this your punishment.” They didn’t get what they wanted after failing so spectacularly. Let them stew in their guilt and anger for the rest of the school day. Maybe it would ensure they were more attentive in the future. At least that made them both slink from the classroom without further argument. He knew they regretted their mistake, and he hated to give them another thing to blame themselves for, but this time it was deserved - that mistake nearly cost Zeke his life. At least nothing worse had happened.

“The individual has been moved to the last cell on the sixth layer of the dungeon.” Lucifer had not even noticed Barbatos' return. It hardly mattered. He grinned as he headed for the dungeon beneath the castle. There was a demon deserving of the worst kind of punishment waiting for him.

The cells were cold, unfeeling stone and iron, magically enhanced to keep more powerful demons from using brute force to break free. This demon was hardly powerful. In fact, this lower demon was probably barely stronger than the average human. How pathetic and foolish. Such a pitiful creature had thought it wise to lay a hand on what was his? It would learn its proper place, one way or another.

Barbatos had generously strapped the demon, Abrenos, down to a metal gurney with a tray of tools helpfully laid out for his use. The butler never failed to impress. He would have to remember to thank him for his thoroughness in preparations later.

“L-lord Lucifer please, mercy! I beg you!” The offensive parasite pleaded for mercy, as if he would have offered mercy to Zeke had Solomon not arrived in time the human would have died screaming - or attempting to. 

“Mercy? You attacked one of Lord Diavolo’s exchange students. The one that my brothers and I were charged with protecting. Harming the exchange students is forbidden. You have committed an act of treason. There is no mercy for you here.” There was no mercy within Lucifer for such disgusting vermin. It might be hypocritical of him, he would not have cared if it had been any other human - but it wasn’t another human. It was his Ezekiel. The last surviving human with blood ties to his beloved Lilith.

“No! My lord please, I’m sorry!” The fool seemed to finally realize the gravity of his mistake. After all, what higher crime was there than treason? Death would be the demon’s only mercy - and that would not be granted swiftly.

“Sorry? No, I don’t think you are, not sorry enough. But you will be.” He ran his hands lovingly over the instruments of torture that would serve to deliver Abrenos’s due punishment. Finally he picked up a fine scalpel, excellent for precision work. “Now let me think. You had your disgusting claws in my human’s delicate skin. I think I’ll start by flaying the skin off your face. Fitting, yes? You marred his face, now I’ll remove yours. Yes, I like that idea.”

The demon gave a pathetic whine, before more pleas sprang from his lips. They were ignored, of course. The pleas gave way to howls of pain as Lucifer began making precise cuts so he could peel back the skin, separating it from muscle. Abrenos tried to thrash in his agony, tried to beg again for mercy with each smooth slice, but Lucifer merely basked in the music he was making and the magical restraints did not let the demon so much as budge. The wet sound of slicing meat and drip of black ichor was a fine accompanying backdrop to the vermin’s wails.

“Why, I daresay this is an improvement to your look. Now, about those filthy claws of yours, we can’t have you scratching things you’re not supposed to.” Satisfied with his work on the face, he set aside his scalpel with a delighted grin only to pick up a pair of pliers. 

“No, please. My lord please. I’m so sorry.” The words were a bit garbled, and definitely wet as the demon wheezed, trying not to choke on his own blood.

“You can be more sorry than that, it’s as if you aren’t even trying.” The demon’s claw came free of its nail bed with a delightful ripping sound punctuated by a hair-raising scream. The other nine joined the first, each making a pleasant clinking sound as it was dropped onto the metal tray.

When the last claw was discarded, Lucifer stepped back to admire his handiwork thus far. He also wanted to give the demon time to catch his breath. It wouldn’t do for him to lose consciousness. This was a punishment, after all. 

“P-please! I’m sorry! I will never even look at the h-human a-again!” Lucifer relished in the absolute terror in those eyes.

“You’re right about that. You will never look at my human again. In fact, you’ll never be looking at much of anything again.” Among the tools was an iron poker that flared white-hot as Lucifer channeled just a trickle of magic through it. 

The torturous screams were akin to a symphony, and Lucifer was the conductor. He stepped back and simply observed as the demon convulsed in his restraints, voice growing hoarse as the minutes ticked by, until finally the bottom-feeder had quieted into pathetic, gasping whimpers.

“Shh. Shh. It’s over for now.” Lucifer’s rage had cooled somewhat, his sadistic desires temporarily satiated. “My brothers will want to have their own turns with you, and I will not spoil their fun by ending your miserable excuse for a life prematurely. Perhaps by the time the human has lived out his natural life we will be ready to put an end to this.”

He left the babbling fool in permanent darkness to clean up and head to the student council room. There was always more to be done. At least this had been a pleasant distraction from paperwork for a short while.

[carnival-beetle]

Down with the Monarchy [Past Event]

TW: Murder, mentions of abuse, graphic depictions of violence, blood Winds howled outside as a storm slowly brewed. The royal family, consisting of a king and queen alongside their three children, two girls and one older boy, were safe and sound within their respective sleeping chambers. Although the king was alone tonight, his wife, the queen, was off in a different nation trying to form some sort of alliance with them, leaving the king alone and asleep in their shared chamber. Bare feet silently shuffled against the hallway towards the king and queen's chamber, a young male demon with two sets of horns was making his way there, a large butcher's knife clutched tightly within his left hand. The kingdom's jester stood outside of the chamber doors, a blank expression dressing his deformed and scarred up face, scars that he sustained from his king's cruel hand. He still remembers the burning sensation as someone in the crowd suggested the use of acids as a "punishment for not being funny enough". His blood boiled, his forehead began to throb with rage. He wanted to storm into the room, swinging and slashing his knife wildly, but he didn't. He placed the knife down and got onto his knees, using his claws to unlock the doors ever so silently.

The jester grabbed his knife once more before he slowly pushed open one of the doors, slipping himself inside. The king's bedroom was beautifully decorated with reds and golds and lion motifs. Jester hated it, he hated it so much. He hated the KING so much. The throbbing in his head only grew more and more as he approached the king's sleeping form. An old man the king was, graying hair and wrinkles scattered across his pale skin. Jester wanted nothing more than to see that face splattered in blood. And that's exactly what he was going to get. He jumped onto the bed, startling the elderly demon awake. He tried to scream, but Jester was faster and brought the knife down with one strong swing, plunging it deeper into the king's chest without a second thought. A gurgled cry escaped the king as he began to thrash around which seemed to anger Jester more. The orangish-pink demon pulled the knife out, stabbing the king in the chest over and over again until several large wounds opened up, slowly spreading downwards across his whole chest. Blood was gushing out from every wound Jester delivered, exactly how he wanted. He pulled the knife back and grabbed the dying king's hair. With a hard yank, he pulled the king's head forward and plunged the knife directly into the top of his head. Blood spurted outwards, dripping down the king's forehead and decorating his pale complexion. Jester dropped the king back down to the bed, moving himself off. His eyes were wide, pupils slit, there was no emotion to his face. The dead king lie dead, wrapped up in his silk sheets and found in the early morning by his wife and two guards when she had returned home. But Jester was nowhere to be found.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒱𝐼𝐼𝐼: 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑀𝑒 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: graphic depiction of drug use, overdose, addiction, relapse, vomiting, crying, panic attack, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's Note: I have not experienced cocaine use, so I am basing this on descriptions I have found online. It may be inaccurate. Also, I'm pretty proud of myself for writing some parts of this chapter, because I am emetophobic and this is the first time I have written that kind of content! So if I glossed over symptoms related to nausea, that is why.

Summary: While he waits for John to return, Vincent spirals terribly until his life is at risk.

At first, there was only pleasure. The great “thank goodness” of the mind, overriding all else, to such an extent that when Vincent tried to think of the gravity of his position, tried to think of what had just happened, tried to think of anything but an incoherent string of plans and celebrations…he failed. There was only “I feel good,” written in hot pink bubble letters across the inside of his skull, and then nothing more until he started to come back to himself, pacing and shaking, some 20 minutes later.

No. Not yet. There couldn’t possibly be that little of this glorious moment of clarity. Not when he was planning to ration the rest. Now he couldn’t ration it. He needed more. Under ordinary circumstances, he could control himself - usually. But these circumstances were frankly ridiculous. The things that everyone thought of him…all else vanished into the simple need to not think that those things were true.

Writing on the sides of crushed paper cups. Finally able to plan. Texting half-assed comebacks that he knew he shouldn’t send. Dancing to the music channel. Ignoring the pain of the bullet wound, so small and far away. Swelling with heat in every limb. Watching more responses come through. Filling up with tiny drums inside his veins. Checking the curtains. Turning gradually brittle with terror. Running to the bathroom. Collapsing against the side of the sink, empty. Curling up in the corner, bleeding from the nose and from torn open stitches. Rocking. Crying.

Ashamed.

John knew now, about all…this. Why did that have to happen? Why were they doing this to him? Why was he doing this to himself? This would ruin the small hope that he had so foolishly started to cherish, of some friendliness between them.

“I’m coming back.” Vincent clung to those words like a lifeline. He held his knees against himself, and listened to the rain. Dog licked at his cheeks, smelling blood. Dog was still here. John wouldn’t leave for good, no matter what the text messages said. Maybe they were right. Maybe John didn’t care about him, but he cared about Dog. He would come back. Even if he was coming back to kill him.

But it had been so long. What if something happened to him? Vincent fought down his nerves and called, despite the cracked screen. The call could not be completed. John was out of range. Over and over he called, getting desperate. Was he…dead?

Vincent was retching again.

When that was done, he dragged himself up and along the wall, towards the door. Outside, puddles had formed along the perimeter of the parking lot, where concrete met asphalt. The lamps in front of each motel room made fiery white lines along the ripples as Vincent waded through them to stand in the open, just reeling stupidly around as if he expected to see John anywhere. But the space beyond those lamps was utterly black, aside from the distant lightning, and the night was frigid. He clutched at his chest. With the numbing starting to recede, the pain returned, along with a horrible tightness. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, and he was going to die, right here, alone -

And then a figure came out of the trees.

Sleek with enough rain to soak him to the skin, emerging at first as a disembodied face and hands, the rest of him a part of the darkness in that black suit, he glided smoothly towards Vincent, unstoppable. The emissary of death. Despite looking for John just moments before, he suddenly wanted to run, but found himself rooted to the spot. As the lamplight broke over John’s features, it revealed a face littered with cuts with its lips drawn back into a feral snarl.

For the second time that day, John met him at the center of the parking lot. This time, he halted, stone still, in front of him, and finally spoke in a calm voice that made Vincent wish he would scream and yell instead. “Last night…I didn’t realize. You were trying to use me. To get through this.”

Vincent trembled wildly. He could not possibly run, or fight. “S'il te plaît! [Please!] Please just don’t hurt me, I’m sorry. I did what I had to do.” He closed his eyes, waiting for a muzzle to press into his forehead, for a hand to tighten around his throat.

“What? No. Je ne vais pas vous faire de mal à cause de votre dépendance. Ou pour essayer de s'en sortir. [I am not going to hurt you for having an addiction. Or for trying to cope.]” He felt arms close around his shoulders, pulling him against John’s chest. He was…he was hugging him. A powerful vice grip, colder than his own body after running through the storm, yet so ridiculously welcome. Vincent’s brain seemed to finally fizzle out, once and for all.

“Que…fais-tu…? [What…are you doing…?]”

John pulled away. “Voulez-vous que je m'arrête? [Do you want me to stop?]”

Cold air rushed in between them and the loss of those strong arms around him felt like the clutches of the void. “Non! Reviens, espèce de salaud. Ne me quitte pas. N'ose pas me quitter. [No! Come back, you stupid bastard. Don't leave me. Don't you dare leave me.]” His words gave out into choked sobbing in spite of himself.

And just like that, he was in John’s arms again. He hugged him back this time, burying his head into the crook of his neck as John stroked his back and rocked him. He could not believe it was so simple, to ask for affection and receive it. How could this be? He was almost wailing, grateful for the roar of wind and water to drown out the torrent of emotion that he was pouring over the collar of John’s already soaked suitcoat. He could never live this down, if anyone saw them, and yet, for once, he didn’t care about that at all.

“Allez. Nous allons à l'intérieur. Je ne te lâcherai pas. [Come on. We’re going inside. I won’t let go of you.]” And John pulled away just enough to wrap an arm around his waist and help him back into the motel room.

They stood dripping in the entrance, droplets flowing from both their hair as the warmth washed over them. A furnace, against Vincent’s already overheated body. John stripped off his own coat and then looked questioningly at Vincent, who nodded and allowed himself to be undressed by great, tender hands that peeled away his shirt and then the gauze while being careful of the bullet wound. John sucked in his breath upon seeing the torn open stitches. “We’ll fix it. It’s okay,” he said, and continued to strip off the wet clothes.

He freed his belt with devastating gentleness while averting his eyes from Vincent’s pelvis. He knelt on one knee to pull off Vincent’s shoes, making for a positively knightly picture. He lingered over every touch, yes, but it was not sexual. There was a reverence there, an intimacy. John touched him like he was a very precious object. Despite being out of the rain, Vincent found that rivers were still running down his face.

Standing, he examined the stitches, and pressed a hand against Vincent’s forehead. To Vincent, it felt icy. “…Why are you so overheated?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I made such a terrible mess of things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay. You’ll start again tomorrow.” He paused, and pulled back to examine Vincent’s face. “How much did you take? Do I need to…” To what? It wasn’t clear what they could even do, if it was too much. They certainly couldn’t go to a hospital.

“I think it’s fine. Just…my heart feels…” He shuddered, all the way through the shoulders.

“Damn it. This isn’t a bullet, I don’t know what to do.” John ran a hand through his hair. He was scared. Vincent had never seen him scared before. John, the rock, who handled everything.

“Putain, s'il te plaît, ne dis pas ça. Comprenez-le. [Fuck, please don’t say that. Figure it out.]” John’s instability was ramping up the speed of his heart to a degree that he couldn’t control, that sent pain shooting through his arms and stomach.

Calmness instantly swept over his face again, at the suggestion that it was what Vincent needed. “I will. I have to call someone.”

“Do not call 911, you know better.”

“No, I know. I talked to Marjorie earlier. She knows I have a second person here and has been covering for us. Has a lot of social work connections too. Maybe she can get us a doctor.” He picked up the phone to call the front office.

“Pouah, I don’t want a…” but John was already on the phone and the room was spinning so much. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground trying not to be sick again and John was rubbing his back.

“Shit. Vincent, reste avec moi. Juste pour une demi-heure. Ils seront bientôt là, d'accord? [Vincent, stay with me. Just for half an hour. They’ll be here soon, okay?]”

That pity again, that desperation in John’s voice. He rolled onto his side and scoffed at the situation. Naked on the floor, not able to do the simplest things, even to breathe. What must John think of him now? “Ne me juge pas pour ça. Vous n’avez aucune idée de ce que c’est. [Don’t you judge me for this. You have no idea what it’s like.]”

“Je ne sais pas. Je pense que tu es très courageux pour tout ce que tu affrontes. Et je suis vraiment en colère contre les gens qui te laissent faire comme ça. [I don’t. I think you’re very brave for everything you’re dealing with. And I am fucking pissed at the people who let you get like this.]”

The memory of the text messages flooded over him again, sending something bitter and heavy into the pit of his stomach. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Les choses qu'ils m'ont dites, John… Ce sont des gens horribles. Je ne sais pas comment ils vivent avec eux-mêmes. [The things they said to me, John… They're horrible people. I don't know how they live with themselves.]”

“Ignore les. [Ignore them.]” His voice was strong and dangerous. “Leurs paroles sont destinées à tuer. C’est exactement la même chose que de se faire tirer dessus. Et s’ils te font encore du mal, je les tuerai, tout comme ce dealer qui dort dans la rivière en ce moment. [Their words are meant to kill. It’s just the same as being shot at. And if they hurt you again, I’ll kill them, just like that dealer who’s sleeping in the river now.]”

What a display of loyalty. Gratitude made him affectionate. He took in that viciously protective look, and reached up absently to brush a hand along John’s cheek. “Comme c'est… vraiment doux. Le chevaleresque John Wick frappe à nouveau. [How…genuinely sweet. The chivalrous John Wick strikes again.]” Vincent had no idea how to be sweet back.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem to matter for now. “No time for that. You have to get cool.” John was lifting Vincent’s arm over his shoulders, and stumbling along with him into the violently trashed bathroom, then into the shower. He pressed a waterproof bandage hastily over the now torn-open bullet hole and then icy water stung into Vincent’s skin.

John stood with him, in that water, to keep him upright. Arms still gently around his shoulders. “Je vais t'aider à ralentir ton cœur. [I’m going to help you slow down your heart],” John said, in that calming, flat monotone. “Comme la dernière fois, tu te souviens? [Like last time, remember?]” And he slowly increased the pressure around Vincent until it seemed almost to crush the shaking out of his body. To bring him a physical security.

Through his own fit of shivering, he realized John was shivering too. For a moment, Vincent tried to imagine what John must be going through, having walked or perhaps run for miles through the rain, only to stand with him in freezing water, fearing for his life. It was absolutely wrenching to think about, so he stopped, for his heart’s sake. He would be very good to John later.

He did not know how long they stayed there. Time was lost in a kind of total fear that made each second a chore to endure. The only thing to hang onto was the muscle locked around him, mooring him to Earth. He was getting into that bizarre state again, where the fear was too great for the mind to hold, and everything slipped away into a fuzzy numbness. He could not say that he minded it. It made him cuddly, it made him trace his fingers along the wet folds of the shirt that clung to John’s broad back. “…You are so kind to me. I like you, Mr. Wick,” he said, half dazed.

That gruff voice, speaking softly by his ear, almost sad. “I like you too.”

At some point, he was wrapped in a towel, with smooth and deliberate motions. At some point, he was being carried. John lay him on top of the blankets while he just closed his eyes and blushed. And when he called out, “Restez avec moi [Stay with me],” John settled in beside him, on top of the comforter. That such a gesture could exist between two people, not because of sex or obligation, and not the least bit tainted by pity…it was something he had never experienced before. He stood at the horizon of an unexplored territory, and it made him feel virginal and giddy. He grinned at John with a simple, bashful kind of happiness.

“Personne n'a pris soin de moi ainsi depuis que je suis enfant, à l'exception des domestiques. [No one has taken care of me like this since I was a child, except for servants.]”

“C'est un crime. [That’s a crime.]”

Vincent sighed happily, and let himself sink into the pillows, eyes closed.

“À partir de maintenant, s'il te plaît, dis-moi quand tu souffres de quelque chose. Je t'aiderai. Comment te sens tu maintenant? [From now on, please tell me when you're suffering from something. I will help you. How are you feeling now?]”

His body felt really horrible, but at least John was there and gave a damn. “Je me sens malade. Mon cœur bat vraiment la chamade. Ce n’est cependant pas bien pire que d’habitude. je pense que je vais récupérer. [I feel sick. My heart is really racing.]” He hesitated. “J'ai peur. [I’m scared.]”

“Je ne laisserai rien t’arriver. [I will not let anything happen to you.]”

The trembling was finally subsiding a little. “Merci, John,” he whispered. Did he dare? Why not, after everything else. He leaned his head against John’s shoulder.

“Hey. Reste éveillé, d'accord? [Stay awake, okay?]”

The world dancing and thrummed even behind closed eyelids.

“Vincent!” But the voice was very far away.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Without a Trace [Ch. 9]

Vigilantes AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Gun Use, Knife Use, Major Character Death, Mentions of Falsified Suicide, Descriptions of Murder Genre: Drama, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader Y/N Pronouns: Not Specified Word Count: 10.0K Summary: Vigilante work has been outlawed, thus sending nine prominent vigilantes either into retirement or into lower ground and, while some abide by the law, a few continue on. Then, one day, a greater threat forces these vigilantes to come together once again, regardless of the law.

(9/11) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [Other Groups Masterlist] | [Without a Trace Masterlist]

Notes: Breaking my hiatus for a bit to finally post this monster of a chapter AHAHAHAHAHAHA Have fun lovelies Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

“Shit, shit,” you cursed more under your breath as you and San ran out of the building. San more of limping, to be exact, but still able to keep up with you easily. You turned over to the corner where Mingi was originally parked at, the car he’d been inside turned into a complete mess of bullet holes through the windshield and splashes of red. “Oh god, oh no,” you shook your head, running over to it and pulling open the already broken door. There was no sign of Mingi or whoever was in there with him. Just as you were about to run off, three patrol cars blast past you. Hongjoong must have finally heard from Yeosang.

Yeosang, what the hell happened to the signals? Could it really have been Radiohead? She was a total sweetheart, though, you’d worked with her a number of times. Unless the Charlatan got to her, that is. You shook the thought out.

“Spades!” Seonghwa pulls over next to you, tossing you your keys. He revs the engine on your motorcycle. “Yeosang texted us the car, we’ll get to him first before anyone else,” he says. “Just get me close enough to the van, we’ll get him back,” he taps the rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah, got it,” you climbed on in front of him.

“Hey! What about me?” San winces.

“Rendezvous with Cheshire and Broker!” And you took off, speeding between other cars and narrowly avoiding obstacles. Seonghwa looked at his watch and, with the press of a button, a holographic screen projected from it, showing the vehicle that Mingi had been shoved into.

“Got it?” You asked.

“Got it, just focus on driving!” Seonghwa stood up on the bike, just enough to see over your head as you moved faster. Then, speeding nearly as fast as the two of you, was a van matching the exact description from Yeosang. 

“It’s on our right,” you shout and speed up, weaving through traffic like you’d done many times before. As you started to gain on the van, you felt Seonghwa steady with the rifle just inches above your head, and you tried to keep the motorcycle as still as it could be just as Seonghwa took the shot. The bullet whizzed above you and into the van, causing it to crash onto the sidewalk. You skid to a stop and Seonghwa jumped off, practically throwing the door open and…

“Empty,” Seonghwa’s voice wavered. You ran next to him and, true to his words, the only thing in the van was its driver, who had a blossoming bullet wound on his shoulder now. Then another van sped behind you.

“That one!” You pointed after it and, in seconds, another car comes barreling down the street with three of your teammates inside and keeping their eye on it. “Damn, let’s catch up,” you and Seonghwa were quick to follow after the rev of your engine.

~

“No, no,” Yeosang stood up fast and his chair clattered to the ground behind him. His eyes darted between all screens and one hand tangled into his hair. “This is all wrong, it’s all screwed up…” he pulls on the strands now, pulling a few out in the process. He looks at the loose hairs hanging off of his fingers and takes a deep breath. Then there were rapid knocks at his door, causing his head to whip toward it. His breathing, although labored, rang loud in his ears, second only to the loud bangs at his door. He picks up the pistol under his desk before approaching the door and threw it open, training the barrel at the intruder.

“Just me,” Hongjoong held his hands up.

“And me,” Jongho walks into view. “Let’s go, no time for questions.” Yeosang could only nod, they were working against time now.

No doubt, this will be the first time they face the real Charlatan.

It didn’t take long for them to catch up, though.

Yeosang was quick to run up to the other five who were at the door to the complex, trying different ways to get in. Hongjoong was next to follow, and finally Jongho.

“What’s the situation?” Hongjoong asks.

“We just got here too,” you tried the keypad once again and with blinking red lights, you stopped. “Been trying to get in. We already surveilled the place and this is the only entrance. Even the vents are welded shut.”

“They’re clever,” Hongjoong grumbles. You all cleared for him to stare at the keypad. A sticky note was placed above it, with the simple message ‘To the smartest A.’

“I already tried it, but it didn’t work,” San scoffs.

“Who the hell said you’re the smartest?” You snarked.

“It didn’t work for you either!” He fought back.

“Alright, alright, I got this,” Wooyoung stepped forward, skimming over the message under the sticky note, and punching in a code. The red light laughed at him. “It’s broken. Yunho, you’re good with numbers, you try,” Wooyoung invites him.

“Don’t look at me, I’m too dumb for that contraption,” Yunho shrugs.

“I already know I won’t get it,” Seonghwa leans against the door.

“Haa…” Hongjoong sighs and grabs the note. “There are how many of me a day, there are how many suits, there are how many As, and there are how many of me,” he recites the hint carefully. His hand hovers over the keypad and presses on the first code that came to mind: Four, Four, Nine, One. Four parts of a day, Dawn, Day, Dusk, Night. Four suits, Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, and Spades. Nine members of their team. And one Charlatan. The green light is like a beacon as the doors slid open.

