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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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Decided to do a part 2 (due courtesy of @an-ambivalent and @definitetrashlord for motivating me to even continue this series HEHE💖)

Pt. 1

Tw: manipulation, dubcon, language

It isn’t the cum that slides down your legs continuously, nor the black and blue marks that so obviously covers the expanse of your neck at all times, no.

It’s the constant surveillance you’re under, it’s the lack of conversation you get from your comrades, it’s the way you mold and shift for however he wants you to be that solidifies his hold on you.

The attack from three weeks ago feels like yesterday, the way he held your head up by your hair after he was done ruining you and crooned in your ear that you were his now, and you’d be suicidal if you continued to lash out on his godsent decision plays like a broken record in your head.

You can’t look him in the eyes now, only meekly staring at his feet when he orders you to stand in front of him. Sometimes he’ll circle you and invade in your personal space, standing behind you and leaning in close behind your ear, simply inhaling you and saying nothing. Other times when no one’s around he’ll lounge back on the couch with a beer in his hand, spreading his knees wide while he lazily orders you to dance for him, slowly stripping away your self esteem and clothes simultaneously.

He doesn’t seem to outwardly mind the silence that seeps from you anymore, now that he has your body and attention focused solely on him.

Even Tomura has stopped talking to you just for fun. He’ll try and make a snipe at you, fruitlessly expecting your once-usual comebacks, but all you can do is blearily smile at him.

It makes everyone uneasy how quickly you’ve been reduced to nothing.

You couldn’t leave even if you tried to. Your medical skills were too valuable to be rejected, and Dabi’s scrutinizing tabs on you wouldn’t allow for even a foot stepped outside if not for Shigaraki’s missions.

Even your meals are meager at best, mainly consisting of copious amounts of alcohol and shitty ambiguous burnt food that pops up on the counters randomly.

You feel dirty, like a disease-infested rat. No amount is showering from the dingy stalls, no amount of cheap soap bars wittled down on your body erases the feeling of being used.

Dabi has never been in more love than he has now.

He hopes you like the food he makes, secretly placing it on the bar counter seconds before you sit down. Sure, the food might be a little burnt, but it’s still your favorite right?

It doesn’t matter how expensive the shower products are, he thinks they smell nice and that they’d smell even better on you. Shigaraki can fuck off, he’s not spending too much revenue on his girl, it’s the bare minimum he can do to show you how much he appreciates you playing by his rules...even if he can never say it out loud.

And his favorite part at the end of every day is putting his surely-misplaced words of affection into action, where he can scream with his body against yours how long he’s wanted you for, how thankful he is to any deity that exists that you’ve been placed in his care.

Dabi might be in love, but he’s not stupid though.

He sees the way your body becomes more and more deteriorated, notices the small change of you hesitation to answer him, the way you can never truly look at him, how you retreat to his room more and more(your room has just become a guest room now after he burned all your belongings, rendering you completely dependent on him to supply you with scratchy clothes and feminine products, no matter how embarrassing it is for you). It’s so frustrating to him- you’re not actually doing anything wrong, but you’re not doing it right either. How long does he have to keep threatening you for? Why can’t you just be happy with him? At least pretend like he’s not the villain for once.

He just feels so passionately for you, a word he never thought would be used in his vocabulary. It all bottles up, and sometimes he feels like he isn’t expressing his feelings of love, jealousy at you not giving him enough attention at times, concern over your quiet demeanor, and wanting of you enough.

You’ve never been more broken than you are now.

If it wasn’t bad enough that you bend at his every beck and call, he expects you to understand his body language and cravings without him even saying anything, which is more so often than not. He just stares at you for so, so long. You originally tried to get up and leave after he dragged you over to the couch and plopped you down, but immediately stilled after smoke began curling from his wrists.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

You look at him incredulously, but his lids are lowered at you as he smokes a blunt. And so you exhale in annoyance and run a hand through your hair, closing your eyes to avoid looking into his unnerving glacial eyes.

It’s too bad you don’t see the big red hearts in them that break when you turn away from him.

You’re just so pretty, how can you expect him not to stare?

He tries to get you to do weird things too when you guys are alone and he’s not plowing you into the mattress.

Once on a cool winter night a majority of the League was out hunting for recruits. Dabi, you, and Spinner had done your quotas already-or,rather, Dabi had yanked you by your wrist alongside him through the dark alleyways, growling at you to “Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. If I see you looking at any one of these trash kindlings I’ll burn the whole alley up and force you to watch”.

And so while the rest of the party was out, Spinner had mumbled something about needing to take a piss with a pointed glare from Dabi and you were left alone again with your...boyfriend?

He sits down on the crumbling leather and gives you a once over, not saying anything.

You fidget in place, thinking he was going to make you give him another slutty show.

Moments pass, and he snaps, “Well?”

“W-well what?”

“Are you just gonna stand there like some braindead bitch? Sit down.” He leers at you.

You drop into the loveseat at the other end, looking down at your lap. You can’t see his expression, but he scoffs in disbelief.

“Are you actually slow? Get the fuck over here, it’s cold as shit.”

And so you scooch over to him regrettably, knees touching with his as you squirm.

He leans forward and turns to face you, reaching out a hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He notices you trembling and squeezing your eyes shut, so he stops midway.

He sits back again and as soon as you feel his presence retreat you let out our breath.

It hurts his heart to hear it.

You solely turn to face him when he doesn’t say anything, and he points to one of the grimy blankets strewn over the side of the tv. He grunts, and you catch his drift.

You get up to retrieve it, and hear his gravelly voice. “Get the remote too.”

When both items are brought back, Dabi snatches the blanket from you and drapes it over himself contentedly.

What am I, an errand girl?

He tosses the remote at you to your surprise, and you look at him with raised eyebrows.

He props his cheek against a fist and stares briefly at the tv.

You take your chances and press the on button on the remote.

The ancient monitor comes to life, and it takes a few minutes of scrolling through the channels and glancing at Dabi’s face to decide the appropriate one to watch. You settle on some old slasher finally after seeing the scowl on his face lessen at the sight of a rusted blade chopping through some guy’s shoulders.

It’s weird to be sitting there with your bully-turned-beau, watching a horror flick as if your relationship with him was normal. You’re surprised he hasn’t jumped your bones yet, it’s what he always wants to do these days as if you’re planning on leaving and it’s his last dying wish to fuck you.

But he does nothing except for sit there, gazing at the screen with unblinking eyes, bouncing his knee.

He wants you near him.

What, does he have to spell it out for you? Why do you think he even sat you next to him with a blanket and a shitty movie?

Dabi expected you to snuggle up to him the moment you say back down. It’s rather insulting that you haven’t so far, if he’s being honest. Why would a fire user like him need a blanket to keep warm? That was for you.

And the horror movie? The only reason he allowed you to put it on is because he wanted you to jump, scream, flinch-hell, do something so he can put an arm around you and tease you for being scared!

But you just sit there. Stock-still, like a deer caught in headlights. Hands in your lap, back straight up, it bothers him that you’re not relaxing around him.

“Aren’t you cold?” You jump at the break in silence.

Indeed it is cold, the chilly winter draft seeping through the crumbling foundations of the old bar. But you’d resist, not wanting to know where he was going with this.

“Uh, no, I’m good thanks.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy. “You’re literally shaking cold, doll. Come here.”

You turn to him beseechingly, very much not wanting to prolong this. “Dabi...”

You’re met with an icy glare.

And so you begrudgingly scoot closer to him, barely a few inches away. Gingerly picking up the corner of the blanket, you place it over your lap in a faux effort to warm yourself.

Dabi rolls his eyes when he sees this, and pulls you by your arms to fall against his chest.

You gasp lightly at how warm his torso is, and can’t help the shiver that passes over you.

Unable to stop yourself from chasing the warmth amidst the cold night, you huddle closer to him, pressing your palms against his chest to feel more of his heat.

He looks down at your head and gives the slightest twitch of his lips.

His heart swells, and he hopes you don’t hear how embarrassingly loud it’s pounding against your hands.

You slowly start melting in his hold, shifting your leg up adjoining his to seek out more heat, and it makes his cock twitch slightly. He likes you like this: pliant, easy, comfortable. He just wishes you’d talk more, and with less of that apprehension and fear in your eyes

Some minutes pass, the slasher fic having been ended and changing to a rom-com. Dabi doesn’t remember the last time he saw one of those. It must have been back when he was Touya, back when his mom would bake his favorite cookies and him and Fuyumi-chan and Natsu would chase each other around-

You stir in his arms, mumbling a bit from dozing off. Dabi gazes at you, wondering when the day would be when you bake him his favorite meals, when he gets to chase you around and make you giggle instead of chasing you like prey and making you scream.

He rubs up and down you arms soothingly with hot palms as you murmur and begin to wake up. You sit up from his chest and rub your eyes, yawning widely all the while.

It’s only when you focus on him smirking down at you that you jump back as if you’ve been electrocuted.

His smile drops at that.

You scowl at his proximity, mentally face-palming at how you could’ve been lulled to sleep so easily by this dickhead. It wasn’t even that cold, how could you have warmed up so easily to him?

A blast of icy air seemingly coming from nowhere settled over your bones and you shivered violently, rubbing your arms that were warm a minute ago.

Okay, maybe it was a bit cold. But you’d be damned if you willingly became vulnerable for him any more than you had to.

“Is someone tired?” He teased, his white teeth gleaming with his sickening grin.

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” you mutter and avert your eyes, getting up to go upstairs.

“Good idea, I think I’ll come too.” You don’t need to turn around to hear the smug laughter in his voice, knowing full well that he was making fun of you.

You grumble and stalk upstairs with him right at your heels. At one point he lifts his gaze just to see your cute ass sashaying side-to-side with every step you took up.

He can’t help himself when he reaches a hand out and squeezes the flesh there, causing you to yelp and shoot up the stairs even faster.

Dabi shakes his head and snickers to himself, beelining after you to his quarters.

It’s a medium size-room, not meant for two people but that doesn’t stop him from cramming you in here every night.

You’re already glowering at his sheets, yanking them back and getting ready to dive in when a sudden thought strikes him.

“Have you eaten yet?” He leans against the door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” Comes your muddled answer from beneath the comforter.

You did not, in fact, eat anything for almost a day and a half. You couldn’t do it, your stomach was constantly in knots from his presence.

“Don’t lie to me,” his nostrils flare and he glares at you.

“I said I ate already.”

“Yeah? When exactly? ‘Cause if I remember right, i haven’t seen you leave my sight for almost 36 hours now, and none of that time includes when you ate.”

You stay silent, fuming underneath the covers. Why the hell was he so concerned about you? It pisses you off that he’s putting up a fake act of caring about you, just so that he feels less guilty about raping you.

He sighs and shifts to open the door. “Stop being such a bratty little shit. You were doing so well earlier, so keep it that way unless you wanna piss me off.”

Dabi turns the knob and takes a step out of the room. “I’ll ask you one last time before I choose myself- what do you wanna eat?”

“Eat shit.”

It’s so faint and muffled, but he hears it. His eyes widen marginally, his jaw clenches and the brass knob under his inflamed palm starts to steam and bubble.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said eat shit!” You throw the covers off and glare at him full on. “Stop pretending like you actually like me, or that you care about me. You’re a crazy fucking rapist, you’re not my father for gods’ sake, so stop trying to be this fake good person!”

The only sound around the room is your soft panting and the squeaking of bubbling metal. Then, it stop.

He steps forward, and speaks softly. “You want me to be the villain so bad?”

Another step forward, and you instinctively retract your legs from the edge of the bed.

“Fine. We’ll play your little game. You’re not leaving this room until I say so, or eating until I give you permission, since that’s what you wanted anyways. Wanna act like a stone cold bitch? Be my guest.”

His posture immediately relaxes, and his smug smile returns as he crosses the room to flip onto the bed.

You look at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

He turns over and scrolls through his phone.

There’s no way he’s serious. Is he actually planning on keeping you in this room? You’re already limited to the base as it is with him breathing down your back, no way in hell you’d tolerate even more confinement.

Just to check his bluff, you slowly slip off the bed and pad towards the door, one eye over your shoulder to check that he hadn’t turned around. But the second your hand outreaches for the disfigured blob of cooling metal on the door, a massive wave of blue flames lash out mere inches from your hand and between the knob.

You scream and clutch your hand, leaping backwards.

“What the fuck, Dabi?!”

He says nothing, but continues to smirk at his phone.

You take a deep breath and are about to try to open it again his his raspy voice calls out, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My nursing skills aren’t as good as yours. And even if you do manage to sever your hand and try again, if you leave then I’ll personally make sure Shigaraki withdraws all your missions here on out.”

You pause at that, cursing under your breath. As much as you knew he’d never admit it to your face, your leader needed Dabi for long distance combat. He was the second most powerful member in the group, so his word was scripture after Shigaraki’s himself. He would do anything Dabi would say if it meant keeping him in the League. You, however, were expendable at the end of the day.

Sighing, you trudge your way back to the rickety bed, grumbling under your breath. He says nothing, simply continuing to scroll through his phone as if he didn’t blast hellfire at you seconds before.

Sleep did not come easily. Even after Dabi put his phone away, he didn’t press up against you like he usually did at night. The empty space behind you was growing colder and harder to ignore.

You tossed and turned for a couple minutes, contemplating what to do. Apparently he was serious when he said he wouldn’t let you leave the room until he said so. So when was he gonna give you the all-clear?

Your stomach rumbled loudly, and you winced clutching it. Damn it. If only you had taken up his offer instead of throwing a tantrum.

Finally, after an excruciating 10 minutes more of deafening silence save for your weeping stomach, you cave in.

“Dabi.”

Silence.

“Dabi, you awake?” You prop yourself up on an elbow and peek over his shoulder. His eyes are closed, but his chest is moving too fast for a slumber.

“Look, I’m...I’m sorry I didn’t listen, okay? I should’ve eaten when you told me to.”

Nothing again.

“Hey.” You lightly shake his shoulder, but no response comes from him.

You sigh in frustration, tapping your fingers on the pillowcase. Suddenly, an idea comes to you, but it makes your stomach recoil in disgust and quiet down its grumbling. Desperation is a bitch.

“Can I make it up to you...?”

And finally, he turns around to face you, one cheek propped against his palm, a lazy grin complimenting his salacious gaze.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so earlier doll?”

You grimace in disgust, mixed emotions at your plan working.

“So what exactly did you have in mind, hmm?” He pouts condescendingly down at you, and you grit your teeth before letting him in on it.

“Um, well..I thought maybe I could...um, y’know, like..I wanna, um...” Oh god. This was more embarrassing than you thought. How are you supposed to ask your captor if you can suck his dick? Usually he just took you fighting tooth and nail, you never fully submitted like this before.

And he knows it too, based on the way his eyes gleam in the silver moonlight and shadows of lust cross his face while looking at your wide eyes and bitten bottom lip, your fidgeting fingers showing nothing but needing pure guidance.

But this isn’t supposed to be easy, he doesn’t want you to feel comfortable, he wants you to feel bad and make it up to him.

To give you a little push, however, he gives toga slight hint as he sits up and leans back against the rickety bedrest, folding his arms behind his head.

“So, what’s it gonna be sweetheart? ‘Gonna stare at me like that all night or are you gonna tell me how you’re gonna make this up to me?”

You look up at him, conflicted for a moment before solidifying your resolve. You shyly reach out a hand and touch the outside of his thigh, slowly rubbing and moving it closer up to the tent in his pelvis.

Oh, this is precious.

“What?” He sneers. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You were pushing me away earlier, but now you wanna suck my dick? Make up your mind, babe.”

You wince and continue, not backing down from his mean comment. You knew he wanted this, he expected this from you. That’s why even though he’s spitting venom from his lips, his hips are bucking up into your hand as you stroke over his member.

Your fingers move nimbly up and down, around and under his thighs and dick, with him softly cursing in the background as he grows harder and harder.

“Stop being a tease and get to sucking. It’s what you were made for, anyways,” Dabi’s low voice comes out from in between little moans.

Your hand shakes a little bit as you fumble with the drawstrings on his pj’s, and he snickers at your inexperience. When you finally free his length, it bounces out like its on fucking hydraulics, precum beading up at the tip, his shaft coated with an intimidation Jacob’s Ladder.

He watches you lick your lips and he groans under his breath. You’re nervous and scared, but he’s wondering whose heart is beating faster right now. The hand which you use to hesitantly start pumping him is so much softer than his own, and even though he’s gotten fairly accustomed to your body and the feel of it, the sensations multiply tenfold when you do it willingly for him.

Dabi has half a mind to shove your head down onto his shaft when he feels like you’re stalling with your hands, however good they feel. He wants to see you sloppy with saliva dribbling down your chin like a baby.

But he waits. As excruciatingly painful as it is, he wants to see what you’re like when you do things at your own pace, and at your own...comfort? If you can even call it that.

Finally, finally after caving in from his silent flower you get the idea to put it in your mouth.

Your face contorts in disgust as you slowly lower your head and latch your lips onto the slippery bulb, hollowing your cheeks out and sucking hard at the tip.

Dabi hisses and juts his hips up into your mouth, furiously chewing at his burnt lower lip as he holds back a pornographic moan. He knows you’d be startled and embarrassed by it, so he refrains...for now.

That doesn’t mean he’s not gonna tell you what to do, though.

“Yeah, just like that. Suck it like an ice-pop. No, don’t use your teeth idiot. And fondle my balls while you’re at it, too.”

Instructions pour into your ears, one after another as you fumble around trying to satiate his needs. You’re clumsy, which makes it even messier and hotter for him. Various fluids coat your hand and the lower half of your face as you work on him, doing exactly what he says. Sucking and kitten-licking the tip, even going so far as to dip your tongue into the crevice of his tiny hole and rapidly lick up the massive amounts of pre bubbling up after doing so, spiraling your tongue down the piercings and on his shaft until you circle around his balls. Your spit helps as lube to slick up his dick as you pump your hand while nursing on his plush balls.

Dabi, of course, has a hand woven through your hair and randomly jerks down on your head when you hit a good spot. You can tell he’s trying his best to hold back from his way his body and arms shake in self restraint, so you know it’s time to finish things up before his control snaps.

You start stroking him even faster, squeezing a little harder when you move up on his tip and massaging his balls. The soft schlick schlick sounds echo throughout the quiet room, the rustling of his sheets as his legs move to their own accord mute the thudding of both your hearts.

You can tell his orgasm is about to come from the way his cheeks puff up and his chest heaves. Pulling away is futile, as the second he sees recognition in your eyes he finally does what he’s been wanting to do, and slams your head all the way down his length.

He starts actually face-fucking you now, all 7 1/2 inches tightly cramming in your throat. You retch and cry out around his dick, trying to pull your head back but he’s not having it; he pounds the back of your canal and you swear you’ll wake up with a bruised esophagus in the morning.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck yes doll, fuck, just a little more, you’re doing so good, my little cumdump huh? You love me, yeah? Of course you do, of course you love your daddy, you’re never gonna leave me you’re gonna stay right here under me like the good little girl you are-“

Filth pours from his mouth as white ropes leave his cock, your already-filled throat flooding with his seed and leaking out of your strained mouth.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he waits for a moment or two, calming his breath down by taking deep inhales in place of his rapid panting. His breath deepens after a minute or two, but he still has an iron grip on the back of your head sealed so tight that the cum is trapped on the inside of your stretched lips.

“Mmmfh!” You cry out and beat at his knee. He finally looks down at focuses on you, squinting and laughing at your predicament.

“Aww what’s wrong, don’t wanna gargle my kids? Would you rather have them someplace else?” He shakes your head back and forth on his softening cock and more seed spills out over your mouth and around his groin.

You painfully pull your head up, and Dabi revels in how you look.

Teary-eyed, your hair a mess, cum and spit coating your mouth like a fucking whore.

You’ve never looked more beautiful to him than you have at that moment.

“Come on, clean me up,” he gestures to the mess on his body, and you grimace.

“Do I have to? I just did what you wanted me to-“

“I thought you were trying to make it up to me?” He raises an eyebrow and looks you up and down.

You sigh and try to do it quickly, ingesting the vile contents and avoiding his cruel grin.

After what seemed like a lifetime, you finish him off and flop down in bed, catching your breath.

“So, was that good enough? Can I go outside now?”

“It’s the middle of the night, where the hell would you go right now?” He fluffs up his pillow and pulls his pants back up, getting ready to actually sleep this time.

“Well, I mean yeah, but...you know what I mean, in the morning you’ll let me go out, right?”

He rolls over to face you, and you can’t decipher what emotion crosses his face as his position blocks out the moonlight. From his body rolled over, the light reflecting off the side of his head would almost make it seem like he had white hair.

“Who said anything about letting you go out?”

You gape at him for a moment, then chuckle nervously. “Come on, don’t freak me out like that. You said that if I made it up to you-“

“I said make it up to me, as in apologize for your bitchy attitude. I didn’t say anything about you leaving. You’re gonna have to do more than a shitty blowjob if you wanna leave this room.”

“Dabi!”

“What? I’m just complying with what you wanted. You didn’t wanna go with me, right? So, I’m playing by your rules.” He says simply, shrugging as if it’s no big deal.

Tears brim up in your eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

“Exactly. Which is why you’re not leaving until I say so.”

You turn over and scoot away from him, ignoring his scoff. But you suppose you couldn’t be too mad, after all.

You don’t know what you were expecting from a villain anyways.

#bnha #dabi smut #tw:dubcon #mha Dabi #dabi oneshot #touya todoroki #touya #bnha dabi #yandere dabi x reader #Dabi #dabi x reader

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gofancyninjaworld · 3 years

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Garou and the futility of heroism

.With much thanks to @the-nysh for the conversation. I thought of making this longer and more detailed, but I know myself: it’ll turn into one of those drafts that hangs around for years.

I've recently been reading the Epic of Gilgamesh as a part of reducing my terrible ignorance of the foundations of Western literature. Cracking good yarn, highly recommended, but I’m not here to talk literature. The latter half of the story is dominated by Gilgamesh’s struggle against the idea that he was inevitably going to die.

Where this relates to Garou is not that he’s railing against the inevitability of death and the reality that everything built up over a life will crumble to dust. What Garou is struggling against is the seeming futility of heroism.

His specific approach is all sorts of bad, but the reality he's struggling against is something brought up repeatedly in One-Punch Man. One of the *big* themes in One-Punch Man is critically examining what a hero is actually good *for*. No matter how diligent a hero is, no matter how strong they are, the world's evils do not disappear.

It's very outrageous and painful to acknowledge how small and fleeting one's efforts are in the grand scheme of things.

The moment we get a look into Saitama’s thoughts, it’s the very first thing he leads with. Literally the very first sentence of his thinking.

Saitama might be the strongest hero ever, able to defeat anything in one punch. Not only has the world not become a better place as a result of his actions, but the very neighbourhood he lives in has become depopulated as it’s become too dangerous to live there. In its own way, having birdsong be the loudest sound in the morning is its own rebuke to Saitama’s ambitions of helping people.

Watchdogman is the most diligent hero ever, with a perfect monster elimination record. And yet, City Q is as monster-infested as ever. Should anything happen to him, it will be as if he never existed for all the good his previous efforts will have done its inhabitants.

however diligently he sits, the pedestal he’s on will crumble the moment he cannot do his job any longer.

And that’s just talking about monsters. There are a lot of very bad people in OPM world and not just of the cackling mad scientist variety, although it’s got plenty of those too.

The world of One-Punch Man also has evils driven by factors that are far too big for any hero by their action to stop. Problems best addressed at the political or economic level aren’t going to be solved with a punch.

Even when the evil appears to be tied up with a single person, like the Ninja Village was established by That Man, getting rid of them doesn’t necessarily change affairs. The Village stole the freedoms and lives of boys for a good fifteen years after Blast defeated That Man. It was still too profitable to *not* do.

when you think about it, crime must really pay in One-Punch Man!

Even when you say you’re going to do something simple and heroic, like save a single child from the clutches of a monster... what do you mean by ‘saved’, exactly? How brutally difficult it is to save even a single person, how easily it is that your best efforts to be turned to naught by an adverse event, like springing a rabbit from a trap only to have it swooped up by a hawk, is fully on display this arc.

so many heroes’ efforts and yet Waganma went almost nowhere...truly like fetching water out of a river with a basket!

Other than Saitama, we see so many other heroes struggle with the reality of how little they can change things in the long term. Very notable is the conversation that Snek has with Suiryu, where Suiryu challenges Snek to justify why he bothers being a hero at all? “No matter how hard you try, it’s just drops of water on burning rocks,” Suiryu says, something done for self-satisfaction rather than because it actually creates meaningful change. Snek’s thoughts mirror Suiryu’s as he considers whether heroes are actually necessary at all.

Let’s bring it back to Garou. Garou’s Very Bad No Good Plan to Avoid Heroic Heartbreak he laid out in chapter 41. Quite simply, heroes always have to wait for bad things to happen and then react to punish the evildoers and/or save people.

I love how long this guy is...um, sorry I was supposed to be typing something insightful here

But what if it was possible to take the initiative instead, like a monster does? What if people could stop wanting to be bad and monsters could stop wanting to attack people? That’s where the Human Monster was born, the quest to create a persona so strong that no one could oppose it, and so senselessly evil that no one dared to do anything that attracted its attention.

punishing the good and evil alike, don’t make him come your way if you know what’s good for you.

I see a lot of readers read superficially, misunderstand and think Garou is punishing heroes in some way. That heroes are bad in some way. Nothing like that: he attacks heroes because they’re good and devote their lives to protecting people. After all, only a total monster would do that. Also, if even the strongest heroes aren’t safe, what hope have the regular people of this world?

All throughout the arc, that Garou doesn’t actually want to be a monster at heart is clear to every actual monster. It’s clear to us as we see his interactions with Tareo. It’s clear to him himself as he tries to steel himself to take a life just to prove to himself that he can (thankfully it’s Saitama he tries to kill).

It’s what makes Saitama’s bullshit-cutting words as cutting as they are. Ultimately, his trying to scare the world into being good is his way of running away from the tough, heart-breaking work of being a hero.

there is a crazy confidence a hero needs to embody in order to step up, as if by doing so they can do something

The pathos that we can empathise with is that it’s hard to look on a world as messed up as theirs is and not feel that surely, surely there’s something more that one can do. Garou’s struggle is absolutely legitimate. However... I’m going to let the however hang a moment...

It’s childish thinking to frame heroism in terms of strength and it’s not much better to frame it in terms of being of exceptional virtuousness. What a hero is, according to ONE, is someone who can look honestly at the cruelty and randomness of the world, who can acknowledge frankly the fleeting nature of any good they can do, feel the pain of this reality fully. And then choose to reach a hand out to help anyway.

In a world where feeling helpless in the face of impossibly large and complex problems feels inevitable, cynicism is too ready a refuge, and just looking out for yourself is common sense, the mere act of reaching that hand out is an act of courage.

not with illusions of good triumphing over evil, but the dogged determination to do the right thing even if the world burns down. That’s what being a hero is about.

However...

...the way Garou worked out his inner conflict was not legitimate. He picked the worst possible way at the worst possible time to wrestle with it. Which I think goes to a second theme: that your feelings may be valid. But that does not mean that every action that follows from those feelings is valid. Garou hurt a lot of good people and impeded their vital work at a time the world could ill-afford it.

One of the joys of fiction is that not only do characters act for reasons that make sense, but we get to hear and understand *why*. And at the same time, the external actions they take on the world persist. I’m very happy too that ONE isn’t glossing over the consequences of Garou’s actions. Too many readers pick one or the other and lose half the joy.

Thankfully, ONE isn’t a half-ass.

It doesn’t become okay for the heroes that Garou attacked that they were assaulted. It doesn’t become okay for the world that so many people were needlessly deprived of heroes when they needed them most. And it isn’t okay for Garou that he’s made an outlaw of himself as a result of his actions. The ramifications on both personal and societal are going to be explored for the individuals involved. I bless ONE for his conscientiousness and for creating so many excellent characters that make the enterprise worth the candle.

What kind of hero Garou will decide to be and how he’ll make it work in practice, ah that we’re waiting to see.

Coda:

Of course, that’s not the whole story. There’s one other part. Occasionally, by being the right person willing and able to step up in the right way at the right time, a hero can change *everything*.

#OPM #meta #Garou #heroes #for a story that is a parody the thoroughness with which it unpicks heroism is very serious #long #yes I said I wasn't going to run long but I have so much more I want to say #which I guess will put people who came for the luls off but there you go #making peace with what one can do as an individual is a very real problem that's both topical and timeless #making peace that nothing lasts forever not even one's achievements is another #finding meaning and a way forward in this impermanent life is a little triumph

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frogsandcookies · 4 years

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Hellfire

Who ordered a Hunchback of Notre Dame au for Sanders Sides?

Anyways, this is a song fic Hellfire from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Logan is Frollo in this, Patton is Esmeralda, Virgil is Quasimodo, and Roman is Phoebus (the latter two are barely mentioned)

Warning: Minor NSFW themes(nothing explicit so don’t worry but Logan does talk about lust), Violence, Mention of death, A lot of religious stuff (Talking about hell and such)

***Edited on 3-28-21 to remove a offensive word from the writing, I apologize for using it in the original, I wasn’t aware that it was a slur.