“Well, that was expected,” Seonghwa led the group in. The complex was as big as it was empty, with their footsteps seemingly bouncing off of the walls. There was another floor early accessible by the ladder against the wall, and to make the task harder there were four doors that Mingi could be in, each sporting a different sticky note. The door shut behind them, a simple sticky note stating ‘Good luck!’ written on it.

“How childish… Looks like we’re going to have to split up to be efficient,” Hongjoong says. “Read the notes, what do they say?” He looks at the closest one to him. To the most agile and the most watchful.

“This one says to the smartest and to the most cautious,” you called out across from him.

“This one says to the most confident and the most greedy,” Seonghwa announces on the top floor.

“And this one says to the most secretive and the most deceived,” San crumples the note in his hand.

“We know one, at least. Mastermind’s the smartest,” you crossed your arms once everyone had regrouped.

“The most cautious, then, who would we say that is?” Hongjoong asks.

“Huntsman?” Wooyoung nudges his head toward Seonghwa.

“Safe bet, I’d assume any hunter would have to be cautious,” Yeosang adds.

“But if we follow that line of reasoning, then I’d nominate you too,” you cut in. “Who can be more cautious than the one who avoids conflict?” You reasoned.

“Possible but now you have to consider the other positions. I’d argue that Huntsman is the most confident, considering that you know every shot hits their target,” he says.

“And with Cypher, I’d argue that you’re either the most watchful or the most secretive,” Yunho chimes.

“For most cautious then…” Hongjoong hummed and looked around the group. “Timekeeper.” Jongho, pointed to himself, a curious look on his face. “Who is more cautious than the one who meticulously picks out their targets?”

“I guess,” Jongho shrugged.

“The most confident has to be Huntsman!” Wooyoung volunteered Seonghwa for him.

“I never miss,” Seonghwa confirms and Wooyoung grins.

“I rest my case,” he rests his hands on his hips. “As for the most greedy…” everyone’s eyes settle on Yunho.

“Wow, you’re not even going to debate it?” Yunho’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but ouch.”

“Can I take the most agile?” Wooyoung points at himself. “I was known for my quick attacks, you know!”

“We know!” The group resounded.

“I can’t think of anyone faster anyway,” you hummed. “We all agree that Cypher’s the most watchful then, right?”

“Has to be, I know you’ve been spying on me, creep,” San glowers at Yeosang, who responds by rolling his eyes.

“And by process of elimination that leaves you two,” Hongjoong looks at you and San, standing side by side. “The most secretive and the most deceived, huh?” He hums.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know what it means either,” you shrugged. “Blackguard?” You looked next to you, but San just shrugged too.

“Well, that settles it then, Blackguard and Spades, take the left top door, Cheshire and Cypher you take the right, Huntsman and Broker will take the left bottom door, while Timekeeper and I take the right, am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Wooyoung was the only one to respond while everyone else broke off. Wooyoung followed Yeosang into the door and the two stopped as soon as they saw themselves through a mirror. The door slammed shut behind them and they steadied themselves. “Looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Wooyoung mutters. The room was dark except for the light under the mirror. Then the sound of others lighting up filled the room.

“Great, my worst enemy,” Yeosang rolls his eyes. “Myself,” he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Is it really just a mirror though?” Wooyoung knocks on it and looks around. “Looks like we’re in the middle of a maze,” he points out. “Oh, look, this one’s a trick mirror,” Wooyoung chuckles and pointed to the mirror that made them look longer.

“Hm… there has to be some kind of gimmick,” Yeosang looked behind him, the door they had entered from was now replaced with a mirror. Then, he turned to his side and, thankfully, it was an opening. “Let’s go this way,” he waves Wooyoung over to follow him and they both walk through cautiously, their peripherals occupied by their own reflections. Wooyoung rolls his shoulders enough that his uniform’s sleeves become looser around his joints and he rolls his neck after. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” He throws a few air punches to test his mobility.

“You only do that when you know something bad’s going to happen, it’s like an instinct,” Yeosang shudders.

“Oh, relax, we’ll be fi—” Before Wooyoung could finish his sentence, the mirror next to them shattered. “Fuck, what the hell?!” Wooyoung stumbles back, steadied only by the arm Yeosang threw out to catch him before he could fall completely. Wooyoung froze in Yeosang’s arms now, core strength just barely holding him up otherwise while the two stared at each other. “When did you…?” Wooyoung stutters, not fully grasping his friend’s newfound strength until now that he stared at his arms. “Oh…”

“Don’t even think about it,” Yeosang drops him and straightens himself before offering Wooyoung his hand, which the latter politely obliged. The two stared at the now shattered mirror pieces before them. 

“That’s bad luck.”

“Hmm… it’s weird too,” Yeosang lowers himself to observe the shards.

“What’s weird?” Wooyoung follows suit.

“The shards… why are they on the other side of the mirror?” Yeosang asks.

“What do you mean?”

“If the shards were on both sides, which would make more sense, then the force of impact would have been above the mirror. If they were on our side then that means something behind the mirror broke it. But they’re on the opposite side so that means one of us must have hit it,” Yeosang explains. Wooyoung hums and grabs one of the shards.

“Wait… yeah, you’re right,” Wooyoung mumbles and twists the shard in his gloved hands. Then, on the shard's reflection, Wooyoung saw it and was quick on his feet to hurl the shard towards the figure behind them.

“Shit,” Yeosang bounces up just as the masked figure fires a warning shot between the two, shoulder impeded by the mirror shard Wooyoung had embedded into them.

“Run!” Wooyoung pushed Yeosang forward through the opening and the two took off.

“Who do you think this one is?” Yeosang asks just as he moved out of the way of the red aim light.

“Uh… can’t tell under that godawful uniform,” Wooyoung pulls Yeosang down the corridor. "One thing’s for sure though, it’s not Mingi,” Wooyoung ducks under the shot and makes a sharp turn, Yeosang just barely running into the mirror before he turned too.

“What are we supposed to do in here?! Survive?!”

“Maybe find the exit? Mingi in the middle? Who knows?!” Wooyoung shouts and turns quickly again, only this time smashing into a mirror. “Ow, fuck,” Wooyoung winces and Yeosang tugs him along.

“We don’t have time for this!” Yeosang skids to a stop just as the mirror in front of them shatters. On the other side of the mirror is yet another masked figure, only this time, a glint of red shone beneath the mask and Yeosang swallowed harshly. There was only one vigilante who was crazy enough to indulge in that kind of bodily modification. Lee Sangyeon, or better known, as “Crosshair,” he shudders.

“If only we had Huntsman,” Wooyoung looks around for another way out, but the mention of the vigilante seemed to have triggered something in their second pursuer, enough to make him pissed.

“Why’d you have to go and mention Huntsman?! You pissed him off! You…” Yeosang stops.

This was new. This revealed something very important.

Though under control, the Charlatan’s henchmen were still somewhat conscious underneath the brainwashing.

“Cypher! Focus!” Wooyoung pulled Yeosang back to reality and they began to run again.

“Wait, I think we can reason with them! If Crosshair’s upset over the mere mention of the Huntsman then that means they still have some autonomy in there somewhere, and I think we can tap into that somehow,” Yeosang looks over his shoulder, only one of the henchmen was following them, Crosshairto be specific.

“Sangyeon! Come on, listen to me! I know we were never the closest friends, but you gotta come back,” Yeosang kept a reasonable distance while shouting toward their attacker. But Crosshair instead trained his gun on him.

“Leave it, Cypher, they can’t be reasoned with! The brainwashing is too strong while that mask is on!” Wooyoung insists, then, right as they turned the corner, their second pursuer blocked the way. They raised the butt of their rifle and swung it down on Yeosang’s leg.

“Fuck!” Yeosang’s pained voice rang out in the room, the only thing louder than the sound of his leg snapping in half, leaving Wooyoung to look around him for any possible solution. They were cornered, and there wasn’t an opening in sight. Anything, Wooyoung would take anything right now. He pulled Yeosang up and slung his arm over his shoulders.

“Sorry, buddy, this is going to get crazy,” Wooyoung pivoted on his heel and broke the mirror with his elbow before running through the new opening with Yeosang essentially dragging behind.

“Just drop me off here, you need to tell Mastermind that the henchmen are still somewhat in control, it could change everything,” Yeosang insists.

“No way, I’m not leaving you, Yeo,” Wooyoung adjusts him over his shoulder and continues running down the corridor while keeping an eye out for the openings. “We’ll get out of here together or not at all,” Wooyoung taps on the comm in his ear but is met with dead static. Wooyoung could barely make out the faint outline of a staircase just ahead, but how he was going to get there he wasn’t sure. “Come on,” Wooyoung takes a deep breath and continues to run.

~

“This looks… eerie,” Yunho’s comment bounced off the walls of the empty room. Though his hands were in his pockets, it was clear that he was ready to defend at a moment’s notice. His eyes scanned the empty room, his discerning eye was one that he had long prided himself on, and for good reason. Being in the business that he is his instincts had never been wrong, he couldn’t afford to let them be wrong, he had to be able to see any threats before they could even be considered one.

And it is those same instincts that flared inside of him now. Something was horribly wrong about this wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. What was it that put him on edge like this? The room was empty except for the two of them, it was so empty that he could hear their footsteps echoing behind them. There wasn’t a single camera in sight, either, no windows, and two sets of doors, the one they entered in from and the one before them now. It was a large and foreboding thing too, at that, ready to slide open once it was ready.

“Empty room, nowhere to hide, no vantage points, almost like an arena,” Seonghwa hummed.

“An arena, huh?” Yunho’s voice was tense.

“What are you sensing?” Seonghwa asks with a narrowed glance.

“I’m not sure yet,” Yunho followed Seonghwa around the room. There were no signs of any trap tiles or loose sections of the wall. “You feel it too, right?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa walks over to the large door now and knocks on it lightly. The clang of metal filled the room and Seonghwa turned away from it. “That’s not opening until we finish something, that’s for sure,” he says.

“You think Mingi’s back there?” Yunho asks.

“Who knows?” Seonghwa and Yunho approach the middle of the room now. Yunho throws his arm out now, stopping Seonghwa from proceeding any further. Yunho takes a deep breath and, he was certain, he still heard it. He still heard it echoing, the footsteps. Yunho looks around, then, right before they could take a step further, Seonghwa is somehow shoved aside right as a knife grazes Yunho. 

“What the hell?!” Yunho stumbles back, trying to figure out where the attack came from, all the while Seonghwa rolled to the side and grabbed his rifle, aiming it at particularly nothing. Then, when his rifle is shoved out of his hands, he realized what was happening.

“They’re invisible!” Seonghwa called to Yunho.

“Yeah, I kind of got that!” Yunho barked back. Seonghwa grabbed his rifle just as the doors opposite to them slid open. Another one of the Charlatan’s henchmen stomped out, one of a noticeably larger build, and the doors behind him shut quickly after. “Well… safe to say that that is not Mingi.” Yunho pulled his revolvers out of his pockets and trained them on the larger henchman before firing a few incapacitating shots, which unsurprisingly did very little to stop him. Yunho twists his head toward Seonghwa, who’d gained a considerable distance from the large henchman and was now training his rifle on him. “Huntsman, stop! Remember who we’re fighting, we can’t take reckless shots!”

“Speak for yourself,” Seonghwa fires his rifle and the bullet pierced through the large henchman’s arm. Then, right before he could reload, the rifle is once again pulled from his hands. “Got a way to deal with the invisible one?!” He shouts.

“Maybe!” Yunho ducks under the heavy swing of his opponent and falls back while digging through his pockets again. Knives, lighters, bullets, and playing cards all toppled from his hands before he finally found what he was looking for. “Aha!” Yunho pulled out a pair of large goggles and pulled them over his head.

“You look ridiculous, man,” Seonghwa groans while swinging the end of his rifle aimlessly, hoping to hit the invisible henchman somewhere. Yunho turned on the goggles, his vision filled with a technological interface for a brief moment before activating its true purpose, heat-seeking. Then, just like that, the heat traces of everything in the room was visible. And, to his curiosity, he noticed the large heat traces concealed in the walls. Ignoring the tank of a man heading his way, Yunho trained his sights on Seonghwa, spotting the two figures close enough to each other.

“He’s on your left!” Yunho shouts. Seonghwa pivoted on his heel and swung his rifle again, and he heard the crunch of bones after. “He’s on the ground, you got his arm! Don’t shoot to kill!” Yunho commands.

“I heard you the first time,” Seonghwa slams the rifle down one last time, hitting the invisible henchman’s abdomen hard enough that the invisibility device strapped to the henchman’s chest ceased to function, rendering them passed out on the floor. Seonghwa wiped the sweat from the side of his forehead with a handkerchief and took a deep breath.

“Geez… pretentious mu—” before Yunho could finish his thought, the last henchman swung at him, sending Yunho tumbling across the ground. He winced and groaned loudly and clawed beneath him to get up, but it was hard with his sudden blurred vision and ringing ears. He could barely make out the heavy footsteps, let alone the way Seonghwa grappled for a bullet to reload. Yunho’s hands moved beneath him quickly, all of the contents of his pockets had been for the most part emptied in his search for the goggles, if he could find even one thing to use he’d be set. Luckily enough for him, that one thing was all he needed, the cold steel of a knife, a recent buy of his and one he spent both a pretty penny and a select few lives for, but nevertheless it was meant as a gift for none other than you. The one reason why he hadn’t given it to you yet is the lack of testing, but it should be fine. He grabbed at it, wincing again as he felt the flesh under the blade slice open, and flung it forth before passing out.

“Shit,” Seonghwa slung his rifle over his shoulder and ran toward Yunho just in time for the large henchman to fall backward with a loud thud. Seonghwa eyed the one knife that had embedded itself into the henchman’s chest before refocusing on his teammate. “Yunho, wake up,” Seonghwa shook him awake, but Yunho didn’t stir. “Get up! We don’t have time for this!” Seonghwa said it louder. The door once again started to open, painstakingly slow at this rate. Seonghwa shook his head in frustration and smacked Yunho across the face, waking him up in an instant. Yunho touched his stinging face and glared and Seonghwa.

“The hell was that for?!”

“Pull yourself together! There’s more coming!”

“Fine!” Yunho looked down at his right hand, the thing frozen in the same way it was when he flung the knife.

“What happened?” The doors are fully open now.

“Cut my hand with Mono’s prized weapon,” Yunho glanced behind Seonghwa, seeing two new henchmen enter, “paralysis tonic, great.” Yunho grips one of his revolvers in his good hand.

“You don’t have an antidote?!”

“Not on me, but it should wear off in a few… hours,” he lets Seonghwa pull him up.

“Talk about timing,” Seonghwa takes a couple of steps back, watching one of the henchmen taunt him with their mace. “You can tap out at any time, of course, I can handle things.”

“Don’t praise yourself too much,” Yunho shoves him forward and the next round begins

~

“What do you think this room is?” Jongho looks down at all the cables running through the floors.

“Hard to say, let’s find a light switch,” Hongjoong starts feeling around the walls while Jongho minds the floor. The only light source at the moment came from the open door behind them, but aside from that, they were working in the dark. Finally, Hongjoong flips the light on and the room illuminates with a bright light. Jongho shut his eyes and allowed them to readjust before he opened them again and saw that the room’s purpose was apparent.

“Looks like we found where he brainwashes them, huh?” Jongho mumbles. The cables led to various machines, and in between those machines was “Mingi!” Jongho, who in his concern and excitement could care less about code names, ran forward and pulled the mask off of him. Mingi’s eyes slowly opened before looking around before he groaned and hung his head low.

“Hold on, friend, I’ll help you out of this,” Hongjoong pulled out his pocket knife and sawed at the ropes before Mingi was free. Without standing up, Mingi rubbed his wrists and pulled at the white jumpsuit he now wore. “That was a close one, we almost lost you,” Hongjoong shakes his head while Jongho examined the mask.

“Mastermind, come over here,” Jongho waved him over while taking steps away from the machines.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Jongho insisted. Once Hongjoong was close enough, Jongho turned the mask around and showed him the inside. Unlike the mask they had already, this one was completely empty, it was just like a mask from a costume store, and behind them Mingi stood up and grabbed the back of the chair, the metal screeching against the floors. Hongjoong pulled the sticky note off of the mask.

‘You found your treasure! But now you must earn it. You must face the opponent no one sees coming, the opponent who is as swift as he is efficient, the one who moves just like a Shadow,’ is all it read before Jongho pulled Hongjoong out of the way in time for the chair to slam against the wall and leaving a large dent in its attack.

“Shit,” Hongjoong turns around quickly just in time for Mingi to slide a Charlatan mask over his head.”

“They actually got him,” Jongho slides on his brass knuckles before rolling his head.

“Pull your punches.”

“I know.”

“We can’t hurt him.”

“I know.”

“We can’t save him.”

“I know.” Jongho’s answers were short, he knew what he had to do. They had to break Mingi out of whatever hypnotism he was under first. Jongho toyed with his wristwatch before stepping forward and blocking every hit that Mingi threw at him. Hongjoong, meanwhile, looked around the room for something, anything, to use. They were able to break Juyeon out of his trance by breaking the mask, but would it be the same for Mingi? He wasn’t wearing one earlier, so there was no telling. “Aim for the mask!”

“Right!” Hongjoong pulled his pistol out. “Sorry for this, Mingi, I don’t have a choice,” Hongjoong pointed the gun at Mingi’s leg and fired, a shot that missed only by a thread. Mingi stopped in his tracks and reached behind one of the machines before pulling out a pair of gauntlets, heavy-set ones at that. But Hongjoong could’ve sworn up and down that he recognized them, he had to, and every weapon the Charlatan used was stolen.

“Mastermind! Don’t let him hit you under any circumstance!” Jongho pushed Hongjoong toward the door and Mingi started to follow. “Run!” Jongho ushered him forward, but the door slammed shut. Then, the ceiling above them slid open just as the floor beneath them started to rise.

“Talk about avant-garde,” Hongjoong keeps his pistol trained on Mingi, who slammed the knuckles of the gauntlets together. Then, the dust settled, and Hongjoong and Jongho found themselves standing in the middle of a large room.

“Mastermind! Timekeeper! Thank fucking god,” Yunho runs up to them, beaten, bloodied, and bruised, but notably dragging a worn-out Seonghwa with him.

“The hell happened to you two?!” Hongjoong exclaimed. He looked around and saw the scattered bodies of henchmen around him and, to say the least, he was a little impressed.

“Too much,” Seonghwa used his rifle to support him.

“How about this one, then?” Yunho flipped the knife in his hands, having grown used to using it after being paralyzed at least once.

“Don’t hurt him,” Hongjoong says quickly.

“They got him, we were too late,” Jongho stretches his arms.

“No…” Yunho looks over just when the doors behind Mingi slid open again. “No!” Yunho wailed.

“Did we lose them?!” Wooyoung shouts with Yeosang slumped on his back.

“Yes!” Yunho shouts. Then, when a bullet grazed his face, leaving a shallow cut in its path, he exclaimed again. “No!” Wooyoung and Yeosang ran out of the double doors, past Mingi, and toward them.

“The whole gang’s here!” Wooyoung looked relieved and Yeosang waved weakly. “Wait, where are Blackguard and Spades?” He asks. “Did we find Mingi?” The other members pointed behind them and Wooyoung turned quickly. “No!”

“Yeah,” Jongho sighed. Yeosang climbed off of Wooyoung’s back carefully and fell on the floor.

“Nothing is going well,” he mutters. Again, Mingi slammed his fists together and the click of a bullet sliding into place is heard.

“Fuck, where did he get that?” Seonghwa’s voice wavered.

“What is that?” Wooyoung asks.

“You don’t recognize them?” Seonghwa fights to hold his rifle up. “Those are the Ace of Diamonds’ gauntlets,” he takes a stabilizing step back.

“Oh shit,” Yeosang frowns. Where was Spades when they needed them?

~

“Huh… two roads diverged in a wood,” you looked at the two doors, each with their respective sticky note written on it. “How’s your leg?” Your hand naturally brushed against the shallow wound.

“I’ve been through worse,” San tightened the cloth around it. You and San naturally went to either side and ripped the note from their place. “The Seeker,” you read it aloud. San remained silent.

“This room is mine,” he says. “Guaranteed,” he put his hand on the doorknob and, as soon as he turned it, iron bars rose from the middle of the room and San was quick to run toward you. “What the hell?!” San gripped one of the bars and you approached it slowly while observing the floor beneath you.

“Oh they’re good, I’ll give them that,” you muttered. “Whatever is in our doors… we’re on our own,” your voice trailed off as you wondered what could be awaiting you on either side. “I’m guessing that once we’ve both completed what we had to in our rooms we’d be able to regroup,” you theorized.

“Probably, but then again I really can’t think of anything else it could be,” San leans against the bars and closer to you. “Don’t die, (Y/N),” he says just barely above a whisper.

“I should say that to you,” you responded. You tapped your finger against his enclosed fist and turned away from him. “Be careful.”

“I will.” You heard him reply behind you before you entered the room. San pushed away from the bars and toward his own door, staring down at the note in his hand.

The Liar.

It’s always going to follow him, isn’t it? San could only shake his head as he pushed his way into the room. It was small, no larger than a bedroom, and at the end was another door. But, most noticeable, was the collage of news articles splayed against the wall.

The Newest Vigilante on the Block: Aegis!

Capital Bank Stormed! New Vigilante Saves the Day!

A Breath of Vitality Into a Dying Movement: Aegis!

Who is Aegis?

Aegis: The Shield of Zeus Personified

Aegis’ Debut at the Capital Bank!

Aegis.

Aegis.

Aegis.

San tore the news articles down and crumpled them in his hands. The ones he didn’t crumple he ripped. And the ones he didn’t rip he ground beneath his boot. Aegis, Aegis, Aegis! What did the world see in him anyway?! All he was was a coward with a shield. San hesitated before pulling the last article from the wall.

Who Could Aegis Be?

The headline was simple, but it was the first paragraph that somehow caught his attention.

Who is Aegis? We decided to ask a group of students who seem to be excited about the emergence of the new vigilante. (L/N) (Y/N) comments that “it’s nice to see a younger vigilante, he even looks like he’s around our age! The older vigilantes will always be cool, but at one point we have to look forward to the younger wave!”

It’s always going to follow him, isn’t it?

San shook his head and went for the next room. It was nearly identical to the one he had just left, even down to the collage of news articles on the wall next to him

Aegis Saves the Day Again!

Aegis Becomes a Ray of Hope.

Aegis in the Center of Action.

Aegis Throws Himself into Danger to Save Everyone!

Aegis Has Gotten More Active!

Aegis Sighted in Further Zones from the City.

Aegis.

Aegis.

Aegis!

San found himself tearing the articles again. But, once his frustration had quelled, he stopped. He stopped and he took steps back until his back hit the wall. Aegis. The name loomed over him like an untouchable monster. Then, just under the articles, San made out the faint hint of writing on the wall, and again San found himself tearing the papers off until the sentence was visible.

Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.

San stared at the writing, an undefinable ringing starting in his ears as his head started to feel heavier. He looked back at the door he entered and backtracked to pull the rest of the articles from the wall and, just as he had expected, there was writing there too.

In the beginning, was the myth.

San walked back to the next room.

The myth is the beginning of Aegis, the impenetrable shield wielded by Zeus and Athena. And as for the second quote, San would rather not dwell on it. He knew what he was signing up for when he became a vigilante.

The next room, as expected, was just like the last two.

Aegis Becomes the Forerunner of Vigilantes.

The Dawn of a New Age: Aegis.

The Shield of Light Aegis!

Aegis Spotted Running Toward the Scene of the Altercation. Mass Casualties Avoided!

Aegis vs. TNT: An Explosive Battle with Few Injuries

Aegis Becomes the Forerunner of the Dawn of a New Age for Vigilantes!

Aegis!

Aegis!

Aegis.

San ripped the papers off again to reveal the message underneath.

The truth is often one’s best shield.

The shield strapped to his back weighed heavier now. Or had it always been heavy? If it was so great then how the hell did he break it so easily? San looked at one of the now torn articles. Aegis stood proud with the senator, hands locked in a strong handshake. It’s clear to everyone, Aegis was never the shield, it was always the person. Against all possible odds, Aegis stood strong, and it was that strength that would later become Aegis’ downfall. An impossible standard to herald, it was a fool’s errand to begin with. San continued forth. The next room was different. Each wall had a door on it except for the one directly in front of him with a single news article taped to the wall.