___

Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti Beatae Mariae semper Virgini Beato Michaeli archangelo Sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis

The sound of the congregation’s singing bounced off of the towering stone halls, echoing throughout the magnificent cathedral and the surrounding city area. It was haunting, both beautiful and terrifying though the townsfolk paid no attention to it, used to the sound by now. The usually bustling city was quiet and dark, except for one house. Logan Frollo’s manor.

The stone faced man was standing on his balcony that looked over the whole city, his hands clamped tightly on the marble railing. His knuckles were a ghostly white and his teeth clenched together tightly. The deafening cathedral bells began to ring and his eyes snapped to the Notre Dame.

“Damned bells.” He muttered before releasing the thoroughly strangled railing and turning quickly on his heel. His robe swept elegantly behind him following his spin, the wind blowing it back as he strided into his home. Just as the bells ceased their ringing, Logan slammed the mahogany doors to his balcony, his face bearing an wrathful expression.

He was restless, clenching and unclenching his hands as he thought about the events that had occurred the past couple of days.

Logan suddenly stopped and his eyes flicked up to the tall portrait of the Virgin Mary which hung above the grand stone fireplace where a crackling fire was lit. Its eyes seemed to watch his every movement and looked into his soul, reading what he was thinking.

Beata Maria

You know I am a righteous man

Of my virtue I am justly proud

“Beata Maria, Saint Mary, why must you look at me so? You have seen from my actions that I am indeed a righteous man who strives for perfection in the citizens of Paris.” Logan said, looking up to the painting who’s leering seemed to increase as he continued to speak.

“Although my arrogance may seem unjust, I think that all of the contributions I have made to this growing city speak for themselves; of which my virtue I am justly proud. Not many can say they helped exterminate the infestation of travelers that roam about our glorious city, corrupting the weak willed citizens.” Logan added, his tone sounding a bit desperate as he pleaded to the painting.

Beata Maria

You know I'm so much purer than

The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd

“The citizens who make up our City of Light are vulgar and common yet I strive to help them reach salvation. Those fools in the Notre Dame do the devil’s work, protecting those wanderers and that freak of a child who I graciously raised.” Logan spat, his anger flaring.

“When I reach Heaven’s pearly gates those weak fools will claw at my feet.” He murmured.

Then tell me, Maria

Why I see him dancing there

Why his smoldering eyes still scorch my soul

There was a jingle of bells and Logan spun around, his glasses nearly falling off of his face as he looked for the source of the all too familiar sound.

“Who’s there?” He called, his hand flitting to his pocket where a silken blue scarf was housed. No one answered his call and Logan yelled once again,”Come out you vile boy!”

Only the crackling of the fire answered him and Logan turned back around. He ignored the painting’s judging stare as he pulled out the delicate scarf, his hands shaking slightly as he caressed it.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about that witch?!” He muttered angrily. The fire crepitated in response and Logan looked into the red orange flames.

I feel him, I see him

The sun caught in his glowing hair

Is blazing in me out of all control

The dancing of the flames brought his thoughts back to the festival. Where he had met him. The man who had somehow wormed his way into Logan’s cold heart.

The boy had shoulder length caramel locks that seemed to float while he danced on the stage, a tambourine in one hand and a scarf in another. The image of him dancing and wrapping the scarf around Logan’s neck had forever been burned into his mind, no matter how hard he attempted to rid it from his brain.

He still felt disgust towards the younger male but accompanying it was a new feeling as well.

Like fire

Hellfire

This fire in my skin

This burning

Desire

Is turning me to sin

It was lust. One of the seven deadly sins that the Lord had preached not to commit unless he wanted to be damned to the fiery pits of hell.

And yet, there it was. His skin burned and a pit of fire replaced his soul. This feeling was new. Logan had dedicated himself to the church, working to eliminate the sin and the sinners accompanying it from the world. While his methods were questionable to most, he saw them as the best course of action and so he went forward, destroying homes and imprisoning countless travelers to the city.

Destroying the nomads had always been his mission; it was as though he had been birthed to do it. He never had time to take his turn with romance, always caught up in his work and never meeting anyone who caught his eye.

Until the festival. The event that had spurred an emotion in him that he had never felt before.

It's not my fault

I'm not to blame

It is the g**** boy

The witch who sent this flame

Logan snapped out of his thoughts and looked back up to the painting who’s stare was cold, much like his own.

“It’s not my fault!” He snapped before saying,”It’s that beastly dancing boy’s fault! He cursed me, got me trapped in his ungodly spell! He was the one to light this fire inside me, I am innocent!”

The fire seemed to roar at this and Logan stopped back, still gripping the scarf tightly in his hands.

It's not my fault

If in God's plan

He made the devil so much

Stronger than a man

“Maria why must I be at fault?! God created me with the intention of tempting me with this sin! But also made the devil to overpower me and damn me to hell!” Logan yelled.

“I am not to blame for this sin, the devil has come and planted this seed in my soul, one that I cannot begin to understand nor control! I am a man of God and yet he still tries to damn me! If in his plan to make the Devil stronger, why must I be included! Oh mother Maria!” Logan shrieked, hitting his fist against the cold stone wall as an emphasis for his words.

Protect me, Maria

“Mary, queen of Heaven, protect me from this sin and allow me to continue following the path to salvation!” Logan said, breathing heavily.

Don't let this siren cast his spell

Don't let his fire sear my flesh and bone

The flames continued to dance, showing him more images of the curly haired youth and Logan screamed in rage.

“Don’t let this witch, this siren continue to tempt me! Wipe him from this Earthly plain and let him dance in hell with the devil! His fire, this fire, burns; it scorches my soul and this temptation is ungodly!” He shrieked.

Destroy Patton Fairhope

And let him taste the fires of hell

Or else let him be mine and mine alone

Logan knew that while this might be a sin, he could try and reform the young male, try and redeem his soul. Without his guidance though, there was no hope and the fire within him would not be quenched until the male--Patton-- had met his own kind of fire. The ever burning fires of the underworld.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Logan spun around, shoving the sky blue scarf back into his robe pocket as the door swung open. In the doorway stood an armor clad soldier, his face cast in shadow due to the light being emitted from behind him.

“Minister Frollo. The g**** has escaped.” The soldier said.

Logan froze, rage bubbling up inside of his as he said,”What?”

“He’s nowhere in the cathedral. He’s gone.” The soldier elaborated.

Logan ran a hand through his thinning hair as a wrathful expression wormed its way onto his face and the soldier stepped back nervously.

“But how did…” He paused, collecting himself and dawning a neutral expression which was just as unnerving at the angry one. “Nevermind. Get out you idiot.” He snarled, waving the soldier back as he turned back to the fireplace, the flames reflecting his swirling emotions.

As the guard closed the door, he faced the fire, adding,”I’ll find him if I have to burn down all of Paris.”

Hellfire

Dark fire

“Hellfire. Darkfire. That idiot can run but nothing can match the troops of Paris. If he wants hell, then I shall bring it to him.” Logan snarled, wringing the scarf as he continued to talk.

Now g****, it's your turn

Choose me or

Your pyre

Be mine or you will burn

“If that witch wants to live then he will wisely choose to accept my offer of forgiveness. If he refuses then may he be burned at the stake like all of those other sinners.” Logan said, smirking as he remembered the many others who he had damned to the stake.

“Not everyone is as fortunate to have won my favor. Choose wisely.” He murmured to the scarf before casting it into the flames. The delicate fabric immediately caught flame and the garment was ash within a span of several seconds. Logan looked up the Virgin Mary painting once more, looking smug before turning away.

God have mercy on him

God have mercy on me

“May God be with him as he decides on his fate. And may God be with me and let this boy join me so we can walk the path of salvation together.” Logan said.

But he will be mine

Or he will burn!

“But let there be no doubt. He will be mine or he will burn. And may that foolish captain and that freak burn with him should he choose this path.” Logan said, staring at the Notre Dame through the stained glass windows where the monster he had raised resided.

#sanders sides #unsympathetic logan #u!logan #hellfire #the hunchback of notre dame au #logan sanders #patton sanders #patton angst #kinda of Logan does threaten to burn him at the stake #ts patton #ts logan #frogs' writing #ts virgil #ts roman #the last two are briefly mentioned so don't get too excited #tw: religious themes #logicality #toxic logicality #unrequited logicality

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fizzingwizard · 4 years

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Tumblr sucks so I had to post this twice but you should still read it because I had a lot of fun writing it xD Yamato is so easy to tease omg

Today’s Digimon Adventure: 2020 episode is entitled, “Time To Bring Back Visual Kei Bands,” because that’s pretty much where WereGarurumon belongs. I know what you’re thinking, he’s a wolf man in jeans with a kind of grungy rock n roll cowboy theme, how is that visual kei?

My friend, it’s all about the NAILS.

Those perfectly manicured, PINK freaking nails.

Tto start I’ll say this episode lowers the tension significantly compared to previous ones. That’s to be expected, and doesn’t mean it’s boring. It does a lot - it lets us confirm some things about Yamato, and a couple things about Sora and Jou in relation to him as well. It is otherwise a carbon copy of episode 8 in terms of story arc. More below as usual

So this ep is Yamato/Sora/Jou main inside a Taichi/Koushirou/Mimi sandwich.

We are starting to see more of Mimi Herself, complaining and whining about the unfairness of it all. Taichi appears to have scaled this wall by himself and Mimi’s like “YOU HAVE TOO MUCH ENERGY, YOU’LL PUT THE ENERGIZER BUNNY OUT OF A JOB, DO YOU WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR HOMELESS BUNNIES?? HE HAS TO PROVIDE FOR HIS FAMILY”

Adding salt to the wound, Koushirou then zips up the wall like this..

zip!

The good thing about Mimi is, though she’s emotional, it’s easy to lift her spirits. She’s very in the moment. And fortunate that she has a partner who is both very patient and useful in these circumstances.

wheeeeee

Meanwhile the slightly-less-energetic group has put their heads together and decided to fly first class to their destination. I would ask where they got the basket but I’m sure I’d get the same answer as Taichi’s raft from episode 4 and Jou’s pergola from episode 7: these kids are extremely good at woodcraft and speedy

(or maybe Sora just had a giant basket in her bag, which we all understand by now is really a Bag of Holding)

While airborne they are Attacked!!! by SandYanmamon and not one but two tornadoes.

Jou: Wonderful!

(for a hot second there I mistook this for Birdramon’s line and was like “??? birdramon’s unusually sarcastic today” but of course it’s the king of morbid humor kido jou)

These Kyaromon appear out of nowhere to show off their dramatic eyeliner. Work it baby

Just when you think SandYanmamon and TWO FREAKING TORNADOES are enough, turns out there’s another threat lurking below the sand for the sole purpose of reminding us yet again “Pokemon this is not!”

SandYanmamon: Aaaaaaahhh nooooooooo i had so much living left to doooo heeeelp mommyyyyyyyyy

NOT IN FRONT OF THE CHILD YOU MONSTER!!!

Cool-headed Yamato figures out that the new monster is able to track their movements under the sand. He sends the others away while he stays behind to hold off the bad guy.

The Kyaromon lead them to a cave where they meet...

ewww uuggghh noooo I hate them aaaahh make it stoppp

and also Neemon! and I’m just going to assume this is a parallel universe version of Frontier’s Neemon because it tickles me to think this is what he actually sounds and acts like and is just riding Bokumon out of pure spite

also Bearmon’s cap says “Bears.” Not bear, bears plural. I believe he’s an outcast former member of the Gummy Bears.

The Labramon look like Rainbow Brite rejects

Pictured above: First lovers’ tiff!

Neemon doesn’t know about the holy Digimon and tells the kids he is leading his group of perfectly helpless Digimon across the monster-infested desert because of the dark forces taking over everywhere. They will seek asylum with Leomon! We got our first mention of Leomon! Quick, cast your bets, how long till he dies? My guess is sooner rather than later because this seems like the kind of show that likes to kill your darlings.

Sora takes one look at this pathetic group and goes “We must go with them to protect them!” conveniently forgetting that she just got her ass kicked, but hey it’s the thought that counts

Yamato is quick to disagree.

Yamato: Did you forget that I stayed behind while you RAN AWAY? When you say let’s protect them, you mean I’M gonna be protecting them, right? RIGHT? That’s what you mean RIGHT??

(he thinks, but doesn’t say. that wouldn’t be Cool)

Yamato doesn’t want to lose sight of their mission, which is to fix things in their home world. He’s already at his limit hanging out with other human children who don’t know what they’re doing, he doesn’t want to be slowed down by freaking Bearmon. Wishy-washy Jou is like “Eh, either way sounds like death and torment to me, so...”

The interesting thing to me here is that no one’s upset. A bit surprised, I think, but Sora just stands her ground, Jou wibbles but eventually gets pumped up enough by Gomamon to decide to help her. They don’t even try much to stop Yamato from leaving which I think is what surprised me the most. I would have expected at least a vibe more like “We shouldn’t split up!” or something. If Taichi were there, maybe we’d have seen more conflict... but I’m really not sure. So far, conflict among the kids has been very low key. Even last week, the first time we saw Taichi and Yamato butt heads, to the other kids it was shocking but to a 99 Adventurer like me it was barely a kerfluffle xP

Well, anyway, the result is Sora and Jou stay with Neemon, and Yamato goes off on his own, and there is surprisingly little bad blood about any of this. They are all just getting to know each other though, so maybe that loyalty’s not quite expected yet.

Same as episode 8, Gabumon hints that there’s more to Yamato’s behavior than he lets on. He’s not just coldly abandoning his friends... except that he totally is >_> (As an adult, I don’t exactly think Yamato is wrong. I’d be more likely to agree with him than the others probably xP But these are children in a show for children, so Protecting Others and Following Your Feelings get a boost over cool rationale.)

Gabumon says Yamato should open up to the other kids. YEAH RIGHT. Yamato says “You’re all I need.” AWWWWWWWWW this wont backfire on them in a way that will wrench out my heart and tear it to a million pieces in forty episodes or so, no way

Ikkakumon becomes a Sand Boat while Birdramon covers the sky. At first I was like “hey! not a bad plan!” If they can help Neemon’s group get across the desert faster, it will be a big help even if they can’t take them further.

Of course, first they have to deal with the SandYanmamon.

Ikkakumon: Why does everyone go straight for the horn!?!

Oh, and also the two tornadoes.

Sora, standing on Birdramon’s leg: don’t look down don’t look down don’t look down

And now Sora’s on fire! That is it, I’m headcanoning it that the kids are basically invulnerable as long as they are touching their partners. THERE’S JUST NO EXPLAINING THIS

The flaming elementary school child does well until her partner is snared by the same monster from before, who turns out to be Scorpiomon. But this ain’t your momma’s Scorpimon from 99 Adventure, who was really Anomalocarimon but that was too hard to expect kids to say. This is the real Scorpiomon who is much scarier.

All of a sudden, from above!

ACTION LINES!!!

Yamato and Garurumon, both physically incapable of doing anything normally when there is a cooler, more awesome method available, drop into the battle from the air and start burning shit up.

They stand, bodies licked by blue flame, piercing eyes bright with the fever of battle, the sound of swooning fan girls echoing into the night

Garurumon does his best but Scorpiomon is a level higher so, duh, he doesn’t stand much of a chance. WHAT WILL OUR HERO DO.

Well, first, same as in episode 8, he flashes back to each of his newfound friends, gaining strength from their memory. Yamato is so sentimental it Hurts

Then his mind flashes to someone else...

... his favorite bobble head doll. No wait, that’s his round-headed baby brother, Charlie Brown.

he is infused with the power of Friendship!!!!!!!

Garurumon: What... is this feeling... so passionate... so... powerful... FFFRIENDSHIPPPPPP IS MAGIC

He then evolves into a brony into a furry in the coolest freakiest way he knows how.

WereGarurumon is basically everything the creators thought little boys like besides dinosaurs (because Taichi’s got that one covered) thrown together to make the ultimate little boy dream action figure: wolves, leather, hardware, piercings, brass knuckles, belts, skulls, scars, dog tags, and fuchsia stiletto nails

Ikkakumon: Sugoi... so shiny... oooh... blinding me...

WereGarurumon kicks Scorpiomon’s ass, it’s a cool battle scenes complete with kicks so fast his foot appears detached from his body. He then gives Yamato thumbs up.

Yamato: With nails like those the brass knuckles are kind of overkill...

Yamato dodges apologizing for going off on his own like that by saying he only came back because it’d be useful to him to have the others around as a decoy. Jou’s like FRIGGING DECOYS AGAIN??

But his dedication to remaining cool and aloof falters and he ends up telling them he’s just extra pressured to get their mission handled because he has a little brother, Takeru, living in Tokyo who is probably very scared stuck in the blackout. Sora and Jou are like “Oh, that makes sense, that’s why you’re so high strung.” They don’t point out the obvious, which is that they also have families affected by the blackout... >_>

Jou passionately thanks Yamato for being so forthcoming so early in the season and looks forward to telling Yamato about himself in the future.

The others: “But we already know all about you.”

Jou: “But HE doesn’t!”

xD look forward to it, Yamato...

It’s episode 11 and Yamato can already smile like this... I had to cap it.

Yamato: Ahh, I’m finally getting used to wearing this purple shirt. Still can’t get quite suppress the urge to cut off the sleeves though...

The other slice of bread completes our sandwich when we shoot back briefly to Taichi/Koushirou/Mimi’s group.

Taichi gets annoyed with Koushirou for the first time because of how much time Koushirou spends taking pictures of everything. Koushirou is that kid on the museum field trip who holds up the entire class reading every last word on the exhibit plaques while everyone else groans ‘cmon dude I wanna get to the dinosaurs before we go extinct too!!’

fyi I, Fizzing Wizard, was and am that slow ass kid

Mimi’s even more impatient than Taichi and in her boredom she starts touching things, because she’s never seen The Mummy.

IT’S A TRAP!!!

lol

Next ep’s trailer includes:

Andromon!!!

And Lillymon!!!

Oprah voice: You get a Perfect level and you get a Perfect level and you get a Perfect level and you get-

Yeah so, clearly everyone’s gonna get to Perfect level much quicker than in 99 Adventure, which again, it’s good they’re mixing things up. The question is, what’s next? My guess is down the line everyone will get Ultimate levels and of course, at some point we’ll see Omegamon. I wonder if there will be other Jogress possibilities? Just because it’s hard to believe evolution will stop being important, but if they’re going through both Adult and Perfect so fast it doesn’t leave much left for the rest of the season...

I give this ep a 5.5/10 for being basically a remix of episode 8, and I’m looking forward to getting new stuff for Yamato eventually. Next week’s looking to be Mimi-centric if Lillymon’s any indication, but I’ve got my fingers crossed for a few Taishiro moments anyway.

#digimon adventure 2020 #digimon adventure reboot #digimon psi #psi spoilers #digimon #fizz watches digimon 2020

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nayutai · 5 years

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Chasse Á L’amour

» Pairing Incubus!Taehyung x Original Character

» Rating 18+

» Genre angsty horror smut

» Word Count 20.626

» Warnings explicit violence, gore, mentions of pedophile behavior (not by main characters), mentions of sexual assault (not by main characters), major character death, minor character death, twisted romance, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (pls use condoms)

» Summary Taehyung is an interesting being. He’s spent several centuries fucking for survival but he never takes the life of someone that doesn’t deserve it. He makes it his duty to rid the world of those with enough power to inflict their evil upon the masses. When that darkness strikes close to home, he’s nearly overwhelmed by the pain. However, getting his revenge isn’t the cake walk he thought it would be.

Phoenix hummed and hawed as she stretched out across her bed. The man that had occupied it with her at the start of the night was long gone as she’d told him to be. She relishes in the soreness that spread through her limbs when she finally separated herself from the sheets. Annoying as he had been at the bar, her chosen conquest had been quite the lay just as she’d predicted him to be.

Freshly showered, she settles in at her kitchen table with a bowl of oatmeal and some fruit. Her laptop whirs to life in front of her ready to supply her with an inbox full of people needing help of the supernatural variety. Most of the people that email her don’t actually need her help. For instance, Molly from New York believes she’s got a vengeful spirit on her hands because her makeup products are continuously vandalized even though her husband, who has expressed his distaste for makeup, swears it’s not him. She needs a marriage counselor, not Phoenix. Then there’s Elijah from Colorado. He’s complaining of some sort of creature that eats all his food and leaves the cabinets open. The number 420 and the fact that Elijah chose to write his entire email in green Papyrus font suggests that he has a weed problem not a supernatural infestation.

An email halfway down her screen actually shows some promise. A young newlywed couple, Malina and Trevor McAvoy, have just moved into a fixer upper that they found in a quiet, little suburb of Detroit. Phoenix balks at the sheer length of the email they’ve sent her but as she skims through it, she can tell that the McAvoys are one of the unlucky bastards that are actually in need of her help. She starts tapping away at her keyboard. Her phone vibrates against her left breast, halting her email session. It’s one of her hunting buddies, Derrick Yates.

“Hey, asshole.” Phoenix answers jovially. She can practically see Derrick rolling his eyes in the exaggerated fashion that he’s known for. He claims to love her like family but Phoenix is almost positive that Derrick seriously hates her for all her antics.

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t say that, especially since I actually called you with a friendly offer.”

“You have my attention.” Phoenix closes her laptop so that she can give Derrick her full attention.

She listens intently as Derrick details the small demon coven that he and his partner Patrick Brewer have been tracking for the past week or two. They’d received reports of the demons wreaking havoc on society and were aiming to put a stop to it. Apparently, they’d followed them to Iowa and stumbled upon a demon hangout of sorts. By their count, there are at least twenty demons milling about the large house they’d found in the middle of the woods.

“So, what exactly is this offer?” Phoenix inquires curiously.

“We’re about to go in guns blazing and fuck shit up. Do you wanna come?”

“Send me the location.” She drops her phone onto her kitchen table unceremoniously, going back to her email to the McAvoys. It shouldn’t take long to help Derrick and Brewer dispatch of the demon nest they’ve happened across and afterwards she’ll head out to Detroit to deal with the vengeful spirit that’s been terrorizing them.

The door of her trusty Jeep shuts with a low thunk as Phoenix hops out of it in front of the low end motel that Derrick and Brewer told her they’ve chosen to hole up in. She grabs her overnight bag from the trunk and walks closer to the building. Her eyes scan the doors for the number 215, finding it off to her right.

She knocks seven times. Five long two short based on a code they’d devised years ago to announce themselves. A knock for each letter of their name in a cadence of their choosing. Derrick opens the door with a chicken bone hanging from his lips like a cigarette and a chicken leg awaiting the same fate in his free hand. He’s shirtless as per usual and his olive toned skin is glistening as if he just recently got out of the shower. Phoenix reaches out to twist one of his tanned nipples before he can stop her, enjoying the girlish scream he lets out as the pain grips him.

“You, bitch.” He grunts out when she slips by him, giggling. His partner Brewer emerges from the bathroom then and immediately pulls Phoenix into a tight hug.

“Don’t hug her. She just tried to kill me.” Derrick whines. Both Brewer and Phoenix flip him off in response which sends him into a rather creative fit of curses about the lack of loyalty and respect he’s “forced” to endure.

Derrick passes Phoenix a beer out of his highly decorated Yeti cooler despite the fact that he was just cursing her life not even five seconds before. He’s truly a frat boy at heart and looks the part with his curly hair that flops over his hair and his preference for khaki shorts and Sperry’s outside of hunts.

It’s all business from there as the three of them go over the best plan of action to hit the demon hive. Demons are most active at night although not for the reason that most lore claims. The sun doesn’t burn them like most aware humans count on. Most debauchery occurs at night so they’re sleep cycles follow that pattern. That’s probably the most interesting thing about demons. The fact that they actually sleep when they deem it necessary. All demons were humans once and thus a good night’s sleep can actually help them recharge just as it did when they were still human.

“I’m not saying I’m a genius or anything but I have the perfect plan.” Derrick gloats from his seat with a shit eating grin on his face. Brewer rolls his eyes which only intrigues Phoenix even more.

“I swear to God if this involves that stupid fucking thing you rigged up I’m gong to shove this beer bottle right up your ass.” Brewer warns as he watches Derrick’s grin grow that much wider. He makes some lewd comment about girth and anal stretching that makes Phoenix groan in disgust while Brewer looks more than a little intrigued.

“Now I have to know what this is about.”

“Wait right here, m’lady.” Derrick looks almost manic as he slides a black case out from under the bed. He pops the latches with such reverence you’d think it was the holy grail he had in there. “Say hello to my,”

“Please don’t do it.” Brewer begs fervently.

Derrick presses on as if he hadn’t even heard his partner say a single word. “…little friend.”

Curses fly haphazardly out of Brewer’s mouth much to Phoenix’s delight. Her laughter is replaced with confusion when Derrick pulls some sort of crossbow-shotgun hybrid from the case.

“Derrick, what the hell is that?”

“Are you blind? It’s a grenade launcher, you imbecile.”

“It looks like fucking trash.” Phoenix mumbles as she lifts her bottle to take another sip of her beer only to realize that it’s empty. Derrick protests when she reaches for his bottle instead but she downs it anyway.

“Now why don’t you tell her what you planned to do with this grenade launcher?” Brewer pipes up, interrupting his own brooding session. He crosses his arms smugly as he waits for Derrick to explain his genius plan and how his knockoff grenade launcher factors into that.

Based on the stakeouts they’d done in the previous few days, Derrick and Brewer had observed that the demon house of horrors was most active at around four in the morning. All of them seemed to slink back from their soul stealing then and would congregate together to drink and continue to be merry throughout the day. According to Derrick, that is the time to strike. He’s concocted a grenade of sorts but instead of shrapnel he’s rigged them up to spray a mixture of holy water and frankincense in an eight foot radius.

“I say we hit ‘em with the grenades hard while they’re all pissy drunk then take ‘em all out” Derrick smacks his open hand on the table for emphasis which earns him a flick on the forehead from Brewer.

“That’s actually not a bad plan, but why the frankincense?” Phoenix questions. The holy water makes obvious sense but she’s never heard of any hunter using frankincense to disarm any kind of supernatural being before.

“It honestly serves no purpose. I only put it in there because it has a cool name and I like the way it smells.” Derrick promptly explains.

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“You and me, both.” Brewer mumbles as he chugs the rest of his beer.

It takes Derrick one day and half a dozen beers to rig up two more of his contraptions and enough holy water grenades to coat every wall of the house with holy water. Brewer has never seen Derrick pray that much in all the years he’s known him. That night, the three of them suit up and head out to cause some mayhem.

The forest is quiet as they slink through the woods towards the old farmhouse that the demons have taken over. This far off the beaten path, the sounds of wildlife should be at a pretty decent volume but the present of evil seems to have sent the forest residents packing. That makes their approach a bit trickier as they don’t have the noise to cover the sounds of their movement. As they get closer to the house; however, they realize that the demons themselves are providing the necessary cover for their own demise. Their laughter and joyous noises can be heard quite a ways off as they keep the party going amongst themselves.

As planned, Phoenix and Brewer split off to cover the left side and the back of the house while Derrick takes the front. Phoenix finds a chick copse of bushes to crouch behind and waits for the first shot. Her cue to send her own grenades flying. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins and it take a herculean effort for her not to jump the gun and get things going herself. The anticipation is nearly too much for her to handle when she finally here the tell-tale sound of a gun being fired. It’s show time.

The laughter quickly changes to anguished shouts as Derrick’s homemade grenades spray holy water on every conceivable surface. Phoenix unholsters the gun on her hip as she waits a second to see if a demon is going to run out of the back door in an attempt to escape. A young female takes the back door clean off its hinge as she tries to get away. Large flaps of skin hang from her limbs from the caustic effects of the holy water. Phoenix puts a bullet in her head before her feet even leave the small back porch. The bullet won’t kill her but it will keep her down until she can be properly dealt with. Phoenix drags her back inside, relishing in the way her skin sizzles like bacon as she comes in contact with the water that covers the floor of what looks like a small kitchen. A hiss brings her attention to another demon off to her left that’s crouched and ready to strike despite the fact that its face is nearly completely burned away. Phoenix puts that one down too. She takes a deep breath in through her nose. The smell of burning flesh singes her nose hairs and she loves it.

Most of the mayhem seems to be contained in the front part of the house if the demonic shrieks and screams are anything to go on. Derrick and Brewer are swiftly moving through the horde of smoking demons with ease. Phoenix is about to jump into the mix to when movement in the hallway off to her right catches her attention. Satisfied with how her friends are handling their own situation she sets off to investigate.

The door to the room at the very end of the hallway is still ajar. Since Phoenix hadn’t heard the sound of a door closing, she decides to start there. The small bedroom is quaint and sparsely decorated. It also appears to be empty. Whatever had been in this room seems to have disappeared. No sooner has that thought crossed her mind when another blur of motion leaves her barely enough time to dodge what would have been a brutal attack. Spinning on her heel, she comes face to face with a pissed off demon that seems to have made it through their blitz attack relatively unscathed. She’s tiny, probably five foot and a buck twenty on a good day but Phoenix knows better to underestimate her.

Her eyes looks more like chips of obsidian as the demon hisses. Phoenix is ready for her when she attacks this time. They’re dancing around the room, striking with increasing amounts of force and hatred as they seek the opening they need. The heel of Phoenix’s foot connects with her opponent’s rib cage, sending her flying into the wall. Not one to let good fortune go to waste, Phoenix unsheathes the emergency knife she keeps by her ankle before she’s descending on her pray once more.

Phoenix grabs her foe by the throat as she struggles to her feet, dragging her up the wall until she’s eye level. To her credit, the demon doesn’t scream once though she does continue to try and strike at Phoenix despite the lack of oxygen she’s currently getting. Phoenix readjusts her hand so that she has enough room to press the blade of her knife against the demon’s throat.

“Any last words, bitch?” Phoenix teases as she drags the blade across the demons cheek. A thin line of blood follows in its wake. “No? Okay then.”

With the precision of a trained assassin, she slices through the delicate skin of the demon’s throat. Her victim chooses that exact moment to strike out at Phoenix one last time. She catches Phoenix in the ribs with a well-aimed kick that leaves her gasping for breath as the arterial spray from the demon’s mouth bursts forth from the wound Phoenix has just opened up. Phoenix drops the demon like a sack of potatoes as she frantically tries to spit out the blood.

She’s vaguely aware of the tiny piss ant gasping for breath right next to her. Apparently, the kick had saved her from the instant death that would’ve befallen her if she hadn’t kicked Phoenix when she did. Despite that, she’s not going to last much longer. She uses her last breath to make one final stand.

“Hinkku….imnum” She sputters out before finally succumbing to her injuries.

It’s as if every muscle in Phoenix’s body seizes up at once. Her limbs are violently flailing around as she slowly starts to lose feeling in her extremities. The force with which her head is banging against the hardwood floor should’ve taken her out already but she can’t even feel it. She can barely feel anything anymore. Derrick’s terrified face comes into view. He must be holding her head up. She’s not sure but he remains in her field of vision so it must be true. The ice that had invaded her bloodstream runs it’s course. Derrick feels like his throat is closing up as he tries unsuccessfully to bring her back around.

If there’s one thing Taehyung loves, it’s the warmth that spreads through his limbs when he stands in the sun. He hasn’t been human in almost half a millennia but that’s one aspect of his former existence that he’s held on to all this time later. His face is currently tilted towards the heavens as he stands on the balcony of his latest conquest’s spacious mansion, stark naked, soaking in the rays.

He takes a final deep breath before turning to step back inside. A cocky smirk tilts one side of mouth up as he takes in the sight of his handiwork stretched out across the California king bed in front of him. Carlotta had been her name. A bitch in the most extreme sense of the word. Her ivory skin is marked up from his teeth and nails making her look just like the child laborers used and abused in the factories that supplied her multiple businesses with inventory. She’d been on Taehyung’s radar for a while, but when he caught wind of her cutting the pay in half for factory workers to recoup the cost of her brand new private jet, that had been the final straw.

Nine days, two glasses of champagne, and one very expensive tuxedo had lead to this very moment. Taehyung standing over the lifeless body of an evil business mogul that the world is undoubtedly better off without. He can’t help the demented little giggle that slips from his mouth as he recalls Carlotta’s face when she realized what was happening to her. If he breathes deep enough he can still smell the terror that had bled into her pheromones when his true nature had been revealed. It had made him orgasm almost instantly as the last vestiges of her shit stain of a soul are absorbed into his being.

Deciding that he’s spent enough time reminiscing, Taehyung moves around the room as he redresses himself. His hand dips into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out the flash drive containing the evidence of Carlotta’s atrocities. He swiftly clips it to the chain holding the gaudy gold cross that he’d insisted she keep on as he’d ravaged her. The irony of it is still just as funny to him now as it was when he’d first noticed it around her neck. Even if he hadn’t taken her soul, there’s no way she’d be going anywhere near heaven.

The scenery is a blur as Taehyung speeds away in the Tesla from Carlotta’s garage that he’d helped himself to. A constant vibration against his thigh alerts him to a phone call coming through.

“Marcus! What’s u-” Taehyung’s attempts at catching up with his long time friend is interrupted by a sudden plea for help. Everything that follows afterwards is a jumbled mush as all of Marcus’ words run together in his haste to get the story out.

“Slow down, man. What’s going on?” Marcus takes several deep, ragged breaths to get himself together.

“The B&B got hit last night. I popped in last night and it was…” Silence takes over the line as Marcus trails off, searching for words to describe what’s happened. “Taehyung I’ve seen some fucked up shit and done even worse but this made me physically ill.”

Taehyung has to focus intently on not ripping the steering wheel clean off as Marcus recounts the horror show he’d discovered at the B&B. He has fond memories of the quaint farmhouse that had been owned by a kind human who everyone had affectionately called Mama Dee. To this day, Taehyung isn’t sure how or why Mama Dee’s home had become a safe place for the supernatural creatures of the world to rest and recuperate but she was a saint in their eyes. The turnout for her funeral when her body had finally succumbed to old age had been a hunter’s wet dream as the subject’s of history’s folklore had gathered to show their respects. To know that Mama Dee’s had been the backdrop of something so foul that Marcus was still having trouble getting it out made his blood boil.

“I’m catching the next flight out.” Taehyung didn’t wait for a response as he ended the call and tossed his phone into the seat next to him. His foot pressed the accelerator harder as he pushed the Tesla to its limits.

Whatever happened. Whoever was responsible. Someone would pay for it.

“Open this fucking door, Astinil!” Derrick bellows as he aggressively kicks at the solid oak door of the shaman’s home. He’d nearly killed the three of them as he tossed his knowledge of traffic laws out of the window of his Jeep. Brewer’s fingers are glued to Phoenix’s pulse as her head rolls around on her shoulders from Derrick’s frenzied kicking. It’s growing more and more faint by the minute but for now her heart is still beating.

The shaman in question finally opens the door, looking less than happy to see Derrick on the other side of it.

“You are not welcome here, Derrick.”

“Fuck, I know that. Do you really think I’d be here if I had any other options? My friend is dying and you’re the only one who can save her.” Astinil glances at the young woman lying limp in Derrick’s arms obviously in need of his help.

“Astinil, please. I’m begging you to help me. I can’t lose her.” The emotional cracks weaving through Derrick’s words makes the shaman’s decision for him.

“Bring her inside.” Derrick nearly sobs with relief. He’s not naive enough to believe that Phoenix is out of the woods yet but her chances just got astronomically better. He gently lays her out on the sofa in the sitting room.

Astinil directs Derrick and Brewer to sit in the corner and not bother him as he sets about crushing various herbs with his mortar and pestle. The acrid smell of demon blood is nearly overpowering and he knows that he must work quick. He has no idea how much blood the young woman ingested nor how long the poison has been pumping through her system.

A few drops of holy oil turns the crushed herbs into a paste. Normally, he’d pour in enough for it to be drinkable but there is no time for that. Less conventional methods have to be used with this one. Brewer has to physically hold Derrick back when Astinil produces a knife from his pocket and slashes Phoenix’s wrists. The shaman quickly covers the wounds with a thick layer of the paste. He utters a prayer as he repeats the process on the other pulse points that he can reach.

The remainder of the mixture is piled under her tongue. Astinil continues to pray as he uses holy oil to draw a cross on her forehead. Nothing happens. The convulsions that normally accompany such a strong spiritual cleans e are absent and it’s with a heavy heart that Astinil realizes that his efforts are coming too late in the game. Her heartbeat has grown stronger though and that puzzles the healer. He wipes the paste from her skin only to grow even more confused. The wounds he’d created have nearly healed and the surrounding skin looks as if it’s been chemically burned. The same can be said for her forehead when Astinil wipes away the holy oil. The puzzle pieces are all falling into place for him now.

“Is she going to be okay?” Brewer asks fearfully. Derrick had long fallen silent from the shock that the adrenaline had been warding off. He stares unseeing at his friend’s still body.

“She will live.” Astinil answers carefully. Probably forever he adds internally. “Come, you two can sleep in the spare room. We must let her rest.”

Brewer stands from the stool he’d found to perch himself on but Derrick refuses to leave Phoenix by herself. He stretches himself out on the floor next to the couch, pulling Phoenix’s hand down so he can hold onto it. Brewer’s heart aches at the sight. He knows all too well just how important Phoenix is to Derrick. The thought of what losing her could do to him makes him want to pull Derrick into his arms but he knows Derrick well enough to know that that’s not what he needs right now. With a heavy sigh, he turns to follow Astinil down the hall instead.

Phoenix awakes with a start. Her head is pounding from all of the different scents and sounds assaulting her senses. She has no clue where she is and her first thought is how to escape. The last thing she remembers is running into the demon hive they’d hit but everything afterwards leading up to this very moment is a mystery to her. Not to mention the fact that she feels different. Not banged up or bruised like she would’ve expected be after being so incredibly outnumbered. In fact she feels as though she could do the job over again solo and still come out on top.

A groan followed my unintelligible mumbling grabs her attention. Her brow burrows as she leans over the edge of the couch to see Derrick curled up in the fetal position on the floor. Stress mars his features even deep in sleep. The faint sound of footsteps approaching has her tensing up. An unfamiliar man rounds the corner, regarding her warily as she draws in on herself. Ready to attack at the first sign that he has ill intentions. He’s tall and looks to be somewhere in his fifties but something tells Phoenix that she’d be a fool to underestimate him. He exudes an aura of power that indicates he’s not to be messed with.

“Come. We have much to discuss.” Whoever this man is, he doesn’t wait for Phoenix to respond as he turns to walk back down the hallway he’d emerged from. As if he just expects her to follow him like a curious puppy which is exactly what she does.

She barely catches him disappearing through a door near the end of the hallway after taking the time to put her boots back on. The sweet smell of dewy grass and various flowers greets her upon passing through the doorway that leads into some kind of private garden. The man she’d followed is perched upon a wooden bench with his head tilted towards the heavens, eyes closed to the waking rays of the sun.

“What do you remember?” He questions.

“Who are you?”

“Answering a question with a question is in poor taste.” Phoenix glares at his side profile but decides to play nice.

“I remember running into a house full of demons but nothing after that.” He hums thoughtfully. Eyes still shut. Head still facing the clouds.

“Astinil is my name. Sit and I will fill in what you’re missing.” Phoenix nearly trips over her own two feet in her haste to sit on the bench. She has no idea what day it is or how long she was knocked out. All she knows is that she’s missing something. Something big. She doesn’t realize how big until Astinil retells the happenings that lead to her being passed out on his couch. The longer he talks, the more memories from that night she’s able to retrieve.

“Did the demon say anything that didn’t sound like English?” Phoenix racks her brain, gasping when the mental image of the demon she’d slain muttering something with her dying breath creeps up behind her eyelids. Hinkku Imnum. Astinil hums thoughtfully.

“That confirms my theory.” According to the shaman, hinkku imnum is in fact not English. It’s Akkadian, a language that predates the Bible and was last used by ancient Babylonians. “Literally, it means ‘death to you’.”

“But, I’m not dead.” Phoenix holds her hand to her heart just to double check. She’s relieved to feel the muscle beating as normal.

“It’s a transformation spell. Long ago, demons discovered that if they grew powerful enough they could use this transformation spell to turn people into demons without having to go through all the trouble of bargaining for their souls.” Astinil takes a deep breath before he continues. “In this case, the death is restricted to everything that makes you human when the transformation takes place.”

“No, no, no. I have a heartbeat!” She insists, hoping that this fact saves her from what Astinil is leading up to. The look on the healer’s face is pinched as though he smells something bad.

“And yet, you’re not totally human. Not anymore.”

Marcus is sat on the front steps of the B&B when Taehyung arrives exactly fifteen hours after their phone call. His eyes follow Taehyung’s movement but they look far away. The smell of burned and rotting flesh hanging heavy in the air makes Taehyung wrinkle his nose. Bile rises in his throat but he manages to keep himself together.

Taehyung is hesitant about entering the house. He knows that all of the beautiful memories he has in this house will be tainted once he crosses that threshold. His hand shakes slightly around the brass door knob before the door is creaking open. It’s worse than he’d thought. He recognizes a few of the faces that aren’t burned beyond recognition. The shells of his friends lay dismembered and disfigured across the living room floor. Without stepping foot inside the house, Taehyung slowly shuts the door, laying his forehead against the wood.

“Do we know who did this?” He chokes out around the lump in his throat. His eyes burn with unshed tears as he waits for the answer he so desperately craves.

“I’ve heard rumors of Phoenix Emery being seen at a gas station just north of here.” He should’ve known when he saw the brutality of what had gone down that she would have been involved.

Phoenix Emery has been on Taehyung’s shit list for a while now but tracking her down was no easy feat. The woman is almost as untraceable as the ghosts she exorcises. Every time he stepped foot on American soil, he did his best to oust her but she always seemed to be one step ahead of him. He’d all but given up on taking her out but with this latest stunt she’s made herself a top priority.

There was a time when Taehyung had considered himself some sort of demonic vigilante. The number of hunters running around with their guns half-cocked and their brain cells half-firing had risen to an alarming number. Stupid as they may be, even the most inept hunter knew how to sniff out a demon. The average human as well although they tend to just blame it on some lame “sixth sense”. However, incubi are the exception to this rule. It simply wouldn’t do for a creature that survives on sex to arouse the ingrained suspicion of every human they encounter.

While an incubus is low key enough to fly under the radar, Taehyung is the only one bold enough to actually target hunters. He makes sure to go after the most egregious ones just like with his other kills. The ones that get drunk and beat their wives. The ones that use their skills to be morally corrupt contract killers on the side. The ones who make their kills unnecessarily violent. As evidenced inside Mama Dee’s house, Phoenix Emery and the hunter couple Taehyung has heard she frequently works with fall squarely in that third stereotype. All three of them will pay the same price his friends did inside those four walls. He’ll make sure of it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Derrick asks for what very well may be the millionth time since the three of them had piled into his jeep.

“If you ask me that one more time, you won’t be okay. I’m fine, Derrick, I promise.” Physically that is.

Phoenix had made Astinil swear that he wouldn’t tell Derrick and Brewer what had actually happened to her. She hasn’t even attempted to try to process it and right now she doesn’t really want to. The irony of it all would be funny if it wasn’t her reality. A hunter whose specialty is killing demons is now some strange demon-human hybrid. Her mind drifts back to her conversation with the shaman as they’d watched the sun rise over the garden. He’d been able to stop the spell from completely transforming her into a demon but it wasn’t within his powers to reverse the damage that had already been done hence her halfling state. Before the trio had left his residence, he’d pulled Phoenix aside to give her a warning.

Your humanity is dependent on your safety. Should you suffer a fatal injury, you will not die but rather the transformation will complete itself.

Those parting words play on a constant loop as she watches the trees blur past the speeding vehicle. Hunting is all Phoenix has ever known. Both of her parents were hunters as were their parents before them. It’s in her blood to snuff out the supernatural bullies in this world. How can she give it up? How can she just give up her life’s purpose like this?

Derrick’s eyes keep drifting to his friend in the backseat. She told him that she’s fine, but he can see through that bullshit. The turmoil swirling around her mind is plain as day. He’s used to her telling him everything that goes on in that scary brain of her so this new ice out method is both new and frightening. She feels far away even though she’s sat in his backseat and he doesn’t know what to do with that. His stomach is twisting into knots again as he thinks about just how close he’d come to losing her. The feeling of Brewer’s fingers tightening around his own brings him back to reality. He leans over to kiss him on the apple of his cheek when a disgusted noise comes from the back of the car.

“Can you losers keep your lips to yourselves up there? I just escaped death and now y’all are trying to kill me by being in love at 80 miles an hour.” Brewer chuckles, reaching back to flick Phoenix on the knee as she continues to rant. “Just push my lonely ass out of the car before y’all the dicks make an appearance. My virgin eyes do not need to see that.” Derrick can barely contain his laughter. Maybe he doesn’t have anything to be worried about. Maybe Phoenix really is okay

“Virgin, my ass!” Derrick shouts above his boyfriend’s hysterical laughter. “Brewer, get on the mainline and call Jesus. I want this lying heathen struck down immediately.”

Phoenix flips them both off before going back to staring out of the window. For those few minutes, she was normal. She was simply Phoenix Emery, the girl who can never let her best friends be a couple in front of her without acting like a disgusted toddler. Not the Phoenix Emery that is newly demonic. She decides then and there that if she doesn’t acknowledge what happened then it can’t affect her. It might not the best course of action but it’s all she’s got. Her first order of business? Getting to Detroit to divest the McAvoy’s of their nasty poltergeist problem as well as her $2,500 fee.

Tracking down the trio of hunters responsible for the death of his comrades had been a little harder than Taehyung had originally expected. Three months later and the only information he’d been able to get on Phoenix is that her kills had gotten more brutal since her and her friends had hit The B&B. He’d thought her two friends would be easier to start with but he’d still only just been able to pin down Derrick Yates and his boyfriend Patrick Brewer. According to the call he’d received the day before from Irene, a werewolf that had frequented The B&B, the two lovebirds are holed up in a motel just outside of Kansas City. Fresh off a kill. During his search, Taehyung had learned that the couple liked to celebrate successful hunts by fucking each other brains out for a few days. Getting his revenge may have just gotten even easier. He just had to get in that motel room.

It took two whole days of waiting but the door to the two hunters’ hotel room finally opened. Only one of the men emerged from the room, the one Taehyung now knew to be Derrick Yates. From his research, he’d learned that his history with Phoenix Emery spanned more than two decades. The two had grown up in the same circles with both of them coming from households where hunting was the encouraged profession so naturally they’d developed a bond that had seemingly lasted the test of time. Phoenix’s family had even taken young Derrick in when his intolerant parents had kicked him out upon discovering their son was gay. It dawned on Taehyung then that killing Derrick and Patrick would surely make Phoenix surface. A wicked smile took over his face at how everything was lining up as he followed Derrick to a nearby gas station.

Weaseling his way into the seedy motel room was surprisingly easy. Taehyung got the feeling that Derrick and his boyfriend liked to invite other people into their lovemaking quite often. In less than hour, Taehyung found himself drinking copious amounts of beer and smoking some weed Derrick had bought from some old lady three doors down. The weed had to be laced with something potent as it had Taehyung flying amongst the clouds despite his demon nature which normally afforded him near immunity to such things.

Taehyung was staring off into space, contemplating just what the hell they were smoking when a large hand groped him over his jeans, bringing him back to the moment at hand. He slowly blinks as Patrick’s face comes into focus mere inches away from his own.

“Why the fuck isn’t he answering?” Phoenix grumbles as she angrily tosses her iPhone down on the kitchen table. It has been over a week since she’s heard from Derrick or Brewer and it’s starting to grate on her nerves. In their line of work it isn’t too uncommon for one of them to go off the grid for a while but they never go this long without checking in with each other. She goes back to angrily scrolling through her email inbox as she laments about why her best friend is ignoring her. He better be dead or I’m going to kill him myself.

Her laptop pings with a google alert and her heart stops. There is only one reason that she would be getting that ping. Someone she loves is dead and the news has gotten a hold of it. Phoenix had set alerts for exactly three people. Derrick, Brewer, and Betty White. Her hands shake as she slides her finger across the trackpad to click on the notification.

Ice flushes through her veins as she clicks play on the news clip that pops up at the top of the page. One of Derrick and Brewer’s many mugshots are plastered on the screen over a video of a county coroner rolling two body bags out of some run down motel. The sound of the newscaster listing out all of the crimes Derrick and Brewer had committed over the years melts the ice in her bloodstream as it’s replaced with white hot rage. Phoenix is seconds away from putting a bullet through her laptop screen when her ringtone blares. She freezes at the familiar instrumental tone of Will Smith’s Wild Wild West. The ringtone she’d set specifically for one Derrick Yates. She says nothing as she answers the phone, waiting for whoever is on the other end to speak first.

“Hello, Phoenix.” A voice as lush as the fleece blankets she’s partial to caresses her ear drums but there’s something off about it. A hard edge that’s sharpened by malice. Still she says nothing.

“I’m sure you know about your friends’ demise by now if all these news trucks are anything to go on.” Her grip tightens dangerously around the phone in her hands.

The now familiar red haze that clouds her vision when the bloodlust of her demon half threatens to overwhelm her tints the world around her a deep crimson. She’s never felt it this strong before but losing the two most important people in her life, the only two people remaining in her life, is a pain she hasn’t dealt with before. Even when her parents had been killed in a plane crash of all things, she hadn’t felt this out of control. This off kilter. Phoenix is so lost in her own head that she doesn’t realize that the other end of the line has fallen silent as well until they start speaking again.

“You and your friends should’ve never entered that farmhouse.” Phoenix laughs bitterly at that one. That fucking farmhouse has been the catalyst to all of her problems. No one wishes more than her that they’d all stayed far away from it.

“What do you want?”

“Your bleeding heart in my hands.” The smooth-talking stranger begins. “Your friends had the luxury of going out with a…bang. You, on the other hand will not be so lucky thanks to your brutally impressive track record.”

“Aw shucks, thanks for noticing.” Phoenix smiles gleefully at the frustrated growl that comes from the mystery man on the other end. She’d already figured that he was some demon looking for revenge for his fallen comrades and that demonic rattle rising from his throat is only confirmation. He rattles off an address about a day’s drive south from her house and a date before hanging up the phone.

Phoenix knows this is a trap. She knows that whoever that was killed Derrick and Brewer and is gunning for her next. As she loads up her SUV with enough artillery to arm a small militia, she’s vaguely aware of her eyes shifting from their normal dark brown to the black chips of obsidian that showcase the less human side of herself. It had freaked her out the first time it happened but now she revels in it. Loves the shocked faces of the other demons she snuffed out in her hunting endeavors. Apparently she’s just human enough to not tip off other demons. She’s banking on the fact that whatever supernatural being she’s headed to meet is unaware of her status. It’s her one ace in the hole.

Taehyung lounges leisurely among the wildflowers growing abundantly in the meadow. It’s been a while since he’s had the time to just stretch out in an empty field and be one with nature. He takes a deep breath, humming joyously at the sweet smell of the flowers. Part of him doesn’t want to desecrate such beauty with the murderous actions he’s about to partake in but it must be done.

He picks up on the sound of a truck approaching from the west. Taehyung isn’t surprised to hear the engine cut out a few hundred feet away as Phoenix chooses to make her final approach on foot. He doesn’t budge from his position in the slightest as he counts her footsteps. A low thud followed by a hiss that sounds suspiciously like a tire being slashed has him raising his head. Sure enough, Phoenix is pulling a knife out of his front driver side tire and walks around the rented SUV to do the same to the back passenger tire. The car is outfitted with run flat tires but Taehyung is sure they’re not built to withstand a blade stabbing through the side wall. He’s intrigued to say the least.

It’s when she turns to finally face him that Taehyung gets the shock of several lifetimes. Staring back at him is not the hunter that he was here to kill but the woman who’d stolen his heart. A woman whose hand he’d clung to desperately as she walked out of his life.. Something that had nearly ripped him apart. But that was in 1748. There’s no way in hell that the woman he’d loved all those years ago should be shoving knives into his tires today. Her friends’ phones had been noticeably devoid of any pictures of her though he guess that isn’t entirely uncommon amongst hunters. Bile rises in his throat at the thought of killing someone who looks so much like his beloved Arabella but it must be done. He steels his nerves and sets his jaw.

Her curly hair has been pulled back into a bun and she looks like she’s dressed for a Tomb Raider convention with all of the holstered weapons she’s sporting. The cargo pants she’s wearing do absolutely nothing to conceal her impressive figure. If she wasn’t such a menace to his kind then maybe Taehyung would’ve considered giving her the same treatment her friends had received. Unlike them however, Phoenix seem to find some sick and twisted pleasure from killing demons with as much brutality as possible. She doesn't deserve to meet her end wrapped around his cock as he brings her to a screaming orgasm. No, she deserves exactly what she dishes out. Cruelty.

“What was the purpose of that?” He questions as she returns her knife to the holster strapped to her unfairly shapely thigh.

“Don’t want you running away.” She replies calmly as she places her foot on the back bumper to give herself the necessary boost to climb onto the roof of the now useless vehicle. She mirrors the cross-legged position that Taehyung has taken on. They sit and regard each other in silence until Phoenix just can’t take it anymore.

“You killed my friends. My brothers.” She hates the way her voice cracks. The emotions that she’s been frantically shoving down are catching up to her at the worst possible time.

“It’s what they deserved. It’s what you all deserve for what you did to my friends.” Taehyung grits out. His hands curl into fists as he thinks back on the brutality that he’d seen. The remnants of as his friends laid in blistered pieces around what was supposed to be a safe place. The anger coursing through his veins all but erases the nostalgia that had nearly overwhelmed him.

Phoenix moves into a crouch then. “Well what are you waiting for? Give me what I deserve.”

Taehyung regards his opponent carefully as he remains seated on the ground. There is something…off. Something other than her outward appearance. He can’t quite put his finger on exactly what it is but something isn’t right. Apparently, he’s taking too long to get to the main event as he just barely rolls to the side in time to dodge the knife that would’ve sliced through his torso like butter if not for his quick reflexes. Phoenix is still crouched on top of his useless vehicle. If it weren’t for the blade sticking out of the soil to his left he would’ve never guessed that she’d even moved. That only adds to his suspicions. No hunter he’s ever encountered has ever been so precise and quick in their movements to the point they almost got the drop on him. He doesn’t have the time to dwell on that though as yet another blade is whistling through the air in his direction at an astonishing speed. Once again, he’d barely seen her move.

“That’s it. No more games, bitch.” Taehyung mumbles to himself. He has to get her off of that car now. As long as she’s up there, she has the upper hand and it’s time to even the playing field.

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Phoenix. She has the audacity to grin at him, taunting him even now. A growl rises from his chest as he launches himself at the side of the car. It rocks violently when he strikes it. The glass from the drivers side exploding around him. He steps back and notices that Phoenix is no longer perched on top of the SUV like a bird of prey. The human-sized dent in the side of his rental tells Taehyung that she should’ve definitely been thrown somewhere but when he walks around to the other side Phoenix is nowhere to be seen.

“What the…” Taehyung doesn’t get to finish that sentence. He’s too preoccupied by the hand grasping a fistful of his hair to slam his head into the side of the car hard enough to shatter one of the remaining windows.

He hits the ground when the unknown hand releases him. Looking up, every muscle in his body tenses up when he sees three women staring down at him. Taehyung screeches and thrashes around as she pours what can only be holy oil directly onto his face.

“Huh, so you are a demon.” Phoenix murmurs as if she hadn’t been totally sure what type of being Taehyung was.

Though agony still holds him firmly in its grip and he’s still seeing more than one Phoenix, Taehyung pauses. Demon. It would explain everything. She shouldn’t have been able to move faster than his eyes could keep up with and yet, she did. She should have been thrown several yards and injured when he’d flung himself at the car he was currently lying next to and yet, she wasn’t. He’d rented the SUV from an armored car company so she shouldn’t have been strong enough to break the reinforced glass with his skull and yet that’s exactly what she did. His vision finally stabilizes at the same time as the blisters on his face finish healing when Phoenix crouches to press the business end of a pistol she pulled from God knows where against his forehead.

As if she can see the gears turning in Taehyung’s head, Phoenix’s irises along with the whites of her eyes disappear entirely until nothing is left but darkness. A smug, toothy grin exposes her teeth in a way that gives him pause. He’s really thrown for a loop now. Taehyung had heard stories of demons that had devised a way to simply create demons but until now he’d thought it was just bullshit to scare humans. As Phoenix continues to stand over him, seemingly amused at Taehyung’s realization, he remembers the one thing that set the made demons apart from the rest. Their eyes would turn solid black unlike the red irises that presented in demons who’d bargained their way into their situation. Everything made sense and yet it didn’t. Phoenix Emery has a heartbeat. Taehyung could hear it from a mile away whereas other demons like Taehyung were noticeably devoid of one.

“What are you?”

She shrugs as if he’s just asked her a math question she doesn’t know the answer to. “I’m someone you shouldn’t have messed with.”

BANG.

Taehyung sits on the balcony of his swanky New York hotel room soaking in the sun’s rays. The sound of the waves beating against the rocks far below provide a serene soundtrack to his chaotic thoughts. A deep inhale fills his nostrils with the salty air tinged with the scent of a small, but busy donut shop somewhere along the beachfront. Everything about his surroundings should relax him but his shoulders are still tense, thoughts still jumbled together.

He absentmindedly fiddles with the bullet that Phoenix had put through his skull. It had been lodged in the soil beneath his head when he finally came to several hours later. He’s been confused ever since his eyes had slowly blinked open to the dazzling sight of stars twinkling down at him. His life had been spared and he has no clue why. She had to know that the bullet wouldn’t kill him. The only surefire way to kill a demon is dismemberment preferably followed up by burning the pieces. She hadn’t done any of that just left him lying on the ground with a hole in his head.

Not only had Phoenix left him alive but she has seemingly gone off the grid. Despite all of his searching, Taehyung hasn’t been able to find a trace of her in the weeks following their meet up in the meadow. He hates the phrase “going ghost” but that seems to be exactly what she’s done.

He’d tried calling her from her friend’s phone only to discover that she’d changed her phone number. Some arm twisting had gotten him an address but when he’d shown up at the modest brick house it was boarded up. It didn’t look like anyone had been there in a while. The question of why she’d left him alive bounces around his brain incessantly. He can’t rest until he finds out why.