College Student Eric Son Found Dead in Rose Haven Apartments.

Eyewitness (Y/N) (L/N) reports that after checking in on a neighbor, they found their partner dead in their shared apartment. Officers on the scene ruled it as a suicide with a single gunshot to the head. (L/N) was cleared from suspicion after confirmation of their alibi, but the residents around the area remain on red alert. Everyone has commented that Son didn’t seem the type to die in such a tragic way. Some sources share that Son was wrapped up with shady figures and events. Who knows? Is it really the case that you can’t run from the past? We will update the story as it continues.

Eric Son, his greatest failure. There was no writing on the wall this time, there didn’t need to be. No, instead, there was a passage highlighted. You can’t run from the past. San tore it off and ripped the article to shreds. He destroyed it to the point that no one would be able to tell that it was a news article to begin with. The Son case was a turning point in the career of Aegis. It was a turning point in the creation of Blackguard. It was a turning point in the founding of the Aces. It was a turning point in the Vigilante Ban. Everything revolved around this one case.

And it was his fault.

The doors slid open next to him.

“Blackguard!” Wooyoung called him over. San turned around just in time to dodge the knife that lodged into the wall behind him. San pulled the shield from his back and secured it to his arm. “Don’t be too harsh! It’s Mingi!” Wooyoung shouts after.

“Mingi?” San looks at the Charlatan in front of him. He looked at the gauntlets around his hands. Then, Mingi turned away from San and started to walk toward Yunho, who was still paralyzed from moments before.

“Shit, shit… I have to think of something,” Yeosang looks around the room, but there was nothing to work with, nothing they could use to distract Mingi long enough to get the mask off of him.

And of course, came his aha moment.

“Blackguard! That’s still Mingi! He’s brainwashed, but it’s still him! Talk to him and he’ll respond!” Yeosang, though nursing his leg, was able to stagger up somehow.

“The hell’s wrong with the rest of you?!” San shouts.

“Yeosang’s leg’s busted and Yunho’s shooting hand’s paralyzed!” Hongjoong explains. “Plus, you were the one who broke Juyeon out of his brainwashing! You’re the best person to do this!”

“Ugh,” San charges toward Mingi, shield in front of him and ready for impact, and finally he smashed the shield against Mingi’s side, effectively sending Mingi staggering back. “Fuck… I forgot this dude was built like a goddamn tank,” San ducks behind his shield just as Mingi throws a right hook, the gauntlet collided with the shield and the firearm inside of it went off, leaving the loud clang of a bullet hitting metal resounding in the room. The bullet ricocheted off the shield and around the room before it embedded into Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Argh, fuck,” Seonghwa gripped his shoulder but half his rifle up regardless.

“Don’t shoot!” Jongho stopped him. “We can’t afford it!”

“I won’t hit anywhere vital!”

“That’s Mingi!”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Seonghwa squeezed the trigger and Hongjoong pointed the rifle up. The bullet hit a ceiling tile and sent it crashing against the floor.

“Where’s Spades? They should be able to do something!” Wooyoung pleads.

“No time,” Yunho dug through his pockets and pulled out a first aid kit, “Mingi’s preoccupied with Blackguard, we have to use this opportunity now.” San looked over to the group. Realistically, Seonghwa was his best bet but he won’t be much if Hongjoong is holding him back. Then he tossed a hopeful glance to Jongho, who just adjusted his wristwatch and shook his head. Wooyoung wasn’t even an option, with Yeosang out of commission then Wooyoung’s first thought would be to keep him safe.

Yup, he’s on his own. As usual.

“Mingi! Hey, buddy,” San took careful steps around Mingi, who seemed to follow him with his gaze. “Remember me? Blackguard?” He asks. No response, instead, Mingi loaded his gauntlets again and San took steps to distance himself away from him. “Come on, big guy, how about Bobby? Remember him?” Mingi seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Gotcha.” San’s excitement was clear, he found his way in and all he had to do was pull that sentiment out.

~

The door shut behind you as soon as you cleared it, but you were too busy staring at the scene before you paid much mind to the sudden slam. The room you were in was small enough with a large control console in front of you with six large monitors behind a simple setup consisting of a keyboard and mouse. But it wasn’t this that caught your attention, no, it was the display on the bottom center screen.

For the eyes of (Y/N) (L/N), the Ace of Spades, only.

Just how much did he know about you?

“Take a seat, (Y/N).” The Charlatan’s voice filled the room. You did so, you had no reason not to oblige. Whatever was going on, it was clear, he had the upper hand in this already dangerous gamble. As soon as you were situated, the screen changed to a singular man hidden by the darkness. “Hello, Vigilante.”

“Charlatan, I assume? The real one,” you asked. The figure nodded.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

“I have plenty.”

“Ask away then, we have time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“All will be revealed, the Mastermind isn’t the only chess master in this game.”

“And I can ask anything? Anything at all?”

“Sure.”

“Who are you then?”

“Everything except that.”

“Of course,” you rolled your eyes. “Why then? Why do all of this?”

“Mm… I’ve always hated vigilantes,” he says bluntly, “it was through their reckless behavior many times that I lost something or someone important to me, and many others share my sentiment. So, now, I wish to rid the world of them completely.”

Talk about textbook answer. You didn’t expect anything else from someone who despised vigilantes, but you did expect a little more. The way he spoke, you wondered, which vigilante ruined him?

“If you hate them so much, why bring other vigilantes into it?”

“I alone cannot execute my plan, but I have a way to make others do it for me.”

“The masks.”

“Yes. Your friend, Cypher, he got very close to decoding it.”

“What is it then?” You pressed.

“Rhythmic flashes and certain sounds.”

“So nothing more than common hypnosis?”

“Common, sure, but effective. But, (Y/N), you must remember that the fundamentals of hypnosis still apply. I can’t force someone to do something they wouldn’t want to do already. And, with that, you realize what point I’m getting at, don’t you?”

“What can I say? Vigilantes crave action.”

“You’re all destructive. And here you are, cracking jokes.”

“It can’t be possible that every vigilante is that bloodthirsty though.”

“Of course not. That’s why I killed them.” You didn’t know why, but that statement did send chills down your spine.

“So you killed him then?”

“Your friend?”

“Yes.” The Charlatan didn’t answer, instead, the screen next to you turned on to show CCTV. You recognized San’s shield from anywhere, and it wasn’t long before you noticed the others.

He got him.

You watched Mingi thrust his fists together and your throat ran dry.

“They’re a magnificent weapon.”

“You shouldn’t have those.”

“I apologize, I know they’re something of a sentiment to you.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Where do you think? You only put it in one place.”

“How did you get there?”

“Obviously, I had access.”

“Who are you?!” You repeated your question from earlier, but the Charlatan didn’t respond, so instead you took a deep breath. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I want to make a deal with you.”

“Hell no.”

“You haven’t even heard what I had to offer yet.”

“Why would I work with you? All you’ve done is kill people I’ve cared about.”

“I’m just offering an exchange,” his voice was uncomfortably calm. Then you saw the panel next to you open up, revealing the Charlatan’s signature mask next to you.

“I’m not putting that shit on,”

“It’s just there for insurance, if I do this correctly, you won’t even need it.”

“Fuck you, I won’t agree to any deal you offer me.”

“Do you mean that? Even if I can provide you with the answer you’ve been looking for since the beginning?”

“Likely story, I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you stood up from your seat now, ready to turn around and leave.

“Shame. I thought you were still interested in the Eric Son case, but it appears that I was wrong.” That’s one way to stop you. “What do you think about it, (Y/N)? The foundation of your career, the Eric Son case. It’s fascinating.”

“What do you want me to say about it? What more than the facts?” You sat back down on the chair and the screen in front of you changed showing a basic profile of Eric. “He killed himself, that’s all there is to it.”

“But he didn’t though, you know that.”

“I don’t have proof.”

“You had plenty, you had enough to found the Aces with your group, right?” You stayed silent. “A fantastic group you all were, the five of you were all friends, right? How sweet.” Still, you stayed silent. “I must applaud your sentiment, did you ever find out who killed him?”

“No.”

“Would you like to know?” You swallowed harshly. It had been years already, though that was the original cause of the Aces, your purpose grew, you all grew. You all grieved, you all moved on,  and you all left. “You’re the last active Ace, you owe it to them to find out what they fought for. What he died for.” You could feel the cold sweat run down your neck. “I will ask you one last time, Ace of Spades. Would you like to know what happened to Eric Son?”

“…” You took slow and deep breaths. After all these years, were you really going to find out your life’s work from a villain of all things? “Yes, tell me.”

“I’d rather show you.” Then the screen in front of you went black. After a few moments, it sparked to life once again and you felt your heart stop.

Eric tapped on the screen of the lens.

“Man… (Y/N) is so going to kill me if they see this,” Eric adjusted the camera to better get a good range around the bedroom. “Okay…” he looks at his phone screen. “Should be fine… I’ll just turn it on when I’m out, I guess…” he continues to mumble to himself while walking around the room. Your bedroom to be exact. The camera caught everything, from the bed, the closet, to the window, it had a good vantage point. “Crap, the one in the living room’s offline again.”

“How do you have this?” You asked aloud. The Charlatan didn’t answer. Instead, the image flipped off again and turned back on to show a different day and in a different position, the living room. You didn’t even have to look at the date stamp to know what day this was, you remembered that conversation verbatim. It haunted you in your nightmares as much as it did your waking hours. You watched your past self collapse on the couch with Eric following shortly after, the way his arms opened for you so naturally was like a habit to you and him at that point and the way you saw yourself melting into them was a common occurrence. How bittersweet this all was, and how tragically poet.

“Are you really sure you don’t want to have the others over?” Your voice sounded so different back then.

“Yeah, the worst case scenario is that our neighbors over there have hate sex while we’re playing Mario Kart,” Eric’s voice, just as it always had, warmed your heart. “Sorry, I know you really wanted to do it.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You have a point too.”

“Yeah, it was nice just going out with them, even if it got so rudely interrupted.”

“Rude interruption is a nice way to put it! I thought you died!”

“But I didn’t!”

“Christ, Eric, you can’t just rush into danger like that, you could get seriously hurt.” How ironic. This whole conversation. The feed was silent for a while and you remembered why, you remembered the way Eric looked at you when you said that, you could even catch a hint of that expression from this footage. You couldn’t hear it, but you remembered what he said next.

“You know I would never put you in that situation, right?” You watched him tighten his arms around you. You remembered that embrace being the most comforting thing in the world, you really were so scared for him that day the bank got robbed, you were so stressed about it that you could barely hold in whatever was inside of you.

“I know.”

“I love you, (Y/N), I would never want you to get caught up in danger.”

“I know, I love you too.” You felt your chest tightening. You knew what came next. That glass shatter must have been loud if you heard it through this footage. You saw the way Eric turned to the front door, followed by you.

“There goes Mr. Shin again,” Eric shook his head.

“I should go check on Yuna, I’m so worried about her.” You felt your breathing pick up now. This was it. The truth.

“Yeah, go ahead. Let me know if she’s okay, and if Mr. Shin tries something, you call for me right away.”

“I will, I’ll be quick.” You watched your past self stand up and leave the unit, all the while Eric watched you go. As soon as you heard the door shut, you saw Eric’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Hooo boy, I have got to figure out (Y/N)’s new schedule, that was close…” Eric ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, “it’s a good thing that I wasn’t in uniform.” He lifts one of the couch cushions and pulls out something, keeping it well concealed in his hand before getting up to leave.

“How do you have this footage?!” You asked it more forcefully this time, but the Charlatan still didn’t answer. Instead, the camera flipped to the bedroom, where you watched Eric walk to the closet and open it wide, then, after some clothes were removed, he pulled off the backboard of the closet and placed whatever he had taken inside. Suddenly, you saw Eric shut the closet quickly as he turned around faster than you would’ve thought possible from him.

Were you really ready to see what was next? You turned away from the screen and you heard the footage stop.

“Did you want to stop?” The Charlatan’s voice cut through your thoughts. You shook your head and steeled your nerves before turning back to the screen and allowing the footage to resume.

You watched Eric stare toward the window that slowly opened to allow for his murderer to walk in. Clad in black with lightning motifs you recognized this second person well.

“Blackout!” Eric’s voice was ecstatic, of course, it was what with how excited he always got about vigilantes. But when you saw Blackout load his gun you felt a stone in your stomach and, just as if a switch flipped, Eric grew serious, you could see it in the way his shoulders rolled back. “You know… a villain hiding under the guise of a vigilante, it’s not a good look. Let’s make this fast, my partner’s out helping one of our neighbors and I’d rather keep this between us.” His voice was steady, a tone he didn’t usually use and one you weren’t too used to hearing from him.

The fight was surprisingly evenly matched, Eric held his own well despite the odds, but with every punch and every block you knew what the end result was and it made the whole thing even more heartbreaking. You wondered why Blackout didn’t just shoot him there, you wondered why Blackout even let him fight, but then you realized why. You realized why he let Eric struggle when he finally pinned him to the ground, loaded gun held to the side of his head, and you heard Blackout laugh. He did this because he enjoyed it, the thrill of it, the inhumanity. A true villain.

“Senator Johnson sends his regards.” Blackout’s voice was gruff, maybe strained from the fight before, but it was the name that got you. Senator Johnson was the head senator who proposed the Vigilante Ban in the first place, and yet here he was working with one.

Bang.

You shut your eyes and the audio came to an abrupt stop. Why was he making you watch the whole thing? You opened the slowly and you could still hear the aftersound of the gunshot. You watched blood stain the floor under him and you tried to ignore the blood splatters against the wall. Blackout stepped over Eric now and he wiped the gun in his hands before placing it in Eric’s, curling his fingers over the handle carefully while he started to set the scene. You had to hand it to Blackout, he really did well in making it look like a suicide. You watched Blackout move things around the room and move some things back, then, he reaches the closet, which he opens without a care, but then he hesitates. You watched Blackout bring a fist to cover his mouth while he takes a few steps back from the closet. Then he turns around to look at Eric, and back at the closet, and back to Eric again, and back to the closet again.

Blackout takes a step forward and pulls something from the closet. Something you, no, everyone would recognize.

“Aegis…” the name slipped out of your mouth so naturally.

“No, no, no… this wasn’t what they told me,” Blackout’s voice shook and he walked back to Eric and fell on his knees, checking for a pulse that wasn’t there. “What have I done? It was just a job, it was just supposed to be a job, how could I have killed Aegis? I… oh god,” Blackout drops the shield and holds the side of his head, clearly thinking to himself and clearly trying to find out what to do.

“Oh fuck… I killed Aegis…” he repeats again. “I killed Aegis and I have to hide that…” his breathing grows labored and he grabs onto his mask, pulling it off quickly to breathe easier. It was like something clicked in his mind because his next move was to run back to the closet, taking a duffle bag from it and shoving the contents of the closet into it. Aegis’ uniform, Aegis’ mask, Aegis’ tools, and, of course, Aegis’ shield. He packed them tightly and headed toward the window, but he stops next to Eric, he stops for a moment before leaving the way he came. And when he turned to close the window?

You saw him.

You saw who murdered Eric Son.

~

“I’m sorry, buddy.” After who knows how long of fighting, San had finally pinned Mingi down. Mingi took labored breaths and San held the shield above his head before bringing it down on the mask, leaving a large fissure in it’s wake until it finally broke in half and slid down either side of Mingi’s face. Beneath him Mingi was winded, he gasped for air like he’d been drowning moments before, and he looked around like a madman who’d never seen light. He scrambles away from San and spots the others.

“Mingi?” Wooyoung asks shakily.

“Woo?” Mingi swallows nervously.

“Oh, he’s back!” Wooyoung cheered and started to run over, but San beat him to it and offered a hand to Mingi, who just stared at it. After some deliberation, he took it and San pulled him up.

“I still can’t forgive you for what you did,” Mingi says quietly.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I don’t care that I know the whole story now.”

“I figured.”

“But… I will work with you,” Mingi shakes San’s hand and pulls away from him.

“All’s well that ends well, right?” Wooyoung hugs Mingi and helps him to reach the others. “Let’s go find Spades, they went with you, right, San?”

“Yeah, there were two rooms, so Spades went in the other one while I came here, it was just through that door,” he point to the large doors in the back.

“So much shit came out of that door,” Seonghwa clicks his tongue.

“I know, right? No wonder Blackguard came running out of it,” Yeosang chides. The doors started to slide open again, and the group went quiet.

“Jokes aside… I don’t think we can handle another Charlatan in this state,” Hongjoong watches in tense silence, but then relaxes upon seeing who entered.

“Spades! You’re okay! We were just about to come check in on you!” Wooyoung was always the first to reach out, but your eyes were glued to the floor. You pulled your mask off and tossed it aside. “Spades?” Wooyoung’s voice grew uneasy.

“Shit, did they get you too?” Yunho’s voice wavered, but his gaze never broke away from you.

“Spades?” San approached you slowly. “Everything alright?” He really didn’t want to break another Charlatan mask, and knowing your skills, there’s no way he’s getting out with all four limbs intact.

“You…” your voice was shakier now.

“(Y/N)?” He said your name quietly, his hand reaching out to break you out of whatever trance you were in, then you snapped.

Everything moved so quickly. You wrapped your hands around his neck and shoved him to the ground, thumbs pressing down on his windpipe with strength that was fueled by adrenaline alone. San grabbed onto your wrists, trying to pull your hands off of him but struggling because of his exhaustion from the fight before. The shouts around you fell on deaf ears while you readjusted your grip to apply more force, letting go only to push off Mingi’s hand on your shoulder.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?!” San shouts despite the strain on his voice. “(Y/N)! Snap out of it!”

“Fuck the Charlatan, he couldn’t get me if he fucking tried,” you grabbed the knife strapped to your belt and held it up. “It was you! It was always you and I trusted you!” You brought the knife down and San just narrowly avoided it.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“It was you! You killed him!” You saw the realization in his eyes, the way they widened, and the way he shook his head. He knew. He knew what you saw in that room. All the tears you held back in that room came out now. It all made sense. The way you’d suddenly run into San so much more after Eric died, the way he treated you, and the way he took care of you. Was it some sort of twisted guilt he felt toward you? Guilt not just from killing Aegis but also from killing someone you loved? “How fucked is that, San?! You sick bastard! You killed Eric and you had the audacity to pretend that you had nothing to do with it!” San grabbed your wrist before you could bring the knife down on his neck.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t know!” You’d never heard a more genuine apology from him until now. Someone grabbed onto your shoulder, but you couldn’t care to see who it was. You couldn’t care to push them away, whatever they tried wouldn’t be fast enough anyway.

“I don’t care.” With your free hand, you grabbed another knife and plunged it first into San’s shoulder, causing him to release your other hand to allow you to

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The Woods Whisper || 2/2

Summary: After a terrific nightmare, your and Arthur’s life change for good. You start to suffer from a mysterious and excruciating hunger, which always seems to lead you to the forest.

Words: 3.5k

TW: Extreme violence, angst, cannibalism, graphic depiction of mutilation, graphic depiction of murder, gore, ehh dubcon

Notes: written for @peakyswritings's 2k celebration and Halloween. Nina belongs to her. + important notes at the end and no proofreading because we read like warrior here.

Reader is Heaven from the series Heaven in Your Eyes.

When the heavy doors of Arrow House opened, revealing your dainty frame bathed in the pale moonlight that reflected on both your silvery mane and the whiteness of your fabulous outfit, all the guests' eyes opened wide in surprise. If there is one thing they did not expect it was you participating in the dinner Tommy's new wife, Nina, had organized. While not particularly comfortable with hosting an event, the young Italian lass had wished to consolidate the family ties, missing the warmth of her own since she moved to Birmingham.

The shock of your presence did not come from resentment but rather surprise since you carefully did your best to avoid any social contact for the last couple of weeks. Getting used to Arthur coming alone to family meetings or celebrations had been utterly odd considering how symbiotic your relationship was, to the extent of becoming a physical and emotional dependence most people deemed unhealthy and vaguely unsettling. Yet, they never dared to inquire much about the matter.

The reason behind their discretion wasn't a lack of curiosity, but rather how the lanky gangster waved off the questions by replying with vague and stern explanations about some unnamed sickness that kept you in bed. Moreover, his dissuasive growls and murderous glare had been enough to keep tongues shut. But among the family and acquaintances, one soul couldn't be fooled by empty excuses and it bore the name of Nina Ferrante Shelby. The cunning dark-haired girl reckoned that the two lovebirds had been trying hard to hide an ugly truth she couldn't pinpoint yet, but her sharp eyes noticed a few details everyone else had missed.

It had started with Arthur, whom she saw compulsively readjusting his shirt's collar in an attempt to make sure that most of his flesh was well-covered, protected from indiscreet eyes. Where Tommy believed he was hiding some hickeys, Nina's honey glance caught sight of the swollen and reddish edges of a deep wound carefully hidden under the fabric of his shirt the moment Arthur had turned his head to look at Finn and rebuff him in a condescending older brother way. When his steel blue eyes met Nina's, he understood that she had seen the scar and quickly readjusted his collar, clearing his throat in embarrassment before bringing her attention to another topic but it was already too late. He had just confirmed her suspicions by doing so. The second alarming detail she caught was when she came to your house following Arthur's announcement that you were sick. She noticed how your eyes had changed since your last encounter, shivering at the way their aquamarine color had mysteriously turned one shade paler. Not only did they become almost white, but their black pupils were covered by a milky veil that rendered them as blank and glassy as a decaying corpse's. As much as Nina liked you, connecting with the wild and untamable nature you both shared, her blood would instantly run cold in her veins each time her gaze met yours: the loving and knowing looks you would often give her had turned into a dizzying void: all she could find in your eyes was emptiness.

But what had startled her the most hadn't been Arthur's odd behavior nor the disturbing abyss of your clouded eyes, but rather the frozen and disturbing something that radiated off you. In truth, you had always been surrounded by an ethereal, cold, and otherworldly threatening aura. A part of it was certainly due to your unusual appearance and your frozen beauty though. Yet, as you passed by her tonight, Nina knew it was different. You might have looked the same, dressed in a seductive and revealing dress adorned with expensive gold jewels, but apart from your familiar appearance the Sicilian nymph couldn't recognize you anymore. Worst than not recognizing the only friend she had made in England, Nina couldn't understand why her whole being reacted with unexplainable spikes of panic each time her skin grazed yours. It was as if her unconscious could foresee the monster that was lurking behind your seraphic complexions even before her eyes could.

As the dinner dragged on, Nina grasped the visible discomfort that had been growing on your face. The more minutes passed, the more you looked as if you were about to snap.

"Are you okay?" The Italian beauty mouthed, but the only reply she got was sheer silence. Overwhelmed by your bottomless hunger, you were trying your best not to let the delicious scents of human flesh get the best of you. Staring at the void, you nervously rubbed Arthur's thigh under the table and completely ignored Nina, far too busy trying not to think about her exquisite tan skin. Would she taste as sweet as the honey of her eyes? With his attention caught by the friction on his thigh, the gangster quickly glanced at you, concerned, and gently pressed his large and warm hand on yours in silent support. He knew you were starting to lose your patience.

"Can't you make her shut the fuck up?" Your siren-like voice, colder than Everest's snow, echoed in the room with such a caustic tone that Ada opened her eyes wide, an expression of pure shock on her doll-like face when you cut her off that bluntly. So bluntly even Nina, who was aware of the colder nature you hid from the rest of the world, couldn't help but almost choke on her wine.

"The hell is wrong with you, Heaven? She's a baby and sometimes babies cry! What a surprise!" Ada was quick to reply, instinctively hugging her newborn daughter closer as she cradled her. Elizabeth had been uncontrollably sobbing from the moment her big brown eyes had met your dead gaze. They said babies are more sensitive to silent threat, you know. Agnese once told Nina. Her cries, piercing and nerve-racking, had worsened the insufferable famine that howled inside of you. Not hiding your annoyance anymore, you rolled your shoulders to ease the tension of your stiff body but it didn't work, "I'm serious Heaven. You should consider getting used to it if you want to give children to Arthur one day." Ada lectured with one raised brow, making Elizabeth hop on her thighs to try to hush her. It didn't work. You dug your sharp nails into Arthur's thigh in reply, feeling your self-control break down at the child's exciting sobs and Ada's mouth-watering perfume. Arthur let out a low-key growl and squeezed your cold hand tighter.