Despite the hell she’d helped rain down on his comrades, Taehyung isn’t all that sure that he wants to kill Phoenix anymore. Taehyung has always been and excellent judge of character and he had seen flashes of genuine emotion and humanity in her eyes in that meadow. Sure, she killed demons for sport but she wasn’t all bad. In other words, he’s torn on what to do when he finally tracks her down. On one hand, he’d promised Marcus to avenge their fallen friends but on the other he had his own moral code to adhere to as well. He’d promised centuries ago that he would only take the lives of those that were too evil to be allowed to live. He’s not sure you fit that criteria anymore.

He lets out a resigned sigh as he returns the bullet to the pocket on his button up. The mangled piece of metal serves as a daily reminder of his new purpose. Finding Phoenix a second time is already proving to be one of the hardest tasks he’s ever undertaken in his lengthy existence.

“That pie must be shit.” A hand slides into Taehyung’s line of sight, taking his fork right out of his hand to take a bite of the mediocre blueberry pie in front of him. A gag follows soon after. “That’s awful.”

“Phoenix…” He breathes her name out in shock as if he can’t believe she’s actually sat in front of him in some shitty diner in Phoenix, Arizona of all places. He’d come here for the irony of it all since she’d taken over his thoughts for the past seven months. Now here she is in the flesh. His eyes roam over her face, taking in every detail. She’s just as beautiful now as she was more than 200 years ago.

“I thought we would’ve had round two forever ago but one of us is actual shit at finding people.” She sends him a pointed look as she waves away the waitress that had come to take her order. Her mouth is open to speak again, but Taehyung interrupts her.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” He whispers. If his heart still beat, it would be racing right now. His fingers grip the edge of the wooden booth so hard he can feel the wood splintering.

Phoenix considers him carefully. Even by demon standards, he looks crazed and out of control. She’s done her homework on him since their first physical interaction. Kim Taehyung is not to be underestimated. Though an incubus he may be, he’s old, wily, and dangerous. His own ignorance and rage had worked to her advantage before but now that he knows her secret she doubts that she will have the same luck a second time around. She really should have ripped him apart and lit him up like a Christmas tree but it didn’t feel right. Her hands had cradled his head in her hands with every intention of wrenching it from his shoulders with the brute strength stored in her arms but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Phoenix recalls the anguish that had flowed through her at her failure to properly get justice for Derrick and Brewer. Her fingers had carded through the bloody strands of his hair with what could only be described as tenderness. She couldn’t understand. Still can’t understand even after all the time that’s passed. Ultimately, she’d left Taehyung lying in that field a bloody mess and she still can’t quite explain why.

“I know you’ve probably agonized over this for months, but I don’t have the answer you’re looking for because I don’t even know myself.” Taehyung is taken aback. How could she not know? Phoenix Emery never leaves a job unfinished and yet here he sits, alive and kicking. She crosses her arms across her chest and Taehyung can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to her ample breasts as they threaten to pop out of the thin tank top she’s wearing.

“Stop looking at my apple dumpling shop.” Phoenix chastises as she covers her cleavage with her hands. Taehyung’s eyes widen in shock once more. Apple dumpling shop. He hadn’t heard anyone utter that phrase in almost two hundred years. In fact, he’d only ever heard one person use it in his presence. Arabella.

“I have to go.” Phoenix is a picture of confusion as Taehyung sends his chair toppling to the floor when he shoots out of his chair. He drops a few bills on the table and all but runs out of the diner. His legs don’t stop moving until he’s locked in the safety of his hotel room.

This can’t be. This just can’t be. Taehyung isn’t naive enough to think that reincarnation isn’t possible. He’s heard of it happening. He knows it’s more common than most probably think but never did he consider the possibility that the one woman he’d given his heart to would ever reappear. Arabella Cardinal had been her name. Part of him had hoped that her soul never found its way back to Earth just so that he wouldn’t have to have to watch as she lived her life without him again. He can clearly recall the pain he’d felt when she’d finally gotten tired of him rejecting her advances not knowing that he was doing so in order to keep her alive. Taehyung would’ve given anything to know her in that way but it was an impossibility that he had no way of solving.

He had thought that nothing could be worse than having the woman of his dreams reject him for something he couldn’t control but he had been wrong. So very wrong. Watching Arabella meet and marry the local blacksmith who gave her everything Taehyung so desperately wished that he could had nearly been his undoing. He’d wanted to leave. Wanted to get as far away from the happy couple and their growing family but he was greedy. He couldn’t stand not being near her. Hearing the sound of her laughter as she conversed with the other married women at the market had been the only thing to keep him sane when it felt like it would all become too much. It had nearly killed him to leave the small village but people had started noticing that he wasn’t aging. He couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion. An entire century and then some stretched between then and now yet the pain was still just as fresh. Now here she is again to torment him. Close enough to touch and she may as well be a million miles away.

Taehyung has absolutely no way to confirm that Phoenix Emery really is the reincarnation of his beloved Arabella. He could have this all wrong. It could all be one nausea-inducing coincidence. There’s a feeling deep in his gut though that tells him its not. Phoenix can’t explain why she didn’t kill him all those months ago but maybe he can. His Arabella had been one of the kindest souls he’d ever known but everyone in the village had known that she kept a blade between her full breasts that she had no problem using if she felt she had to. Many a handsy drunk had known the truth of that fact. Taehyung stretches out across his mattress, staring at the ceiling as he mind finds the similarities between and Phoenix. Little mannerisms that he hadn’t even really noticed until now. He needs to get out of Arizona before he does something crazy. Taehyung hastily collects his things before checking out of his hotel.

“Fuck you.” He hisses angrily at the ground as he steps outside into the heat. A few passerby give him strange looks but he doesn’t care. Only Satan himself is twisted enough to try and torment him like this. Taehyung is opening the door to his rental to drive to the airport when a hand reaches around him to shut it.

“Leaving so soon? I thought we were going to finish this once and for all.” Phoenix whispers huskily against the shell of his ear. Taehyung couldn’t have stopped the shiver that runs down his spine even if he’d wanted to. Arabella had loved to “sneak up” on his to whisper filthy shit in his ear. He hadn’t been able to tell her that he always heard her coming. Phoenix on the other hand truly did catch him off guard.

“You let me live. We’re even now.” Taehyung mumbles before he yanks the door open once more. Phoenix keeps her hold on the door, preventing him from closing it as she stares him down. Silence stretches between them as all of the background noise of their surroundings fades to nothing. She releases the door form her grasp and takes a step back, allowing him to drive away as she watches after him.

Phoenix can’t explain this…pull she feels towards Taehyung, but she knows that she doesn’t like it. Her eyes follow his vehicle until he turns off of the main road and disappears from sight. She needs answers and there’s only one place she knows to go get them.

Phoenix is almost nervous to be knocking on Astinil’s front door. The shaman doesn’t seem surprised to see her in the slightest. He doesn’t even greet her, simply turns to walk back into his home and she follows him in. It’s not till she’s seated on his sofa with a mug of peppermint tea in her hands that Astinil finally speaks.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Emery?” Like a dam giving way to a storm surge, Phoenix launches into the tale of everything that happens since she last was on this very couch. Astinil expresses his condolences for Derrick and Brewer’s deaths but otherwise he remains mute as Phoenix presses on.

“I don’t get it, Astinil.” She all but yells in frustration. “I put a bullet in his head. I could’ve ripped him apart with my bare hands and everything would’ve been over but I couldn’t do it. I just…couldn’t.”

“And why do you think that is?” Astinil looks like he knows something that she doesn’t and it’s honestly starting to piss her off. Why can’t he ever be forthcoming with information? Why does he always make her work for it?

“I was hoping you would tell me that.”

“Nothing is ever that simple, Phoenix.” Astinil takes a final sip of his tea before venturing back into his kitchen with Phoenix hot on his heels.

“Come on.” She whines. “You have to know something. Have a clue at least.” The hope in her eyes makes her look like a small puppy but Astinil is resolute.

“I know you came here looking for a helping hand in find the answers you seek, but your answers are not here. Try Paris.” Astinil gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving her in the kitchen with her thoughts. She lingers there for a bit as she watches Astinil, who is now in the garden pruning hedges, through the window above his sink.

Well this was useless.

Phoenix hits the freeway and just drives. She has no real destination as she maneuvers through the slower vehicles. A sign indicating there is an airport at the next exit prompts her to finally exit off of the highway. She digs around in her stash of documents coming up with two passports, American and France, drivers licenses from six different states, about two grand in cash, and several credit cards. She drops the cash, all of the credit cards, and the French passport into her backpack before assessing her clothing situation. Seeing as how she’s been practically living out of her car, she’s got enough clothing for at least a month or two.

As she makes her way inside the airport, she still has no idea what the hell could possibly be waiting for her in Paris but she’ll just have to figure it out when she gets there. The flight board shows one flight to Paris, France with a connection in New York City. As if some unseen force is guiding her hand, Phoenix finds herself swiping her card for a one-way ticket to Paris as opposed to the round trip she’d originally planned for. Her brain seems to have taken a vacation and left her baser instincts to take over. She has no idea what awaits her in the City of Love but whatever it is better be worth the $800 it’s costing her to get there.

It’s official. Taehyung is losing his mind. After his realization in Arizona, he’d returned to his villa in France to go back to his own life pre-Phoenix. Everything had been going fine until today. Venturing into the city usually brings him peace as he strolls down the streets. He’s doing just that when he spots someone that looks suspiciously like Phoenix Emery. Taehyung hastily returns back to his home on the outskirts of the city. Sure that he’s just going crazy, he goes back to planning the next corrupt target he’s planning to eliminate. A politician by the name of Jacques Bourdain with a penchant for brutally assaulting the hired women his assistant often supplied him.

Taehyung is knee deep in surveillance videos when his phone vibrates next to his laptop. He sends it to voicemail after taking a look at the caller ID to see that it’s one of his former hookups Mattilyn. She was a bit too clingy for Taehyung’s liking hence why she’s a former hookup and yet she still finds the need to call him periodically to try and win him back. It’s when Mattilyn has called for the fourth time that Taehyung gets frustrated to pick up.

“What the fuck do you want, Mattilyn?” He barks into the phone speaker. His interest is immediately piqued by the sound of what can only be described as all out warfare.

“Tae Tae I know you don’t want to talk to me, but a hun-” Mattilyn doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Taehyung picks up on the whistle of a blade slicing through the air right before Mattilyn is cut off. He’s frozen in his seat as the sickening thunk of metal chopping through flesh meets his ears.

Taehyung’s car is screaming down the highway towards the hangout spot that Mattilyn is known to frequent when he hears a familiar voice over the bluetooth speaker. The voice is as smooth as honey even though they’re slightly out of breath.

“Tae Tae, is it? If you’re coming to avenge your little friends, don’t bother. They’re beyond saving.” A loud clatter indicates that she’s dropped the phone to the stone floor but the call remains connected. Taehyung mashes the gas pedal that much harder. He’d thought that he’d been going crazy when he saw Phoenix earlier in the day but hearing her sadistic laughter preceding the striking of a match tells Taehyung that he is still very much in control of his mental faculties.

The lavish bar is ablaze when Taehyung slides into the parking lot. He can practically smell the holy oil used as some sort of sanctified accelerant. It irritates the sensitive lining of his nose to even breathe in the heated air. He looks around for any sign that Phoenix is still here. The hunters that normally patrol this part of the country are nowhere near bold enough to hit and torch a known demon hangout. As he jogs around the building, it dawns on Taehyung that a a particular vehicle is noticeably absent from the parking lot. Mattilyn has driven a flashy purple BMW for as long as Taehyung has known her. He knows for a fact that her body is one of the ones burning along with the bar and yet her car is mysteriously not present.

Quickly approaching sirens spur Taehyung into action as he hops back into his car and speeds away. Mattilyn’s car is equipped with a tracking device. A safety measure she took after a couple of joy riding teens decided to take it for a spin since she’d been stupid enough to leave it unlocked with the keys still in the ignition. He plans to head straight for his laptop to start trying to track the sports car down. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to go to the trouble. When he reaches the end of his winding driveway, the car is idling at his front steps.

Taehyung reaches into the glove compartment for the nine millimeter that he keeps there for emergencies. He’s still not sure what the hell kind of demon Phoenix is but a bullet will definitely slow her down even just a little a bit. He approaches the BMW with caution, gun drawn and ready to go. The driver seat is empty. Taehyung’s anger only rises as he realizes that she must have went inside his house. The picked lock confirms his suspicions. The lush carpeting muffles his footsteps as he enters his home.

“Put that thing down and come upstairs, will you? I have some questions.” Taehyung looks almost comical as his head flips around to locate the source of the voice. He spots Phoenix leaning against the banister on the second floor. He doesn’t hesitate to fire a shot in her direction. He misses.

“Now, that’s just mean.”

Phoenix returns Taehyung’s bullet fire by throwing a knife that she pulled from only God knows where with deadly accuracy. Something Taehyung is realizing to be a go-to of hers. She’d aimed for the center of his chest but, thanks to his quick movements, the knife only grazes him. He snarls at the feeling of the sharpened blade opening up a large wound along his rib cage. In the time it takes him to look down at his side and back up again, Phoenix is on him. Slamming her fist into his rib cage.

Fuck she’s fast.

“When you wake up, remember I didn’t want to do this.” She grabs his head in both hands, twisting it violently to the right. Taehyung crumples at her feet. His gun skitters across the floor like a spooked mouse.

Taehyung comes to with a start. The first thing he notices is that he’s restrained. Tied to a chair he notices as his senses come back to him. A glance out of his open bedroom window shows the sun just starting to set over the horizon so he couldn’t have been out that long. He cranes his neck from side to side, working out the kinks. When he lifts his head, he notices Phoenix standing in front of him. She’s turned away from him as she gazes at the various surveillance pictures of the politician Taehyung is after taped to the wall. That’s about to prove very foolish for her.

The restraints on his wrists and ankles are no match for Taehyung’s superior strength. His fist is flying towards the back of Phoenix’s skull when suddenly she’s not there anymore. He stops short, confused, as he spins around to come toe to toe with the smirking hunter. She knees him in the gut before guiding him back to the chair by his ear.

“You’re not nearly as fast as you think you are, Taehyung.” She appraises him carefully as he does the same from the chair she’s shoved him into. “Now be a good boy and answer my questions. I’d hate to have to break your neck again.” Taehyung’s glare only intensifies at the reminder of how she’d viciously snapped his neck earlier.

“I told you to leave me alone and instead you follow me here and kill more of my friends and now you want me to answer questions?” Taehyung spats out vehemently. “Have you ever fucking heard of Google?”

“First of all, I didn’t follow you anywhere so let’s get that straight.” Phoenix begins. “I was told that Paris held the answer to an important question so I came here. Your friends killed a kid and laughed about it when I confronted them. They deserved to burn and I won’t apologize for it.”

Taehyung’s eyes search her face for any hint of her story being a lie but he can’t find one. His shoulders droop defeatedly. He would like to believe that his friends weren’t the type to kill an innocent child but his gut is telling him that she’s being truthful and he hasn’t survived this long by not trusting his gut so there’s no reason to not believe it now.

“Fine, I believe you. What more do you want from me?”

“I just want you to answer a few questions.” She takes his silence as acquiescence to her desires and grabs another chair to take a seat in front of Taehyung. “Why do you have so many books on reincarnation.”

“Personal fascination. Next question.” Taehyung handles the question with ease but inside he’s a lot less composed. He’d almost forgot the ancient texts about reincarnation he’d rounded up the second he’d returned to France.

“Why did you leave Phoenix like your ass was on fire?” She inquires with a tilt of her head that Taehyung would probably find cute if she wasn’t such a pain in his ass.

“Because I was tired of being there, anything else?” Phoenix doesn’t believe him one bit and Taehyung knows it but what he doesn’t know is why she chooses not to acknowledge his obvious lie. She slouches back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest.

“What’s with all the pictures of Jacques Bourdain?” She lifts a hand to point at Taehyung’s offender wall before folding it back across her chest.

“How do you know who he is? He’s pretty low on the politics totem pole.” He questions with a lift of his eyebrow.

“I managed to get into some swanky party my second or third night here. That fucker groped me at the bar then had me thrown out when I punched him.” Just thinking about his vile hands on her body makes Phoenix seethe. She shoots out of her seat much the same way Taehyung had in that Arizona diner. He realizes then that Phoenix may actually be useful to him. He may as well make the most of her presence since the universes seems so keen on forcing her into his life.

“What if I told you that I could help you get revenge?” Phoenix returns to her seat, eyeing Taehyung intently.

“If it involves that bastard’s blood on my hands, I’m in.” Taehyung nods once before crossing the room to his computer. He opens his file on the bastard in question and shares his screen with the massive tv mounted to the wall.

“How much do you know about me?” Taehyung questions as he turns to face Phoenix once more.

“I know you’re an incubus with a dick that’s supposedly the size of the empire-state building but my contacts were pretty much mute on everything else.” Phoenix replies with a not so subtle glance at the front of Taehyung’s slacks. “Looks kinda average to me though.”

Taehyung can’t help but preen at the praise about his cock that Phoenix was obviously quite loathe about receiving. It seems that his recreational romps with a fellow demon here and there has built up quite a reputation for him over the years.

“Allow me to fill in the blanks for you.” Taehyung turns back to his computer, fingers flying across the keys. Pictures of people that Phoenix has only seen on international news channels appear on the screen in rapid succession. “In terms of the humans I go to bed with, my preferred type are the most immoral shit stains I can find. Modern-day slave owners like Amanda Pine? Dead. CEOs that cut off basic resources to entire populations of indigenous people to steal their land like Jason Blackwell? Dead. Homophobic fashion house owners like Donatello Bianchi that put out hits on the small creatives that they steal designs from while putting up a homosexual front to sell said designs? Dead.”

Phoenix is admittedly in awe as Taehyung continues to list the names of the powerful people and their heinous crimes that he’s punished them for. Her entire existence until this very moment has been built on the notion that demons are inherently evil and bring nothing but destruction to the world and the people around them. Thus, they have to be put down like rabid animals. Now, now she’s not so sure that that wide-sweeping assumption was correct.

“This is cool and all but I’m not sure how I fit into that. You obviously have a…system that’s working for you.” Phoenix trails off as she looks over the pictures on the screen once more.

“Jacques Bourdain is straight as an arrow and toxically so. My system as you call it won’t work on him and that’s where you come in.” Taehyung leans back against his desk as he watches Phoenix for a reaction. Her expression is carefully devoid of anything that would allow him to gauge what’s going on insider her head. “If you help me then I don’t have to spend weeks planning a new approach.”

“Let’s do it.”

“How do I look?” Phoenix asks, doing a quick twirl in the red cocktail dress that just barely covered her ass. Sky high platform heels adorned her heels, the red bottoms almost the exact same shade as her dress. Cartier diamond studs from his own personal collection glittered whenever they peeked through the thick curls that seemed to bounce whenever she walked.

“Bewitching.” Taehyung replied and he means it wholeheartedly. The dress is perfectly suited for the luxurious curves of her figure. He’s already enraptured with her from one glance. She should have no problem catching Bourdain’s attention tonight.

The drive to the nightclub is spent going over every fine detail of their plan. Phoenix is confident and assured as she repeats everything to Taehyung with perfect accuracy. This is just like any other hunting mission to her only this time she’s hunting a different kind of demon.

According to some intel from one of Taehyung’s contacts, the corrupt politician will be at an exclusive night club called Deux, his current favorite spot for picking up girls. Potential patrons dressed to the nines give Taehyung and Phoenix strange looks as they stride to the front of the line. Taehyung can hear whispered words about how they’ll never get in in passing, smirking to himself. The confused ogling becomes outrage when the bouncer at the door steps aside to let them in immediately.

“That’s how it’s done.” Taehyung murmurs almost to himself as he follows Phoenix up the narrow flight of stairs.

He nearly misses a step when the action of climbing the stairs causes her dress to ride up enough for the curvature of her ass to start peeking through. He reaches forward to hold the hem down while doing his best not to stare. Taehyung nearly groans when his fingertips meet the warm flesh of her thigh. All of his centuries spent fucking for survival and this one woman has him flustered like some prepubescent schoolboy without even trying. Unacceptable.

Bourdain isn’t hard to spot once they reach the top of the stairs. He’s perched in the VIP area like a hawk, nursing a drink as he scopes out which unfortunate young woman he deems pretty enough to make his victim for the night. Taehyung makes sure to disappear immediately as planned, leaving Phoenix to her own devices. He watches with rapt attention as she quickly gains entrance to the VIP section. Taehyung recalls the advice he’d given her when they were deciding on what she should wear tonight. If you look like you belong no one will question if you actually do. Looks like Phoenix had taken him seriously and it is already working in their favor.

Taehyung grabs a seat at the bar and signals for the bartender. He quietly sips on his whiskey when it comes as he watches Phoenix do her thing. She boldly takes a seat next to Bourdain who looks a bit surprised to see her. They strike up a whispered conversation that quickly turns heated, presumably because of the mention of the security camera footage of him assaulting Phoenix stored on the flash drive tucked between her breasts. Bourdain’s gaze falls to her breasts when she suggestively runs a single finger over her cleavage. Phoenix parts ways with the politician and with a knowing glance exits the club. Bourdain looks deranged as he downs the rest of his drink, the fingers of his free hand roughly yanking through his hair. It’s not long before he’s following the same path Phoenix had taken towards the exit a few minutes prior.

When he reaches the street, Taehyung follows the sweet citrus scent of Phoenix’s perfume. There is an alley a few blocks down from the hotel that the two of them have deemed the perfect spot to give Bourdain what he deserves. Taehyung’s step falters when Phoenix’s scent trail suddenly cuts off before he’s even reached the alleyway. He looks around only to realize he’s standing next to a near empty parking lot.

“Fucking hell, Phoenix.” His steps are quick as he heads in the opposite direction to his own vehicle. Just when he thought that she’d learned to follow directions, the wench has proved him wrong by going horribly off script.

He doesn’t expect her to answer, but he calls her phone anyway just to say he made the effort. Phoenix picks up on the second ring much to his surprise. If demented killer clowns were ever recorded giggling they would sound exactly like the woman on the other end of the phone call. Blood thirsty and psychotic.

“Phoenix, where the hell are you?”

“Jacques wanted to go somewhere a little more private. I’ll be back soon don’t worry.” She cuts the call before he can get another word in.

“God damn you, Phoenix Emery.”

Four hours twenty nine minutes and thirty eight seconds. Taehyung is seated at the bottom of the main staircase when Phoenix finally struts through the front door of his home like she owns the place. There is a pleased gleam in her eyes that only shines brighter when she smiles at him. Taehyung hates the fact that his anger dissipates at the sight of such joy on her face. Thankfully, he’s able to maintain the scowling expression he’s been sporting ever since he’d last spoken to the woman in question.

“Look I know you’re mad that I didn’t follow the plan but that bastard definitely got what was coming to him. I promise I’ll do everything your way next time.” She has the decency to look almost sheepish as she stands in front of Taehyung’s seated figure.

“What makes you think there will be a next time?” He arches an eyebrow in question. “For one, you’ve already proved that I can’t trust you to stick to the script. Plus, I don’t actually need you, especially considering this is the only way I get to feed.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure Jacques Bourdain isn’t the first loser you’ve gone after that doesn’t like dick and I’m sure he won’t be the last. Let me help kill bad guys, Taehyung.” She looks almost desperate as she pleads for him to let her stay. “You took away the last bit of good I had in my life when you killed my Derrick and Brewer. You owe me this. You owe me this and more, Taehyung.”

“Fine,” Taehyung breathes out after a moment. “but only on one condition. You tell me what you are.”

“Thought we covered this right before I put a bullet in your brain.” Her eyes become engulfed in darkness just as they had that afternoon in the meadow before returning to their normal dark brown.

“And yet, you have a heartbeat.” Taehyung points out.

“The demon that tried to turn me couldn’t get the job done. I’m still human if only just a little bit.” Phoenix replies with a shrug of her shoulders as if they’re discussing the weather. There is tension in her shoulders that suggests she’s not as okay with the subject matter as she’s trying to portray. Part of Taehyung wants to press the issue, but a larger part of him decides to leave it alone for now. She’s human enough to not arouse the suspicions of full-blooded demons which she’s obviously used to her advantage as she also happens to have enough demon blood in her to give her access to some of their more supernatural abilities.

“We’re not done discussing why what you did tonight wasn’t okay, but we’ll pick that conversation up again tomorrow.” Taehyung rises to his feet and looks over the woman in front of him appraisingly. “For now, you’re welcome to any of the extra bedrooms upstairs. Good night.”

Taehyung is chopping strawberries when the newscaster interrupts her piece on a recent factory fire to report on some breaking news. According to the overly bubbly reporter, the body of Jacques Bourdain had been discovered about an hour ago. The politician had apparently been found parked in his car outside of a known brothel that catered to people in his tax bracket. The reporter on site looked visibly ill. After hearing how both of Bourdain’s hands along with his penis had been detached and placed on the hood of his car, Taehyung could understand why.

“Officials say there was a flash drive was found hanging from the victim’s neck but no word on what that flash drive may have contained. Back to you, Mila.”

Taehyung goes back to his strawberries as the sound of Mila and her cohost discuss the implications of Bourdain’s death. It’s only a matter of time before the contents of that flash drive come to light. The “beloved family man” reputation that Bourdain had worked so hard to curate would go up in flames.

“Good morning.” Taehyung turns to face Phoenix as she enters the kitchen and he almost wishes that he hadn’t. He must have stored some clothing in the guest room she’d ended up in as she is clad in one of his t-shirts and not much else from the look of it. “Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your shirt. I realized that all of my bags are still in my hotel and I was not about to sleep in that dress.

“S’fine.” He offers her some of his strawberries which she gladly accepts. She stares at the tv thoughtfully as she perches on one of the barstools and munches away on the juicy fruit.

It’s a struggle for Taehyung to keep his eyes off of her thighs as she spins slowly on the stool. His grip on the knife is tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. She’s tormenting him and, judging from the way she’s dedicating her attention to the news, she has no idea she’s even doing it.

“The dismemberment was a nice touch.” Taehyung points out, breaking the silence. Phoenix turns to face him with a pleased smile.

“A known rapist and abuser like him deserved that and more. I just hope all of his past victims can find peace in knowing he can’t hurt them or anyone else ever again.” She snags a few more strawberries before turning back to the television. She’s practically radiating with joy at hearing the media talk about the brutally gruesome aftermath of her rage.

“So, who’s next on the hit list?” Phoenix questions when the news program goes on a commercial break. She looks affronted when Taehyung denies her attempt at snagging more strawberries but she stays silent.

“Next up on the agenda is Johnson Danville. His company has caused a wave of childhood cancer by dumping its waste in a nearby town’s water supply and he thinks he’s above the law because he has enough money to thwart any legal action.”

“What’s our approach?” She’s all business now. Brow furrowed, jaw set, and fists clenched as images of her snuffing out the life of such a horrid man probably play on loop in her head.

“There is no our. I’m doing this one on my own.” Taehyung silences her instant protests with a single raised hand. “Consider this your punishment for not following the plan last night.” The cute way she pouts at his decision makes her look like a child that’s been denied candy. Taehyung is tempted to give in just so she’ll stop looking at him like a kicked puppy. Thankfully, the doorbell rings and saves him from making a rash decision out of his own weakness.

“That should be your bags.” She doesn’t seem particularly concerned about how I found which hotel she was staying in to have her luggage delivered which doesn’t go unnoticed by Taehyung. He makes a mental note to explore why that is later.

Phoenix is seated at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him when Taehyung emerges from his room. His steps falter for a second but he gets himself together before she has a chance to notice. He busies himself with his cuff links as he hurries down the stairs. She can pout all she wants but Taehyung is determined to remain firm in his decision. If she wants to be a part of what he does, then she has to learn that what she did with Bourdain is something that won’t be tolerated.

“Sitting at the bottom of the stairs like a lost puppy won’t change things, Phoenix.”

“Oh come on. You’re acting like I did something so wrong.” She protests vehemently. “You were going to kill him anyway so why are you so mad that I freestyled a little bit?”

“It’s not about that. It’s about trust.” Taehyung makes final adjustments to his suit in the mirror by the door, staring at Phoenix in the reflection. The puppy eyes she’d been sporting when he first came downstairs have been replaced with indignant anger. “I can’t work with a wild card.”

Taehyung gives Phoenix one last appraising look before disappearing through the ornate front door. Phoenix finds herself staring at the carved wood for a few seconds. Her first instinct is to go out and kill something to release the rage coursing through her. She races upstairs to the guest room she’s chosen to occupy.

She hadn’t been able to bring any of her own weapons save a few ceramic knives that she’d been able to sneak through airport security. She’d rectified that as soon as she landed in Paris by securing a few firearms. It’s as she’s tucking her nine millimeter into the waistband of her jeans that she catches sight of herself in the full-length mirror in the closet. Staring back at her is not her own reflection but rather the image fo her mother. She can hear her voice clear as day repeating the mantra that she’d parroted to Phoenix every time she’d done something self-destructive.

“Your future is manifested through your own actions.”

Phoenix closes her eyes, trying to hold on to her mother for as long as she can. The person staring back at her looks eerily similar to the woman who’d brought her into this world, but there is a pain in her eyes that is deeply rooted in her soul. Before common sense can catch up with her, Phoenix draws her weapon and fires. Once. Twice. Three times. Until the image of her own despair lays shattered at her boot clad feet.