"She's been screaming into my damn ear for God knows how long, Ada. Don't you think I've been patient enough? Isn't it enough for you to calm her down?" Your voice was hushed, barely above your normal tone, and yet its anger resonated loudly. Each word was carefully pronounced with a tense stillness between them, cold, sharp, and cutting like a razor slicing through the air, "So either you make her shut the fuck up..." You growled, the raging storm coming, "Or I'll bash her fucking head against the table!" You suddenly commanded, standing up so violently that your chair fell behind you in a noisy thud.

" Arthur!" Ada screamed, astounded and furious at your insolence.

"Arthur! Can't you control your wife?! Oh Arthur! Can't you put a damn leash around her neck?!" You cut her off, hitting the dining table with your delicate palms. All the plates and glasses clinked. Silence fell upon the room, the family now looking at you in a combination of fright and surprise. Even Tommy, who never missed an opportunity to fight with you, found himself petrified by your rage. It was even more surprising considering how you weren't the one to lose your temper easily, rather leaving this behavior to your husband. In other circumstances, Nina would have giggled for when she talked one could often hear revolution, but it didn't make her laugh. Quite the contrary. She stood up at the same time Arthur did, and gently put her warm hands on Ada's shoulders while the lanky gangster wrapped your waist protectively and pulled you closer.

"Please Ada, don't take it personally," Nina started, "Heaven's been struggling to sleep for weeks, that's just the fatigue talking. Right Arthur?"

"Right." The oldest Shelby brother mumbled, "C'm'here angel, you're going to rest a bit in one of the guest's bedrooms ay." And without further ado nor apologies, Arthur hurried on and led you out of the dining room, quickly climbing the stairs of Arrow house to lock both of you in another wing of the mansion. "Okay you calm down now. Told ye it was a bad idea." He urged, his calloused hand cupping your face to keep you focused.

"But Nina worked her arse off for this party. I had to come." You grunted through gritted teeth, all of them sharp and pointy except for the upper and lower central incisors, "I feel like I'm becoming crazy." Pushing Arthur away, you started to pace in the bedroom while pulling your hair back. The gangster's eyes followed your every move, heart racing in his chest as he witnessed you becoming more and more feral and mentally unstable. He knew he had to do something before you slipped into another murderous craze, as you did the night you came back covered with fresh blood.

When Arthur exited the room he was as white as a ghost. Wobbling on his long legs, the gangster made a few steps before he had to lean against the wall so as not to fall on the wooden floor of the corridor. He had lost so much blood that he was pale and sweaty, a confused look etched on his face. With his breathing shallow and ragged, Arthur knew he was about to faint at any minute. After a quick but rough fuck, he had cradled your dainty body in his arms while your teeth broke his skin and muscle — He didn't let it show, but he had almost passed out twice. Bringing one trembling hand to his forehead, the gangster let out a shaky sigh as he relished the cold sensation of his rings against his burning skin.

"Take." A ghostly female voice resounded in the hallway, making him turn around in one vivid movement that instantly made him regret doing so. He grunted, the drowsy feeling worsening, but as black dots appeared in front of his eyes, he could still recognize the charming silhouette of Nina who was handling him some chocolate squares. Her magnificent amber eyes curiously gawked at him, then at the red stain on his disheveled shirt he didn't even button up properly, "It would be a shame for you to die the night I hold my first party here. And Tommy wouldn't be happy about that."

"Fookin' hilarious, eh." Arthur grunted but still took the chocolate, quickly putting two squares in his mouth. Not that it would be the first time Nina would see him collapse on the floor, usually drunk as fuck, but it just wasn't the same. Fortunately for him, sugar did its miracle and he soon retrieved color.

"Eat everything, stùpitu. It will do you good. My whole lineage would probably pray for you if they ever see how slim you are." Nina stated quietly, but asparkle glowed in her cunning eyes. Her brother-in-law raised a brow but obeyed, eating the rest of the chocolate before quickly slicking his hair back to tame the wild locks that had fallen in front of his face. "Now you gotta tell me what's wrong with Heaven."

"For fuck's sake," Arthur growled and rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed by Nina's insistence, "Told ye, she's sick." And that was all he said, already turning his heels to leave but Nina managed to grab him by the wrist before he even moved, her small hand firmly tightening its grip around him.

“Enough with the bullshit, Arthur. I heard uncle Charlie and Curly talked days ago. They said you came at night with three half-eaten corpses, asking them to help you hide them!” She retorted more bluntly than what the gangster expected. Astonished by the girl's temper he shot her a murderous look from over his shoulder. It didn’t seem to impress her — not in the slightest. Danger wasn't Arthur Shelby to her, it had been Stefanor Spinetta and a forced wedding. Now that she was far away from those two threats, nothing seemed to sincerely scare her anymore, "Look at you! Do you think I'm stupid or blind?" Her fingers clenched around his wrist even more, clinging to his warm freckled skin, “She’s not herself and you know it! Look at what she did to you! What happened to her?”

“Piss off, Nina! That's none of your fookin' business ay.” He snarled, teeth bared like a rabid animal about to bite. If she hadn’t been family, he would have probably gone for her throat but, instead, he just snatched his wrist from her with one violent movement that almost made her trip on her own feet.

“Vaffanculo!” Nina not being afraid of him was one thing, but her throwing herself in his arms to tear his shirt apart and expose his chest was another. He had tried to push her but she had been too quick. Arthur stood there motionless in the dim-lit corridor, mouth agape, and steel blue eyes wide open as Nina stepped back, one of her hands covering her mouth as she saw them. The dozen red and swollen bite marks on her brother-in-law's neck, shoulders, and torso. A whispered prayer escaped from her charming lips as her honey-pools eyes surveyed the wounds, some of them indicating that his flesh had been ripped off. It was a miracle Arthur didn't already die from pain, blood loss, or infection.

"Nina, love." He started, his voice soft and quiet as if he was cautiously trying to approach a wild animal, "You shouldn't tell anyone alright?" Arthur made one step towards her but she backed off in reflex, terrified, "Not even Tommy alright? You know he'll try to cure her with a bullet between her eyes."

Arthur and you left Arrow House in a hurry, right after Nina had lent him one of Tommy's shirts. She didn't know why she helped, but she did, probably feeling guilty of discovering something she shouldn't have.

It has been three days since the disastrous party, and since then you refused to leave your house, afraid of losing control again. Three days during which you remained curled up on the sofa, your blank eyes staring at the hearth. Arthur had been outside since the early morning doing God knew what, so all you did was keep watching the fire and trying to ignore the whispers. Its dancing flames, casting their orange glow on your face, didn't even manage to warm up your dying body. Absent from your own mind, you didn't even hear Arthur coming, nor leaning against the door with his arms crossed, observing you with undescribable worries shining in his loving eyes. His throat tightened with frustration at how powerless he was starting to feel, not able to do anything except watch you slowly disappear until all remained was an empty carcass only animated by hunger and bloodthirst. Somehow, he hoped what he did in the forest would soon bring you some comfort.

"Angel," he called, walking towards you and putting one gentle hand on your shoulder. He had barely touched your skin when he backed off, your iciness biting him as if he had just dipped his hand in liquid nitrogen. You looked at him, offering him a tired smile -- a smile that was only expressed by your lips curling, for your cloudy eyes looked desperately devoid of life.

"Oh, your skin's warm. It feels good."

"Come on, we'll take a hot shower." He said, pressing a kiss on your head and helping you stand up.

"Hm." You didn't protest, in fact, you let him handle you as easily as a lifeless doll until you were both in the bathroom, Arthur's skilled hands running down your shoulders and making your nightgown fall at your feet. All you did was shiver with cold, goosebumps adorning your marble skin at the frost that had settled in your bones. "I'm cold, Art..."

"I know, love." His gravelly voice slightly trembled as his fingers roamed over your protruding ribs. With thick eyebrows knitted together, Arthur let out a long sigh, "You really need to eat." He said, the palm of his free hand caressing one of the pointy bones of your hips. Still, he found you as stunning and mesmerizing as he always did.

"No, I don't want to kill another family." You retorted, pursing your juicy and glossy lips together like a sulking teen. Not that you felt any kind of emotional empathy towards your victims, but it wasn't a pleasant experience either if omitting the gargantuan pleasure of finally feeling satiated for a while. The most annoying part had been eating their daughter, no matter how tasty, fresh, and juicy her flesh had been. With that being said, you turned your head to the other side to deny him a kiss. Arthur grunted and pushed you a bit more impatiently into the shower, frustrated by your bratty behavior, which didn't disappear despite all the changes you've been through lately.

"And I don't want to see ye starving yourself," He scolded, joining you.

“It’s freezing!” You hissed, not even noticing the suffocating steam that accumulated in the shower nor how reddened your husband's skin was at the places where the burning water rained down. The feeling of it on his freshest wounds made him grit his teeth but the pain didn’t keep him from staying in the shower with you.

“It’s burning hot, love,” Arthur replied, his gravelly voice softened, filled with undeniable concern at your inability to properly feel the temperature. Noticing that you were quite literally shivering despite the hot water pouring on the two of you, the gangster’s slim arms wrapped your waist and pulled you closer to interlock your bodies. Each of your curves and shapes perfectly melted into each other, like the pieces of the same jigsaw. Only when you crashed against him you let out a sigh of relief, your shivers suddenly disappearing, and Arthur’s natural warmth spreading under your skin, crawling to your icy heart.

You hugged him back softly. Then tighter. More, I need more of him. Then so hard that your nails broke the skin of his back, scratching him until his crimson blood stained your growing claws. A hoarse whimper escaped from his trembling lips, halfway between pleasure and pain. Lately, your relationship has been filled with pain. So much pain. So much blood. You hurt him with teeth and claws, and you ate his very flesh, but to Arthur and his mind, which was sinking as deep as yours, it felt like true love.

"You don't want to kill ay," He mumbled between two kisses, "Fine, I'll do it for ye hmm?"

"No, it's not your role to do th—" He didn't let you finish your sentence, moaning as you scratched his back again, leaving long and red cuts on his flesh.

"Listen, little one," He grunted, one hand pressing against the wet wall of the shower to keep his thrusts steady, the other grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him right in the eyes, "I'll do anything for ye. Any-fucking-thing."

"Ow!" You winced when Arthur hit a painful spot inside of you but suffering quickly blended with pleasure.

"I'll let you eat me own flesh y'know." He growled again before stroking the fragile skin of your throat with his hungry tongue, the caress of his mustache sending shivers down your spine, "But you don't want that ay? And ye don't want to kill either but love, the truth is ye need to eat fookin' human flesh hm. Fuck—" He slammed his hips more fiercely, your love-making looking more like savage breeding than anything else lately. One might even wonder if pleasure was really the goal behind it, or if you were trying to see who could hurt the other the most, "So I'll —slam— fookin' —slam— hunt fresh meat —slam— for you. For us."

"Arthur! St— Stop." His sudden roughness startled you, making you momentarily snap from your emptiness. Surprised and overwhelmed, you tried to gently push him away in order to make him stop, or at least, to make him slow down his merciless pace but he didn't.

"Don't." He hissed in your ear, the tip of his nose bumping against your cheek and his scorching breath fanning over your skin. The faint and familiar whiskey scent would have usually lulled you if your sharp senses hadn’t grasped the metallic smell of blood. "I said don't.” He repeated on a firmer tome, letting go of your chin. His free hand was now firmly grabbing one of your butt cheeks to keep you from pulling your hips away from him.

You screamed at the sharp, searing pain that jolted through your body like lightning, sending a wave of raw sensation crashing against your neck. The violence with which Arthur had bitten your flesh was a shock, the intensity so sudden and overwhelming that for a moment, you felt lost in a world where pain was the only constant. His lips curled as blood gushed from the bite, tainting your immaculate marbled skin with red trickles. Eyes rolling back into his head as pleasure washed over him, Arthur hummed. "No..." You whined, panic coursing through your veins as you slowly understood the reason behind his absence earlier and the erratic behavior he was displaying. "What the fuck did you do?!" You yelled at him, struggling in his arms and whimpering at the same time, assaulted by his relentless thrusts and trapped between his body and the shower wall.

Nevertheless, you managed to slip one trembling hand on the back of his head while he relished the sweet taste of your ambrosia blood and the tightness of your sensitive walls around him. Gathering your remaining strength, you pulled him by his wet hair to free your neck from his bleeding and starving mouth. He hissed like a wildcat it reply. "Why?! Why did you do that, you bloody idiot?!" Your agonizing and furious screams seemed to work some sense back in his head though. He finally slowed down, now barely moving. In fact, he just rolled his hips sensually against yours, which resulted in a wave of pleasure that eased your pain and made you feel comfortably full.

" 'Cause I love you.” He stated, “Remember what we said when we decided to get married?" His crimson lips curled in a twisted smile, beads of blood clinging to his mustache. "If you suffer, I'll suffer. If you die I'll die," He repeated, like a proud schoolboy who had learned his lesson by heart. A gloomy and obsessive one. "And if you starve, I'll starve..." A glimmer of madness sparkled in his eyes. As the moonlight enlightened his face through the window, its deathly glow casting antlers-shaped shadows behind him, the darkness of his pupils faded from his eyes, losing their usual depth and color for an empty fog. “And if you hear them, I’ll do it to.”

“Hear what?” You murmured, fingers loosening their grip in his hair.

“The woods’ whispers.”

notes: You’ve reached the end of this story, congratulations! Admittedly it didn’t come out as I wanted first but it would have been far too long and I didn’t feel like writing a whole new series. Also it was supposed to be more graphic. When referring to the Algonquian myth of the Wendigo there are two ways to turn into one: either by dreaming of it like Heaven, who was plagued by its spirit since she was young, or by eating human flesh. This explain why his transformation is faster than Heaven’s. Upon discovering what she suffered from, Arthur decided to eat human flesh and turn into one not only to share her pain, but also to remain by Heaven’s side forever. He knew that her new condition meant she would live quite eternally and didn’t want to leave her alone. The ending is open: it’s up to you to what the woods are whispering to them and also what happens to both of them after this. Thank you for reading this disturbing Halloween AU!

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996

[forwhump]

Don’t Do This

a/n; I was gonna try and take a couple days off posting ‘cause I felt bad for being way too much but I’m addicted to the panicky feeling that a new post gives me & I could only hold out for one day :’) hello again

I wrote this world in drabbles so that’s a big part of the reason it’s getting posted in drabbles but the conundrum I’m having now is that two or three of them are now actually following the plot & the rest are all just completely random so WHAT is the rhyme or reason here ?? there isn’t one buckle in

here’s another random ♡

(introducing the rest of the unit ! fun fun fun)(I’ve created a universe that’s just so much fun for everybody involved)

tw/cw: grievous bodily harm, mutilation, disfigurement, life altering injuries, rape, noncon, guns, graphic depictions of violence, gore, transphobia, misgendering, psychological torture, torture, amputation, humiliation

living weapon whumpee, creepy whumper, super soldiers, punishment

word count : this one’s long as hell, like almost 4K words, that’s why you’re getting the heads up <3

Good days, in a place like this, are far and few in between.

Most days are wrought with some kind of torment, haunted by something unimaginable. Silas’ day to day can be averaged out to mutilation, brain surgery, training exercises — a game of slaughter for the soldiers — and field tests — a game of slaughter for Silas.

Silas doesn’t have a lot of good days.

When he does, they just make him tense.

It’s like something is missing, and how fortunate it is that the missing piece is some kind of agony but Silas finds himself bracing for it all the same.

They’re sprawled across the common room, across the couches and the mismatched carpets, and Silas isn’t in surgery, nobody else is in training, their wounds are all healing. Silas is dwarfing the loveseat but Wren had fit himself into the spot at his side and he’s so warm next to him that it’s a good day. It makes Silas’ fingers twitch. Something’s just —

Something isn’t right. It’s electric, and it prickles at the back of his neck. He’s already looking at the door when it chirps to life; a keycard is accepted, then a fingerprint, then the vault lock is unsecured.

Silas was right. Something’s wrong.

The door grinds open and a cavalry of soldiers explode into the room like a swarm of flies. It’s an ambush. They move quickly, covering the door and the perimeter of the common room, shouting over each other, shouting commands.

They flood through the common room, guns pointed towards them.

Wren’s small hand finds Silas’ quickly and Silas squeezes. He helps Wren to his feet as guns are aimed into their faces and soldiers shout at them, commanding and militant, “on your feet, asset! On your feet!”

They’re herded into a row, which gives Silas a cool, uneasy feeling he doesn’t let show on his face. Standing next to each other, they’re too drastically different in size to hold hands in any practical way, but Wren keeps close at his side, fingers woven through Silas’ sleeve so tightly his knuckles are white.

It gives Silas a pang of — not of reassurance, because it’s next to impossible to ever be reassured in a place like this, but something a bit more akin to resolve. Something’s wrong, but it really doesn’t matter what it is. If Wren’s in any sort of danger, Silas will raise fuckin’ hell. No harm will befall even a hair on his little blonde head as long as Silas has something to fuckin’ say about it.

He shifts, only slightly, shielding Wren behind his arm just as Point saunters into their unit, hands behind his back, at ease. He walks with casual, unhurried footsteps, pacing up and down the line of them, and he’s quiet for a long time. He stops once in front of Wren and Silas doesn’t like the way he looks at him.

“Assets,” he greets finally, loud and commanding. “It has come to my attention that this unit has been causing me some trouble. Again.” He stops, turns to face them, arms still at ease. “One of you,” he says, “has been feeding some information to the big guy —“ he points at Silas “— that we suspect will make him extremely volatile. That puts us in danger, and that just won’t do, will it?”

Point looks down the row of them before he settles on Wren, close against his back. “And it was you, wasn’t it?” He asks. “You weren’t a very good girl.”

Wren inhales sharply at his back and Silas isn’t sure if the race of his heartbeat is Wren’s or his own. Something cold starts to trickle down the back of his neck, just as cold as whatever’s started to frost over the inside of his ribcage.

“I asked you a question,” Point says.

Wren’s fingertips dig into Silas’ arm so hard he probably draws blood. “No,” he breathes, so soft it’s barely audible.

Point grins at him. “No?”

“No,” he insists, just as soft. “I’ve never — no. They don’t — they don’t know.”

His eyebrows lift. “They don’t know?” The way his smile spreads wider across his face is grotesque. “My,” he says. “Didn’t this just get a whole lot more interesting?”

“Please,” Wren whispers.

The way Point grins at him makes Silas’ stomach bubble. He pushes Wren behind him entirely. “Fuck off.”

Point’s gaze flickers up to Silas’ face, almost appraising, before that awful, grotesque smile spreads across his face again. “That’s why you’ve got such a soft spot for her,” he says. “She never told you she’s a whore.”

Wren inhales sharply and Silas is going to rub that smile off Point’s face with the concrete floor.

Before he gets the opportunity, Robin says, “it was me.”

He doesn’t break line, he doesn’t change face, a proper and trained soldier. But, “I talked to Silas. Wren didn’t know.”

Point turns his head before he follows the movement of it, stalking the line of them to Robin.

Wren’s older brother, the familial resemblance is undeniable; they have the same white hair, the same dark eyes, the same cheekbones. The difference between them is that Wren is a person, soft and warm, and Robin is a super soldier. He’s big and he’s broad, his hair cropped short above his ears. When he isn’t in combat, he wears round, dorky glasses. He’s always scared the hell out of Silas and Silas doesn’t quite know why. Not much else scares him.

Robin had come to him maybe a week ago, and he hadn’t said much. He didn’t know much, even. Wren hasn’t really been…himself, he’d said. More than usual. He won’t tell me what’s going on with him but I was hoping you would…keep an eye on him. He trusts you.

He really didn’t even need to ask, because Silas was always keeping an eye on Wren but Robin was worried about him and Silas knows more than enough how that feels.

He keeps his chin up as Point approaches. Wren is shaking at Silas’ back. “You?”

“Sir,” Robin agrees.

Point hums thoughtfully. “This unit is just full of surprises today, isn’t it?”

He just barely looks at his men, tipping his head towards Robin. The militia descends on him, shouting and aiming and threatening, getting Robin to his knees, hands behind his head. Two of them hold him there, kneeling on the concrete as Point stands in front of him with a grin.

“Asset,” he says. “You have been charged today with inciting violence.”

“No,” Wren breathes. “No, please —“

“Normally,” Point says, grinning wider, not turning his head, “the punishment for inciting violence is execution. But we’ve made exceptions for the freak,” he explains, his eyes flickering to Silas, “so we’ve decided to show you mercy. You will get to walk away.” And he grins, flicking his wrist, and a buck knife slides out from his sleeve and glints tauntingly in the fluorescence. “We just need to make absolutely certain you are no longer capable of inciting violence in our facility. Precautions need to be taken.” With his other hand, he grabs a fistful of Robin’s white hair and he drives his knee into his windpipe.

Robin chokes, gasping for ragged breaths as Point takes a step back, just far enough that he can boot Robin in the face and throw him off his knees, onto his back. From there, Point stomps down onto his face, and the pitch of the gurgling noise that Robin makes gives Silas goosebumps.

“Today,” he announces, “we will take your tongue. We will no longer have to worry about threats of violence, and you will be used as an example to your unit. We don’t make empty threats. We will not have any more insurgence in this fuckin’ place, do I make myself clear?”

“Please,” Wren breathes, peeking out from around Silas’ arm and Silas tries to shield him again but he’s stubborn, he’s insistent. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Point looks at him and he looks for a long time. It makes all the hair at the back of Silas’ neck stand up, and he holds out an arm, not shielding Wren, just blocking him, just in case. Silas can see the idea form in the way that Point’s face lights up, cruel and delighted. He clicks his tongue at Wren, angling his head, some kind of signal. “Bring the girl over here,” he commands. “I want to be inside her while I cut out her brother’s tongue.”

“No,” Robin grunts, with the wet strain of somebody bleeding down the back of his own throat.

“No,” Wren breathes, taking a quick step back.

A wall of black tactical gear and assault rifles closes in on him quickly, and Silas moves without any hesitation or conscious thought at all.

He pivots. He’s gentle, he’s so gentle with Wren as he pushes him behind himself and barricades him from the nightmare cavalry. Wren’s hand finds his arm so tightly that Silas’ bones grind together and it’s his resolve. He won’t let anything happen to Wren — he can’t. Over his dead fuckin’ body.

Robin — whatever. Silas could take him or leave him. But he means a lot to Wren, and Silas won’t let Wren down.

“I fuckin’ dare you,” he spits.

Give lifts his gun. “Stand down, asset.”

“Tell you what,” Silas says, lifting his chin. “If you get me down, I’ll stay down.”

Give aims his gun towards Silas’ dick. “I don’t think that’ll be too hard.”

But the funniest thing about these soldiers is that they know Silas. They were here for his creation. They’ve witnessed every field test. They know what he can do. They know exactly what he’s capable of. When Silas needs to be escorted from the unit they’ll argue amongst themselves, throwing weight and rank around, about who has to stand in front because none of them want to put their backs to him.

They’re scared of him. They’re right to be, but they’re scared of him. But there’s something in this unit — maybe it’s because Silas is corned and drastically outnumbered, but it makes them cocky. It’s like they forget to be scared.

They should always be scared.

Silas rips the gun out of Give’s hands and shatters every bone in his face with the base. He drops into a limp pile of limbs and Silas can’t tell if he’s breathing. He struggles, sometimes, with how little it actually takes to kill a human being. Overkill, sometimes, but he’s never tried to tone it down.

“Asset!” Preach bellows, and Silas hooks his foot behind his ankle, sending him sprawling. Once he’s on the ground, Silas drives his heel down and right through the centre of his face. He hits concrete, and bone tears through his sock and bites open the bottom of his foot.

He’s rewarded with a knife between the ribs.

It’s whatever, it’s a knife to the ribs, it’s definitely not Silas’ first. But it hurts, of course it fuckin’ hurts, it hurts all the way through him and deep into his chest and he rips the knife out of his side with a roar. Rock, still standing close at his side, exhales an, “aw, fuck,” before Silas gives him back his knife. He brings it up, through the underside of his chin, into the roof of his mouth. Blood pours out of his face like a faucet had been turned on. He hits the ground with a noise like a splatter.

This time, he’s rewarded with a bullet to the face.

It isn’t lethal, but Silas is still shot in the face.

His cheekbone shatters on impact and he goes completely blind on his left side. For a second, for only a second, the world around him blurs completely, but it happens for a second too long. Silas sways, and when the vision clears in his right eye they’re all close, they’re all way too fuckin’ close.

“Back up,” he snarls, but then everything blurs again and their hands are on Wren and they’re trying to wrench him from his side.

“NO!” Silas roars.

“Silas!” Wren cries. He reaches for him, and Silas grabs him quickly by the hand.

While his arm is outstretched, Need strikes, and he breaks all the way through Silas’ elbow with a buck knife.

It crackles with pain for barely a moment before Silas stops feeling anything in his arm. It falls to his side, useless and limp, and Silas quickly reaches for Wren with his other arm but Silas thinks he might be losing a lot of blood and quickly isn’t quick enough.

Wren is hauled away as Silas is surrounded, guns aimed at all his most vital spots, fingers on triggers.

Wren fights, begs, struggles, but Tide and Vineyard make easy work of dragging him across the concrete. His wrists are tied behind his back, and when they drop him at Point’s feet, they drop him on his back, his hands trapped against the concrete. There’s something really helpless about it and it makes Silas really nauseous. The knife is still pierced through his elbow.

Point lifts his boot and presses it down against Wren’s throat, holding him there.

Silas doesn’t snarl so much as his chest makes some kind of noise, something low, like some kind of predatory animal. The barrel of a gun is hoisted, cold, against the nape of his neck, a warning.

“This is getting just fuckin’ ridiculous,” Point snaps at the room at large. “Ridiculous! All of this fuckin’ trouble! For some whore!” He looks down at Wren and tells him directly, “you are not worth all this fuckin’ trouble.”

Something akin to hatred knots in Silas’ chest, something akin to hatred but something so much stronger, something he doesn’t have the words to describe. It’s heavy, and it’s restless under his skin. The knife is still pierced through his elbow.

Point coils Wren’s braid around his fist and drags him over to Robin as Wren cries. Robin tries to protest, makes a hiccuping sort of sound, but he doesn’t speak. He probably can’t. He’s drowning.

“You people have been giving me a lot of trouble,” Point announces. He props Wren’s head up against Robin’s chest. “I’ve earned this.”

Wren sobs and it’s the single worst sound that Silas has ever heard. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. The knife is still pierced through his elbow.

“Please,” he begs, “please, please. Don’t do this. Please.”

Point grins at him. “You know how much I love it when you beg.” In a single, fluid motion, he hauls Wren’s joggers down his thighs.

The knife is still pierced through Silas’ elbow. He takes quick stock. He can still use one of his arms and he can still see from one of his eyes. He’s probably still at an advantage over a regular, human soldier.

Except Hal is swarmed, too. Not the same as Silas, because Hal’s a little more human than Silas, but he’s swarmed, and still, he shoves a soldier out of his way by the side of his head as he shouts, “you can’t do this!”

Point looks up quickly. He kind of scans the room before he settles on Hal. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t fuckin’ do this!” Hal cries.

“Stand down,” a soldier warns him and Hal pulls that guy’s knees out from under him.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” He protests. “This is fucked up!”

Point looks down at Wren for a long time, who cries quietly and doesn’t look back. Finally, he leans over him, up to Robin, and pries his mouth open. Robin doesn’t fight him. He doesn’t even hiccup this time.

Point eases his tongue from his mouth and severs it with a flick of his wrist. Stepping over Wren and Robin, he sidles up to Hal, getting right up in his face. “Which one are you?”

“Singh,” Hal answers. He adds, mocking, “sir.”

Something flickers in Point’s jaw. “Singh,” he agrees. “They tell me you’re not very bright, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt. I will choose to believe it is ignorance and not defiance that has made you think you have any right to stand up to me or to tell me what I can’t do. You do not. I can do anything I’d like. I can do whatever I want to you people. Do I make myself clear?”

Hal doesn’t deign that with a response.

Point flicks Robin’s tongue into his face and bellows, “do I make myself clear?”

Hal doesn’t flinch, but he closes his eyes.

Point delights in it. “Soldier,” he says, and when Hal looks at him, he goes on, “you know to look at a superior when they’re talking to you.” He looks at Vineyard. “Both eyes. Left and right.”

Vineyard nods.

Hal says, “what?”

The swarm is back at him in a second and it’s bigger this time. They force Hal onto the ground, onto his back, they pin him there by his arms and his legs and his wrists and his chest and his chin. Tide holds his eyelids open.

Hal thrashes. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? This is bullshit!”

“You should’ve known better than to misbehave,” Point says.

He hands Vineyard the same knife he’d used to amputate Robin’s tongue. Vineyard flips it over in his fist, and straddles Hal’s chest. Hal thrashes again, trying to throw him off. “Get the fuck off me! You can’t do this shit! This is fucked!”

“What did I just say?” Point snaps. He snaps his fingers, and Vineyard carves both of Hal’s eyeballs out of their sockets.

He screams the whole time.

He screams himself hoarse, and when Vineyard climbs off of him, when the swarm depletes, he’s a pile on the floor, head down, and Silas can’t tell if he’s still conscious.

“I am getting sick,” Point spits, “sick of the behaviour from this fuckin’ unit. You are livestock. You are property. You belong to me. You have no power here. And I’m delighted to let you know, livestock, that you aren’t even our best. You aren’t special. If you can’t learn to behave yourselves, you will all be put down, and our efforts will be relocated to another unit and you will not be missed. Except the girl,” he adds, mostly to Wren, standing over him again. He winks. “What a waste of such fuckable meat. We’ll keep her in the barracks until we get bored of her. She will be kept busy.”

Wren sobs and Silas’ fingers twitch. His arm is hot with bleeding.

Point crouches down above Wren again and makes a sound, a mock sigh. “I was really looking forward to fucking you while I cut his tongue out,” he says, pulling his joggers the rest of the way down, “and now I’m really disappointed. So you’re gonna have to make that up to me.”

Wren sobs again. His voice is trembling as he begs, “please, please. Please don’t do this. Please.”

“Be good,” Point tells him, and there isn’t even any mocking amusement in it. “I’m already disappointed. Don’t put me in a bad mood.”

“Please,” Wren sobs.

Point pulls him a little closer, pulls his head off of Robin’s chest. “Be a good girl,” he says. “I’m not asking.”

His hands find Wren’s waist and Wren wails. “Please.”

Something shifts in Point’s face. His bad mood. “Just be a good girl!” He cracks his fist into Wren’s face so hard that the back of Wren’s head ricochets off the pavement before he goes completely, unsettlingly still. His cheekbone is already bruised as Point snaps, “fuck sake.” With a grunt, he spits in Wren’s face. “Dumb bitch.” As he stands, he looks right at Silas. “Not as much fun fucking her when she’s not awake to fight me off.”

Silas is a violent person, but the kind of violence that Point stokes in him is something like nothing else Silas has ever experienced. It’s dizzying, not a thirst but a lust, and Silas doesn’t just want to kill him but he wants to eviscerate him.

He makes it half a step closer before the soldier standing closest, Vienna, lifts his gun and shoves the barrel tight against the bottom of Silas’ chin.

“Stand down.”

Silas doesn’t even have time to remove the knife from his arm. Silas grabs Vienna around the throat and crushes every bone in his neck with his other hand. He’s dead before he has time to react.

Two gunshots are the soundtrack to his body hitting the concrete. The pain registers a moment later.

It explodes through both of Seven’s kneecaps, one at a time, a white hot sort of pain that seeps into the marrow of his bones and hurts from the inside. He drops to his knees, and fire licks up into his hips, his chest, it churns his stomach with something hot and acidic that crawls up the back of his throat as he bellows.

Point lowers his handgun. “He told you to stand down.”

“Eat shit,” Silas seethes, and Point fires another shot into the already shattered plate of his right knee. The way the pain ripples through him knocks the wind out of him, and Silas groans through his teeth, breathless.

“Down, boy,” Point says. Silas snarls as he saunters closer, gun raised but almost mocking in its brandishing. “You embarrass yourself, you know,” he tells him. “Losing all this blood for the sake of the fucksleeve. This is a waste of your talents.”

Silas snorts at him. “Get fucked.”

It brings back Point’s grin, and he points at Wren’s limp body. “Like your little girlfriend’s going to be?”

Silas rips the knife out of his arm. He means to throw it, but he doesn’t get that far.

He gets shot in the face. Again.

It blows everything to darkness for a second and when Silas comes back to himself he’s on his back, looking up at Point, illuminated ominously by the fluorescent lights.

Point grins down at him again. “For constant belligerence,” he says, “left leg. Below the knee.” He holds out a hand, and Vineyard hands him an axe. “I’ll do the honours. Shame the girl isn’t conscious for this one.” He turns the axe in his hands, brandishing it dramatically before he hoists the end of it towards June.

“Tollier,” he says. “Any grand, heroic gestures for this one before I amputate his leg?”

June looks at Silas like she might try.

He shakes his head against the concrete.

She looks at him for as long as the moment will allow. Still, she doesn’t look away when she whispers, “no.”

“Hmm,” Point says. “Good girl.” He looks at her with an almost genuine approval. “Two fingers from your left hand for general insubordination,” he orders. “But I’ll let you pick which two fingers.”

Vineyard’s grin glints in the overhead lights.

Silas is sure June screams, but it sounds like his ears are full of water and he can’t hear much of anything else.

Point grins, wide and maniacal. It’s the most evil Silas has ever seen him look. “Brace yourself, big guy,” he says, and he leans in real close to make sure Silas can hear him. “This is really going to hurt.”

[mlmxreader]

Great War | John Price x m!reader

summary: the trenches at the front line are the worst possible place to be for anyone, but they're even worse for enemies who don't wish to be.

tws: gas attacks, guns, injury, graphic depictions of death and war, swearing

note: this is a WW1 au, and may (??) have more parts to it if enough people want me to do more.

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

December. Nineteen seventeen. Three years at war had done nothing but cause chaos and destruction; the bodies of men still littered No Man's Land, planes still fought above, rare glimpses of the Flying Circus brought great joy to the Austrian soldiers lacking morale.

Blisters and infections on their feet. Tired and exhausted from constant fighting, constant raids, constant death. Starving, only allowed what was given out in rations and was shit quality. The morale in the Austrian trenches was awful, they were worn out and it was clear to see that none of them believed in the so-called Great War; at least, that's what the politicians called it. Panzers still rolled through No Man's Land, opening the ground's weeping wounds.

Flamethrowers would follow soon after, cauterising the wounds for just a moment. Then the soldiers would charge, and more men would waste their final moments in fear and anxiety and doubt; some of them were hardly old enough to be out of school, still fresh faced, yet their glares would always be haunted. The things that they had seen on No Man's Land were inescapable.

The British trenches never fired upon the Austrian trenches, though, silence eerie when everything else went away; the shock troops stopped firing six months into the war, when Captain Price had first started to see you. As the leader of the Austrian soldiers in that trench, you did everything to protect your men, everything to keep them safe; it wasn't enough, but you did your best, and you came to an agreement with the British opposite.

No one knew, but that agreement had come when you and Price had first agreed to be lovers; months of building up a rapport with one another, it was only natural that you fell for each other. You couldn't bring yourselves to kill the men opposite. Lives gone and erased by commands, yet yours held strong for now; morale might have been beaten out of them by the constant whip of the war, but your men weren't broken by Price's, and his weren't broken by yours. When December came, although neither you nor Price celebrated it, a Christmas Truce was always held.

Belgium had been flooded just three years ago, hundreds lost to the powerful gushing waters. A year ago, nearly three hundred had died in avalanches in Italy. Two years ago, the Germans had gassed Russians, and in doing so, had brought the dead back to life. You had heard about that from one of the men who had retreated, when he had come to your trenches to ask for some milk and bread when his own didn't have any. He was so shaken. He flinched at every sound, cowered at every whiff of gunpowder. If anyone even mentioned the Russians, he would press his back to the nearest wall and sob, violently.

"Their faces…" he would cry. "They were coming apart… flesh from bone…"

"Like they were rotting?"

"Like they were melting… they wouldn't stop. They kept coming towards us… marching… these fields…"

"What about these fields, Heinrich?"

He would grab the lapels of anyone who was talking to him, knuckles white as he stared into their soul with big brown eyes, sweat beginning to drip down his face. "The dead can't rest… they come back."

Heinrich didn't go back to his own trench. You asked, specifically, for him to be transferred and to stay with your own; at least that way, he wouldn't have to fear Russians again. He could, at least, enjoy the uneasy peace between the Austrian trenches and the British; not getting shot at or needing to shoot unless high command were around and throwing their weight.

Your right hand man, König, often kept an eye on Heinrich, the two never far from one another at the worst of times; they often even slept cuddles up with each other. It wasn't rare, in the dead of night, for you and the British Captain to sneak off and to meet in the middle of the wounded land; Price would sit on a rock he had dragged over, smoking a cigarette. You would sit opposite, perched on a log that had been brought for firewood, chewing at your lip.

Then again, it wasn’t rare for the British Captain to sneak over to the Austrian trenches, either, under the disguise of darkness and keeping his head down in case any of his fellows saw him; tonight was one of those nights.

"How's the Austrians?"

"Scheiße," you scoffed, shaking your head. "Moral ist… nicht gut, Kapitän… und du? Wie geht's?"

"Auch nicht gut," Price shook his head. He had picked up on some German after being with you for so long. "Sehr müde."

"I'd offer you my bed, but it's full of lice," you grumbled. "Even with the rats and the Katze, we can't get rid of the fucking things."

He smiled. "So, exactly like us."

"More or less," you breathed out. "Kapitän… ein Gefallen?"

"Sure."

"Sag mir, daß du mich liebst," you pleased quietly. "Bitte. Just to get me through the night."

Price nodded, leaning forward so that he could gently grasp your hand tightly in his own. "Ich liebe dich, mein Stoßtrupp… there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"What?"

"Why did you leave the cavalry?" He asked quietly.

"I didn't want to see horses die," you told him bluntly. "You… you get used to seeing people die. But horses? The screaming… the look in their eyes… I couldn't do it. I couldn't bear to see another animal die like that."

"You can hardly stomach seeing soldiers die."

"Don't remind me," you huffed, shaking your head. "Bitte. Don't remind me."

Price nodded, sparing a look over at your trenches as a soft hum came from the back of his throat. "How's Heinrich getting along?"

"Old Albert?" You asked, once upon a time you would have smiled at the nickname but now you couldn’t, but then you shrugged. "He's gone."

"Gone?"

"He…" you swallowed thickly. "He keeps waking up, screaming. He nearly shot König, thinking he was Russian… I know we'll never see the end of the war, but Albert will never see the end of that day."

"Which day?"

"The Sechster August."

Price went quiet. He knew what the Germans had done that day, and how the Russians had reacted; he heard tales from men who had spoken to Russians about how they were unkillable, rising from toxic gas as little more than melting corpses still ready for the fight. Still ready to kill.

The war would never end, and for the unkillable Russians, they couldn't even have the peace of death. Everyone had been dragged into it, ally and axis alike, but now nobody really believed in it, nobody really wanted to fight each other; politicians and civilians did not see it, did not want to hear that the pride of their nations, their bravest soldiers, did not want to kill.

In the three years since the war had begun, nobody wanted to fight anymore; nobody wanted to die for a politician's pissing contest with another. You were all alike, one way or another.

Bravery was stupidity. Glory was a myth. Only melancholy and agony was afforded to soldiers; compassion was intelligence. Kindness was a living legend. Yet, for every soldier on the battlefield, the only reality that they knew was blood and agony; nightmares and mental breakdowns. Exhaustion and despair.

War had taken everything from everyone. But it would never break human nature; the nature of kindness, compassion, civility and tolerance. War would never take away those things that soldiers kept locked away, trying their best to preserve humanity.

How could such a thing so perfectly and terribly human ever be broken?

How could such a thing so instinctual, buried within the very roots of one's nature and one’s genetic make-up, ever be broken and torn away?

Price licked his lips, taking a look around as he chewed at the inside of his lip, pulling the flesh away and leaving a raw spot with jagged edges. He glared at you for a moment, such a soft and yet melancholic glare. “There will be a truce soon.”

You nodded. “Few more days.”

He nodded back. “We have to be careful.”

“We have to anyway,” you pointed out. “Fraternisation is one thing, mein geliebter, aber… romantic involvement with an axis soldat?” You tutted as you shook your head. “You’ll be shot.”

Price shrugged, scratching at his beard; once upon a time, he had mutton chops and a moustache, but as razors were hard to come by, he had allowed the whole thing to grow out. The grey hairs amongst the fine brown ones were certainly a sight to behold. “So would you, my dear.”

You sighed, swallowing thickly, trying to fight back the tears. “I have had enough of war, John. I’ve had enough, and I want to go home - if I have to fall to my knees and scream for mein vater as I die… so be it.”

An all too common sentiment amongst soldiers from all sides, yet it never stopped hurting Price when he heard it; it wasn’t uncommon for soldiers and officers to dream of death, even if only to escape the war without being cowards. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.

“Not you.” He was nearly pleading. “You have to make it out.”

“John,” you frowned, daring to hold onto his hand tightly as you sighed. “I’m tired. With the exception of you, the war has taken everything from me, and I just want it to end.”

“It will end,” he promised. “I know it will.”

“And what will happen then?” You scoffed. “You’ll whisk me away to your beloved Liverpool, and we’ll live happily?”

“Something like that,” he replied, “just please… don’t die without me. Don’t go somewhere I can’t follow.”

“I can’t promise that,” you told him, shaking your head and daring to let his hand go. You took a look at your watch, and swallowed thickly. “You best leave, mein geliebter. It will be dawn soon, und dein Kommandant will not be very happy if he finds you in Austrian trenches.”

Price nodded, daring to pull you as close as he could, kissing you softly before he turned towards the door. “I’ll see you soon, my dear.”

“Ja,” you whispered, watching him go.

But you weren’t left alone for long, as once Price had left you and you had had a cigarette, Kościuszko walked in, eyes wild and wide with fear.

“Americans!” He was panicked, in a frenzy.

You clenched your jaw, nodding as you grabbed your gun from where it had been leaning, and ushered him out. You climbed upon a box, and dared to raise your voice. “Get your fucking gas masks on! Get your guns ready! Grab whatever fucking weapons you can!”

“Sir?” Krueger stared at you, furrowing his brows. “What’s happening?”

“Americans have been spotted nearby,” you nearly mumbled. “We have to act quickly.”

The men nodded, rushing to grab gas masks and whatever weaponry was lying around in your trench; you didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to lead the charge into the barrage of hostility, into the very jaws of death and destruction, but you had no choice. For your men, it was kill or be killed; if you had to lay down your life to make sure that they could one day go home, you would have gladly done it without a question.

But oh, the fight was bloody.

Several other axis groups, mostly stormtroopers themselves, had joined you and your men in the fight, your very brothers; your lungs felt like they were going to pop, heaving and panting with baited breaths. Eyes wild and wide, hardly able to focus. The screaming. The loud firing of guns, a harmony of chaos.

Dead men laid at your feet wherever you stepped, and although you wanted to give up when you saw the eyeless body of a young man - hardly older than sixteen, a child by all accounts - you knew you had to keep going; that child, like many others, would be buried amongst the mud and forgotten.

His family would not get his body back, and would never be able to truly say goodbye; a name in the sand washed away by a red tide. There was no greatness, no glory to be chased and captured; the lies in the propaganda had made you all believe that you were fighting for something noble and just - but what you saw on the battlefield was anything but.

What was so great about being full to the brim with fear? What was so great about having to walk across the bodies of children?

What the fuck had you become?

You managed to push the Americans back, but at what cost?

There was little time for licking wounds and trying to rest; battered and bruised, you and your men spent the most of the day in the trench, weeping and cowering and hoping that there would not be another enemy rush. Smoke drifted across the blackened and blued skies, a thick grey and yellow fog slowly drifted up above No Man's Land; trees were illuminated by the thick clouds, black sticks stripped of their life.

The trenches were dark, only faintly glowing orange as small fires were lit to keep freezing soldiers alive for the night; in the morning, half of them would be dead. Yet, within that harsh cold, covered in ice and snow and mud and rain, there had been peace here and there; John Price, the English Captain, had come back after his visit the previous night.

He spoke some German although wasn’t exactly fluent, yet he always greeted the Austrian soldiers with a smile and with a polite nod; sometimes he shook their hands, it depended on how muddy and bloody his own were at the time. Places to wash were hard enough to come by, soap was even more difficult to scavenge. Usually, when raids occurred, they were stolen before food was. Whenever Price visited, it was clear that, for the night, Austrian and English alike were friends; some were even brothers.

Tonight you were all brothers, tonight you were all friends, and as Price crept through the trench, he couldn't help but to think that tonight would be the night he would get caught; tonight would be the night that high command found out what he was doing and would promptly ship him away to Verdun.

Gallipoli.

The Somme.

Passchendaele.

Somewhere he wouldn't return from, somewhere he would die and be buried with the masses who had been shot down in the mud; at least it was better than being in the mountains. Avalanches weren't as kind as a bullet, suffocating soldiers beneath snow; it was no secret what had happened on Mount Marmolada.

Maybe tonight, Price's luck would run out and he would be caught fraternising with the enemy, maybe tonight would be his last. Although he was far from an idiot, Price could see that the American charge had left them all bloodied and bruised, and had rendered them weak, desperate for rest; he tried not to be a pain to them as much as he could.

König slept soundly near the fire, head tilted forward and his arms across his chest, crushing his rifle against his body, his gas mask dangling from his knee; the giant didn't seem so big now, snoring softly. It was weird that Price could see his face, usually hidden behind that gas mask of his, but he could see that König's hair was messy and damp from the rain; so he grabbed a coat from the floor, and pinned it above the giant like an umbrella before he continued his march through the enemy trench.

Krueger was still awake, hunched over slightly and smoking a cigarette; covered up by his coat, it was difficult to believe that the man had any tattoos at all. Yet, he sat there, looking down at the ground as he watched rats run across without a care; he was a tough man, scarred from too many encounters with death, but when he looked up at Price with those big brown eyes, it was easy to see the fear and the anxiety that lived in every soldier on the front lines. Krueger wasn't an idiot, clearing his throat as he pointed out where Price had to go.

"Danke," Price nodded.

Krueger nodded back slowly, but said nothing as he leaned back and continued to watch the rats; their dark fur seemed to sparkle, the glitter of rain mixed with the yellow light from the fire.

Kościuszko, different from the others, sat outside the Captain's section of the trench; he smiled when he saw Price.

"You're here to see our captain?"

"Yeah," Price shrugged. "May I?"

Kościuszko nodded. "He's still wide awake."

He rapped on the door, and within seconds, it opened.

"Sobieslaw," you grumbled. "What is it? If it's about the rats again, I told you, I can't-"

"Hallo," Price smiled, waving at you. "You alright?"

You huffed, gesturing for him to get in, and when he did, you slammed the door behind him with a puff. "What?"

"You're not excited to see me," Price frowned, furrowing his brows. "What is it?"

You shrugged, chewing at the inside of your lip. "Difficult few days."

"Yeah?" He hummed as he took a seat on the crudely made stool.

"We've been gassed eight times," you sighed. "Shot at. Grenades thrown at us. Americans charging at us trying to fucking kill us. Every time I close my fucking eyes, I can see those kids begging me to put a bullet in their skull so they won't suffer. Every fucking day, John, I'm reminded that this war is bullshit. Just wasting lives."

He nodded, daring to light a cigarette. "Can't talk like that, Captain, y'know high command don't tolerate it."

"Broken promises of glory," you scoffed, helping yourself to a cigarette. "Every day, more lives lost for a fucking pissing contest. Those kids had dreams, and now it's fuck all."

"I know."

"We were dragged into this shit," you scoffed. "Everyone who dies, dies in vain. Fights in vain… for what? To realise that there's no enemy? That victory, glory and honour are just bullshit?"

"Pretty much."

"I've had it," you admitted, collapsing beside him and resting your head on his shoulder. "Mein geliebter, I've had it… Ich hasse Krieg."

Price frowned as he put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer as he hummed ever so softly. "Wipe your tears, Captain. There's no point crying right now."

"I don't want to die in a war that would use my name to send more children to die."

"I know," he agreed softly. "I don't either, but… what can we do? Franz Ferdinand's not gonna come back from the grave and undo all this shit."

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

General notes;

Pairing; Lancewain; Lancelot - The Weeping Monk x Gawain - The Green Knight

Fandom; Cursed (Netflix), Cursed (Book)

General TWs; Whump, Graphic depictions of violence, religious trauma, childhood trauma, torture, near death, severe injuries, mentions of self harm, chronic pain. (Chapter Specific TWs on every chapter.)