Taehyung returns the next morning rejuvenated and expecting to walk into an empty house. He’d fully expected for Phoenix to work herself up into an enraged fit and leave. The first thing he notices when he steps into the foyer is the lingering smell of a gun that’s recently been fired. The air is still, undisturbed. Taehyung is relieved to not be able to pick up on the smell of blood but he is still uneasy. He draws his own weapon from his waistband. After checking the first floor, he creeps up the stairs. The first room he checks is Phoenix’s. He finds his new roommate stretched out across her bed with a gun on the mattress next to her. He gives two short knocks on the door, startling her awake.

“Woah, woah, woah it’s just me.” Taehyung shouts when Phoenix immediately draws the weapon next to her. He definitely should’ve expected that. “Why have you been shooting a gun in the house? Was someone in here?”

Her eyes get comically wide as she glances towards the closet. Taehyung can tell she probably didn’t mean to do that when she winces immediately after. His eyebrow raises in confusion. He’s never seen her show so little restraint over her actions in all the time he’s known her. Though she tries to stop him, Taehyung strides over the walk-in closet. The remnants of the antique mirror that had once stood in the closet lay in sad, little pieces at his feet.

“Do want to talk about this?” Taehyung murmurs as continues to survey the damage. He can almost hear the gears in her brain whirring, trying to find an answer that doesn’t make her sound unstable.

“My future is manifested through my own actions. I don’t want to mess up again.” He turns slowly to face Phoenix where she stands in the doorway of the closet. She feels small under his piercing gaze but she doesn’t shy away. Taehyung is silent for a long while.

“Okay then. Come, we have work to do.” He slides by her and returns to his bedroom with Phoenix following behind him. Neither one of them can really put their finger on it, but something has shifted. She follows him dutifully to his bedroom.

“Now, before we do anything I want you answer one question.” Taehyung starts as he takes a seat in the leather chair in front of his computer. “What are you?” Phoenix was afraid of this question. It’s been months and she still hasn’t fully accepted the truth of it herself.

A lie is on the tip of her tongue. Taehyung must be able to sense it because he raises an eyebrow as if challenging her to let the lie fall from her lips. Phoenix bites down on her bottom lip as she contemplates what she wants to do. Her mother’s words play again in her head so she takes a seat on the end of his bed and tells him everything. Taehyung has never heard of such an occurrence and if he couldn’t hear her heartbeat clear as day, he wouldn’t even believe that something of this nature could even happen. He is absolutely floored though in hindsight he probably shouldn’t be. The evidence has always been right there in front of him.

“That’s…” Taehyung trails off as he searches for the right words. “That’s definitely something. I’m sure you’ve had a hard time coping with that.” Phoenix laughs humorlessly. He doesn’t even know the half of it.

A single tear slides down her face and she does her best to keep the rest of them at bay. Taehyung feels a physical ache in his arms at not being able to reach out and comfort her. Arabella had always told him that she felt better about whatever was going on whenever he held her but he has to continuously remind himself that the woman in front of him is not Arabella. So he comforts her in the best way he knows how, turning to his computer to bring up a profile on the next person he plans to eradicate.

Phoenix hums to herself as she steps inside of the modern split-level that Taehyung has summoned her to. The tangy scent of fresh blood caresses her senses like a fleece blanket. According to the text message she’d received about half an hour ago, things had gotten…messy and he needed new clothes to wear. She whistles lowly when she finally sets foot into the kitchen where Taehyung had chosen to take care of business.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to kill someone in a room with quite this many knives.” Phoenix observes as Taehyung sheds his shirt and drops it into the trash bag she’s holding open for him. It’s littered with bloody puncture marks from obvious stab wounds and yet his skin is tanned and unmarred. She whistles lowly, wiggling her eyebrows when he drops his pants to the ground to drop those into the bag as well. Taehyung makes some lewd comment about his dick being to die for if she ever felt like going full demon which earns him a kick to the knee.

“Duly noted, sensei.” He mutters with a roll of his eyes. Phoenix just snickers, tying up the bag holding his ruined clothes while Taehyung changes into the hoodie and jeans she’d brought for him. Conversation continues to flow easily between the two of them as if there isn’t a corpse at their feet. She glances at the pool of blood around Taehyung’s latest snack, an art teacher by the name of Aleyna with a taste for prepubescent boys. Her throat is slashed clean through to her spinal cord.

She drops to a crouch next to the bloody body on the linoleum. She pulls out the small pocket knife she keeps tucked between her breasts. Taehyung looks on curiously as Phoenix carves the word pedophile into the bare chest of his victim. He’s about to remark on how neatly spaced her letters are when he hears sirens approaching the house.

“Time to go.” He mutters as he grabs Phoenix by the hand. Judging by how close the sirens are, it’s too late to hop in the car and speed away. He remembers Aleyna mentioning something about the home having an expansive basement that was converted into a wine cellar. Hopefully, that means that there’s another exit.

The locked cellar door is no match for Taehyung’s superior strength as he wrenches it open. He can hear the front door being broken down. Aleyna must have had some sort of silent alarm that she’d managed to trip. He curses to himself at the inconvenience of it all. Part of him wants to tap into the renewed power thrumming in his veins and take out the law enforcement team currently sweeping the home, but the more rational part of him reminds him that while his DNA is untraceable, Phoenix’s is not. He can’t risk her getting nicked by a blade or a stray bullet and leaving evidence at the scene of a murder. Taehyung’s eyes go wide when he hears the tell-tale sound of a silencer being twisted into place.

“What the hell is that for?” He whispers incredulously.

“CYA, my friend. CYA” She whispers back with a devilish smirk as she hands Taehyung the extra firearm she had tucked into the waistband of her jeans.

Thankfully, the wine cellar is equipped with a second entrance as they slip out into the night. Phoenix and Taehyung take down the two officers patrolling at the back before they get the chance to even think about calling for backup. They drag their bodies into the shrubs. The car is a lost cause with all of the police activity going on at the front of the house so they’re forced to make tracks through the woods.

They don’t make it far before things go plummeting down hill. A loud shout has Phoenix twisting in place to fire off a few shots. Unsurprisingly, she hits all of her intended targets, but this time she’s not quick enough to prevent the officers from getting off a shot of their own. Rage floods Taehyung’s entire being at the quickly growing stain growing in Phoenix’s left shoulder. He lifts her into his arms and runs faster than he can ever recall running before. Her slowing heartbeat spurs his legs to move even quicker. This is exactly what he was afraid of.

Over the past few months that they’ve been working together he’s learned just how much Phoenix treasured her humanity. Despite her perceived recklessness, she’s never put herself into a situation that she had any real doubts about fighting her way out of. A few bruises and scrapes here and there but never has she incurred anything as serious as the gun shot she’s just incurred. Taehyung is less than two minutes away from the closest hospital when he hears it. The steady thump, thump, thump that he’s been so used to hearing falls silent. The absence of it is so deafening that his steps falter.

“Phoenix?” He jostles her in his arms expecting, hoping for her to come back around. Her head simply lolls around on her shoulders.

Taehyung’s heart hasn’t beat in over four hundred years and yet he could swear that the muscle is constricting violently in his chest. When he’d lost Arabella he’d been in absolute agony, but she had still been alive when she’d left him. His knees buckle from the weight of the range of emotions threatening to drag him under. Deep down he knows that she’s not truly dead, but it hurts all the same. They’re close enough to the city now for the sounds of people and cars to reach his ears but none of it matters. He hugs Phoenix’s limp body to his chest. In spite of how they came together, she has become not only his partner in crime but one of his closest friends. Taehyung nearly leaps out of his skin when something touches the back of his head.

“You smell like sex, blood, and adrenaline. It’s awful.” Phoenix croaks out, pushing him away with a pinched expression on her face. Taehyung laughs despite himself. It doesn’t matter if she technically just died, Phoenix can never let him live.

“I’ll shower later. We have to get out of here.” Taehyung hauls them both off of the ground, dusting the dirt off of Phoenix’s jeans despite her protests. She tries to yank her hand out of his when he latches onto it to pull her along, but Taehyung is having none of it.

When Taehyung had said that they needed to get out of here, Phoenix thought he meant get out of the woods and back to his house to hide out. It wasn’t until he told the driver of the cab they hailed to take them to the airport that she realized he meant that they were getting out of the country entirely. She had nothing on her but her American drivers license, forty euros, and a black cat sticker and yet she was sitting on a private jet headed for the Maldives in less than two hours. That was nearly three weeks ago and Phoenix can’t exactly say that she’s upset at that. At first, she’d been positive that she would get bored of not having a clear and purposeful goal for her time but that notion had quickly been squashed.

These days she spends her days exploring the island with Taehyung or lounging on the private section of beach in front of the massive villa that they’ve been staying in. Today, they’re in search of a small cave that the locals say is home to a hot spring that Taehyung is dying to take a dip in. Phoenix is just about tired of navigating the precarious path of slippery rocks when Taehyung suddenly shouts. She nearly loses her footing but recovers in time to see him dashing off towards the cave she figures is the one they’ve been searching for. By the time she catches up to him, he’s already waist deep in the water.

“You couldn’t even pretend to wait for me?” She asks playfully as she strips off her clothes, dropping them in a pile on top of his. He totally submerges himself in the crystal clear water as opposed to answering her question.

The spend the next half hour frolicking around, dunking each other under the water. Taehyung has just bucked her off of his shoulders when they decide to take a break and just float around. Head tilted back, arms outstretched, Phoenix is almost asleep as she drifts around on her back when Taehyung interrupts her solace.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” His voice is so soft that she almost doesn’t hear him even with her enhanced hearing. Even so, she contemplates ignoring him anyway just to avoid the conversation he’s trying to have.

This isn’t the first time he’s tried to get her to talk about her emotions and she’s tempted to give him the same answer she’s given him on his previous attempts. No. She doesn’t get the chance to do so though. Phoenix gasps out loud when she’s suddenly flipped upright and lifted out of the water to sit on a large rock next to the hot spring. Taehyung’s hands remain firmly planted on her hips to ensure she doesn’t try to escape. She’d discovered a while ago that Taehyung is actually quite clingy with people he trusts so she’s not surprised when he lays his head in her lap with his arms wrapped tightly around her and threatens to keep her trapped that way until the sun explodes unless she talks to him.

“Taehyung, this is madness. Move.” She nudges him with enough strength to send a human man flying, but he doesn’t move an inch. They fall into a stubborn silence as they both wait for the other to make their next move. As Phoenix expects, Taehyung cracks first.

“If I tell you a secret, will you talk to me?” He murmurs against the damp skin of her thigh. She feels more than hears his words.

“Depends on what the secret is.” Phoenix kicks her legs lazily on either side of Taehyung’s body. He takes a long, shuddering deep breath that intrigues her enough that her legs stop moving.

“The reincarnation books I have in my room. It’s not just a personal fascination.” Taehyung falls silent as if he’s gathering the courage to get to the root of what he’s trying to say. Phoenix had already assumed that there was a deeper reason for the massive tomes that Taehyung hoarded but she’d never felt like it was her place to intrude.

“I was in love once. It was the 18th century and I met this firecracker of a woman that made more heart beat fast for the first time since being turned.” Phoenix listens dutifully as Taehyung describes the woman that had held his heart in her hands. The more he talks, the more she feels this odd sense of familiarity. As if she knew this woman personally. Her brain connects the dots right as Taehyung gets to the gist of his tale.

“Wait,” She stops him before he can get the words out. “are you about to say what I think you’re about to say? Because if you are, I have an assload of questions.”

“Do I think you’re the reincarnation of my Arabella? Yes. Can I prove it beyond a reasonable doubt? No.” He confirms. Phoenix pushes at his shoulders and Taehyung allows himself to be moved. Judging by Taehyung’s expression, the panic sitting like a stone in her gut is manifested on her face.

“How long have you thought this?”

“Since I first laid eyes on you in that field. I’d gone through your friends’ phone but they didn’t have a single picture of you. I nearly got up and left when I saw you.” Phoenix snorts as she replays that day in her mind as she often does only this time with Taehyung running for the hills the second he sets his eyes upon her face.

“This probably sounds ridiculous, but I feel this…connection to you.” Taehyung explains with a sheepish look on his face. “It’s like you’re a planet and I’m a moon being pulled into your orbit.”

She doesn’t have the courage to admit that she feels the same way. Phoenix slips back into the water now that Taehyung is no longer physically restraining her. He says nothing as she moves behind him to wrap her limbs around him. She allows a few moments of silence to pass before she unloads everything she’s been holding back. The disgust she feels at what she’s become. The shame of feeling like she’s let her parents down considering she is now the very creature they dedicated their lives to hunting like rabid dogs. Her fears for the future and the possibility that darkness that is practically inherent in demons could one day overtake her.

“Do you think I’m evil?” Taehyung probes.

“Well, no, not really.” She answers without missing a beat. Her original assumption of Taehyung had proven to be quite false despite the events that had allowed them to opportunity to build the friendship they have today.

“So why do you think that you’ll suddenly become some sort of degenerate just because you’ve lost your human side? You’re still the same Phoenix Emery as you were before the change. Demons make their own choices and have to live with the consequences of them just like everyone else.” His words hang in the humid air, marinating into her psyche. She’s not entirely sure that she believe him but the thought of being able to hang on to some sense of normalcy give her hope for the centuries to come.

“Taehyung, do you love me?” Phoenix voices into the still air in the double bedroom she and Taehyung share. The villa has four other rooms with single beds and yet for whatever reason they’d decided that this room was perfect.

“If this is a ploy to get me to sing Drake again, I’ll kill you.”

“No, seriously. Do you love me? Since I’m probably the reincarnation of your dead girlfriend or whatever.”

“I care for you deeply and I think your ass is perfectly perky and round, but no I do not love you the way I loved, Arabella because you are not her.” Taehyung responds matter of factly. An inkling of regret is creeping in. Maybe telling Phoenix about Arabella hadn’t been the best idea.

“Don’t get so full of yourself, Taehyung. I’m not looking for you to pledge your undying love for me. I just wanted to know.”

Taehyung stays quiet for so long that she’s beginning to think he’s said all he plans to say. “Phoenix, have you ever been in love?”

“Once. At least I thought it was love but then he made me choose between him and hunting and I hesitated.” Taehyung whistles lowly, flipping over in his bed to face her in the darkness of the bedroom. He analyzes her side profile as she continues to focus her eyes on the ceiling. His lips tingle with the urge to ask her more questions but he remains silent, waiting.

“I last saw him about two years ago. He’s married now with a kid and a dog and a white picket fence. I’m happy for him because I don’t think I could’ve given him that.” She whispers solemnly. Her tone is flat and even but Taehyung can hear the emotions that she’s not voicing.

“Would you do it differently if you could go back in time?” He asks curiously. Phoenix doesn’t turn over but she does glance at him fleetingly.

“Honestly, no. I’m a sadistic motherfucker that like to hunt and kill beings I deem unworthy of living. That’s not the type of person who settles down with 2.5 kids and a dog.”

“Touché”

“What about you? If you could’ve turned Arabella, would you have done it?” Taehyung should’ve expected her to turn his own question back on him but it catches him off guard all the same. A few months ago, he would’ve said yes without a shadow of a doubt. Now? He’s not so sure.

“I don’t know that I would. I’d always thought that I’d do anything to bring her back, but I don’t think she’d be happy this way.” Phoenix hums thoughtfully.

“Well at least you have me. Annoying but cute.”

“What have I ever done to deserve such a blessing.” Phoenix lashes out with one of the extra pillows on her bed, using it to get revenge on Taehyung for the sarcasm dripping from his words. There’s no way the fluffy down pillow has any effect on him but it makes her feel better all the same.

“Sarcastic bastard.” She spits out only for him to playfully stick his tongue out at her with a childish giggle.

“Aw, should I kiss it and make it better?” Taehyung teases. His eyes nearly bug out of his head when Phoenix says yes.

At first, he thinks she’s just kidding until she gets out of her own bed and into his. She slips underneath the covers and scoots close enough to Taehyung for every inch of her body to be pressed up against him. The air in the room feels thick with the pheromones and sexual tension radiating from the both of them. He can already feel himself rising to the occasion but he doesn’t want to read too much into it although a blind man could see that there is only one way to interpret what’s happening right now.

“What are you doing?” He whispers. She’s brought her face so close to his that every word is punctuated by the slight brushing of his lips against hers. Her eyes sweep over his face.

“Research.” Taehyung practically growls when she presses her lips against his. Not kissing her back doesn’t even cross his mind as her tongue traces against the seam of his lips and he lets her in without protest. He explores and plunders her mouth just as they’ve done with the various caves and forests they’ve ventured into during their time in the Maldives, with reverent excitement.

His large hands slink underneath the t-shirt she’d stolen from his dresser and he’s pleased to discover that there isn’t much to be found beneath it other than her supple skin. Their lips remain connected even as Taehyung pulls her body on top of his. He can feel her hardened nipples through her shirt and he’s overcome with the need to feel her skin directly on his. The thin fabric doesn’t stand a chance against him when gathers it into his fists, yanking until she’s totally free of it. She makes some comment about his eagerness that he chooses to ignore in favor of covering her chest in as many marks as he feels fit to create.

Phoenix rearranges her legs so that she’s straddling Taehyung’s lap. The new change in position means the sizable bulge barely contained by his boxer briefs is now pressed perfectly against her clit. Her hips start moving practically on their own, settling into a pattern of slow, purposeful grinds. Taehyung grabs at her ass with both hands to help her along. Even in the dark, he can still see the growing patch of wetness on the grey material that remains between them. The soft whimpers she makes every time he bumps against her clit could rival even the world’s greatest symphony. Her breasts swing tantalizingly in his face, but just as he goes for them again, she pulls away.

His protests fizzle out when she tugs on the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help her out, reaching down to slowly stroke himself once he’s free of them. The shocked look on her face is definitely something he plans to tease her about for the next few decades, but for now Taehyung is more focused on getting his cock shoved down her throat as quickly as possible.

“Taehyung, that’s an excessive amount of dick.” Phoenix can’t take her eyes off of the stiff appendage between his toned thighs. She’d always thought that the rumors of him having a dick the size of the Empire State Building were just that, rumors, but she’s quickly discovering that he definitely gives the popular landmark a run for its money in the size department. She’s both incredibly turned on and more than a little hesitant about fucking someone with that much to work with.

“Scared?” The smirk on his face lets her know that he knows exactly what that does to her. She feels challenged and Phoenix Emery never backs down from a challenge. She’ll die trying to prove him wrong and he knows it.

She gives him a firm squeeze when she takes his length into her hand. His head falls back as a groan rattles around his chest. Taehyung gasps at the unexpected sensation of Phoenix suckling on his balls as she continues to stroke him just the way he likes. She licks a stripe up his cock from base to tip, sucking on his leaking head before repeating the process. He hisses when she finally envelopes his cock in her mouth. His hips push forward on instinct to get as much of himself into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth as he can.

“Fuck your mouth is so good.” He murmurs. She hums around his cock in her mouth, burying her nose in the finely trimmed hairs at the base of his erection. Taehyung has never been to heaven but in that moment he swears he can see God. Euphoria spreads throughout his body as Phoenix continues to bob her head up and down on his cock. It’s sloppy, messy, and delightfully amazing. He can feel his balls drawing up, on the verge of an orgasm when she pulls her head away from his lap.

She walks on her knees until she’s straddling him once more. She leans down to kiss and suck at the tanned skin of his neck, making her way up and along his jaw. Taehyung is only too happy to reciprocate when she presses her lips against his insistently. He could spend the rest of his existence kissing her and it would make him the happiest man alive. His lips are wrenched from hers when she suddenly flips the both of them over so that Taehyung is hovering above her. His cock, still damp with her spit, rests against her pubic bone. He stops her when she grabs his cock and moves it to where she needs him most.

“Wait, but don’t you want me to finger you first? Or eat you out?” He questions. “You said yourself that I have an excessive amount of cock and I have to make sure you’re wet enough for it.”

“If I get any wetter, we’re both going to drown now stop making excuses and fuck me.” Phoenix drives her point home by grabbing his length again and dragging it through her drenched folds a few times before lining him up with her entrance. Taehyung doesn’t need any more convincing than that. He joins them totally with one strong thrust.

One thrust turns into two which turns into two more until Taehyung is sliding in and out of her like a well-oiled machine. He pauses long enough to press her knees into her chest before he resumes his movements. The change in position has his name flying out of Phoenix’s mouth like the darkest of curses. Her nails are digging into his thighs and the pain only adds to his pleasure. The image of Taehyung covered in sweat as he tosses his head back with his teeth bared like some sort of feral animal is one that Phoenix never wants to forget. She does her absolute best to keep her eyes open to commit this moment to memory. The sound he makes when she tightens her inner muscles around him could only be described as a growl.

His hands release her legs in favor of latching on to her bouncing breasts instead. She keens when he rolls her sensitive nipples between his fingers. Taehyung switches gears from his relentless pounding to a more purposeful grind of his hips, making sure to press his pelvis into her clit on every thrust. Phoenix grabs at both of his wrists and pulls in an effort to bring him closer to her. He obliges her with a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. She wraps her limbs around him and holds on tight as the waves of pleasure begin to drag her under. Taehyung follows her over the edge with a harsh bite to her shoulder that makes Phoenix want to cum again. They fall asleep in a tangled mess of limbs and feelings that will be left to sort out when they wake.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” Taehyung sing-songs. He yanks open the curtains to let in the light and isn’t surprised when his actions are met with a creative string of curses that would make even the most depraved demon cower in fear.

“I will rip your toe nails off and shove them in your eyes. Go away!” Phoenix buries her face into one of the few pillows that had managed to stay on the bed during their late night frolic but to no avail. Taehyung is quick to snatch it away from her along with anything else she could possible use to hide away.

She eventually realizes that resistance is futile and sits up in bed. Taehyung is momentarily distracted by the small bruises and bite marks that have yet to fad away. They’ll be gone in the next few hours and part of him wants to take a few pictures to hold onto for his own personal use.

“I think we should talk about last night.” Taehyung crawls back onto the bed, pulling Phoenix into his arms just because he can. She twists around in his hold until their face to face.

“What is there to talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know maybe why?”

“Remember the ex I told you about right before…that?” Taehyung nods his affirmation. There is an inkling of fear that what she’s about to say is going to kill the domestic dream that had danced across his mind’s eye all night.

“When he asked me to choose between him and hunting, I couldn’t do it but just the mere thought of not being with you despite how we ended up together physically pains me.” Phoenix distracts herself by dragging her finger across Taehyung’s chest in a nonsensical pattern. She can’t handle looking him in the eye while she talks about her feelings this way. “We’ve both hurt each other in major ways but, as twisted as it is, I think it was meant to happen this way. Fate and all that other mushy shit, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Taehyung nuzzles her cheek with his nose which she recoils from with protests about cooties. He shuts her up with a kiss that he hopes conveys all of the words he has no idea how to say.

#ksmutclub #btswritersguild #taehyung smut #kim taehyung #bts smut #bts kim taehyung #bts angst #bts demon smut #incubus taehyung #this is definitely a shit show #this was also supposed to be posted on halloween #big oops on that one #bts fanfiction #bts scenario #bts fluff

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pop-culturereference · 4 years

Text

Never Touch Him Again

Summary: Barbara finds out what Tarantula did to Dick. She takes justice into her own hands.

I originally wrote this for Dickbabs week but didn’t quite finish it. Also, not really shippy at all. The prompt was “touch.”

Word Count: like 3,000 ish

Characters: Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Catalina Flores

Pairings: Gen

“Don’t…touch me…”

Babs slammed the pause button and shoved herself away from her desk. Her skin flashed hot and cold until she was shaking and she felt like she was going to throw up. She lashed out and hit her books off the desk. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, but it was futile. It was times like these she desperately wished her legs worked; she needed to get up, to pace, to kick something until it was broken beyond repair and her foot was bleeding.

Instead, she yanked her hair up and wheeled over to the punching bag in the corner, where she picked up her escrima sticks and started mercilessly beating the shit out of it. If the punching bag were a person, it would have been dead, the muscles and skin pounded to bloody oatmeal sticking to splintered bones. When the back of her shirt was soaked with sweat, she threw the escrima down in a corner and reluctantly forced herself back to the video. She owed it to Dick to find out the truth.

She’d already found the truth that Bruce wanted: Dick hadn’t killed Blockbuster. He’d been there, and he’d watched it happen, but he hadn’t been the one to kill him.

She hadn’t been surprised when Bruce came to her. “I need your help; I think Dick may have killed someone,” he’d said. Babs had been horrified, but not surprised. Dick had been very, very… off… for a while. As soon as Bruce had brought it up to her, she knew that whatever she found would explain Dick’s behavior.

And it was explaining more than she’d expected. Right now, she only needed to watch far enough in the tape to see if Tarantula listened to Dick and left him alone, or if she didn’t and raped him. Babs considered Dick’s recent self-destructive spiral, and her heart sank. She was pretty sure she already knew. After steeling herself with a few deep breaths, Babs watched the next few seconds of the video, then turned it off. Her heart sank down to her stomach and sat there stewing, making her nauseous. Tears burned her eyes and left hot tracks down her cheeks. How selfish, she chided herself. Dick is the one who has the right to cry, not you.

Babs started putting herself back together, piece by piece. She did it, as she always had, with a plan of action. Her eyes still burned as her mind whirred. She had everything on Tarantula, and nothing on Catalina Flores

She had a recording of Tarantula shooting a man in the head. The man was universally hated. Tarantula was wearing a mask.

She also had security footage of Tarantula attacking and trying to kill her while she was at dinner with Dick. Again, she was wearing a mask.

She had evidence of Tarantula bribing police officers. No one cared—not in Gotham, and certainly not in Blüdhaven.

She had footage of Tarantula raping Dick. Again, she was wearing a mask. If she were ever put on trial, Nightwing couldn’t very well show up to testify. Plus, she had connections. It wasn’t going to work.

Clearly, Babs would have to take things into her own hands.

She didn’t tell Dick what she knew. She didn’t tell Bruce, either. She didn’t tell Helena and Dinah. She could do this herself. She’d beaten Tarantula once before, and this time, Oracle would be the one catching Tarantula unprepared, and on her turf.

The plan was to do this the Bat Way: Lure Tarantula to Gotham, get her to commit a crime here, and let Commissioner Gordon handle the rest.

Babs knew just the crime: attempted murder. Of the commissioner’s daughter, no less. Babs allowed herself a grim smile. She had her work cut out for her.

—————————————————

The next time she went to see Dick, she wasn’t sure how to act. She worried that she was overcompensating by goofing off because she didn’t want to seem too serious, and she also worried about overcompensating with coldness or rudeness to avoid pitying him. She honestly wasn’t sure what he was up to recently; their conversations were concise and infrequent. She figured she had the best chance of cornering him into talking in the Batcave. She asked Bruce when Dick would be there and then used a software security update as an excuse to be there when he arrived.

“Nightwing!” She called, grinning nervously. “Long time, no see! Get your butt down here!”

It was no longer “get your cute butt down here,” for which she allowed herself a gust of sadness.

He didn’t swing over using the bars around the cave. Instead, he click-clacked down the stairs and over the walkway to her, his leg brace altering his gait just enough that Babs probably couldn’t recognize him any longer by his walk alone.

He gave her a bow with a hand-twirl. “At your service, oh great Oracle.”

Now that, at least, was normal. While the theatrics didn’t have as much heart as usual, they hadn’t disappeared.

Babs had thought over her next words and planned them out to the letter. “I’ll get straight to the point. I miss you, Dick.” He was wearing the Nightwing mask, so she studied the rest of his face for a reaction. All he did was tighten his lips to not give anything away. This close, she could also see that he looked deflated, like one day he’d just decided to shrink half a size, but only his skin had gotten the memo; It was stretched taut, making him look hollow and angular.

He waited for her to continue.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact as much. That’s on me. And…I miss my best friend.” She tilted a sad smile at him. “Can I take you out to dinner this week?”

He just stood there blankly, like she’d caught him off guard and now he didn’t know which expression to paste on next. Babs ached at how worn down he looked, and subtle anger squeezed her heart. Dick didn’t deserve this. She sighed. “That’s okay if you don’t-“

“No, no, that’d be great. I… miss you too, Babs.” He still looked diluted, like not all of him was there, but now he was smiling.

“Great, I know this really good place a few blocks from my place. Big yellow M on the front, you might have seen it before. Called McDonald’s.”

It was a pretty low quality joke, but Dick let out a huff of laughter anyway.

“I’m kidding,” she said. “This weekend?”

Everything she’d said was genuine, so she refused to acknowledge any guilt she felt over her ulterior motive.

————————————

Tarantula’s night of crime had taken some careful planning.

First, she’d had to stick surveillance on her to get some manipulation material.

Then, she’d had to find a place to rent with a good insurance policy. She’d also faked documentation for the past few months, just to be safe.

Then, she’d gathered evidence of Tarantula’s crimes in Blüdhaven and planted a file on her in the GCPD’s system.

After finishing the paper setup, she’d enlisted Batgirl as her eyes, ears, and knight in shining armor. Cass had installed the camera system in Babs’s new decoy apartment. Cass had also been the one to deliver the blackmail letters.

Now, all she had to do was go to dinner with Dick then come home to the new apartment and wait for Flores to come try to kill her.

Dick picked her up. He would also give her a ride back. It wouldn’t do for Flores to try to kill her before she got back to her heavily-monitored-and-filmed apartment. Babs had planned everything out to the last letter so she could focus on dinner with Dick, but she still needed a moment to steer her head out of Oracle mode and into friendship mode. While Dick helped her into the car, she methodically threw out any thought of her impending attempted murder.

Dick wasn’t very talkative so far; he didn’t even question her new address, but Babs explained anyway. If her explanation was a little embarrassing, hopefully it would only serve to show Dick her candor and openness with him.

“I’m only here for a week or so. I punched a whole in the wall with my escrima last week, and when they came to fix it, they found a rat infestation. I can’t be there while they’re fumigating.”

Dick maneuvered the car into the left lane, then shot her a glance, clearly disgusted. “Rats? That’s horrible!” He exaggerated a shudder. Babs had another explanation planned for when he asked why she wasn’t staying with her dad or even Bruce, but he didn’t seem to question it. Her heart squeezed; Dick was still dazed and not quite right. She’d already planned to be the one carrying the conversation, though, dinner would be fine.

“Believe me, I know that better than you do at this point. First hand experience.”

“Seriously, that is so disgusting.”

It was Dick, so she couldn’t help but mess with him at least a little. “Yeah,” she said. “They came scurrying out of the wall all together. They were this big,” she said, leaning to show him her hands measuring about the distance of her forearm. “Their noses left little greasy prints on my wallpaper. I thought I could handle it, until one night I reached to untangle the computer chords and I grabbed one of their tails.” She added an authentic shudder.

Dick gaped and made a gagging sound. Well, not the best expression, but at least he was a little more animated. “You’re kidding! Babs, yuck! Please tell me you’re joking!”

“Kidding!” she said, laughing. “Don’t worry, Dick! I hightailed it out of there the moment I heard the word ‘rat’. I’m not going within a mile of there until every last one is exterminated.”

“Thank goodness. You had me seriously worried for your health and sanity for a bit there.”

“Aw, you do care!” she crooned. It was so easy for Babs to slip back into their old rapport, but the conversation died there. She had to remember that they’d broken up and also that Dick was very traumatized and probably wouldn’t be his old self for a while. She felt a sudden, sweeping melancholy as she realized that things might never go back to the way they were. It wasn’t fair to feel upset right now, she knew that. So instead, she pursed her lips grimly and reminded herself that at least Tarantula would be arrested later that night.

They made a nice little scene walking into the restaurant, Babs in her wheelchair and Dick in his click-clacking leg brace. No less than 4 employees and 3 non-employees offered to help them. Dick just glared, expression blank and flat, while Babs politely reassured them that they could manage. She did not roll her eyes even once.

It was a nice restaurant. The food was good, and the service was good. The conversation was not that good, but Babs hadn’t really been expecting otherwise. Nostalgia stung her the whole night, like lemon juice on a forgotten paper cut.

She tried to diffuse the awkwardness between them with casual insults, a Barbara Gordon specialty. Dick reacted slowly and gave his chuckles and smiles a little late, but when they left and were once again seated in his parked car, he sighed and apologized.

“I’m sorry Babs, I’ll drop you off. Thanks for dinner.”

Babs locked eyes with him fiercely and fought not to show her anger at Flores. “Don’t apologize. Don’t you ever apologize. I can tell you’re going through some stuff right now. It’s not your fault, okay? Dick? Look at me. It is not your fault. I’m here as your friend, don’t think you owe me anything. I care about you. I-” don’t back down, Babs— “I love you. I’m not going to push you into telling me anything, but just know that I’m here for you, okay?”

Dick wasn’t looking at her, but the passing headlights of the highway reflected bright in his teary eyes. He cleared his throat. “Thanks. I… appreciate that more than you know.” He blinked hard, and drove her back to the makeshift apartment. By the time they got there, he was able to give her a normal, dry-eyed goodbye, and offer his help for her rat situation. Babs squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile before waving a goodbye.

The next part made her feel like an idiot, but it was necessary. As soon as Dick was out of earshot, she scooted closer to a potted plant that she knew was bugged and murmured sweet nothings in a low voice. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the laugh that bubbled up, then made some lip smacking sounds and moaned a little. It wasn’t a very high quality bug, so it wouldn’t be strange that it only recorded her voice because she was supposedly closer. Breathlessly, she said, “you naughty boy, you know I have to work on my thesis tonight. Tomorrow.” She followed up with one more smack for good measure, then left her apartment and closed the door.

The moment the bug was out of earshot, she had Cass on the comms.

“Bait taken?” Babs asked her.

“Yes.” Babs was having a hard time not giggling. That was probably the stupidest, most embarrassing thing she’d ever done.

“Estimated time frame?”

“One hour.” The gravity of the situation settled on her, and there were no more giggles.

“Thank you. Oracle out.”

Babs let herself back in, and, once again, she wanted to pace. Just as well that she couldn’t, she didn’t want to tip Tarantula off that she was expecting her. Instead, she changed into pajamas and erased the last 10 minutes of footage from her security cameras.

The dinner with Dick had gone okay from an interpersonal perspective, and from a make-flores-want-to-kill-me perspective, it had gone even better. It was pretty obvious from the dinner where Tarantula attacked her that she was jealous of Babs’s relationship with Dick. It should be just the little extra nudge that would get Flores over here to deal with her personally. The day before, Babs had delivered blackmail letters via Batgirl. Dearest Catalina, she’d written. It’s obvious that you’ve got half of Blüdhaven in your pocket, but I know for fact that the other half is in the pocket of Roland Desmond’s only surviving relative. She’d be very interested to know about this. Here, she’d taped a disk with footage of her shooting Blockbuster in the head. If you want my copy destroyed, get in touch. Much love, Barbara Gordon.

This was not Oracle style. When Oracle wanted to blackmail someone, they had no way to trace her, and she usually only did it to get criminals to up their paranoia and sabotage themselves. This time, Babs wanted Flores to track her down. She wanted to look like an easy target. Really, the only thing that "Dearest Catalina” could do now was kill her. It would be too much of a risk for a commissioner’s daughter to have that knowledge, even if the disk were destroyed. Sure, Flores would feel bad about it, but she’d know it was necessary. But, that wasn’t enough for Babs, so she made Flores angry. Batgirl had tailed Flores from Bludhaven yesterday and watched her plant a bug in Babs’s newly-placed potted plant, and the day before, Babs stood right next to it and gushed about her date with Dick. Flores would show no remorse, no hesitation. 100% premeditated murder. Batgirl was ahead of Flores now, and would be waiting for Babs’s signal to jump in and help her out.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

15 minutes, and she decided that waiting was the worst part.

15 more, and she was so glad she didn’t actually have a rat problem.

She hoped Dick was doing okay.

Fifteen more minutes, and Cass buzzed in to tell her Tarantula came armed with a knife and zipties but no gun. Good. Tarantula was going to get personal, maybe even tie her up and blabber even more condemning evidence. She got ready and pretended to be asleep. Ten minutes later, her window creaked open. She sighed softly and shifted in under her covers, keeping her eyes closed even though her heart was pounding. She struggled feebly when Tarantula grabbed her wrists and tied them together, feigning disorientation. She held off until she was already tied to struggle with her full strength.

“What do you want! Who are-” Babs was cut off with a slap to the face. Ouch. She tried to wipe blood off her face with her shoulder, but only succeeded in smearing it. It dried there, making her skin feel dry and crackly.

Flores sighed. “You know, I have nothing against you! I would have just let you be!”

“Is this about Dick?”

“We could have made this quick and easy, but you just had to keep causing problems!”

“Oh, good. So this is just boy drama. Not about you shooting Blockbuster. I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Oh, I’m going to kill you, alright,” Tarantula snarled.

Babs sneered. “I’d like to see you try.”

Tarantula punched her in the gut. She kicked, hard. One landed in her gut again, but most on her lower torso and upper legs. Hah. All of her spinal nerves down her legs were non-functional. Silver lining.

Babs squirmed but didn’t fight back. She needed to lull Tarantula into thinking she posed no threat.

Finally, Tarantula pulled out the knife. “I hate you. I thought I didn’t want to do this, but for you, I really don’t mind.”

Babs held still until Tarantula grabbed her by the hair to bare her throat. By this point, she was done pretending. She sliced through the zip tie and swung her fist directly into Tarantula’s nose. She grabbed Tarantula’s broken nose in her right hand and twisted, getting a scream. As her hands went to her face, Babs grabbed them and twisted again, breaking wrists and fingers. She kept one of Tarantula’s hands, squeezing it so the bones crunched slightly. She squeezed tighter, feeling Tarantula’s metacarpal bones grinding together, then screamed directly into her ear, rupturing her eardrum and signaling Batgirl.

Babs leaned to Tarantula’s other ear and hissed, “This? This was nothing. Never. Touch him. Again.”

#lamest title of my life #also lamest ending but eh #fic #i will reblog this tomorrow to shamelessly promote myself. I will also post on ao3.#fanfic #batfamily #batman #batfic #dick grayson #barbara gordon #dickbabs #not really but i did originally write it for dickbabs week so #tw: rape mention #PLEASE TELL ME IF THIS MAKES SENSE OKAY #also.......... i couldnt remember whether tarantula's brother died and was too lazy to look it up so i just scratched that part lol

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theolddarkmachine · 4 years

Text

Imaginary- Chapter Thirteen

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Sooooo. Apologies for going MIA lol I moved last month and even though I told myself I would totally have time to still right, I totally didn’t have time to still write. And then this chapter went from a planned like 2k-ish words to over 6k. Which, I’m hoping makes up for the absence lol

***HERE’S YOUR WARNING, THIS CHAPTER EARNS THE E RATING.***

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

The dull, quick tap of Izuku’s fingers on the table top punctuate the otherwise quiet kitchen as he keeps his eyes fixed on his hand. It’s that awkward downtime that has left him without the ability to do much of anything, but was still far too early to start working on making dinner. In fact, the only thing he probably could do to pass the time would be to clean the kitchen. Again.

For the third time that day.

Sighing loudly, Izuku drops his head down on the table beside his hand. Inviting Bakugou to dinner had been such a good idea at the time, but almost as soon as he’d climbed into his car, he had realized the error he had made. Because ever since, a particularly lively family of butterflies has infested his insides, leaving him a quantified mess of fidgeting hands.

With each passing moment since they’d run into each other at the daycare, he had considered canceling. Considered picking up the phone and telling Bakugou he’d come down with some form of horrifying malaise and that as an officer of the law whose duty it was was to protect the common people, it was his job to not pass the sickness along.

But then he’d remember the way Bakugou’s gaze had pinned him against his car door, the force of it cutting down to the deepest secrets that he kept buried against his bones.

Then, finally, it was Saturday and far too late to make up some excuse.

So now, he was suffering the consequences of his actions, as he tried to swallow down the stray butterfly that was tickling the back of his throat.

Groaning again, Izuku lifts his head just enough so he can drop it back down with a dull thump.

“Daddy Izuku?” Eri’s voice is a shade of concerned that forces his head to snap up to attention. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes zero in on the inevitable red spot at the center of his forehead, or the way her smile grows as she giggles at his expense. Reaching up, he rubs his fingers over his skin where there’s a dull, pulsing throb.

“Did you pick out what movies you’re taking to Grandma’s?” Izuku asks, dropping his hand back to the table as he eyes the way Eri holds her own behind her back, obviously hiding something from his view.

She nods enthusiastically in answer.

“Are you going to show me which ones they are?” He prods, mind flashing back to the one time she’d grabbed a seemingly harmless hero movie that had ended up being an R rated nightmare his mother had yet to let him live down.

“I already packed them!” Eri exclaims, hands still firmly hidden behind her back.

“So then what do you have there?” Izuku asks, tilting his chin toward her. A light pink dusts her cheeks as she looks down to her feet. He watches as she twists her foot shyly.

“Daddy Izuku,” she starts, gaze still turned to her toes, “do you think you could give Kacchan something for me?”

The violent tempest in his gut picks up its speed at the mention of Bakugou’s name as Izuku sits up straighter.

“Of course, Eri. But why don’t you go ahead and give it to him yourself?” He says, ignoring the way curiosity weaves between his own words. The question makes her lift her gaze. Happiness burns bright in her eyes as she gives him a toothy grin.

“Because I think he’d really like it coming from you!” Eri cheers, finally pulling her hands in front of her. Her left fist clenches around a small collection of flowers that Izuku recognizes as the ones growing through the cracks of their fence from their neighbor’s yard, and her right holds a folded piece of paper.

Stomach going turbulent once more, Izuku reaches forward to gently take them both, making a mental note to find a cup of water for the flowers before turning his attention to the paper.

Bright colors decorate the front of the paper, depicting three people, each wearing equally colorful pointed birthday hats. Between the trio is a floating pink cake, and on the ground are several small squares with little bows.

Tucking his thumb into the fold, Izuku opens the paper to see Eri’s childish script.

Can you come to my birthday?

Sucking in a sharp breath, he lets the paper fold back shut as he eyes the drawing once more.

He had already been planning on inviting Bakugou to Eri’s birthday the upcoming Sunday, but something about the drawing sent a sharp spike of excitement ricocheting through his chest. Like this, in the Crayola colored world, they almost looked like they could be a family.

“Yeah,” he breathes, looking up to meet Eri’s expectant stare. “Of course, I’ll give this to him. He’ll love it.”

Gently setting down both the invitation and bouquet, Izuku reaches forward to scoop her up into a hug. Giving her a small squeeze, he smiles into her shoulder as he feels her give him one back.

“Thank you, Daddy Izuku!” She cheers, fingers fisting at the back of his shirt.

The sudden sound of the doorbell makes them both jump. Pulling apart, Izuku taps Eri on the nose as he smiles.

“That must be your grandma, why don’t you go grab your bag?” He says as he stands. Nodding dutifully, Eri skips toward the stairs, her steps thumping loudly as she heads up to her room.

With a small chuckle and shake of his head, Izuku makes his way to the front door. Pulling it open, he finds himself under the full force of his mother’s bright grin.

“Hey, honey,” she says loudly, gaze shifting over his shoulder to quickly scan the hall behind him.

“Hey mom,” Izuku sighs, stepping aside to let her into the entryway before adding, “he isn’t here yet.”

“Hm? Who?” His mom hums, stepping over the threshold as she lets an exaggerated confusion color her tone. Turning over her shoulder, she fixes her all knowing mom smile on him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You really didn’t think I’d have invited him to come at the same time you did, did you?” Izuku teases, shutting the door behind them. As they both settle in the entryway, he watches as his mom crosses her arms over her chest before pinning her big, green gaze on him.

“Izuku, I’m hurt,” she replies, smiling through her pout as he rolls his eyes.

“Do you blame me? Who wants to meet someone’s mom on their first date,” he says. There’s a brief pause before the realization of what he’s said rolls through him. The sharp clack of his teeth snapping shut as his mom’s smile grows.

“I thought it was a thank you dinner?” She presses, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Yes, it is,” Izuku quickly rectifies. “A thank you dinner between friends. Nothing else.”

“If you say so, sweetie,” his mom hums as she reaches out to rub his shoulder. “Just keep an open mind, okay. This boy seems to be pretty good for the both of you.”

“Mom,” Izuku groans, pulling back and dropping his head into his hands to hide the sudden burn across his cheeks.

“I’m just saying, Izuku!” His mom exclaims, leaning in close until he pulls his hand away to meet her stare. Tapping her finger against the center of her his forehead, she laughs lightly.

“Listen to your mother. You and Eri have been so happy the last few weeks, and I think we all know why.”

Brushing her hand away, Izuku sighs again.

“Yeah, yeah, mom. I get it. It’s still not a date.”

“Alright, dear,” she says, sounding completely unconvinced as she turns toward the sound of Eri’s steps on the stairs. They both fall into silence as they watch her hop off the last one, landing loudly as she looks to them both with her ever bright smile.

“Are you ready to have the best sleepover ever?” His mom asks, reaching her hand out to Eri.

“Yeah!” She cries loudly, taking her grandma’s hand. Bouncing in place excitedly, Eri barely spares him a glance as she says, “bye Daddy Izuku!”

“Be good for your Grandma Inko,” Izuku chuckles, ruffling her hair before reaching over her head to open the door. Leaning back against the doorway, he watches as Eri pulls on his mom’s hand.

“She always is,” his mother answers, letting Eri pull her out the door. The pair gets down the front steps before his mom pauses, looking over her shoulder with an almost sinister smile.

“And you be good on your not date,” she says, voice filled with innuendo before she winks.

“Get out of here,” Izuku shoos heat burning his cheeks as his mom turns away to continue down the path toward their front gate.

“Grandma Inko, what’s a not date?” He hears Eri ask. A loud moan escapes his lips as he hears his mother cackle before he shuts the door. Pressing his back to it, he rolls his eyes before looking down at his watch.

Maybe he can get in one more cleaning after all.

***

The rice is in the cooker, the meat and vegetables are marinating in the fridge, and Izuku is already halfway through a glass of wine when the doorbell finally rings again.

Swallowing down the high pitched eek of surprise that threatens to rips itself out of his mouth, Izuku wipes his hands on a kitchen towel before heading to the front door. The wood of it is almost daunting as it stands between him and the man on the other side, and he wonders what the hell he’s doing.

Lost to his thoughts for just a few seconds too long, the doorbell rings again, making him jump slightly before he finally opens the door.

“Thought maybe you were about to stand me up,” Bakugou greets, no real heat to his words as he sweeps his appraising look up and down Izuku’s frame. His own stare takes in all of the blonde, noting the way his button up clings to his just chest and the way his jeans accent his thighs. Even his hair, still set as a calculated disaster, seems to accentuate his face in an entirely different way than normal.

The look strikes a devastating blow to the space to Izuku’s solar plexus as he struggles to catch the breath that was just punched out of him.

“Hi,” he manages in response, mentally making a note to kick himself later for his sudden inability to speak.

Bakugou’s answering laugh is rough, and it raises goosebumps along Izuku’s skin as he hits him with the full brunt of his half cocked smile.

“Hey,” he greets before flicking his gaze over Izuku’s shoulder. “You gonna let me in?”

Swallowing thickly, Izuku just nodes and steps to the side, giving Bakugou enough space to step over the threshold. Taking the opportunity to enter, he casually walks in, keeping close as he flicks his gaze over Izuku once more before he busies himself with taking off his shoes.

Izuku swears he hears the soft huff of a suppressed chuckle as he shuts the door, and it sets fire racing over his cheekbones and turning his skin a violent shade. Without waiting, he walks in ahead of Bakugou, making a beeline for the fridge to grab the meat and vegetables from the fridge. The solid surface of the cool Tupperware in his hands grounds him, giving him something else to focus on other than the fact that his brain is short circuiting.

Be good on your not date, his mom’s voice taunts at the back of his mind.

Not a date, he mentally chides as he lets the fridge door shut loudly.

“Anything I can help with?” Bakugou asks, voice just at his back, making him jump slightly as he tightens his grasp on the Tupperware like it’s a lifeline. Not turning to face him, Izuku shuffles over to the stove and puts a pan on the stovetop.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ as he quickly flicks the burner on.

“You can just pour yourself some wine and sit there and—”

“Look pretty?” Bakugou bites, shit eating grin all too loud in his tone as he cuts Izuku off. Something seizes in his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs for length of three breaths before he grabs for the wooden spatula beside the stove. Turning quickly over his shoulder, Izuku forces himself to breathe.

“Let me do all the work,” he grits, doing his best to sound stern as he points the utensil straight at his tormentor. In response, Bakugou’s smile only grows sharper, more dangerous, as he reaches for the already open wine bottle and empty glass from the kitchen island. Settling down into one of the island stools, he makes careful work of filling the wineglass.

“‘Fraid I’m not that kind of girl, Deku,” he replies, arching a brow as he stares at Izuku and takes a drag of wine. A small hiccuping noise pries itself between Izuku’s teeth as he turns back to the stove. Ignoring the small huff of amusement from behind him, he pulls the lid off the container, upending the contents into the pan. They land with a satisfying sizzle as he places the now empty container on the counter, replacing it in his hand with his wine and swallowing down a big gulp.

It does nothing to sate the nervous yet excited thrum doing laps through his veins.

“So you cook dinner for all of Eri’s friends?” Bakugou asks, focused gaze burning a hole between Izuku’s shoulder blades as he pushes around the meat and veggies so that they cover the pan in an even layer.

“Only the ones I really like,” he mutters without thought as he almost flicks a pepper out of the pan. It isn’t until he’s chased it back into the confines of the metal cookware that he realizes what he’s said.

“I’m flattered then,” Bakugou says, voice molten. Turning a quick glance over his shoulder, Izuku traces the long line of his throat as he takes another sip of wine. He tries not to think too much about the light shade of pink that’s high on Bakugou’s cheeks when he resurfaces from the glass.

“You might not be after dinner,” Izuku says, chasing his own words with a self deprecating laugh as he turns back to the food to give it another stir. “I really only know how to do stir fry.”

A low and warm sound fills the space between them.

“Well than next time, I’ll be the chef,” Bakugou replies.

A shock of lightning strikes at the pit of Izuku’s stomach at the thought of next time.

Turning down the heat, he sets the spatula to the side, turning fully to face the man behind him. Settling his hands on the counter behind him, he leans back against the cool surface.

“Are you asking me on a date, Kacchan?” He teases, hoping that the question doesn’t ring with the burning hope that’s crawling its way up his throat.

“Consider it a thank you dinner,” Bakugou counters, punctuating his sentence with a quick wink.

Lips parting around his small gasp of shock, Izuku turns back toward the food, focusing on stirring the pan’s contents in a sad attempt to lull his rushing heartbeat. Losing himself to the task, its several minutes before he finally flicks the heat off, just in time for the rice cooker to click over to its keep warm function.

“Dinner is served,” he says, aiming the words behind him just in time to see Bakugou peering over his shoulder. His sudden presence sends a shock skittering down his spine, tracing between its knobs until the bright sparks found a home in his gut.

“Smells good,” Bakugou says. The compliment brushes across Izuku’s nape, followed closely by a burning flush.

“Thanks,” he says, moving to the side and offering Bakugou a plate and a rice paddle before adding quickly, “again.”

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou takes them.

“Shut it, Deku, let’s eat,” he snipes, turning to the rice cooker and opening the top. Scooping rice onto his plate, he hands the paddle to Izuku before moving onto the stir fry. Mechanically going through the motions, he follows suit, adding food to his plate almost blindly before moving to the dinner table to take a seat beside the one Bakugou had chosen.

Silence fills the bubble around the table, engulfing them in a comfortable warmth as they both eat. Izuku knows he should probably say something, but there’s a sort of calm that he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It’s a sort of calm that doesn’t beg for words or moments to be something in its own right.

Hidden within its depths, it’s a calm that gives him a glimpse into a future that he could have, one that, up until that very moment, he hadn’t even realized was something that he had maybe wanted.

Izuku had had Eri, and Eri had had Izuku, and until then, he hadn’t realized that maybe they could also have something else.

Someone else.

“What’s that?” Bakugou’s voice cuts through the din of his thoughts, leaving Izuku reeling and grasping from some kind of mental foothold as he searched for the that in which he was talking about.

Following the line of his stare, Izuku sees his attention has settled on the small mug filled with Eri’s handpicked flowers and the invitation beside it. He lets himself linger on the bright art of the trio, searching for a bit of courage amongst the crayon smiles.

“It’s for you, actually,” Izuku says after clearing his throat. Reach out, he carefully grabs the paper and hands it toward Bakugou, breath catching as their fingers brush.

“Eri wanted me to invite you to her birthday,” he continues, squeezing the words around the stalled air in his throat. Bakugou keeps his stare down to the paper, opening it and reading the scrawled words inside. Falling back into the comfortable quiet, Izuku watches as Bakugou’s gaze softens into unabashed, open wonder. A soft shade of pink stains his cheeks, the color making Izuku’s stomach flip as he tries fruitlessly to tear his own stare away.

It was one of the rare moments that Bakugou let his usually hard walls down, revealing one of Izuku’s favorite sights. He watches as Bakugou’s lips gently pull up. It’s such a small movement that Izuku thinks he might not even realize that he’s smiling.

“When’s her birthday?” Bakugou asks, attention never leaving the colorful portrait of the three of them.

“Next Sunday,” Izuku answers quickly. “But if you’re busy you don’t have to. I’m sure she’ll under—”

Bakugou’s quick gaze cuts off his rambling like a sword strike as he finally looks up to him.

“I’ll be there,” he says definitively, holding Izuku’s stare. Captivated by the surety that has turned Bakugou’s stare into something closer to gemstone as opposed to it’s usual magma, Izuku openly watches him.

Tension, thick and heady, rolls out between them. It prickles at his nerves, making him antsy beneath the heavy gaze.

“Okay,” Izuku finally replies with a curt nod, biting at the edge of his smile before turning back to his food.

Shoveling a bit into his mouth, he keeps his attention turned to his plates as Bakugou sets the handmade card down. The near stifling atmosphere doesn’t wane as they both eat in silence. Instead, it continues to grow heavier, more heated, as Izuku tries to steer his mind away from the mesmerizing look that had settled in Bakugou’s eye when he’d seen the invitation.

Finishing up their meals, they both moved toward the kitchen sink, Izuku ready to start washing the dishes before Bakugou quickly hip checked him.

“The cook never cleans the dishes, nerd,” he huffs as if it was the most obvious thing in the world before he snatching the plate from Izuku’s grasp.

The warm, swirling ease of the wine had finally worked its way through his mind and limbs, leaving him inhibited as he reaches for the plate and giving it a tug in an attempt to get it back.

“But I invited you over to thank you,” Izuku huffs, keeping his eyes on the plate and the strong lines of Bakugou’s hands.

They’re very nice hands, he thinks.

“There are no loopholes to this rule,” he replies, pulling the plate free of Izuku’s hands once again. Turning to the sink, Bakugou turns on the water, seemingly putting an end to the discussion.

With a heavy sigh, Izuku leans back into the bend of the counter between the sink and stove, crossing his arms across his chest in displeasure as he watches the way the blonde scrubs at his plate.

“You just gonna stand there and stare at me until I give in?” Bakugou asks without looking up, taking his time to run the sponge back and forth over the porcelain.

“Would that work?” Izuku shoots back. Not expecting any reaction, he startles slightly at the sudden turn of Bakugou’s head as he looks over him, appraising him and his wine pliant words. As if finding the answer to the question he didn’t ask, he rolls his garnet gaze towards the ceiling before looking back to the sink.

Turning the water back on, he rinses the suds off before pushing the plate in Izuku’s direction. Drops of water plink on the tile between them.

“Fine, I’ll wash, you dry,” he compromises. Staring at the plate between them, Izuku’s holds his breath, unsure of what to say. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected Bakugou to give in so easily, if at all.

Droplets speckled Izuku’s shirt as Bakugou gives the plate an impatient shake that shakes him of his thoughts as he grabs the dish towel and then the plate.

“Deal,” Izuku says with a sharp nod as he begins to wipe the dish dry. With such few plates and utensils between the two of them, the job goes rather quickly with their combined forces, leaving the pan as the solitary dish left.

Picking it up, Izuku hands it over to Bakugou. Gently taking it from his grasp, the blonde sets it into the sink, turning on the water and watching it run before he speaks again.

“Thank you.”

The words are said low, nothing more than a wisp of a breath that Izuku isn’t sure he was supposed to hear them. Eyes snapping up from the blue towel between his hands, he traces his gaze over the sharp lines of Bakugou’s profile, mentally filing away the soft downcast look in his eyes, and the slight downward curve in his lips.

Maybe, if the wine hadn’t loosened his tongue, he would have let it go, allowing Bakugou the chance to pretend he hadn’t said anything at all.

“For what?” Izuku hears himself ask, voice just as breathy. Bakugou doesn’t move, instead keeping his attention turned to the now overflowing pan. He stays that way for so long that Izuku wonders if he’d actually even spoken up.

Then he slowly reaches forward to turn off the faucet before turning to look at him. Eyebrows pulling together as if having an internal debate, Bakugou opens his mouth to say something, pausing for just a moment more before speaking.

“I don’t know.”

Those three words, filled with so much confusion seem to ring with an unsaid truth as Izuku looks up to him, his own lips slightly parted around an unsaid remark.

Time seems to freeze, locking them both in a suspended, momentary breath. Deep within the ruby depths of Bakugou’s gaze, Izuku sees the bright burning flame of desire, and it acts like a spark to gasoline. Heat races like a forest fire through his veins, tearing through him and leaving his breathless as the world slams back down around them.

Izuku isn’t sure who moved first, doesn’t even think he cares.

All Izuku knows is Bakugou’s mouth is on his, and his fingers are twisting into the emerald strands at his nape in an attempt to keep him close, as if he’s planning on going anywhere. Blindly dropping the dish towel, Izuku grasps the front of Bakugou’s shirt with a fist as his other hand traces along the line of his shoulder to try and press him closer.

Sparking lightning catches along the spaces where their bodies touch, making Izuku moan low in his throat. Swallowing down the sound, Bakugou presses in infinitesimally closer, the motion pressing Izuku’s back further into the edge of counter.

The sharpness of it makes Izuku hiss, causing Bakugou to pull back.