General Tags; slowburn, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort

Summary; They were once the fiercest of enemies. Gawain - The Green Knight; protector of all Feykind, steadfast defender of the innocent. Lancelot - The Weeping Monk; the Church's finest blade, remorseless scourger of the Fey. Now they find themselves crippled by their experiences, both unwilling allies and owing each other a debt... This, the story of reinvention, forgiveness and found love as the future of the Fey hangs in the balance.

Ao3 Link;

Masterlists;

To be added;

Simplified/Part by Part Masterlist

Ao3 Links Masterlist

Characters Masterlist 1

Chapter Recap Masterlist

General Writing Masterlist

Progress;

Part 1; The Heathlands - In Progress

Part 2; Trial of Ten Thousand - Upcoming

Part 3; Journey to Hrafna - Upcoming

Part 4; Captured! - Upcoming

Part 5; Return to the Fey - Upcoming

Part 6; ?? - TBC

Summary; Gravely injured in his battle against the Trinity Guard, The Weeping Monk vows to repay the kindness of The Green Knight and the bravery of the young boy who saved him. He steadfastedly aims to return them both to safety before he succumbs to his wounds, but time is running out... The Green Knight, marked by strange magics that have dragged him from the brink of death and crippled by a shattered spine, discovers there's more than meets the eye of his unlikely saviour... Squirrel is, quite frankly, not entirely sure either man he's stuck travelling with is entirely sane.

Progress; 1/??

Chapter 1; "Horizons into Battlegrounds"

Chapter 2; "Under the Oak Tree"

Chapter 3; "Marks on Broken Skin"

Chapter 4; "Born in the Dawn"

Chapter 5; "Making Plans"

Chapter 6; "Open Air"

Chapter 7; "Broken and Wretched"

Chapter 8; "The Grey"

Chapter 9; "Hidden on the Road"

Chapter 10; "Bloody Poppies"

Chapter 11; "Blood of the Squirrel"

Chapter 12; "A Race Against Time"

Chapter 13; "Lead me to Salvation"

UPCOMING;

Part 6: TBC...

Taglist;

@holy3cake @violetastrid

DM/comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

[cavalrysystem]

How Janus got his scars.

Tw: abuse, graphic depictions of violence, unsympathetic!Virgil, blood and gore.

(Fic under the cut)

The argument had started off so small.

Janus had been telling Virgil he wanted Virgil to stop drinking, and to put the bottle of bourbon down.

"You fucking slut!" Virgil screamed, smashing the bottle against the wall. He stared at Janus, face flushed from drinking, vision blurry.

Janus flinched when the bottle shattered, and put his hands up, palms out, to show he meant no harm. "Virgil, my love, please- you've burned through three bottlessss alrea-"

"Shut up!" Virgil screamed, grabbing Janus by the hair and forcing him to come closer, a clump of Janus's hair falling after he slammed the broken end of the bottle into Janus's eye.

Janus stumbled back, hands touching his face. Cold blood began to pour from around his eye, and the side of his mouth. He breathing shakily and looked up at Virgil. "Virgil, I'm ssssorry! But you can't keep doing thissss!"

Virgil grabbed Janus by the neck.

"Virgil, ssstop!" Janus cried, as Virgil sliced open his human cheek with the end of the broken bottle.

"You don't fucking talk to me like that, you whore." Virgil threw Janus to the ground and kicked him. "Don't get blood on my fucking carpet." He spat on Janus, and walked off.

Laying there, hands pressed to the wounds on his face, Janus began crying. But only from his human eye. Snakes can't cry, after all. He slowly sits up, taking a shuddering breath and using his extra hands to push himself up. The young deceitful side felt his way to the bathroom, turned on the sink, and splashed his face with water.

Dark crimson blood stained the marble countertop and the steel inside of the sink. Janus placed his gloved hands, now stained with blood, on the counter and looked in the mirror, eyes still wide. He was met with the sight of blood pouring down his face, his hair ruined from Virgil pulling out a massive clump of it.

He felt frozen, staring at his reflection. His vision began to grow spotty, and he quickly finished cleaning the blood off his face. He searched the cabinets for a healing plant or potion or something- he found a bundle of the plant Remus had discovered in the imagination that would heal wounds. He untied the bundle and ate the plants quickly, slowly starting to calm down.

He checked his phone. Another apology text from Virgil. Janus wiped the tears off his cheeks and cleaned the sink and countertop.

[crescentblossom66]

Bond of the Beasts Chapter 14

TW: DEATH, BLOOD, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE!

Everything was a blur, smoke and exhaustion clouded his vision only made worse by a cloudy night. To his left he heard a woman scream in pain, on his right he heard a young boy cry for his parents. He tightened his hold on his girlfriend's arm, dragging the woman with him toward the shoreline. His heartbeat pounded in his head and his breath came in short ragged bursts, it felt like his throat was on fire. Due to his heightened senses, thanks to the adrenaline, he heard the sounds of something quadrupedal charging at him, and managed to point his rifle at the wereleopard that was about to jump on him and tear his throat to shreds. The woman at his side shrieked and her finger nails dug into the skin on his arm even through his red coat, yet he hardly noticed her tight hold. With one well-aimed shot the half human half leopard landed in the dirt and mud, the momentum still making him slide all the way to the distressed couple.

Riccardo had his eyes set on the harbor, the only place that he thought was safe. An old wooden house behind them had caught fire, blowing smoke their way and obscuring them from the sights of the ferocious and agitated werebeasts. Again the scream and crying of a young boy pierced clean through sounds of the battle that was raging on around them. Riccardo stayed firm, biting back the itch to check on that boy, his priority was keeping his loved one safe. He suddenly felt resistance as she stopped and her gaze fell on the burning building. “We have to help!” The determination in her eyes and the firmness made him realizes that she wouldn't budge on this, much to his dismay. He nevertheless tried to reason with her, this was extremely dangerous.

“There's too many of them! Trust me, I'd like to help, but...-” He gave her a look of concern and regret which shattered against her steely resolve.

“No buts! Look at this!” She turned her head back to the center of the village. A werewolf was attacking a woman, tearing on her arm, causing her to scream in pain and horror as she tried to hit the half wolf woman with a frying pan, which appeared utterly ineffective as the frenzied creature went for her throat next. A bit further down the road, a man, one of the men that Riccardo regularly went fishing with each day, was badly wounded and was using his last strength to protect his daughter and wife against three wereleopards that he barely managed to keep at bay with his old spear.

He couldn't take his eyes off the terrifying carnage that was unfolding all around him, his mind was screaming at him to look away, but it was like a car accident, he couldn't, even though he tried. All he could think about was why, why did this happen? For a moment he thought that he was the cause, that he must have angered a higher being by cursing his boring life here in this rural village. This wasn't what he wanted, this wasn't what he had wished for! He had heard stories about were-creatures, that they were half human half animal, a grotesque cursed being that only knew one thing, and that was how to hunt, to hurt...to kill. He had assumed that these stories were fairy tales, stories conjured up from an imaginative mind, but now that he was seeing them in reality, they were even more terrifying and abominable than he imagined them to be.

A pull on his arm brought him back to reality and he nearly stumbled. He hated to admit to it, but he felt a surge of fear as they approached the burning building where the shriek of terror had come from. He pushed his girlfriend behind him and hesitantly opened the door and had to immediately cough as a cloud of smoke hit him. The flames had claimed most of the furniture and were spreading to the wall. The source of the fire seemed to have been a burning log coming from the fireplace, which was maybe used for defense against the assailants. The singed feathers that were still smoldering on the ground made it clear that the attacker was likely half human half avian and sure enough, when he slowly pushed his way through the house, he could hear the sounds of something big scratching at wood followed by an incredibly low pitched hoot. Upon entering the backrooms, he spotted the imposing were beast. A huge wereowl, at least 3 meters tall (9'10 feet), it's feathers gray and large, likely a Great-Gray. Owl wereowl, was clawing and kicking his way through an already pretty puny and dilapidated door. The screaming had mellowed down to a quiet sobbing and crying. A strained and quiet whisper for aid was nearly completely drowned out by the wood creaking and tearing as the door cracked in the center.

Riccardo pointed his rifle at the beast, hoping to catch his enemy off guard and dispatch of the werebeast swiftly, but he had underestimated the exceptional hearing of an owl and the head of the man-owl shifted 180°, meeting his blue eyes with his yellow piercing ones. For a moment there was silence as this nightmare of creature stared Riccardo down, scrutinizing him, before charging at him. Just before the razor sharp claws that had replaced the fingers of the partly shifted man could tear open his chest, he managed to fire a bullet which caused the wereowl to stop and clutch his wing in pain. For a split second Riccardo could have sworn to see a flicker of humanity in the piercing eyes of his enemy, which was causing him to hesitate, but just as quickly as it had appeared it was gone once more. The little hesitation, the few seconds he had spent feeling a bit of pity for the man was something he regretted all his life up until now. What followed was a blur to him, but one thing he clearly recalled, as the huge owl man easily picked him up by his throat and tossed him out the window after his girlfriend had picked up the burning log and swung it at the were beast, causing the feathers on the arm of the owl man to burn. It was the fear in her eyes followed by the sheer amount of pain as the werebeast's sharp claws tore his lover's throat that was haunting him to this very day. He landed in jasmine bush which turned out to be his savior, as the fragrant blossoms masked his scent.

For how long he was unconscious for, he didn't know, when he woke up it was bright daylight. His whole body ached terribly, he could have sworn that he had bruised a rib or outright fractured it. The smell of smoke was still filling the air as Riccardo forced himself to his feet and out of the bush. It took him a moment to recall what had happened as his mind was still in a daze, but as soon as he did, he bolted over to the house that was now nothing more than burned planks of wood. The only thing still standing tall being the stone chimney. He was screaming the name 'Maria' over and over, but the woman of that name never answered him, as he dug through the debris with his bare hands, praying for a miracle that deep down he knew wasn't possible. His vision got more and more blurry and drops fell onto the wood, his own tears.

Riccardo's sorrowful wails were interrupted by a scream for help that somehow managed to pierce through his own thoughts. He pulled himself together, relying on the last bit of mental strength he had and followed the source of the plea. A man, one that had been fishing alongside him for several years now, was buried under the rubble of a broken stand, the fish that were normally sold on said stand had long been eaten by the were-creatures. “Help, foot stuck under heavy piece of wood!” The man tried to pry his leg free with one arm as the other was pinned down by the metal sign of the stand. It took Riccardo a bit of effort, but he managed to free the arm of the man, and after that, their combined strength was enough to free the leg as well. “Thanks, small man!”

Normally he would have growled and taken offense to being labeled as small, but he simply lacked the energy to care, he didn't even know why he cared about saving the man in the first place. He felt empty, simply empty, like his life had lost all meaning. If he died right now, he wouldn't care about that either. The other man grabbed his shoulder and pointed at a house in the distance. “Fisherman heard a creaking from over there, maybe fishermen should investigate.” He sighed at how simple minded the men in this village were, truly simpletons, yet...he envied them at this moment. As he continued to pull more and more people out of the debris, he realized that none of them seemed to feel nearly as empty, they appeared joyful whenever someone was saved. They even smiled, something he currently felt he was utterly incapable of.

“Small man doesn't seem happy that people are saved. Why is fellow fishermen unhappy?” One of the man he pulled out of the debris asked him after he punched the shoulder of his friend making it crack audibly. All the other men in the village were tall and strong, yet unintelligent. Riccardo nearly found his laughter again at the stupid question. How could they be so cheery and upbeat after half the village died, after they had lost so many people? It was baffling.

He shook his head. “How can you all be so happy and carefree? Your friends and loved ones died!” The other men stopped cheering and slowly their facial expressions matched his. The short happiness brought about by finding friends and family that they had believed to be dead had vanished. “Those creatures attacked us out of nowhere and destroyed our village, destroyed our homes and you stand here and smile like idiots!” He was livid clenching his fists and gritting his teeth at them. He knew he was right, they knew that he was right. While his irritation and anger for the other men lessened after seeing the realization in the eyes of them, the anger the men had for the were-creatures that raided their village slowly grew.

The rage seemed to have taken over one fisherman, the punch he gave the wall of what was once his house caused the remainder of the unsteady building to collapse, making the others jump in shock. “Small man is right, fishermen can't let evil werebeast get away with this!” The others nodded.

“And we won't! I certainly won't at least-” Riccardo caught the attention of the small group of survivors, the aura of sheer determination and hatred nearly caused them to shiver. “I will not rest until I have the head of every werebeast I come across! Those abominable creatures have picked the wrong man to pick a fight with!-” He bit back a sob and pushed away his tears. “-I'll avenge the people that died here today no matter how long it takes!”

The crowd cheered, “Fishermen will help small man! From now on fishermen will not be fishermen, now fishermen will be hunters! Hunters who prey on werebeasts!”

Riccardo hadn't anticipated that the other survivors would join him on his quest for vengeance, but he wouldn't complain. More eyes and ears to find werebeasts with “From today onward the villagers of Trota will strike fear into the heart and soul of any were-creature that has the misfortune of crossing our path! For Trota!”

“FOR TROTA!”

“...for Maria”

-

“Boss! Hey, Boss!!! BOSS!!!” The boss of the hunters nearly jumped and tripped over a stick as one of his men slapped his back, he was probably attempting to do so lightly, but failed utterly. The shorter man was torn out of his memories violently and the broken village that he had recalled so clearly had vanished and was replaced with a dense forest.

“Brainless idiot! Not only did you almost make me fall, you also alerted any enemy in the nearby vicinity!” He growled and glared at the careless hunter who averted his gaze from his like a child that was unable to meet the eyes of their parent after they had done something wrong. He shook his head in disbelief at the hunters that were following behind him like they were on some kind of hiking trip. He stopped in his tracks, causing the men behind him to walk into each other. He spun on his heel looking over the group for a moment before he facepalmed. “Didn't I tell you to spread out and search? This is NOT spreading out!”

The hunters hurriedly started to run in all directions, afraid of the wrath of their boss. By the way they were running around, most magical creatures could hear them from miles away and alert friends and family or flee. It was like working with bumbling, thoughtless morons...yet he still cared for those morons. They may be incredibly dumb, but they were the closest thing he had to family. That and Maria always found the men in the village endearing and funny mainly BECAUSE they were so dumb.

He could recall the day one of the men had caught his own foot in his fishing line and had fallen into the water as he tried to cast out the line. He had cringed at the sheer stupidity, but Maria chuckled before asking him to help the poor man. Another time, one of the men had tried to fix his roof, however, he never made any progress, hitting his own thumb that he had used to hold the nail in place at the top. His favorite was when a traveling merchant came through and sold half the village golden apples, claiming that they were super rare. Riccardo new that they were simply dyed that color and were otherwise just regular apples, yet the other didn't catch on and bought all the apples until the vendor was out of stock.

Riccardo nearly lost focus again, as all those memories came back for some reason and the short man couldn't hide the sorrow they brought him. He had been happy, it took him too long to realize this. Maybe the saying was right, you only realize the true value of something when you lose it, and he had lost everything. The sorrow on his face made place for an angry scowl. He'd find them, all of them!

Every single werebeast, young or old would learn what it meant to suffer like he had, would learn to know what it means to lose their home, their loved ones, and last but not least, their miserable lives!

Once again he was torn out of his own thoughts, but this time it wasn't for a negative reason. “Boss, we found boar, a dead boar with bite marks from young werewolf!” It appeared the long days he explained to the Hunters what distinguished a normal human bite from that of a werecreature, may not have been for nothing. He couldn't help but smirk when he laid eyes on the dead animal, four deep punctures from the canines, but the rest of the bite wound the boar sported were reminiscent of a bite one would receive from a child's set of teeth. The damage was done by a werewolf, a young one at that. They were on the right track. “Well done boys! Good find!”

That boar looked fresh still, dead for at most a day. The werebeast could still be in the area, they just needed to keep their eyes and ears open. Not long and he could sent another one of those abominations to meet their maker.

[measuresderepo]

Wow did I write an angsty fic about Gally?? Set in the time between The Maze Runner and The Death Cure? No way.

@shuck-it-slinthead

@go-catch-a-chickn

@its-tea-time-darling

@pealeii

Title: Pesar Means Son

Word Count: 11k

TW: Attempted suicide, self harm, PTSD, nightmares about traumatic events, hallucinations, intrusive thoughts, cutting, scars, suicide ideation, trivializing mental illness, death of a loved one, grief and loss depiction, murder, graphic deaths, graphic violence, gore, self mutilation, described blood, needles, physical injuries, escalating violence, implied underage drinking, swearing (if I missed any I am so sorry in advance.)

Summary: Gally is picked up by two men (Gul and Rob) on their way to the last city. Gally is racked with guilt over murdering Chuck, and has to work through this, all the while growing closer to Gul and Rob.

Hope you enjoy <3

When you’re half dead with a spear digging into your side, pain’s supposed to cloud your thoughts. Bullshit. Mine were clear. There was only one: I killed Chuck. If it were only words, it’d be bearable. They could be easily tucked away, slotted into a space to be dealt with later. But it wasn’t just the words. It was him. Chuck stepping in front of Thomas, into my gunshot. His expression right before my bullet buried into his chest. His face. God, he didn’t want to die. Even as he protected Thomas, even as he stared down my barrel. He wanted to live. Yet he saved Thomas. Thomas who ruined our Glade. Who disregarded what we had created. Thomas who I wanted to kill. Chuck. Chuck dead, less than a foot away from my dying. I couldn’t stand it. The others had left. Their running feet echoing against the walls of my tomb. Chuck’s tomb.

I grasped the spear jutting from my stomach; it clenched as I slowly started to pull at the shaft. For three blissful seconds all I felt was the trickle of blood down my abdomen. Then I doubled over. It was as if the spear had injected liquid fire into my body. My vision clouded and goosebumps rippled up my arms. Indistinct voices chattered in my ears. Sweat droplets like scales spread in circles around my wound. My hands were wet with my blood. Slowly I gripped the shaft harder and, barely able to see, I snapped it in half. My body screamed in protest and I slumped to the ground, curling around the bloodsoaked wood still in my stomach. My body was trembling with adrenaline, but I still wasn’t done. I painstakingly crawled to Chuck’s body.

His expression looked angelic in the flickering lights of the lab. The broken screens casting his face in blue shadows, his open eyes reflecting the yellow of the sparking wires. His shirt was soaked with blood. “Chuck,” my voice was ragged, like I’d swallowed glass. A tear traced down my cheek. I couldn’t leave him like this. I gently rolled up his shirt and started cleaning the wound. Using a piece of glass, I started making cuts around the hole, feeling for the bullet. The glass chinked against metal and I dug it out with my fingers. His body was still warm. I could almost imagine he was alive. I ripped a strip of cloth off my tunic and wrapped it around the wound. I pulled down his shirt and closed his eyes. Now he could be sleeping. My body was shaking from the effort but the pain felt numb and muted compared to the grief stuck in my throat. I killed him. The boy lying on the linoleum. His curls spread around his face like a halo. I turned away and vomited. It was dark red with blood. It splattered against my arms as I crouched in a fetal position.

I didn’t want to kill Chuck. Not the Greenie who used to play pranks on me in the Glade. I didn’t even want to kill Thomas. The voices wanted me too. But I pulled the trigger. My arms started to tremble. I couldn’t hold the weight of what I’d done. I couldn’t stand it. I kneeled under it and fell face first into my vomit. I heard footsteps before everything went black.

#

“He’s gotta be a Munie, he was part of WICKED’s Maze,”

“He had the tell-tale signs of the Flare,”

“But it cleared right up when we gave him the serum! And if he does get it… he’ll fit right in,”

“Dereset. He’ll probably wake up any minute now,”

“Hey. Who’s gonna tell him about the dead kid? Could’ve been his friend. He obviously tried to save him, binding the wound…”

“Look, if he doesn’t ask, we won’t tell him,”

The voices were uncomfortably quiet as they waited for me to wake. I cracked my eyes open and saw that I was laying on the ripped back seat of a pickup with the stuffing falling out. The two guys were sitting up front, one was failing to dodge potholes and the other had a book cracked open on his lap. The dead kid. That’s what they called Chuck. I wanted to punch both of them and drive right back. But then… I didn’t. I could still see his eyes. They gazed past me. Chuck had seen something else. Something beyond here. And I was scared.

All at once I could feel the cold of the gun in my hands again. And I was standing. My abdomen didn’t hurt. I felt it, and there was no wound. I was in a black void. But I wasn’t alone. Chuck was there. My hands grasped the gun and raised it level with Chuck’s chest. He looked at me with the eyes. Reflecting golden light. Looking past me. I was scared. My finger pulled the trigger before I could react. Chuck didn’t make a sound as it lodged in his chest. He didn’t fall. His expression didn’t change. The blood drip, dripped onto the sheen, obsidian floor.

Chuck! I screamed, but no sound. He didn’t react. Just stared at me with the golden, unseeing eyes. The blood was pooling at his feet. And then it was around my feet. Then to my waist. Then to my neck. I tried to swim to Chuck but I couldn’t move. I could only watch his golden eyes, his frozen expression slip beneath the red waves.

Chuck! I tried to scream again, but the rising blood poured into my open mouth and I couldn’t breathe… breathe… the eyes, the golden eyes were everywhere…

“CHUCK!” I sat up and a flare of pain brought me back to reality. I felt the scratchy burlap texture of the seat. The bump of the moving car. My own labored breathing. It was uncomfortably bright outside, I could barely distinguish that we were racing through the desert.

“Hey, son, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” I started and turned my head to see a bearded man crane his neck around the shotgun seat. His hand was out in what he obviously thought was a calming gesture. To me he looked like he was fending off a wild beast. My mouth twitched. This wasn’t gonna work. I swung my legs so I was sitting on the car seat normally and with some pain I straightened my back and crossed my arms.

“Did you bury him?” I said.

“Ah, you mean the dead child…” the bearded man began. Inwardly I sneered. I liked watching him squirm.

“Yeah. His name was Chuck. You didn’t bury him. Which means you have no respect for the dead. Which means I’m going nowhere with you,” I layed each sentence down like cards in a royal flush.

“Son, you can’t just—”

“No, Rob, if he wants to wander the Scorch like an idiot, let him,” the second man met my eyes in the rear view mirror. “But I have a feeling you aren’t an idiot,” I nodded and sat back in the seat. Rob was watching me, his lip slightly puckered. Eyes wide and gooey like a puppy’s. What a shank.

“Son, can you just lie back down? You’re already bleeding through your bandages,” I looked down to see a red spot forming on the clean, white gauze. I opened my mouth to retort but the second man cut me off.

“He will if he knows what’s good for him. Rob’s a medic. You’d do well to listen to him,” I glared at the man, but he just wiggled his eyebrows. Slinthead. I layed back down and let Rob unwrap my bandages. The wound looked worse. The puncture was starting to scab and there were rings of sickly yellow bruises around it. As Rob carefully cleaned the wound, it felt like a stinging, deadly poison shot into my body. The pain climbed to my neck, but I sure as hell didn’t show it. I clenched my teeth and gripped the side of the seat, my muscles bulging and veins popping all along my arm. I tried to breathe slow and even, but then Rob took out a needle.

“What the shuck are you doing with that?” I asked, gritting my teeth. Rob smirked.

“Shuck? What does that mean?”

“It means you aren’t gonna stick me with anything until I know what’s in it, Rob,”

“Okay, it’s okay, this is just for the pain, son,”

“Well slim it, shuckhead, ‘cause I’m not in pain,” Rob mouthed “shuckhead” in disbelief, then gestured for me to lift my hand off the edge of the seat. I did, and saw that I had ripped a gaping hole in my agony. He gave me a little smile.

“Close your eyes, and imagine the best place you could ever be, then you won’t even feel the shot,” I did as I was told. I imagined I was sitting around the fire at the Glade. I was watching the sun set over the walls with Ben and Alby on either side of me. In the distance Minho and Newt were running towards us, Newt without his limp. Frypan was at the fire cooking his stew. And by his side I imagined Chuck laughing at a joke Fry told. I turned around to reply to Frypan, but I saw Chuck. He wasn’t laughing. His eyes were wide and yellow. His mouth hung open in mid gasp. I looked at his stomach and it was dark with blood. I felt cold metal in my hand and I was back in the void. Chuck was staring through me. I tried to drop the gun but it was stuck to my hand. It felt as if the metal had frozen to my fingers. The cold, horrible pain crept up my hand and into my wrist, I tried to yell to Chuck, but no sound. Mocking laughter emitted from Chuck, but his mouth didn’t move, like an old talking doll. The pain was up my arm now, I could feel my nerves freeze and crack.