Slowly opening his eyes to look up at him, Izuku finds himself the object of his shining gaze. It’s filled with the same soft wonder from earlier, only not it’s wholly for him. That very same look twists and burns through him, leaving behind nothing but ruin that Izuku thinks he might not ever recover from.

It leaves Bakugou’s mark deeply etched into his bones as Izuku lifts onto his toes to close the distance between them once more. A soft, sighing breath tickles across his bottom lip as he gently pushes back against the blonde, gently guiding them out of the kitchen at toward the stairs.

“Was this a part of your thank you plans?” Bakugou asks, dragging the words across Izuku’s skin before nipping at his earlobe.

“Shut up, Kacchan,” he snipes, fingers finding Bakugou’s belt before making quick work of unclasping its buckle. Stumbling up the steps, they only part long enough for the blonde to pull Izuku’s shirt over his head. The fabric falls slowly over the banister, landing in the foyer below as the pair makes their way to the top of the stairs.

A loud thump punctuates the quiet home as Bakugou pushes Izuku up against the closed door of his room. Gently nipping at the soft skin on the side of his throat, he pulls a sharp gasp from Izuku’s lips.

Welcoming his exploration, Izuku tilts his head as he grasps for the door knob. His stomach jolts suddenly as the door swings open behind him before a pair of strong arms wrap around his waist to steady him.

“Shit, Deku,” Bakugou huffs without any heat. Using the moment to his advantage, he lifts Izuku, holding him up against him until he wraps his legs around his waist. Fixing his smoldering gaze on him, Bakugou paints Izuku’s skin with its garnet coloring before capturing his lips once more.

Taking slow strides, he walks them toward the bed. Carefully, as if Izuku might break, he settles him down on the bedspread. The bedding is a soft cushion that embraces his back, eyes set on Bakugou as he pulls away.

Squeezing his legs around Bakugou’s hips to keep him close, Izuku watches as he slowly pulls his shirt over his head. With a quick flick of his wrist, Bakugou tosses the shirt over his shoulder before settling himself back down over him.

One hand splays beside Izuku’s head, and the other tracks burning desire up his flank, sending a shudder crashing through him. Not missing the way Bakugou smiles at the movement, he palms at the blonde’s stray hand tugging it up to the side of his neck before he leans up to catch that smile with his own.

It feels like he might be burning alive with the way their bare skin slides against each other. The only thing that tethers him to the ground is the contrasting cold of Bakugou’s undone belt buckle where it presses into his abdomen.

His lips are feather light, yet filled with burning intent where they skim across Izuku’s jaw. Following the strong line of bone, Bakugou’s attention grows heavier when he reaches his throat. Pressing open mouth kisses along the quick thrum of his pulses, the blonde continues the torturous path down toward his collarbone.

Izuku grasps at Bakugou’s back, nails raking across his skin and drawing bright red over his shoulders. Each careful press punched another breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping as Bakugou nipped at his collar.

“Katsuki.”

The name falls from his lips, painted in reverence and accompanied by a sudden stillness as Izuku realizes that breathless voice had been his own.

Even in their current state, something about Bakugou’s name feels intimate in a way that Izuku can’t seem to place. It’s something so much more than a sudden spark of mutual lust, something more than a date disguised as a thank you dinner.

It’s so much more than the stolen glances, playdates, and the stutter of his heart as he watches the way Bakugou and Eri get along.

It’s so much more.

“Bakugou, I—” Izuku starts, fingers still curled at Bakugou’s back as he stares up at the ceiling, only to be cut off by the soft, purring hum in the blonde’s throat. Turning his attention away from the shadows clinging to the ceiling, Izuku looks down to catch Bakugou’s soft gaze before he presses a kiss just above his heart.

“‘Zuku,” he whispers, the brush of his breath cool against the concentrated point of heat at his chest.

“Izuku,” Bakugou breathes again, clearer this time before pressing the name into his sternum. Continuing his path down, Bakugou alternates between soft presses and open mouthed kisses, separated only by the soft hush of Izuku’s name as his fingers make quick work of undoing his pants.

An aching, burning longing grows at the pit of Izuku’s stomach, pushing all else from his mind as he lifts his hips to accommodate the slide of his jeans downward. Bakugou’s palm drags a scathing line over his thigh as he traces the muscle, humming low in his throat as he tugs one of Izuku’s legs over his shoulder.

Flicking his gaze down, Izuku catches the way Bakugou looks up at him languidly from where he kneels between his thighs before he takes him in his hand.

The touch is electric, shooting a bolt through him that runs back and forth tracks through his veins as he tosses his head back. His hand is pleasantly rough, slicked with the lube that Izuku hadn’t even noticed he’d grabbed.

Each stroke is careful and slow, calculated in a way that gently leads Izuku towards the precipice. Working like a soothing tide, the beginnings of his end crest over him in waves, spurned on by the rhythmic movement of Bakugou’s hand.

There’s a soft brush at his hip, a barely there caress that has Izuku peeking down toward the blonde once more just in time to see his lips quirk wickedly before replacing his hand with his mouth.

Keening at the sudden, engulfing heat, Izuku grabs at the bedspread beneath him with one hand, as his other finds itself in Bakugou’s hair.

“I can’t,” he moans loudly, hips arching as Bakugou drags his tongue along the underside of his cock, circling the head before he pushes back down. Bakugou’s questioning hum is like a bolt that ricochets through him.

“I’m not going to,” Izuku starts, swallowing down another low moan as he feels the smooth touch of fingers running soothing lines across his skin. The path, from the back of his knee and up, draws closer and closer to where Izuku truly wants him to be, and he finds himself rocking his hips impatiently.

“I’m not going to last much longer if you don’t hurry the hell up,” he finally hisses through his clenched teeth as he hits the back of Bakugou’s throat. It earns him another hum, this one a shade off from a laugh.

Room filling with the sounds of his breathy moans, Izuku grips tighter at Bakugou’s hair as he feels the slow, slick intrusion of a finger. His thoughts burn away, leaving nothing but ash and wisps of smoke as Bakugou works him open.

It’s all too much, and nowhere near enough, as he sets a careful pace. Each crook of his finger and slow drag of his hand paired with the artful movement of his mouth has Izuku writhing.

Heat and light burns bright in his chest, growing and growing until Izuku wonders if Bakugou can see the bright glow shining between his ribs. It pushes out against his bones, until he can no longer breathe, can no longer think about anything other than the way that it seems to be breaking him apart.

Then Bakugou pulls away.

“Wha—” Izuku moans, half incoherent as Bakugou shakes his hand from his hair. Still balancing his leg on his shoulder, he smoothly pushes forward, bending Izuku in half as he nudges at his nose with his own.

“Izuku,” Bakugou breathes, pressing his name between their lips with a chaste kiss.

“Kat-“ Izuku stutters as he feels him, wet and hot at his hole, and he’s never needed so much.

“Katsuki.”

This close, he can see the dark flecks that mar the bright red of Bakugou’s gaze. They’re small speckles of imperfection that reminds Izuku that, impossibly, he’s real.

“Are you mine?” Bakugou growls, running a palm from his hip and over the side of his leg toward the knee at his ear as the other smooths over his arm. Pulling his grip free, Bakugou carefully pushes it up beside Izuku’s head and laces their fingers.

It’s an earnest question, genuine and honest, and it stuns Izuku. He’s been many things in his lifetime.

A son.

A friend.

A policeman.

A father.

But never has he ever thought of himself as anyone’s. Yet, separated by nothing more than the breadth of space between their heaving chests, Izuku finds he doesn’t even truly need to think about it.

“Yes,” he answers with a small nod, gasping at the involuntary twitch of Bakugou’s hips that push him ever so closer to his entrance. “Yes, I’m yours.”

“Good,” Bakugou chews out, sealing it like an oath between them as he pushes in. Izuku’s hand clutches hard around his like a lifeline as Bakugou fills him oh so slowly. Breathing him in, Izuku gives his own growl as he rocks his hips, spurring him on until he’s fully sheathed.

The movement seems to break whatever restraint Bakugou had had left as the hand at his knee slides down between them to grasp at Izuku as he starts to pump his hips. The duel sensation of his hand on him, and his heat inside him blinds Izuku as the light caught between his ribs returns with a deafening roar.

Chanting Bakugou’s name and a string of near incoherent curses, it doesn’t take long before his vision goes white and his sternum cracks with the sudden exploding weight of his release. Hanging onto the last threads of his consciousness, Izuku holds Bakugou close as he follows, his final moan pressing itself just beneath his ear.

A languid, bone deep ease works its way through him, leaving him pliant as he basks in the warmth of the lingering glow that still clings to his insides.

It takes several minutes for Izuku to resurface from the abyss, a small smile quirking his lips as he sees Bakugou wiping him clean carefully with what looks a lot like his shirt.

Maybe later, he’d find it in himself to care, but right now, with Bakugou slowly settling in beside him, he can’t really seem to.

Strong arms wrap around his middle, pulling him close to settle his back against Bakugou’s chest. Surrounded by the comforting warmth of his skin, Izuku pushes back into him, smile growing as he feels the steady beat of Bakugou’s heart at his back.

“Katsuki?” He asks into the dark room, voice low and filled with satisfied exhaustion. Guiding his hand along the strong forearm around his waist, he searches for Bakugou’s hand.

“Yeah, nerd?” Bakugou grumbles, breath ruffling Izuku’s curls as he flips his palm up to oblige him.

Wiggling his fingers between his grasp, Izuku hesitates slightly. He hadn’t really thought about what he was going to say, at least, that’s the lie he told himself as he yawned. The room around them settles into stillness as Bakugou waited for him to continue.

“Are you mine?” Izuku finally asks, eyelids growing heavy. Bakugou’s hand tightens slightly over his own as they both fall into silence once more. Exhaustion pulls at him, weighing him down and pushing him further into the welcoming darkness of sleep.

The last thing Izuku remembers as he finally settles into its warm embrace is the soft press of lips at his ear, and the careful brush of breath as Bakugou finally answers.

“For as long as you need me.”

***

#bkdk #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #i said a bang bang bangity bang i said a bang bang bangity bang #which is all my notes had said for this chapter tbh lol

8 notes · View notes

panda-noosh · 6 years

Text

Best Kind of Medicine {Zuko x Reader}

Words: 5k

Summary: All you wanted was for Zuko to take better care of himself.

Genre: angst

Warning: mentions of blood and death

Notes: another one for my main man.

---

“Stupid, stubborn, idiotic little prince!”

Iroh merely grunted at your profanities, his arms still wrapped around his nephews shoulders – his unconscious nephews shoulders.

You were angry. Yet another plan had been completely destroyed all because Zuko couldn't keep his greedy hands off of his prize for a second; everything had to be moving quickly. Everything had to be granted to him within a moments notice, or else he got impatient. He started making stupid choices, and now it was all truly coming back to bite him.

He was limp between you and Iroh, his head ducked down so his shock of black hair dangled in his face and over his closed eyes. You resisted the urge to reach out and stroke it away from his forehead; he didn't deserve that kind of hospitality right now. He had brought this upon himself. You and Iroh had told him on multiple occasions that he needed to get some rest, that running himself into the ground was going to have more downfalls than benefits at the end of the day – but the prince hadn't listened, and now he was ill.

Ill to the point where he had collapsed.

You and Iroh dragged him into your home in Ba Sing Se, letting him slip onto the covers already laid out on the floor. It wasn't much, but you had done what you could with the resources you had; a few old quilts stolen from the house next door, a flea-infested pillow that you knew he would not be happy to discover whenever he finally woke up.

He'll have a lot more than fleas to worry about when he wakes up.

“I'll brew us some tea whilst you get him comfortable,” Iroh said once the door to the house was closed. “Tea is the best medicine.”

“So you've said,” you mumbled. You dropped to your knees beside Zuko, grabbing onto his arm and arranging him in what you hoped was a comfortable position. His skin was warm to the touch, beads of sweat dotting his forehead despite the slight tremble racking through his body. He was shivering, and yet he was warm – he was definitely very ill.

You pushed your hands through his hair, brushing it back. His pale skin was taut against his bones, but it had been like that for weeks now. He hadn't been eating well, what with his work trying to find the Avatar plus his new job at the tea shop Iroh was running.

You wanted to pummel him, wanted to scream at him for doing this to himself. He had been changing – there was no doubt about it. Only a few days ago you had witnessed him hugging his uncle, an action which you had never believed Zuko would ever do in a million years – but he was happier, and he was smiling, and you had truly believed he was making progress.

And yet here he was, lying in a shivering heap at your knees purely because he refused to take care of himself in the way normal human beings should.

Iroh finished brewing the tea and came to join you. He settled on his knees on the carpet, folding his legs over one another before gently handing you your cup of jasmine tea, taking a small sip of his own.

You held the cup between your fingers, refusing to take your eyes from Zuko's unconscious body.

“You should not worry about the prince, my dear,” Iroh said.

“Why does he do this to himself?” you asked. “He surely would have felt himself getting sick. He should have stopped.”

“Zuko doesn't know his own limits. He never has.” Iroh shook his head, casting a glance down at his nephew. Though the old man was trying to keep up a front of confidence, it was obvious in the way his hands gripped the pottery of his cup that he was very far from calm. “Whenever he was a boy, he used to think he was so much better at fire bending than his sister – it took him getting beat to make him realise that he wasn't.”

“I remember,” you said. “He used to get mad at me whenever I would tell him that Azula was better, that he shouldn't risk getting into a duel with her.”

Iroh chuckled. “Zuko never got mad at you, Y/N. He couldn't.”

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose in any attempt to bring your nerves down. You had heard those words on multiple occasions – that Zuko was different around you, that he cared for you like he cared for no one else. There had been a few times where that statement rang true. Whenever you and Zuko were alone together, it was as if the world truly didn't exist. He would laugh and throw his head back, forgetting about the wretched state his life had been left in after his exile from the Fire Nation – you had always believed that it was only because ou had refused to let him deal with life on his own, and he was just showing his gratitude.

But then there were times like this where you believed that Zuko didn't give a shit about you, because that was the easiest excuse to come up with. If he truly cared for you, why was he always so willing to throw himself into danger, always so willing to risk his life? Did he not understand what his death would do to you?

“I know why you are worried,” Iroh said. You slowly looked over at the elderly man. “You and Zuko grew up together, have seen each other become the people you are today. You are scared of losing the one tether you have to your own childhood.”

“Zuko isn't a reminder of my childhood.” You looked at the unconscious man. “Not this Zuko, anyway. Not the Zuko who just wants revenge.”

“Zuko has always had a vicious streak. You know this.”

“But I haven't seen it get this bad.” You curled your knees into your chest, giving up on trying to find the will to sip your tea. You instead abandoned the mug at the side of you, letting it get cold as you wrapped your arms around your legs and gently rocked back and forth. “All he wants is the Avatar.”

“He only wants the Avatar so he can impress his father.”

“That's just sad,” you said. “His father burned him, Iroh. His father scorched the side of his face and exiled him – why does he still feel the need to impress somebody who was so terrible to him?”

Iroh was silent for a moment. He didn't sip his tea, didn't move. He simply stared at you, the cogs working behind those wise eyes of his.

He then lifted the cup to his lips, took a long and loud sip before saying, “That is the mindset of a man who has no mind of his own. He doesn't do anything for the sake of himself – he wants to impress others. That's all he thinks he's good for.”

You bit down on your bottom lip. It shouldn't have hurt to hear the truth like that, but it did. As often as you insulted him and as often as he annoyed you, Zuko was one of your closest friends. He had given you everything after your parents had been killed. He had given you a friendship, and eventually allowed you to feel love for someone else. He was a landmark in your life, and hearing that he thought himself unworthy of anything made your heart ache.

And so you sat by his bedside, listening to the sound of Iroh's soft humming as the night drew on. The old man eventually fell asleep, but you stayed awake and watched over the stirring, unconscious body of the man you hated to love.

---

“You're awful for putting me through this. You know that, don't you?”

The only response you received was a brief flicker of his eyelids.

“Yeah, you're not even gonna reply. Not even gonna wake up to tell me to be quiet.”

This was met with an even smaller response. Not even his eyelids flickered. For a second, the room was so still that you very nearly convinced yourself that he had stopped breathing entirely.

You closed your eyes and laid your head against your knees, trying to fight off the urge to cry. You blamed it on your exhaustion. You hadn't slept very well the night before – hadn't slept very well for a number of weeks now – and staying up all night was draining you. But the world wasn't letting you sleep. You couldn't close your eyes without thinking Zuko had somehow slipped into death the moment you became unaware. You needed to stay awake to ensure he stayed alive, and that was all there was to it.

“I hate you so much sometimes, Zuko,” you whispered into the fabric of your robes. You didn't mean it. You knew you didn't mean it, because the words tasted acidic coming from your mouth, but you wanted to mean it. You wanted to come to your senses and realise that somebody who would willingly put you through all of this stress could not possibly want the best for you.

“Why can't you just learn to leave things alone?” you said. “It would be doing us all a favour, but you're so god damn stubborn that you don't see that. You just see what you want and screw what everyone else thinks.”

You paused. It was your own voice echoing back at you. Zuko wasn't replying. Not even Iroh was shifting from his slumber. You were talking to yourself.

You closed your eyes and bundled yourself into an even tighter ball, as if doing so would somehow help you disappear from view completely; the past few weeks had been difficult, and Zuko's sudden change in health had done little to help.

You gently placed the back of your hand against his forehead. His fever was definitely disappearing, but he was still far too warm for you to feel comfortable leaving him unattended. Perhaps you could wake up Iroh, get him to sit and keep watch for a little while whilst you got some rest.

As soon as the thought entered your mind, you were banishing it.

You weren't staying awake to keep watch. You were staying awake in case he died. If Zuko died, you didn't want to be sleeping when it happened.

So you stayed awake, patting at his sweat-soaked forehead every now and then, hoping and praying that he would somehow feel your presence beside him, that he would wake up just because it was you there and nobody else; a stupid thing to hope for, but one that replayed in your head nonetheless.

---

The room had shifted.

Looking around, there was very little to give away your whereabouts. You recognised a few artefacts from the room you had once been sat in – Iroh and Zuko were still with you, and there was still a pile of cloth upon a wooden floor that you were using as a pillow. The walls were decorated with black tapestries, giving the room a darkened effect that weirdly reminded you of Halloween night back at the fire temples. How the moon would glow through the windows, the sound of laughing children drifting in from the open windows.

That was a pleasant experience. This gave off a more sinister aura.

You slowly sat up and looked around. Iroh was still sleeping on a pile of cloth in the corner, his back to you. Zuko, on the other hand, was wide awake, sat bolt upright in the quilts he had once been unconscious beneath. His golden eyes were dark, darting around the room. Sweat still dripped off of him, and his hands were trembling.

You were by his side in seconds. You grabbed onto the back of his neck, inspecting his face for any sign of damage – and there was so much of it. His expression was littered with the stuff, a harsh and stern glower that greatly put you off. You kept a grip on his neck, though, refusing to look away until you could deduce what was wrong.

Because something was wrong.

“Zuko,” you said. Your voice didn't sound like yours. It was distorted, echoing in your head. “Zuko, you shouldn't be up. What's wrong? What do you need?”

His hand reached out, trembling as it gripped your throat. You didn't move. You simply stared down at him, mouth open, words dying at the curl of his fingertips. He didn't add any pressure, his fingers simply staying limp by the base of your throat, glittering over your flesh like butterflies.

“Dying,” he suddenly gargled out. “I'm dying.” Blood pooled from his mouth, dripping into your lap. You wanted to scream out, wanted to pull away and run as far from this nightmare as you possibly could, but there was no movement in your limbs, no feeling at all. You could only stare at him with wide and terrified eyes, watch as his skin seemed to melt away from his bones entirely, as if he had been dipped in acid and this was what was left behind.

His fingers stilled on your throat all of a sudden. There was a tiny pinch of his fingernails, but not enough to cut off any air.

And then he was gasping, crying your name to the high heavens, thrashing his free arm around like it had a mind of its own. Your eyes widened further. You tried to reach out and grab for him, tried to get him to calm down, but there was no feeling. You could barely breathe, let alone move to help him.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head. His grip slackened on you completely. Your name fell from his lips one final time before he was thumping back against the pile of quilts. Without even touching him, you knew his pulse now ceased to exist.

You knew Prince Zuko now ceased to exist.

---

“Y/N!”

“Zuko!”

His name was ripped from your lips forcefully. You shot forward, following them into reality. Sweat beaded the back of your neck, made your hair stick to the flesh in a way that had you cringing, but it was the least of your worries at the moment.

It had been a dream, a nightmare. Zuko was okay. He had to be okay.

Your head snapped around. Iroh was kneeled beside you, one hand pressed to your forehead whilst the other held a mug of jasmine tea that he immediately tilted into your mouth. You choked against it, but managed to swallow past the panic rising in your throat.

“Is he awake?” you asked, being unable to see the prince past Iroh's bulk.

“I'm awake.”

His voice came out weak, barely there. He always had a scratch to his tone, but this time he sounded almost unrecognisable.

You cried out, pushing past Iroh to slide to Zuko's bedside. He was awake, eyes open and staring at you in both a mixture of shock and confusion; you would explain everything to him later, you silently promised, but for now, you needed to make sure he was okay. You needed to make sure that the nightmare you had just experienced hadn't somehow come to life.

Before the prince could complain, you pressed your fingers to the base of his throat and felt for a pulse. It was clear he wasn't dead, but you wanted to be safe, as if his open eyes and heavy breathing wasn't evidence enough of his well state.

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered when your fingers brushed against the thumping in his throat.

He reached up and grabbed your wrist, snatching it down to press against his chest. “What were you yelling about?”

You ignored his question, instead choosing to unbutton his sweat-soaked shirt and get to work with stripping him off. “Are you not boiling?”

Zuko spluttered when your hands brushed against his freshly-bared chest. “I'm fine, Y/N, but you didn't sound fine whenever you were-”

“I was asleep,” you scoffed. “I couldn't have been better if I was in a medical ward. Now, let me take this shirt off before it starts sticking to you.”

“You're lying to me.” He tugged on your wrist, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “I can always tell when you're lying, Y/N.”

You pried your hand out of his grip, glaring right back at him. “It was nothing, Zuko. We have bigger things to worry about than my nightmares.”

“You had a nightmare?”

“Just a small one.”

“That included me?”

You raised a brow, fighting the heat that was rising to your cheeks. “What makes you say that?”

“You called out my name.”

Your hands stilled on the button his shirt. He looked up at you, knowing full well he had caught you. You swallowed and slowly started trailing your hands down the buttons again. You didn't speak until you were shoving the shirt off of his shoulders and gripping it tightly, him now sat bare-chested in front of you with that stupid grin appearing on his face; oh, how you wanted to smack him. You wanted to put him in his place, remind him that just because he was prince, didn't mean he was special.

You wanted to kiss him even more, though.

You refrained from doing so with the presence of Iroh just behind you, watching over the two of you with a fond smile on his face.

“My name, Y/N,” Zuko said, snapping you back to reality. “Was I the main focus of your nightmare?”

“You usually are,” you grumbled. “You certainly give me lots of material to have nightmares about.”

Zuko chuckled shortly. His throat still sounded raw. “Is that a compliment?” You gritted your teeth and pushed at his forehead, shoving him back into the quilts. He smiled up at you, but didn't make another move to follow when you stood up and started across the small living room. You tossed his shirt into a bag, zipped it up and said, “I'm gonna go down to the lake to wash some clothes. Iroh, make sure he doesn't follow me.”

Iroh nodded. “He will not be let out of my sight!”

With one final glance in the princes direction, you grunted and walked out the door.

---

The lake was peaceful, a good change of scenery from the depressing atmosphere of the house you had just escaped from.

It wasn't crowded today. There were a few children playing with boulders on the other side of the lake, but that was all you could see. You settled down on the riverbank, tugged the clothes from your bag and started the washing, thinking about everything that had just happened.

You didn't want to think about it, of course. Zuko was just trying to wind you up, probably couldn't care less about what it was you had dreamed about; he was just trying to get a reaction out of you and, as always, you had given him one.

But the nightmare had startled you, whittled your willpower down to nothing. You needed to yell at somebody, and if Zuko was giving you a free pass to yell at him, you were going to take it the first chance you got.

You didn't hear the approaching footsteps over the sound of the swishing water. It was only whenever a hand was placed on your shoulder did you snap up, winding around with the reflexes that the Fire Nation had raised you to have. Your elbow slapped against the culprits throat, knocking them to the ground before they had a chance to say anything, before you even had the chance to see who it was.

You were on top of them in seconds, one hand wrapped around their throat whilst the other held their arm in the air, stopping them from attacking you.

But then you looked down and met the golden eyes of Prince Zuko.

It didn't matter how close you were to the prince, or how long you had known him – he was still the prince. You had still been raised on the rules of respecting royalty; to see that you had just injured the prince of your home land was startling enough for your eyes to widen and for you to scramble off of him in a matter of seconds.

He grunted, gripping his ribcage. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing out here?” you hissed, scrambling onto your knees. You refused to touch him; you had only left him a few minutes earlier, and he hadn't been in good shape then. “Did Iroh actually let you leave?”

“I don't need my uncles permission to do anything,” Zuko hissed. He propped himself up on his elbow and winced at the movement. “God, you winded me.”

“Apologies,” you grumbled. “But it's what you deserved. Now what are you doing here?”

“Is it not obvious?” You didn't reply. Zuko sighed. “I was looking for you.”

“Well you've found me!” you chirped. “Now you can go back to the house and get under the covers like you're supposed to.”

“Are you trying to give me orders, Y/N? The prince of the Fire Nation?”

You quirked a brow. “You're gonna pull the power card on me?”

“If it works.”

You scoffed. “What do you want, Zuko?”

“For you to tell me the truth.”

“About?”

“That nightmare you had.”

You blinked. The nightmare. He was still thinking about it.

“I've already told you the truth,” you lied. “It wasn't a big deal. You don't need to keep going on about it.”

“Yes, I do. You're my friend.”

“I'm the help.”

Zuko's eyes darkened. He had never liked hearing you put yourself down like that, never liked it whenever you claimed you were nothing more to him than an advantage to his plans. A part of you knew it wasn't true. Zuko showed he cared about you on numerous occasions through numerous different methods, but there was still that part of you that lived in the slums of the Fire Nation, whose parents had been killed, who had been dragged to the palace to live a life where they did nothing but serve the people above them; whenever you were locked in that mindset, it left little room to think of yourself as anything other than that – help. A prop for other people to use.

“You called out my name in your sleep,” said Zuko. “What was I doing in the nightmare?”

“Nothing.”

“Was I hurting you?”

“No.”

“Was I annoying you?”

“No. That only really happens when I'm awake.”

Zuko tilted his head. “Was I pleasuring you?”

You choked on air. “Absolutely not.”

“And yet you're getting incredibly flustered at the idea.”

“Yes, because you've just suggested-”

“What was your nightmare about, Y/N? What was I doing?”

“You were dying, Zuko!”

Again, the words were ripped from your lips, only they echoed this time. Repeated in loose spirals as they bounced off of the trees around you, repeated in the squawks of the birds flying high above your head – you couldn't take them back now. They had been said, and Zuko knew the truth.

“You were dying,” you repeated, softer this time. “There was nothing I could do about it, either. You were saying my name, asking for help, and I couldn't do anything.”

Zuko blinked. His skin had paled even further, his mouth open only slightly. You clenched your eyes shut, dug your fists into your temples in any attempt to get the horrific image of Zuko's dying form out of your head, but it was no use. Every time you looked at him, that was all you could see; the blood draining from between his teeth, landing in your lap as your body went static.

“Dying,” he parroted. “You dreamed about me dying?”

“I had a nightmare about you dying,” you corrected. “You may annoy the hell out of me the majority of the day, Zuko, but I would never wish you dead. You're my best friend.”

“I'm quite disappointed that you thought I was weak enough to die at the hands of a mere fever.”

You rolled your eyes. “I'm not kidding, Zuko. It was scary.”

“It wasn't real.” He slid closer to you. His knee hit against your own, and you could feel the warmth of his fevered skin mingling with your cold aura. He very rarely did this – showed any form of care for another human being, but you had prided yourself on the fact that you were one of the few people with whom he didn't entirely mind being touchy with.

“That's not what I thought when I was dreaming about it,” you grumbled.

His hand was on your leg before you could comprehend he had even moved. You stiffened beneath his touch, didn't pull away. “I truly appreciate your concern for my well-being, Y/N, but it's going to take a lot more than a fever to kill me. Much, much more.”

“Good.”

He raised a brow. “That's all that happened in your dream? I just died?”

“You tried to strangle me but you were too weak to do it.”

“Another unrealistic thing – first of all, I would never strangle you. Second of all, if I did, I wouldn't be too weak to do so.”

You scoffed and nudged his shoulder with your own – this was nice. The air around you had settled into one of serenity, leaving you feeling ten times lighter now that Zuko had been made aware of the nightmare you had had about him. If he found it strange that you had pictured him dying, he wasn't showing it. In fact, for the first time in weeks, Zuko almost looked amused.

“I'm serious,” he said. “I really do appreciate your concern. But I'm okay.”

You swallowed thickly and glanced over at him. He was looking directly at you, a small smile adorning his face – such a rare expression for him to wear, but one that had your heart racing whenever it was there.

“Please keep yourself out of trouble from now on. For my own sanity.”