 Chuck. I mouthed, Chuck, I’m so sorry. His expression didn’t change. The cold was to my chest. My neck. I could feel it creep up my cheeks, and my eyes started to flutter. Chuck…

“Hey, shuckhead. It’s done,” I opened my eyes to see Rob rewrapping the gauze. I gripped his arm.

“This is real, right?” Rob looked taken aback.

“Yes, of course, are you okay, son?” I ignored his question.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To revolution,” the driver answered.

“Don’t give me that klunk, where?” I started to sit up but Rob forced me down.

“We’re going to the last city. Our base is just outside the city walls. You’ll be safe there,” Rob said.

“I don’t care about that, who are you?” I directed my question to the driver. He laughed. A short, derisive laugh. “Well?”

“First: what’s your name? Then you can ask all the questions your pretty little heart wants,” I hesitated for a split second before spitting out:

“Gally. Now explain,”

“Calm down, this isn’t a hostage situation. If you can drop the tough and gruff for a second, baby, I’ll tell you,” I crossed my arms and clenched my teeth. The driver laughed again. “My name, Gally, is Gul. I’m from Afghanistan, well, what’s left of it anyway. It was hit badly by the Scorch. No one lives there now,” His voice died and his eyes wandered to the desert.

“Gul…” Rob got off his knees and slid back into the passenger’s seat. He touched Gul’s arm. Gul shrugged him off.

“I’m fine, Rob. For the love of Allah, tend to your patient.” But Rob didn’t move. Gul continued. “As for what the revolution is, well… Lawrence will tell it better than I.”

He cleared his throat and laughed weakly. I wanted to keep pushing, but from Rob’s expression I knew I needed to back off. So I just lamely growled:

“Yeah whatever, slinthead,” with less enthusiasm than a kindergarten bully. That got a smile out of Rob. Gul winked at me through the mirror. I cracked a smile but quickly turned to the window before either saw. I could see a faint skyline in the distance, stark against the sun baked Scorch.

#

“Hey, Gally, wake up,” I opened my eyes to see Rob standing outside the pickup, the open car door framing his body. He was tying up his long blond hair, a gun slung on his hip. An old, patched leather jacket partially hid the weapon. Rob wore a plain gray pullover under his open jacket, and bulky, wrinkled cargo pants. Loosely tied onto his feet were mud caked boots. “C’mon son, we need to ditch the car,” Rob said.

“Give the shuckhead a gun, Rob. He needs to defend himself,” Gul added, walking up to Rob. I exhaled sharply. Gul was beautiful. Blue eyes stark against his light brown skin, coiffed curls sprinkled with gray, stubble perfectly peppered on his cheeks. He wore a sleek, coffee brown trench coat, boots laced to his knees and a shotgun slung around his shoulder. A belt was strapped around his chest where a knife hung sheathed. He looked like a model, even his expression was cool, debonair. That is, until he laughed. “Gally! Look at him Rob, he looks starstruck!” Rob didn’t even look up from tying his shoes.

“Gul. You’re conventionally attractive. He’ll get used to it. You’re wearing the trench coat aren’t you?” He met my eyes. “A shameless show off this one is,” Rob nodded his head to a posing Gul. I rolled my eyes. Gul laughed and took out a small, dark object.

“You’ll need to defend yourself. You know how to use this?” Gul set the handgun in my palm.

“NO!” I dropped the gun like it was hot and curled into a ball. I could feel myself going back to the void. I didn’t want to. I tried to fend it off, I tried to hide from the eyes. I was rocking back and forth. It was getting dark, cold. I could see the golden eyes…

“GALLY!” My eyes flew open. I was on the dusty ground with Gul kneeling next to me. I don’t know how I got there. Did I fall out of the car? I giggled like a shank at that. “Rob, he just blacked out, what did I do?” Rob crouched next to Gul, he studied me.

“Gul, I want you to grab my medical bag,” Gul hesitated. “Now, Gul,”

“Fine. Bay pathar,” he spat and walked out of earshot.

“Okay. Gally, as your doctor, it would’ve been nice to know you get…like that at the sight of guns. But it doesn’t matter, not now anyway. Now, I’m asking, as your doctor, what happened in the Maze to cause… that?” He danced around what he had just seen, like he was afraid to call me… something.

“Nothing, Rob. I just… Nothing,” I growled. “Now let me up, I’m guessing this isn’t a good place to linger.” He wavered for a moment. Like he wanted to keep pushing me till I spilled. But he nodded and hoisted me to my feet. I almost immediately leaned on him for support. The world was hazy, red and fractured like a kaleidoscope. My stomach throbbed dully, in time with my heartbeat.

“Hey, just breathe. In and out slowly.” As I breathed, the world cleared and I saw that I was in a deserted alleyway. Fractals of glass and grime floated lazily in circles around me. In the distance, a beautiful, futuristic skyline.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the skyline.

“The last city. WICKED’s last defense against the Flare. Their last barrier from people like us,” Gul said, walking up behind me.

“Who—”

“He means the infected, Gally. We’ve all been around the Flare too long to be considered healthy,” Rob explained.

“Gally,” Gul said. “You need a weapon,” he handed me a knife. “You know how to use this, right?” I grabbed it from him and latched it to my belt.

“Yes,” I said, my voice filled with venom.

“It was just a question, follow my lead, slinthead,” he said playfully. Rob fell in behind me and readied his gun. I unsheathed my knife and followed Gul. “Once we get out of the back alleys there'll be loads of people. Don’t lose sight of me in the crowds!” With this he started down a sunless alley. I could hear the hubbub get louder as we marched deeper into the heart of the city. I could feel Rob’s tense, quick breaths on the back of my neck, like he was preparing for something to attack. The alleyways tightened around us, their concrete, graffitied walls and broken windows seemed to reach towards me. My tongue was coated with dust, it tasted sour.

“Rob…” I whispered, a sense of unease frosting on my neck.

“Not here. Quiet, son,” I clammed up and gripped my knife. We marched on, the high and fast sounds of rushing people crescendoing into an onslaught of noise. My heart felt like it was trying to rip out of my chest. I wanted to stop, but Rob pressed on behind me. My abdomen throbbed underneath the bandages, my hands slick with sweat. I could smell the sour stench of sickness as it overwhelmed my senses. I opened my mouth to yell, to stop us, but Gul turned a corner and I was suddenly in a sea of bodies. People pressed against me, their voices rushing past my ears like water. They blended together in a disharmony, so I could only catch snippets of their talk.

“WICKED says they're close to a cure…”

“God, I think my Mother has it,”

“I’m running out of time—”

“Crank fight at ten! Crank fight at ten!” This voice was louder and distinct from the rest. I craned my neck over the crowds to see a man in a velvety purple suit that at one time would’ve been striking, but now was ragged and dull. He was on top of a garishly painted car, obviously supposed to be eye-catching but only succeeded in nauseating me. He looked down and scanned the crowds. His eyes rested on me. He cracked a toothy grin and jumped from the car. The crowd surrounding the vehicle parted and the man sauntered towards me. Gul grabbed my arm and went to disappear into the crowds, but—

“Gul!” The carney yelled. “What are you doing with a fine fighter like this?” He motioned toward me like I was a purebred dog. “I’d pay a good price for a body like that,” Gul nonchalantly flicked his coat to reveal a shotgun. Rob stepped in front of me, his rifle knocking against his thigh.

“Move along, Akando,” Rob said. The carney lolled his neck, a half smile on his face.

“Like Lawrence is even going to let him join your, ah, revolution. I know a Munie when I see one. Lawrence has no space for privilege in his uprising, best if you left the…” he licked his lips. “Specimen with me.”

His greasy, straw hair hung in tendrils around his face. Gleaming through the strands were poison green eyes. I raised my knife, gripping it tightly to hide my trembling hand.

“No matter what these guys say, I’m not going anywhere with you. Back off.”

“That’s the exact spirit I need for my fights! But if you won’t come quietly…” Akando reached into his suit, I saw the gleam of a barrel…!

“NO!” I lunged at him and sent the gun spinning out of his hand, then, in one fluid motion, grabbed his lapel and thrust my knife into his eye. For a split second we held there, my feet just off the ground, his head snapped back. But my momentum sent us both crashing to the ground. I felt my knife drive deeper into his skull and chink against the ground. I’d stabbed straight through his skull. I quickly scrambled off the man, shaking from adrenaline, only to see blood leaking out of his eye. Like deadly tears. A crowd had gathered, they were staring at me with one emotion: fear. They were terrified of what I might do, who I might hurt. My breath was coming in short gasps. Blood flecked my face. My muscles were sheen with sweat. It was terrifying. I was. Gul clasped my shoulder.

“We need to go,” he said through gritted teeth. I suddenly felt weak, scared.

“Did—D-Did I…”

“He’s dead, Gally, dead in self defense.” Rob said, raising his voice at the last part. He handed me a gun, and I was too shucked to feel it, or care. Gul took my arm and led me through the crowd. I didn’t notice then, but as we walked, I felt no people pushing in around me. Or even the cacophony of noises. Turns out, everywhere we walked the crowds parted and fell deathly silent.

#

Once we stepped into the doorway of what Rob called “Headquarters,” I kneeled over and vomited. But with nothing in my stomach, all that came out was a red mixture of blood and acid. “Gally!” Rob crouched down and I leaned against him. Sweat glistened on my face in droplets. He felt my stomach and withdrew, his hand stained with red. “We need to get him to the med wing. He can’t face Lawrence like this,” Rob said to Gul, who was standing over us.

“He has too. Lawrence isn’t patient. He’s probably heard about our escapade by now, and right now, that’s the only thing that could get Gally in.” Rob cursed and felt my forehead.

“Fine. But bring him straight to me afterwards. Whether Lawrence lets him join or not.” Gul nodded and hoisted me to my feet. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“You’re gonna have to walk on your own, Lawrence doesn’t like to see people weak,” Gul whispered. I nodded and focused all my energy on putting one foot in front of the other. It was like trying to move with two magnets stuck to my soles and the floor was stainless steel. I didn’t look up from my effort until I crashed into Gul. I was in what seemed like an empty airplane hangar. Cloth hung from the ceiling to partition off rooms, but it couldn’t distract from the open, exposed feeling. I tried to focus on details but everything was hazy and too bright. When I looked up all the lights had rainbows around them. That made me giggle. Gul turned to me.

“You have to go in alone, Lawrence wants you to speak for yourself,” He stared into my eyes. “Just in case… you don’t, uh—” I wrapped my arms around him before he could finish. For a second he faltered, surprised by my sudden affection. I was, too. He slowly, carefully enclosed me in a hug. We held there for only a moment, and I felt something I’ve forgotten to miss, something primordial about being held in an older man’s embrace. I felt a sob rise in my throat, but I pushed it down and pulled away. Gul awkwardly patted my shoulder and I stepped past him, down a short flight of stairs and into a whole different world.

Lawrence’s office wasn’t anything like I’d expected. There was no desk, no high backed chair, no purring cat. It was a greenhouse. Sunlight filtered through windows, showing swirls of mist in its light. Roses were everywhere. The smell was overwhelmingly sweet. Almost like it was covering up something. The man in question had his back to me. He was pruning a rose bush, it was so quiet I could hear the soft “pf” as the petals hit the ground. He gave no sign that he had noticed me enter. “Sir—”

“Quiet, boy. I’ll speak to you when I care to.” he continued snipping his plant. My eye twitched in annoyance. I turned the gun in my hand, unaware for a moment of what it could do. “Drop the gun,” Lawrence said. I faltered. “Drop. It.” I let it fall, realizing what I’d been holding. I pushed it out of my mind. I wasn’t going to black out in front of this slinthead. He continued pruning his roses. “So. You killed Akando.”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re immune.”

“Yes sir.”

“And you want to join my Crank army. Do you see the irony?”

“I would if I knew what a Crank was.”

“You would, you would…” Lawrence turned to me. “This is a Crank, boy.”

He was grotesque. There was no other way to describe the blueish-black veins crawling up his neck, eyes small and dilated like a frightened animal. And…

“Of course, most Cranks have their noses, but, this is what my army is made of, boy. And from the look on your face I don’t think you can handle it.” he started to turn away, but I grabbed his arm.

“Who’s your enemy?” Lawrence, disgusted, shook off my hand. “Who?” I repeated.

“WICKED,” he spat.

“Me, too. Can’t we be allies, Lawrence?” Lawrence sized me up. A small smile played on his lips. He stuck out his hand.

“Welcome to the Crank army.”

#

I woke up back in the Glade. I was home. It was strangely quiet as I walked through the familiar barracks, around the campfire. I didn’t even feel uneasy, I was so glad to be back. To rest my eyes on every familiar groove and detail, every nail pounded haphazardly into our shelters. Through the trees I saw everyone in front of The Wall. The one where every Greenie carved their name after their first day in the Glade. My pace quickened as I ran up to meet them. No one even glanced my way. All were concentrated on Alby. Slowly, deliberately, he raised the knife to cross out George’s name.

Wait! I tried to yell, but no sound. I couldn’t lose him now, again, when I was finally back… But the piercing, horrible scrape of knife on stone filled the quiet peace of the Glade anyway. I scanned the crowd: George looked frozen, his eyes closed as if he was asleep. But Alby wasn’t done. He crossed out Ben’s. Ben’s eyes closed and blue veins crawled up his neck, like when he was stung. Horror turned my stomach as I knew who was next. With the same careful precision, Alby crossed out his own name. Minho took the blade as Alby joined the rest of the Gladers, closing his eyes.

No! I screamed soundlessly. I tried to reach for the knife but my legs were stuck. Minho sent the knife scraping over “Chuck”. Chuck’s eyes closed and red bloomed over his chest in sadistic swirls. Tears filled my eyes, but then Minho raised his knife over the name “Gally”.

My heart stopped. Minho scraped and chinked at my name, until it was an unrecognizable mess of slashes. He dropped the knife. My hair stood on end. The Glade melted away, we were back in the void. Alby turned toward me, his eyes were golden. Then George, Ben, Chuck, Winston, Newt… they circled me, faster and faster until it was a blur of gold. Minho stepped into the circle. A spear clutched in his hand.

Minho! I tried to yell. Please! I tried to back away but the eyes were tightening around me, pushing me closer and closer to the spear. Please, Minho! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry. My voice broke into inaudible sobs. Minho’s eyes didn’t lift from his weapon. It almost looked like he was sleepwalking. He raised the spear level with me and shoved it into my gut. The golden eyes exploded like a supernova, washing me in superheated light. I raised my head to see Minho, his eyes dark. He released the spear and walked away. He didn’t even look back.

“Minho…” I groaned, and woke in a hospital bed. My stomach felt like fire, but I could see everything clearly and didn’t feel feverish. An IV was pumping something into my bloodstream, I started to take it out but a hand rested on mine.

“That IV is important, shuckhead. It’s pumping all the minerals you lost from blood loss back into your body. Plus a little antibodies so you aren’t crippled with pain.” Rob said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“How long was I out?”

“Seven years in catatonic sleep, Hell froze over, and WICKED found a cure!” Gul said, sauntering in with bagels and drinks.

“Hah. Rob?”

“18 hours, give or take. You slept the rest of the evening and into the night. It’s ten o’clock now,” he finished. Gul handed me a bagel with a healthy serving of cream cheese smeared on it.

“He can eat that, right, Doc?” Gul asked. Rob nodded.

“As long as he’s slow—” I inhaled the bagel, getting cream cheese all over my fingers. “—about it,” Rob finished, sighing and handing me a napkin. Gul laughed and passed me an iced drink. It was filled with a light brown substance.

“What is this?” I asked, turning the cup in my hand. Gul choked on his bagel.

“Allah save us… You don’t know what coffee is?” I shrugged.

“We never had it in the Glade… is it good?” Gul hid his face in his hands. He mumbled incoherently in Dari.

“It’s not for everyone, but go ahead and try it, I think you might like it.” Rob said, taking a sip of his own drink. I raised the cup to my lips and tasted it.

“WOW!” It was a liquid with millions of subtle threads pulling together to make one smooth flavor. I tasted bitter, burnt toast, citrus alongside caramel, dark chocolate and cream. Yet it worked to create something new and—

“Shuck! You slintheads kept this from me? Why?” I yelled, staring at both of them between gulps of the stuff. They were both shaking with laughter at my outburst.

“Hey, slow down, that’s got caffeine in it.” Rob said, holding up his hand.

“Caffeine? Is that why I feel like I can lift a truck!?”

“Oh, I can’t wait to introduce this kid to alcohol.” Gul wheezed.

“Gul… he’s underage.” Rob pushed Gul’s shoulder.

“Hey, can I get more?” I asked, showing them my empty cup.

“I’ll get more!” Gul said, cackling.

“Gul—” Rob started, but he was already gone. “You’re not drinking anymore coffee, young man.”

“You’re such a shank, Rob…”

“Yep. Now get some rest.”

“Now? Did I mention the “lift a truck bit”? Can’t I at least get out of this stupid bed?”

“Sorry. Doctor’s orders.” I grunted and sat back on the pillow. “Hey… While you were asleep, I, I didn’t mean to overhear… But, you kept repeating the same names over and over. That boy Chuck, but also Minho. Did he…” Rob trailed off and gestured to my wound.

“Yeah.” I said, clipped and closed off. Rob paused and waited for me to elaborate. I didn’t.

“Do you want to talk about—”

“No.”

“Son—”

“Leave.” I clenched my teeth, my voice dangerously close to fracturing.

“Gally… Why won’t you talk about it?” The question was so plain. So unassuming. My hands started trembling, I curled them into fists.

“Because…” I took a shuddering breath. “Because then it will be real.” I crossed my arms over my chest, like a shield against all the meaningless shit Rob could say: It's already real, Gally. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Just know I’m here for you. He’ll expect me to cry on his shoulder and spill my guts like a shank. But Rob surprised me.

“Yeah. I get that.” Then he left. The room was quiet. I could only hear the beeping of my heart monitor. As if reminding me that I was still alive. Chuck wasn’t. My horrible nightmares reminded me of that every time my eyes closed. But, if he was kept there, in my dreams, it almost didn’t feel real. Like his death, his murder, was just another nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was real. I pulled up my shirt and stared at the clean, white bandages. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve to heal, not while Chuck’s body rotted away on that linoleum floor. I took a fistful of the gauze and started viciously ripping it apart. My wound started to bleed, too burn and it felt so good. I ripped at the exposed flesh with my fingers, feeling my stomach shrink and shudder from the pain I was inflicting. The monitor heart screamed in harmony with my fast beating heart. My breath came in short, excited gasps. My fingers were dripping with my own blood.

“Ya Allah…” I turned to see Gul standing slack jawed, coffee splattered all over the floor. His face immediately melted into determined disappointment. He opened the medical cabinet and took out gauze. He started toward me.

“No! I don’t deserve it!” I yelled, twisting my body in the blankets, trying to get away.

“I don’t care. You’re getting blood all over the blankets and you made me drop my coffee.” He flipped me on my back and started wrapping my stomach in bandages. I fought him, but he held me down.

“Let me go, Gul!”

“No. I’m going to wrap you up and show you a better way to deal with your emotions, slinthead.” He said this with so much venom I shut up and complied. “Okay,” he said, tying a knot in the gauze. “Now follow me.”

I followed him out of the med wing and through a maze of corridors. He stopped at a door. “I’m going to show you this. But you gotta promise, as long as I’m around, no self harm. Okay?” He turned to me.

“Yeah. Okay.” I mumbled. He opened the door. Bright light streamed in from outside, temporarily blinding me. I stepped through the door and it was an alleyway. It went on for a while, but that wasn’t what I noticed. There were scratches all over the walls. Up and down, sideways, stark white against the gray concrete. They overlapped, cross hatching and digging deep into the wall. I could almost make out letters, but no words. It was intelligible gibberish, if gibberish screamed at the top of its lungs. If gibberish so clearly could tell me what this place was. This was a place for when grief and regret are too much. When you can’t stand it anymore. When you don’t want to feel the storm of emotions in your gut. When you can’t breathe from guilt. “Who…?”

“Me. All me.” He studied the walls, arms crossed over his chest.

“Why?”

“Afghanistan. I was studying in America when the Scorch hit. I remember watching the Afghan news underground. All the bodies, Gally, were burned black. You couldn’t tell who anyone was. That didn’t stop me from seeing my mother, my sister, in every shot. She was fifteen. My baby sister.” He stopped. He scuffed his boots against the cracked concrete.

“What was her name?”

“Amena. It means “safe”, that’s all Māder wanted. To keep her child safe.” He was silent for a moment, then handed me a knife. “Here. I'll get you for lunch.” Then he left. I slumped on the ground and curled into a ball. I didn’t have it in me to defile this monument with my own blood stained hand. Gul grieved blamelessly. I caused my grief. I let the knife clatter to the floor. This wouldn’t be my way to grieve. No, I needed to do something to earn my forgiveness. I needed to take down WICKED.

#

Four weeks. That’s how long it took to convince Lawrence to let me go on a mission. Two more to actually prepare for the shucked thing. I was going with Gul and Rob, my “babysitters”, as Lawrence coined them. Gul didn’t dispute it, the slinthead. I strapped a holster to my thigh and quickly slid a gun into it. My hallucinations haven’t let me hold a gun long enough to shoot. I blacked out every time I tried at the artillery range. I’ve gotten really good at throwing knives because of this. I tied a belt to my chest and slid three of them in their sheaths.

“Hey, are you okay?” Rob gripped my bicep. “You’ve got that look on your face.” I quickly tried to arrange my face in a more neutral position.

“He means you were glaring, Gally. Remember, our mission is to get in, disable the security system, and get out. No casualties.” Gul was crouching and tying up his excessively tall boots.

“Why do you wear those? They can’t have any practical use.” I looked down at my own durable work boots. “These actually make sense…”

“What? You don’t think these make me look sexy?” Gul struck a supermodel pose. Rob whacked the back of his neck. A shadow of a smile flicked on my face. Gul wiggled his eyebrows to make me laugh, but I quickly busied myself with tightening my laces. An awkward silence filled the room. Gul loudly cleared his throat and started packing his satchel with tools to infiltrate the security system.

“Gally, I need to rewrap your wound before we head out. May I?” Rob gestured for me to sit down. I obeyed and clutched the arms of my chair. Rob carefully unwrapped the bandages and started cleaning the wound. I tried to relax, Rob said it keeps the wound from bleeding. But then Rob swabbed it with alcohol. That sent a stabbing pain to my spine. I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. “Please try to relax, this is the only way you’ll be able to go on this mission, son.” I bit back a scathing remark and breathed in and out deeply. Rob slowly, carefully, started cleaning again. I thrust my chest out to keep from bending over my wound, I could feel my stomach clench and unclench in waves. I took quick gasps of air. It felt like slowly, Rob was setting my entire wound alight with poisonous fire. Tears squeezed out of shut eyes, though I tried to hold them back. “Son, try to rela—”

“Stop, Rob! Can’t you see the kid is in pain? Let him scream for Allah’s sake! STOP!” Gul shot out of his chair and snatched the rag from Rob. “You’re hurting him.” I slumped against the chair and felt tears stream from my eyes.

“Gul—” Rob began, flabbergasted. Gul crouched next to me and started lovingly wrapping my stomach with gauze.

“Kid’s gone through too much for you to tell him to keep his emotions bitten back, Rob. You’re a good doctor but…”

“But what, Gul? You put yourself on a higher pedestal as his guardian, don’t you? Or something more? His mentor perhaps, his fathe—” Gul whipped around.

“And what of it? I’m doing a lot better than you. I actually understand him, I’ve lost people! Unlike you, Rob you—”

“I’ve lost people! Everyone’s lost people! You just can’t get over it. You mope while the rest of us move on. Isn’t that a better lesson to teach him than, than scraping up a wall?” Gul stepped back. He looked betrayed.

“How long have you known?”

“Since the first time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gul’s voice was wavering, close to cracking.

“It was your choice to tell me. It’s a vulnerable place.” Rob stopped. “I-I’ve gone there. Just a few times. I’m sorry. I—” But Gul already had him in an embrace. Rob held there, tears stark against his pale skin. After a moment he fiercely hugged Gul back.

“Barâdar, barâdar, my brother, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…”

“Sh, don’t explain.”

“D-dostat daaram, b-barâdar.” Rob said, slowly sounding out the words as if he’d practiced. Gul started and looked at Rob. He smiled as a single tear slid down his cheek.

“Man ham dostat daaram.”

They held there. Hugging with tears streaming down, intense emotion on their faces. It was a picture of love. Beyond friends. They were brothers. It was a covenant love. A promise to always hold each other, lift each other, love each other. I released a shuddering breath. I wish I had that.

“Gul…” Rob gestured to me. And immediately they broke apart only to tag team hug me.

“Is the slinthead feeling lonely?” Gul crooned as he noogied me.

“Hush, Gul.” Rob knelt down and over carefully wrapped my bandages.

“I can take it, Rob. I’m not a sissy. Even though Gul—” Gul cackled at that.

“So I cried on this shank’s shoulder for nothing?” he said, pointing to Rob.

“Guess you did. I cried too, though, so we’re both, um, shuckheads.” Rob tied a knot in the gauze.

“I like barâdars better,” I said, “but…”

“God, Gally, I need to teach you and Rob proper pronunciation. You guys are killing me.”

“We’ll do it when we get home. First, let’s take down WICKED.” Rob cocked his shotgun. Gul grinned and grabbed the car keys. I rose to my feet and unsheathed my knife.

“Let's do this.”

#

“Oh, no way we can do this.” I was staring from an alley at the wall. It was huge, taller than any building on our side of the barrier. But that wasn’t the problem. A quarter mile of no man's land stretched between the cover of our rundown buildings, and the “safety” of the wall we needed to break into. Lawrence told us cameras were trained on this no man’s land 24/7, ready to shoot the monstrous rockets at any minute. The four rectangular launchers were more than one hundred feet in length. They had a five by five layout for its hangars, where inside each, a rocket lay primed to set off. That was the security system we needed to evade and then disable. I turned on my walkie talkie.

“There’s no way we can do this. We’ll get blasted right as we leave our positions, copy.”

“Aram shoo, you think we’re shanks? If you’d been listening to Lawrence instead of brooding, Gally—” Gul’s joke was cut off and I heard rustling and muted voices.

“What Gul means, son, is that Lawrence found a spot where there’s more cover, train your binoculars to the far left corner, over.” Rob’s voice cut off and I dropped my walkie talkie. I rustled through my knapsack and found the binoculars. I hesitated, and made two Ls with my hands. For a second they both looked like an L, then I realized and swooped the binoculars in the correct direction. When my binoculars focused I saw a toppled skyscraper, its roof close to the wall, but not close enough.

“There’s still at least six hundred feet of no cover, you guys won’t make it in time, over.”

“We’ll have too, over,” Rob said.

“Where are you now, over?”

“Right at the edge of the skyscraper, why? Uh, over.” Rob’s voice was edged with concern, like he could read my mind.

“Give the walkie talkie to Gul, over.”

“Gally—”

“Now, Rob.” Static. Then…

“What do you need, shuckhead?” Gul sounded tired, like he knew he wouldn’t like what I was about to say.

“I need you guys to start running right when I sign off, over.” Static. “Gul?” Static.

“Where will you be?” Gul’s voice was flat, expressionless.

“I’ll meet you guys in the security room.”

“Where. Will. You. Be?” I hesitated. “Gally?”

“Gul, please. I’ll meet you.”

“You slinthead! I can’t…!” He took a shuddering breath. “I can’t lose you, pesar.”

“Pesar?”

“It means ‘Gally is a shank’,” his voice got quiet, gravely. “Don’t you dare, don’t you even think of sacrificing yourself. Whatever you’ve done, it’s not worth dying for.”

“Gul—”

“No. No last words, I’ll see you again, over.”

I paused, savoring the deceptive safety of the static. “I-I’ll see you. Gul—”

“Zahr e maar, I love you, you slinthead. Over and out.” Static. I dropped the walkie talkie. My hands were shaking. But I didn’t have time to be paralyzed with fear. I steadied my hands and stepped out of the alley.

Instantly the guns were on me. Their barrels watched my body like they were a sentient creature. They clicked and scanned me. They reared their ugly, mechanical necks and emitted a screech like metal on metal. I went into overdrive. My jaw was slack, my chest convulsing in its need for air. I was watching the launchers with crazed, cornered prey eyes. Every time the guns twitched my body flinched, ready to jump out of the way. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. Oh God, I didn’t want to die. I still didn’t want to die. The guns dipped and pointed directly at my chest. I curled my fingers into fists and felt my nails cut into flesh. The launchers clicked loudly, the barrels glowing red with fire. My body froze. It felt like concrete was injected into my biceps, my legs. I was going to die. But I didn’t think about Chuck. Or Ben. Or Alby. I didn’t feel a crippling, terrified guilt for their deaths. For his death. I felt an overwhelming drive to live. Because of Gul, Rob. Because of a promise. I promised I’d see them again. Oh God, I wanted to live. My heart sped up again. My nerves buzzed and I bounced my legs to shake them awake. I unclenched my fists and could feel blood dripping down my palms. I stared down the launchers. I wouldn’t die. No one else would die.

The guns growled and puffed smoke. Yellow light made the barrels glow with golden light. Like eyes. His eyes. No. I wouldn’t go back. I couldn’t. I needed to live. The launchers deafened me with a whirring, static sound. Like an automated wind. The yellow glow mixed with a red fire, flickering inside the barrels. The sound grew louder and I tensed my body. The guns clicked and focused, pointed directly at my heart. I shut my eyes and waited to hear the guns fire.

Nothing. I strained for any sound. I held my breath. My muscles slowly relaxed and I tentatively opened my eyes. The guns hung down, the barrels dark. It was as if someone had turned them off. Like someone didn’t want me to die. Like someone knew who I was. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain on the back of my neck. It was as if I’d been branded. I reached to touch it and I could feel a raised symbol. I traced the lines and felt three overlapping diamonds. WICKED knew I was here. I hugged myself and kicked the sand. WICKED. Who caused everything. The first domino in a toppling that now is my life. WICKED. Who made my home. Made my family. WICKED. Who ruined my home. Ruined my family. God, I couldn’t face them. But I had too. To see my new family. I wouldn’t let them ruin that too. A clicking sound snapped me out of my thoughts. The gun rotated and pointed at me. “Oh shi—”

BOOM! The missile exploded right at my feet. My head snapped back and the blast propelled me backwards. A high, sharp sound whined in my ears. Smoke and dust curled around my body as I flew through the air. My head hurt. It hurt a lot. I felt gravity yank my body and I slammed face first into the ground. I spit out a mouthful of sand. My head hurt. I opened my eyes and everything was hazy. I coughed and choked on the smoke around me. My legs trembled as I tried to stand. Through the whining in my ears I heard a whistling sound. Adrenaline spiked my heart beat and I forced my legs to run.

BOOM! The ground shook under me as another missile detonated behind me. I forced myself to pick up the pace. I couldn’t see where I was running, the ground was so thick with smoke. I knew the door was a little less than half a mile away. If I could get there before—

BOOM! I fell forward. It was right at my heels. I scrambled to my feet and—

BOOM! God, I couldn’t make it. I ran faster. My feet barely touched the ground. I pumped my arms and pushed my body into high gear.

BOOM! The smoke was clearing now. I could see the door. It was too far away.

BOOM! My trembling legs twisted over each other, my knees slamming against the scorched ground. Pain laced through my body. I tried to stand but my weak legs couldn’t hold me. No. I needed to live. I forced my shaking legs to stand. I took a step and smashed my chin against the ground. My vision was tinged with red. I saw the door. Less than a hundred feet away. I started crawling. I clawed my hands over the ground, my fingernails clodding with dirt. My feet scuffed against the sun baked crust. The whistle of an oncoming missile screamed in my ears. I curled into a ball. Maybe heaven would look like the Glade.

BOOM! Burning heat washed over me. I felt my body skip over the ground, like a flat stone on water. I slowed to a stop and tried to breathe. I couldn’t see. My eyes were open but I could only see. bright yellow light. Big splotches throbbing in time. with my pounding head. Slowly my adrenaline died down. I could feel pain. It was everywhere. My skin felt raw. scraped. Burned, vulnerable. My abdomen throbbed. I touched it and my hand felt a wet, warm liquid. blood. My head hurt. Thoughts came slower than they used to. It was like my pain had a lag. Like my body couldn’t. process it. My leg hurt. Something was in it. i should be dead. Why was I alive? I strained to remember. why.

Gul. Rob. they’re important. Who are they? They are my.

Family. But there were others. i killed them. I should be.

dead.

why.

am.

i.

alive?

Gul and Rob.

My vision started to clear. My brain hurt. It’s lag smoothed. I could think. A little better. Without so many… walls. I looked around. I uttered a cry of relief. I was at the door. I stood, with shaking, bleeding legs. My vision was peppered with little yellow spots, but I could see. I opened the door.

Cool, sterilized air washed over my tortured body. Bright blue fluorescent light illuminated a staircase. I started to waddle up the steps when—

“Erg. Whozzat?” I reached for my knife and slowly turned around. In the corner, half hidden by the open door, sat three men. They were tied up. Two of the three only had undershirts and leggings, while the other had full armor. The man’s helmet had a sticky note on it. Gripping my knife I harshly ripped the note off. The helmet was reflective. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I did feel him flinch. Smirking, I studied the note.

Hey shuckhead,

Neither of us forgive you for almost dying. Rob is royally pissed at me for “letting you do such a thing” . Don’t tell Rob, but thanks. The armor is a gift from us. You won’t get through the multitudes of guards up here without it. Don’t be stupid. Put it on and don’t start any fights. You’re like a gorilla in a china shop or whatever the idiom is. Be careful. Don’t you dare die.

Dostat daaram pesar,

Gul

I exhaled sharply. Half a laugh, half something else. Something I’ve never felt, only imagined. Who was Gul to me? Who was Rob? I felt tears well up in my eyes. No. I wouldn’t go there, not today. I would see them again. I stared intently at the man and nonchalantly unsheathed my knife. WICKED wouldn’t get in the way. The man pressed his knees to his chest and shook his head. His chest was rapidly rising and lowering.

“Give me that armor.” He shook his head slightly. I gritted my teeth. My knife shone in the fluorescent light. “Okay.” I growled. I rushed up to him and tore off his helmet, my knife raised.

I gasped and staggered back. The helmet dropped from my hand. It made a dull echoing sound. He was just a kid. My age or less. His brown hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His skin was pale, sickly. He looked terrified. Of me. My knife clattered to the floor. “I-I wasn’t gonna kill—”

“Please, please. I don’t want to die.” He whispered it, reverently. Like it was a prayer to a merciful god I didn’t know.

“Give. Me. The. Armor. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. WICKED took everything from me. Do you know what you’re a part of?” My voice was laced with venom; yet it was so close to dissolving into blubbering. I inhaled sharply and tried to look mean, dangerous.

“Finding the cure. Saving the world. WICKED is good.” He said it like it was a mantra that’d been shoved down his throat. I gripped his shoulders. His head lolled down. I grasped his hair and slammed his head into the wall.

“Look at me! WICKED has killed people. WICKED killed Alby. Ben. George. Those were people. People I loved.” The boy shut his eyes. “LOOK AT ME! I killed a boy. His name was Chuck.” My voice grew raspy. “I killed him blaming another boy for WICKED’s sins. Don’t do what I did. WICKED needs to be destroyed. But I don’t want you to die with it.” I was desperate now. Flecks of spit splattered on his face. I must’ve looked crazed, inhuman. I released him and stepped back. His head stayed raised. He sat there for a moment. Slowly he opened his eyes.

“Beth. Did you know her?” I shook my head. He nodded. “WICKED took her. For their experiment. To find a cure. She’s probably dead.” He looked at me. “She was so little. Mom got the Flare. It was just me and her. Then WICKED took us. We separated. WICKED told me it was for the greater good. So no one would get what Mom had. I never saw Beth again.” He said all this quietly, distant. Like it was a sad fairy tale. Not what he experienced. I knelt down and started untying him.

“Go across this no man’s land. Ask for the name Lawrence. You’ll be pointed toward a building. Say you're with Rob, Gul and me, Gally.” He stood and started to take off the armor. “No. You’ll need that to get across. Ditch it once you get to the buildings.” I handed him his helmet and awkwardly stood there.

“This—” he started. I heard footsteps on the floor above us, and shots. I gripped his shoulders.

“Go.” Then I turned and ran up the stairs.

It became strangely silent as I climbed the steps. Only now did my body remember it was in a critical condition. My lungs burned, my body felt abused. I looked down and saw tiny burn holes all over my clothes. I looked like a boiled lobster. My skin was peeling, especially on my hands. My leg throbbed like crazy, but I didn’t look at it. I’d probably throw up at the mess of blood I could feel dripping down my thigh. I reached the end of the stairs and stumbled down the hallway. There were so many doors. Which—

Shots. Third door on the right. I took a step and slumped on the ground. My leg wouldn’t move. More shots. Voices. I leaned against the wall and excruciatingly got to my feet. I took a step. Then another.

“GUL!”

Rob. That was his voice. It was anguished. No. I forgot my pain and broke into a run. I kicked open the door.

No.

Later I would remember the details of the room. An overturned table raked with gunfire. Security technology with monitors, dark and littered with bullet holes. Flickering blue lights. WICKED guards with their guns pointed at Gul.

But the only thing I saw that day was the bullets ripping into his chest. Blood splattering on his cocky, mischievous expression. His eyes locked on me. A smile flickered across his lips. ‘Pesar’ means son, shuckhead. He mouthed. Then he fell backwards, his body obscured by the table. No. No no no.

“NO!” I shouldered my way through the WICKED guards. They didn’t even notice me until I spun around and grabbed my gun. I shot like a madman. Bullet after bullet lodged in the guards. Guard after guard slumped. Dead. The survivors tried to run, but I kept shooting. I wanted everyone dead. Body after body fell, until the dead blocked the exit. The rest were trapped in a cage of death, a prison created from their own comrades. I didn’t drop my gun until every guard shared the same fate. To die at my hand. The roaring in my ears stopped and I could hear quiet weeping. Oh God, Rob.

I jumped over the table and— Gul.

No.

I knelt next to Rob. Rob was clutching him. Sobbing over him. Over and over he mouthed the word: Why? Rob’s med kit lay forgotten by Gul’s head.

No.

Pesar means son.

No.

But what about father?

What does father mean?

Gul.

How could he? How could he die? The shucking slinthead!

I covered my face with my hand. Slinthead. Shuckhead. Shank. He used those. Because of me. For me. He used to. What I wouldn’t give for him to call me a slinthead again. I sat back. I didn’t want to see the body. I didn’t want Rob to confirm that he was dead. Oh, God. I didn’t want to see the other bodies. I dropped my gun like it was hot. God. I shakily stood up. I had to see them. Slowly I waded through the bodies. I took off their helmets. Men. Boys. Woman. Gently I removed the helmet of a smaller figure.

No.

No no no. I told him. Tears wet my cheeks. They stung my burned skin. It was the boy. I fell on my knees, guilt steeping my heart in lead. I didn’t even ask his name. Tenderly I lifted his body. He felt light, empty in my arms. I walked over to Rob.

“We need to bury them.” Rob looked up. He didn’t even blink at the body in my arms.

“Okay.” His voice was raspy. I turned away, terrified he’d try to talk about…

“Let’s go.” My voice sounded so neutral, so uncaring. I was scared Rob would hate me. Would think I didn’t care. But I did. I cared too much. I was too close to breaking. I couldn’t even look at Rob. I knew he was carrying Gul. I couldn’t see him limp in Rob’s arms.

“Okay.” Rob followed me through the sea of bodies. To his credit, he didn’t say anything. Or maybe I just couldn’t hear him over my thoughts.

#

We buried them. We went back to the base. Rob went to his room. I went to the alley. Gul wasn’t here to stop me. I took out my knife. In the Glade we would banish anyone who attempted to murder or actually killed another Glader to the Maze. They would never survive the night. I’ve broken that rule ten times over. I wouldn’t survive this night. I only felt bad for Rob. Maybe one day he’d forgive me. Or he wouldn’t. I deserved that much.

I leveled my knife to my wrist and cut into my skin. One for Chuck. It stung, but it wasn't enough. Not for everything I’ve done. I slit my other wrist. for the boy. Three more quick cuts down my arms. For the guards. Then I raised the knife to my neck. For Gul.

I inhaled air. It seemed so sweet when I was about to lose it. I wonder if Chuck thought about his last breaths when he stepped into my gunshot. When the boy joined his comrades. When Gul tried to single handedly fight off WICKED. I wouldn’t see them again. With all my sins I was destined for Hell. If it was even real. What did Gul believe about death? I never got to ask him. I pressed the blade against my neck. I closed my eyes.

Instantly I was back. Back in the void. My body didn’t burn. My abdomen didn’t ache. The cold metal of the gun felt soothing against my healed hands. I was pointing the gun at Chuck. I knew this wasn’t real. I knew he was already dead. But I still resisted. I tried to drop the gun, move it away from Chuck, but my arms were frozen. My finger slowly, deliberately pulled the trigger. The bullet shot out the barrel. Leisurely it spun in slow motion. Second by second drawing closer to Chuck. I tried to move, flinch, scream, anything.

Chuck didn’t react when the bullet lodged in his chest. His face was frozen in an angelic, loyal, quietly courageous expression. Still he had golden eyes.

CHUCK!

He fell backwards. But that wasn’t the end. Behind him the bullet continued. It lodged in the boy’s throat. His expression froze in a pleading, terrified state. His eyes reflected a golden light I couldn’t see. Guilt washed over me, if my body wasn’t stuck I’d have collapsed.

No.

The bullet continued through the guards. Guard after guard it shot through. Face after face frozen in shock, disbelief, fear, grief. Over and over I saw these last expressions, each ripping into me. Each weighing me with more guilt than I could handle. It went on for too long. How many have I killed? Too many. Oh God, too many. The bullet tore through the last guard. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I tried to hold them in. I didn’t want to cry. It felt so wrong to cry for people I consciously killed. But I did. Tears streamed down my face as I silently sobbed.

But the bullet wasn’t done. It hovered in front of one last person.

Gul.

He had that same stupid smirk on his face, his mouth open in calling me a shuckhead. Only his eyes ruined the picture. They were golden. No. His eyes are blue. No. He can’t die. Not here. I didn’t kill him. Yet the bullet didn’t stop. Did I kill him? Was it my fault? No. No no no no.

I had to wake up. Would I have dreams like this when I was dead? Was this Hell? Would I dream of the bullet tearing into me? No. No. The bullet pressed against Gul’s chest. I could hear the skin breaking apart, the blood starting to flow—

“Gally!” I was back. I felt the concrete against my back. My body in pain. My hand closed over a knife that wasn’t there. My eyes flew open and Rob was kneeling next to me. My knife in his hand. I sat up, deranged. I flung myself toward Rob.

“Rob,” I said, clutching his arm. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Give me the knife.” I was breathing heavily, drool dripping from my mouth. Rob studied the knife. And, without his expression changing, he threw it down the alley. “No!” I tried to rush past him for the knife but he held me back. I scratched and clawed but he stood firm. “Rob—”

“Don’t even try. Don’t even try to explain why I saw you convulsing on the floor with a knife to your throat. I know why. You feel guilty. For something you didn’t even cause. Stop struggling Gally!” Rob’s voice was so filled with emotion I stopped immediately. For a second me both sat there. His arms wrapped around my stomach; My body stretched over his kneeling legs. We both were sweating, breathing heavily. After a few more seconds Rob stirred.

“Oh God, you're bleeding.” Rob turned me over and considered my abdomen wound. “I’m going to rebandage this. Let’s get you to the med—”

“No.”

“Son—”

“No!” I slid off his legs and sat up. “You don’t get it. I feel guilty, but it was for something I caused.” I was practically shaking with emotion. “I killed Chuck, Rob. The boy who was lying next to me at the WICKED compound. I murdered him.”

Rob didn’t speak.

“I murdered all those guards, too.”

Rob started to argue but I stopped him.

“Do you know how young some of them were? Did you know I talked to one of them? Did you know he lost his sister? Did you know they’re all brainwashed to believe WICKED is good? Do you know how many I killed?”

Rob opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it.

“I’m too dangerous, Rob. I destroy everything I touch. Maybe Gul would still be alive with you if you’d have left me to die.” I gestured to the knife. “That would’ve been the only good thing I’d done with my life.” I looked into his eyes. “Rob, please let me die.”

Rob stared at me open mouthed, silent tears streaked down his cheeks. “You poor, poor child. You’ve been lugging that since we met you? Oh son, I can’t lose you too.” He held out his arms, but I recoiled.

“Rob. I killed people.”

Rob dropped his arms. He traced a word on his leg. “You regret it. Guilt is overwhelming you with every day that passes, am I right?”

I nodded.

“Gally, can’t you forgive yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to grieve these people as friends rather than the mistakes you made? Can’t you respect them enough to do that?”

“Respect? I’m ready to kill myself to avenge them and you talk about respect?” My voice practically shrieked. Rob was silent for a moment.

“Gally, do you need to avenge them? Or is that just a coward’s way to get out of facing your mistakes and moving on?”

It was my turn to be silent. I wanted to feel offended, wanted to hurt him back. But instead I clutched my knees to my chest and whispered: “Yeah Rob, I’m scared. I’m scared to move on. What if I forget… them. What if I just become an asshole again. What then?”

Rob pulled me into a hug. I went limp in his arms. “You won’t. In my eyes you’ll always be a shuckhead.”

“Oh haha, laugh at the Glade slang. You’re so original.” I said into his sweater.

Rob laughed. “Gally, you’re already growing into a wise young man. I’m so proud of you.” Rob gripped me tightly, I wrapped my arms around him and let myself sob into his sweater.

“Rob, Rob I’m so, so sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Rob cupped my tearstained face in his hand. His own eyes were wet with tears and reflecting the golden, setting sun. It was beautiful.

“I love you so much.” He embraced me again. That feeling washed over me. The feeling I felt in Gul’s arms. That love. That love I could only get from a dad.

Pesar means ‘son’.

#

One year later…

“Rob! Look!” I stumped into his room, running my hand over my newly shaved head. Rob glanced up from his book and made a face. He quickly tried to cover it up with a wavering smile, but I’d already seen it. “You hate it.” I pouted.

“No… it’s… Gally, you didn’t… you went against the flow of your hair!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I scratched the back of my neck.

“Gally, where’s the razor? I’m just going fix up the back, and… a… a couple of other spots…”

I crossed my arms. “Gul would’ve thought I looked sexy.” I joked.

“You will be, just let Barber Roberto fix it up, monsieur.” Rob said, gesturing for me to sit down in front of his chair.

“Fine.” I handed him the razor and sat down, crossing my legs. Rob pressed the blade to my head and carefully buzzed around my ears.

“You have that scout mission to do, right?” Rob asked, continuing to fix up my hair.

“Yeah, just a ride around the square, really. We wanna spread word about the revolution.”

“Have you talked to Lawrence recently?” Rob said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Not since…” I couldn’t say Gul’s funeral. My voice couldn’t force the words.

“Yeah.” Rob got quiet, maybe thinking about the service. I was.

“He kinda hates me now.” I picked at the carpet, pulling at the loose threads.

“You punched him.”

“Yeah.”

Rob was silent. I could only hear the dull buzz of the razor.

“I just… the way he implied that we’d lost Gul on a mission that was basically crafted so I would stop whining…” I stopped. “It’s already hard enough to forgive myself,” I whispered. Rob giggled. “What?” I asked, self conscious.

“No, it’s not you, it's just,” he snorted. “Gul’s sides would’ve been splitting open at you punching Lawrence in the middle of his funeral…! And throwing the cracker platter…” He burst into laughter. I giggled too.

“Gul would’ve loved it. And he’d have let me drink the wine, Rob.”

“I’m guilty of being a responsible adult, how novel.”

I snorted. “Hey, you almost done? I actually gotta get going…”

“Oh, yes, of course, turn toward me for a second, I just need to fix up your hairline.”

“What the f— heck is a hairline.” I corrected.

“Nice save, shank.” Rob said, rolling his eyes. I turned toward him and Rob smoothly shaved along my forehead. Little bits of hair dusted my cheeks. “There. You’re good.”

“I was before, what do you mean?” I quipped.

“Get out of here, slinthead.” Rob said, trying to keep a straight face. I jumped up and raced to the door. In the doorframe I turned around.

“I love you Rob.” Rob looked up from his book. His eyes were wide, gooey, with understanding.

“I’ll be here when you get back, Gally. You don’t need to say it just in case—” I shut the door. I did need to say it. Who knew when a goodbye might be the last thing you’d ever say to someone?