“I don't know,” Zuko hummed. “I quite enjoyed hearing you yell my name out like that – but I suppose there's other ways to make you do the same thing without getting myself hurt.”

Your eyes widened. Zuko slowly leaned forward as if he were asking permission – what had happened? What had suddenly switched to make him say such a thing?

Oh, you didn't care.

The way he leaned in so slowly had suddenly driven you crazy, and before you could stop yourself, you were winding your hands in the fabric of his robes and tugging him towards you with a ferocious pull. He stumbled slightly, catching himself on one hand to avoid crushing you. His other hand curled around your middle, gently lowered you onto your back in the grass so he was hovering over you, his lips pressed against yours, his body even closer. Everything was ablaze. You were Fire Nation, a prince and a victim forgetting about the world around you as you basked in each others presence after so long of dancing around one anothers advances.

But he was here now. You had him. Your hands were tangled in his sweat soaked hair. You could see down the low neck of his shirt, and didn't waste a single moment in letting one hand fall from the back of his neck to travel down and run along his collar bones.

He grunted against the sudden touch, his grip tightening on your waist to draw you closer to him. You obliged, wanting nothing more than to feel his body crushing against yours at last.

The kiss was broken only when you needed air.

Your head fell back against the grass, a pant escaping you that Zuko mimicked as he stared down into your eyes. You wanted to pull him back towards you, savour this moment of peace once again, but he looked so ethereal right now, so unlike the Zuko you were used to – and it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. His hair was dishevelled, that perfect prince look thrown out of the window, his lips swollen in a way that you knew would get him a warning if he were back at the Fire Nation palace.

You smiled up at him. He smiled back.

“Well, Prince Zuko-”

“No,” he said, stopping you in your tracks.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” You started moving beneath him, trying to sit up, but he pressed his chest to your own and ever-so-gently eased you back into the grass.

He let his forehead drop forward, clipping with your own. “Not Prince Zuko. Say my name properly.”

You inhaled deeply, wound your arms around his neck and whispered, “Zuko,” into his ear. He closed his eyes, shuddered and pressed a feather light kiss to the space just below your ear, sealing the moment forever.

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batfamily14 · 5 years

Text

The Final Days part one

Jason Todd x reader

AN: After a virus spreads through Gotham, the city is exposed to a zombie infestation leaving it in ruins. Y/N is the daughter of a colony leader, full of survivors. But what happens after she is caught by the opposing camp called Arkham, by a skilled bounty hunter?

Warning: language, mentions of murder and blood. Extreme situations.

My fingernails scratch the worn surface of the erupted bridge, trying to grab hold of the edge.

My feet kicking furiously as I struggle under my own weight. Pulling myself up , I settle along with the other members of my team. They’re spread out hutch over various discarded objects along the broken road way. Without stopping to catch my breath I crouch behind a flipped car gasping , the glass crackling underneath my foot. I clutch my chest forcing myself to ignore my screaming muscles. My eyes lock on to the distance storefront, our destination for supplies . “We should keep moving, we’ll run out of time the longer we wait.” Weaver, our group leader advises. Everyone silently agrees ducking from one place to another sneaking to the store. My feet and legs burn , aching in protest, but I keep moving quickly . We stop at the boarded up front doors. “The windows are blocked with sandbag?” A brown hair woman questions. Weaver nods. “ Someone placed the bags here to stop the store from being raided, which means it’s marked territory and the store is their supplier.”

“So, why raid it if it’s marked. We don’t actually have the ability to defend ourselves if we get caught .”

“Then don’t caught. Remember the drill only grab what we need. We’ll divide into two groups, one will handle water and gas, the other tools and canned food. Now, someone will need to help me move these sandbags out the way of windows so can enter.” Weaver says, he stocks forward dropping the heavy bag with a thud to the ground, It echoes through the lot. “Shit.” He murmurs under his breath. When nothing alarming happens , we all visible relax. “Alright people here we go!” He declares, turning back around to gather the bags again. Suddenly two shots fire in rapid succession, the sand bags bursts in a tan haze . “Sniper! Get down!” Corporal Weaver urges , before firing in retaliation. I dive over a concrete barrier, waiting for the next shot. “Throw a distraction y/n.” Weaver whispers. I reach into my pouch and pull a small rock from inside, I toss it near the store front. Five shots from different directions fire, sending up dust and gravel in the air. “Five shooters.” He counts. “Maybe more.” The brown haired girl speaks up from her hiding place behind a garbage pin. “What’s the plan?” She asks. “We need to split off.” A man insists . “Take them by surprise on both side.”

“We don’t know know where they are! That’s too risky !” The woman argues. “We should abort and come back another day.”

“Then we’ll have no supplies at camp and we’ll starve .” Weaver sighs. He pinches the bridge of nose in frustration.“Y/n!” He calls.

“Yeah?” I respond. Peeking over the barrier from my position to look at him. “I’m here”

“What do you think? Do we run or did we split?” He holds up his hand silencing the others then pointing to me.

I think for a moment of our situation and our chances of success. Five shots were fired , there are eight of us. We could still however be outnumbered by them. I have skilled and trained men among my members but not the best of the camp.

“Well?” Weaver asks ushering me to decide .

Here is the first choice , there’s consequences to each, i’ll alert each time there is one:

Split or Run? Decide.

If you picked “Split”:

If you picked “Run”:

“Run.” I finally answer, I hear a groan from the other man.

Weaver nods. “We will go in different directions back to camp to throw them off. I’ll give you all time.”

He ducks down moving to the next barrier, a shot pummels into the concrete , I cover my head kneeling down. “You’ll need to be fast!” he warns. “Go!” He shouts. He fires two rounds in retaliation. They disappear in the distance. He’s shot instantly after he reaches d to reload his gun. “Weaver!” I scream. No response. “Run y/n!” The woman yells. The sounds of the motorcycles heading towards us was enough to make us abandon the mission. I begin dashing out the neighborhood as a shot barely misses me slicing the left side on my stomach. “Ack!” I screech. I fall to my knees, my body burning and aching in pain. Shrieks echo in the atmosphere. I crawl into a ditch wrapping my shirt around my body to compress the wound , tears swelling in the corners of eyes. “It’s okay, we’ll be okay. We just gotta keep moving.” I reassure myself, trying to steady my rushed breathing . Grasping the dry grass and dirt of the ground I throw myself down the hill leading into the woods. I roll down knocking myself into a bush, trembling I stand up and begin to run again. My feet slipping on the wet summer leaves as I am swallowed deeper into the forest’s darkness. My pace increases as I round behind a tree, the cold air shocking my throat and lungs as I inhale deeply. My body is exhausted and my heart beats frantically, the drumming is all I hear against my ears. Until the familiar sound of gunfire shatters the bark from a tree behind me. The spitters grazing my skin again, cutting my face. I manage to calm myself before grabbing my revolver.

“Don’t.” I hear a raspy voice warn. I pull it from my waist anyway, aiming it in the voice’s direction. The man me towers over me . He stands nonchalant as he holds a gun pointed at me while his other hand rests on the belt holster. After a beat he slowly loweres his gun and holds his hands up as a surrender, waiting for my next move. I lower my gun off him and aim it to the ground. He reaches back and removes the mask covering his face, he’s handsome from his dark trousle of hair with a sharp white streak , to the depths of his eyes and roughness of his face. A certain intensity exerts from him, along with a strange sense of familiarity. He was dressed in a dark body suit with amour. On the center of his chest was a symbol painted red of a bat that bleed from the rain. The symbol of an Arkham bounty hunter clear on his sleeve.

For a single moment the only sound between us is the forest and the distance wails from walkers. This feeling of fear is suspending and I feel weightless from adrenaline. This is what I was trained for : defending myself and my camp no matter what. I could tell he was skilled and I was prepared to absorb the impact. A grin tugs my mouth as I try to maintain a composure of confidence. “Y/n. Daughter of General Elliott , housing the western district of Gotham. Your head is on my list for Ark’s most wanted.” His face was stern and unwavering, his lips form a thin line as he steps closer to me.” I stand from my crouching position, my wounds wincing. Squinting at the man I frown. “I don’t believe my camp or I myself have done anything to upset the Arks.” I pull my hair from my face where it had smeared itself on my forehead from the rain. The man’s face turning red as he raises his gun to me. “Your camp has been invading Arkham territory and has been committing crimes against my people over the past months.” He shouts more of his threats into the wind, his voice demanding and dripping in venomous hatred. “From what I recall.” I begin. “The Arks were outlaws hiding in my camp, they stored away our supplies and weapons until they had enough people to overrun us. We sheltered and guided the fallen from the infected , and the Ark became greedy and selfish! They destroyed the colony right underneath us. Enslaving hundreds till they kneeled to your will and command.” He knocks my gun from my hand In an attack of rage and instinctively i grab his leg trying to make him lose balance, he kicks me in my stomach. I fall kicking up leaves, my hand grabs a rock and I chuck it at him, he narrowly misses it. I bend over trying to retrieve my gun but he steps my wrist. “Fuck!” I yelp. His worn leather boots pressed down even harder. I look up at his eyes. He sneers at me In disgust. “ Your colony neglected the poor and turned away the “misguided”. Treating the innocent like savages, letting them die before you. You will answer to your actions and pay the price.” He leans down to my ear, pressing down again. Pain stings my arms and I grit my teeth “And if it were only up to my regime? I’d kill you right now.” He lets me go. I lift my head from the dirt, I dust wet leaves and smudges of mud from my clothes. “Why after all this time do the Arks want to respond? That I don’t understand.” I question . He drops chains to forest floor they clatter on the ground. “Put these on.” He orders. I suppress a smirk, “you expect me to chain myself.” He doesn’t answer and just stands there expectantly. “For your camp’s safety I expect you to be on your best behavior. So, yes I do.”

He says breaking the silence, waiting for me. I reluctantly pluck the cuffs from the ground and click them around my wrist and ankles. His gang suddenly emerges from the tress surrounding us in a huddle, their weapons drawn . His expression darkens, as he straps his mask back on. He looks towards them. “Grab her and let’s go back to base.”My eyes widened as they dart around in dark forest. I ball my hands to keep them from shaking and glare at him. From the tales , I’ve heard of the Arkham’s vicious crowd judgements, the stories of near death beatings and public humiliation. It only ends with you being consumed by fear toxin in a gas chamber for days till you loose sense of reality, eventually you’ll stop functioning die , and they’ll leave you to rot to an unrecognizable corpse. “I am not being tortured for your amusement.” I grimace. He looks at me quiet and emotionless. My eyes dodge him as I avoid his gaze. “ I know of your torments by Red Hood and Scarecrow, your celebrations of bloodshed. I am not your prize or a wild animal.” I felt the betrayal of a tear escaping down my cheek. “Do what you will with my body but I will never give you the benefit of me being alive so you will have to kill me first.” No one spoke. The faintness of movement underneath the creak besides us causes little waves to form, splashing the gravel like an ocean’s shore. My eyes scan the creek , water pools in one spot like a water droplet causing a ripple.

Coconda.

I look at the hunter , his gaze unbreaking from me until he registers the water shifting. “Shit!” An ark gulps . They aim their guns towards the water. As they are distracted , I scoot myself away from the creek wobbling to my feet, nearly sinking down into the mud but I manage to pull myself out. The Coconda rises from the creek , missing its nose and it's left ear had been bitten off, most likely how it got infected . One of its arm had been mangled and his right face was chewed exposing the white humerus. As he drew a shaky breath he made a low growling moan that chills my blood cold. He grabs an Ark’s leg dragging him underneath, it sinks him down drowning him before its teeth breaks into his skin . Another Coconda swims to the surface It’s rough long muddy scraped nails maules the gravel as it begins to slithers towards us. The bounty hunter raises his gun and fires rounds into the Coconda’s head, till his skull spatters back into the water. The Hunter grabs me by my shackles. “We need to leave before the rest come.” He tells the others. The creek water ripples rapidly as the horde of Cocondas swims to the surface. The hunter drags me to his bike hiding under the low hanging trees and he flings me over the back, before climbing on himself and taking off with the others following.

We reach the vacant road to the highway, the air was heavy with the smell of burnt flesh and ringing of groans from walkers.Smoke hung in a haze from a nearby attack or perhaps an ambush. Shots rang far from us. Toxins from spitters oozes around us melting away the pavement and gravel. Broken and taken apart cars swamp the streets, flipped over and tarred from burns. The towers are long overdue for rebuilding.

Gotham City.

It has been years since I’ve been in the heart of it again. Besides the apocalyptic warfare and infected infestation, it was still the same. The town from a distance looks mundane from my camp. Its caved in rooftops, rusted buildings and repulsive atmosphere. When the city still existed the main attraction were the heros and its chaos , it lasted years till the virus . Despite its strengths and weaknesses, Gotham was always headed towards a fatal future, but this was unpredictable.

We ride to the warehouses on the corner by the bridge connecting us to the rest of the world, maneuvering through cramp opening along the roadway . Guards stand at either side of the makeshift gates that surround the protected camp. “What’s this?” I ask. “Arkham .” The hunter huffs as if it were obvious. “ I thought your camp was in the outskirts out Gotham in the wooded area.” He looks over his shoulder. “It is, but this is our second base.” At the gate the guards step out the way and open the giant front doors made from discarded rusted steel. “How many are there?” He holds out three fingers in annoyance driving forward. The square is flooded with survivors, training, farming, or doing their daily labor. They come to a stop, at the sight of me, they gather around and begin spurring insults at me. They spit on me and scream curses. I lean behind the hunter trying to stay covered. There are handmade tents lining the inside. Arks followers walk after us until we stop at a wooden built deck I assume was a meeting place. He takes me by my cuffs off his bike as the crowd around us yanks and tugs at me. I step up before everyone on the stage , the wood creaking under me. Dried blood decorates the deck below us. “Is this where Red hood and Scarecrow decide my fate? Where are they ? Too afraid to show?” I remark. The man only laugh dryly in response. The hunter walks forward addressing the crowd. “Arks!” He shouts silencing everyone . “I have a gift to your unanswered prayers, to your unanswered suffering!” The crowd cheers . “Let it be known today is the sprout of change, the virus was not the end. It is the start of a new era, our time. And the first contribution to our abuse is…” he trails off looking to me. “The daughter of the West Felt !” The crowd goes into a frenzy. “What shall we do?” He asks them. They began to chant. “Hang her !Hang her !Hang her !”I close my eyes refusing to have a reaction, I will not die being rumored weak. “Well, I’d loved to..” he begins. “But...I have a better offer.” The crowd went quite with anticipation. “We can not oversee our value. This woman is not only our answer but our beginning. With the daughter from the leader of West Felt , they’ll come here to get her and when they do they’ll answer to us, they’ll fall to our regime. No survivors. The time is ours!” he looks to the crowd stretching his arms out. “The Arks time is now.” The crowd practically riots in response. I search the hunter over , his face unreadable. My eyes trail back beyond the onlookers. It’s this moment I realize that not even a virus could stop Gotham from its own self destruction, that the people were always it’s last say and from the sight of it, this was truly the beginning of the end.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood #jason peter todd #arkham knight genesis #arkham knight x reader

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hellyeahheroes · 5 years

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Building Nico Minoru in D&D

I was actually thinking of building a different Marvel character using D&D 5e rules but then I realized this would, in theory, be a very simple build and also still very challenging because, well, we’re doing magic and magic in D&D is a lot of stuff. So why won’t we start with someone who can help us keep it relatively simple?

So first we need to decide what we want from this build. We need a wide variety of magic spells but also something that can reflect what happens if she breaks the “one word per spell” rule. We also need a magic staff that we can use in combat and finally a way for her to be the dean mother for all the other Runaways

As before, builds I do are inspired by an awesome job Tulok the Barbarian does building characters on his youtube channel and I tend to stick to some of his principles. For one, we will be using standard points array for Ability Scores - 15, 14, 13, 12, 10 and 8. If your DM would have you roll or point buy adjust the results to the below guidelines.

Our main stat is Charisma, not only will it be responsible for our casting but also because Nico is well-liked by her peers even at her angstier and grumpier. Constitution will follow, Nico has to cut herself for her spells to work, after all. Dexterity next, since she has shown some acrobatic skills in combat here and there. Then Intelligence, she is smarter than your average bear, as they say. Our lowest stats are Strength, since we don’t need it, and Wisdom, as Nico is has a reputation of being too trusting and making decisions driven more by emotions than cold reason.

Our points array should look like this: STR: 8 DEX: 13 CON: 14 INT: 12 WIS: 10 CHA: 15

For Race (which is D&D’s outdated way to say species) Nico is a human, so we’ll go with Variant Human. Variant Human get +1 to two Ability Scores of your choice, I recommend Charisma and Dexterity with the above array but it may be different for you - just remember even numbers are good numbers. We also get a free skill proficiency, take Acrobatics, and a feat. War Caster gives you a number of utilities - when you take damage and need a Constitution saving throw to maintain concentration on a spell, you have an advantage on that roll (meaning you roll twice and pick better result), you can perform somatic components of a spell even if your both hand are occupied with a weapon or a shield and when an enemy provokes an attack of opportunity from you, you can instead cast a spell as long as it only has one action casting time and targets one creature.

For Background, I’d pick the closest to a runaway - Urchin. It gives you proficiency with Stealth and Sleight of Hand, but I would customize it and change the latter for Deception, disguise kit and thieves’ tools and a City Secrets feature, that allows you to travel twice as fast between any two locations in a city, at least when not in combat.

Now to the Class Levels. For our first level, we will start off with Sorcerer. We get proficiency with Daggers, darts, slings, quarterstaffs, light crossbows, Charisma and Constitution saving throws and two skills, I would choose Persuasion and Intimidation.

Before we get into spellcasting, we will focus on Sorcerous Bloodline. And there is one that seems almost tailor-made for Nico - Wild Magic. It gives us a very climactic ability - whenever Nico casts a spell of level 1 or higher, you roll a d20. At natural 1 you get to roll a Wild Magic Surge table ad have a random effect happen. While it is admittingly not very optimized for combat-oriented games it is the best way to reflect Nico breaking “one spell, one word” rule. Just have it that you first tell you DM what you cast, then roll and on nat 1 roleplay a failure. Plus it is a ton of fun and you can make it even more unpredictable if you add some sort of custom table for wild magic effects, like this one here I just found today.

You also get Tides of Chaos. You can choose to gain an advantage on an attack roll, ability check or saving throw. You can use this ability once and get it back after a long rest or whenever you roll on Wild Magic Surge table.

Now for the spells. How it works is that you have a number of spell known and every level you learn a new spell and can replace one you know with another. You get a number of spell slots each day and when you cast a spell you burn out one spell slot of an appropriate level and you cannot know spells of level higher than your higher spell slots. It is sadly more limited than Wizard who just learns the spells but it is much more reflective of Nico as a character. Dark magic is not something she learned, like Doctor Strange, it is her legacy but also an inherently chaotic force she struggles to control. She represents the unskilled but strong type of magic user, as opposed to Strange who has next to no raw power but incredible skill and knowledge.

You may feel a limited number of spells known clashes with Nico not being able to cast the same spell twice but there are ways around it in roleplay itself. Agree with your DM to describe a slightly different way the same spell works each time, maybe a spell that once held an enemy in place did it by paralysis, next time by a tentacle and another time arms of the dead rose from the ground to grab them? You can also operate on rules closer to A-Force, where Nico gets to cast the same spells using different words.

Also, mechanically if a spell allows a target a saving throw, difficulty for it is 8+ Your Charisma Modifier + Your Proficiency Bonus. If it requires you to make an attack, the attack modifier is said Proficiency Bonus + Charisma Modifier.

As for spell themselves, you get two level 1 spells and 4 Cantrips - minor spells that do not burn your spell slots when used. Nico’s problem is that she is versitile - she can do near anything she wants, meaning there is little point in declaring you to take specific spells. There are many great options in spells and I do not plan of going through each and every single one of them, because this post would be a novel. I will, however, list for every level some good options in the offensive, defensive, control and utility spells and let you make choices which are most the kind your take on Nico would use. I’m not your mom and casters in D&D are versatile, go wild, experiment, pick spells YOUR Nico would use.

Anyway, I will list all most fitting spells of that level and whenever I mention you get a new spell, go back and refer to this. Also, if I will be referring to a spell “scaling” with you it means there are ways to boost it up as you advance in levels, usually by casting it from a higher spell slot. Each such spell has that mentioned in the description.

Cantrips:

Offensive: Booming Blade (which can also make it harder for your enemy to move), Shocking Grasp or Green Flame Blade all let you make an attack with an additional effect; Create Bonefire can double as “never have to worry about making a campfire for the night” spell; Infestation has a minor control effect and it is pretty terrifying.

Defensive: Blade Ward is great because it can give you damage resistance, which will be useful even at higher levels.

Control: None

Utility: Gust, Control Fire, Shape Water and Mold Earth all have a number of uses and each lets you control one of four elements to a degree that can be easily exploited; Prestidigitation has a great number of uses; Mending lets you repair minor things, Message allows you to contact others, Mage Hand is another surprisingly helpful one, Minor Illusion can double as a defensive spell and Light means you will never worry when exploring dungeons

Level 1 Spells:

Offensive: Ray of Sickness, which also doubles as a minor control effect as it can make the target poisoned; Witch Bolt, which stacks with your levels better than Magic Missle; Chromatic Orb which has a bonus of being able to be attuned to your situation and allows you to choose the type of damage the target does not have resistance or immunities;

Defensive: Shield allows you to temporarily grant yourself +5 AC as your reaction; Mage Armor gets you some extra AC and can be cast on your allies. False Life grants you temporary health points, which you’ll need since Nico is not exactly known for her durability; Fog Cloud is good to escape group of enemies

Control: Color Spray and Sleep can get your enemies temporarily blinded or unconscious and they stack with you.

Utility: Feather Fall can save you in a moment of need; Charm Person may let you survive some botched social encounter or convince a principal you’re Molly’s mother; Expeditious Retreat allows you to get in and out of close combat.

Now, for your Arcane Focus, which you can use to cast spells, pick a staff. This is far from the mighty Staff of One, but don’t worry, we will fix that in a moment. But first, we have some more Sorcerer goodies.

2nd Level Sorcerer gets an additional spell known and one more Spell Slot. We also Get Font of Magic. Which translates into Sorcery Points, their number always equal to your Sorcerer level. So far they can do one simple thing - you can spend them to regain spell slots - 2 for 1st, 3 for 2nd, 5 for 3rd, 6 for 4th or 5 for 7th level spell slots. You can also burn out a spell slot and gain number of Sorcery points equal to its level. You cannot have more Sorcery points than your Sorcerer level and you get them back to maximum after a long rest.

The real fun with that starts on 3rd Level of Sorcerer. That’s where you get Metamagic. How it works is that you get to pick two options that allow you to spend Sorcery Points while casting spells for extra effects. Out of the choices I recommend the fan-favorites Quicken Spell (for one sorcery point you can cast a spell with 1 action casting time as a bonus action instead) and Empowered Spell (for 1 sorcery point you can reroll a number of the damage dice for a spell equal to your Charisma modifier).

3rd Level is also where we get, aside a new Cantrip known, increase of our Spells known to 4 and a 4th 1st level Spell Slot, 2 2nd Level Spell Slots. Meaning we can now know 2nd Level Spells and here are some good suggestions:

Offense: Scorching Ray can damage several targets and Shatter is especially nasty against all kinds of constructs.

Defense: Blurr and Mirror Image make you much harder to hit and each is a solid choice but Invisibility is the real treasure here, with added huge utility bonus.

Control: Blindness/Deafness may replace Color Spray as you go on; Web is easy to trap a group of opponents; Crown of Madness and Suggestion lets you have limited control over the enemy; Darkness is a good save in trouble; Hold Person just gets an opponent off your back for a moment.

Utility: Alter Self has several uses beyond just making you look like someone else; Knock lets you open door and containers; Enhance Ability can help on a necessary saving throw or skill check; Enlarge/Reduce does exactly what you expect and if you doubt there is a ton of uses for that, ask Hank Pym; Detect Thoughts lets you play in Jean Grey’s playground for a moment; Levitate and Misty Step greatly help you move

Okay, now that we have covered basics of the Sorcerer, time to get ourselves a magic staff.

We will now be taking Warlock levels. Some metagame note: It is debatable when is a good moment to multiclass from Sorcerer into Warlock. Popular opinion is that if you take Warlock levels before hitting 5th level of Sorcerer, it will be a pain in the ass until you catch up. However, it all depends on the DM and the type of game you play. It might be perfectly fine with more forgiving DM to pick those levels after 2,3 or even 1 level of Sorcerer (in fact, I only didn’t do that because I wanted to explain Sorcery Points and Metamagic first), it might be a worst idea ever in more hardcore game. I recommend getting the feel of your game if you start at early levels.

The first level of Warlock means Pact Magic - Nico did made the deal with the One to not have to shed her own blood anymore after all. Good news is that it works exactly like Sorcerer’s magic and there is a lot of overlap - you can expend Warlock spell slots to cast Sorcerer Spells and vice versa and you can get Warlock Spells slots back using Sorcery Points or burn them for more Sorcery points. Bad news is your Warlock levels do not stack with Sorcerer for the purpose of determining the total number of spell slots and their level the way Sorcerer does with Wizard, Cleric or Bard. Good news is there is one crucial difference between how the spellcasting of both classes works. Sorcerer regains spell slots and Sorcery Points after finishing a long rest (usually 8 hours of in-game time). Warlock regains spell slots after a short rest. Meaning you can use your Sorcery Points to get higher level spell slots back or for metamagic and then burn warlock spell slots to get them back and get Warlock spell slots back after a short rest. This is a great way to ensure you won’t run out of spells early.

Warlock gets two Cantrips, but most of them overlap with the Sorcerer, aside of Eldritch Blast and Tool the Dead, each a pretty good offensive cantrip. Same goes for or the 1st Level. You only get one spell slot, but you have more options:

Offensive: Hellish Rebuke lets you do the most goth thing ever - snark at someone who hurt you in infernal and deliver such a burn you actually set them on fire.

Defensive: Protection from Good and Evil is the only one but it is pretty darn good (no pun intended), gives a number of helpful advantages against several types of enemies.

Control: Cause Fear lets you have Nico tap into her inner wicked witch and remind everyone how terrifying she can be; Hex allows you to curse your enemies with some good control and offensive effects

Utility: Unseen Servant has some nice uses and in a pinch, you can summon him behind an enemy’s back to give your Rogue flanking for Sneak Attack. There is also Healing Elixir, which would be a great healing spell but is FUCKING BROKEN. Not in a “doesn't work” way but in an “I replace the party cleric as a designated healer and also break the economy” way. So a savvy DM may ban it.

Warlock also gets an Otherworldly Patron, which will symbolize Nico’s deal with the One. We will pick Hexblade - a deal with powerful entity from Shadowfell granted you a special weapon (I mean, the One didn’t say where he is from, so...). As a Hex Warrior you gain proficiency with medium armor, shields and martian weapons, but we won’t need it - we’re here for its second ability. Whenever you finish a long rest you can choose one weapon that you are proficient with and lacks a two-handed property and from now on you can use your Charisma for attack and damage rolls with that weapon. I can hear some of you saying “but wait, Staff of One is clearly two-handed” and while you are correct, there is a little trick for you. The Rules as Written state that the weapon cannot have a “two-handed property” meaning it is not described as two-handed by the handbook. And quarterstaff is not - it is versatile instead, meaning you can choose to use it as either one or two-handed weapon as you please. But even if the DM would not agree with that, do not worry, we will get past that little problem in just a moment.

Hexblade also learns a curse - it allows you to curse a target as a bonus action, giving you a bonus to damage against it, a better chance of critical hit and lets you heal some if you kill them. Which overlaps nicely with both abovementioned Hex spell AND with two extra spells added to your list (since other two you already had from Sorcerer) - 1st level Wrathful Smite and 2nd Level Branding Smite, each dealing extra damage to a hit and some additional effects that impose extra penalties on your enemies.

All pretty useful when you need to protect an adorable cosmic being, btw.

2nd Level Warlock gets an additional spell known and an additional spell slot. You also get Eldritch Invocations - you can select two bonuses from a list and every time you take a level of Warlock you can replace one of the Invocations with another. Whichever you choose depends on how you want to play Nico, but here are some suggestions - if you want to focus on long-distance combat Agonizing Blast, Eldritch Spear, Grasp of Hadar, Lance of Lethargy and Repelling Blast each let you customize your Eldritch Blast. If you want to actually have Nico in the first line, aiding her allies then Armor of Shadows and Fiendish Vigor let you cast on yourself a helpful minor defensive spell (Mage Armor and False Life, respectively) at will without using spell slots and if you go for control then Thief of Five Fates allows you to once between every long rest to spend a Warlock spell slot to cast Bane, a spell normally available to Bards and Clerics, that can weaken your enemies. I advise picking wisely since on next level we will actually make use of the switching option.

3rd level Warlock gets to learn 4th spell and gets to choose 2nd level spells. Most of these overlaps with Sorcerer and the two special ones - Flock of Familiars and Ray of Efleebement - have mostly control use.

Warlock also gets a Pact Boon and we will choose Pact of the Blade. It allows you to summon a magical weapon that you are always proficient with that can be of any type except for bows and crossbows. You can also transform any weapon into your pact weapon, meaning if you ever come across magic quarterstaff you really like (or even make/get one made), you can turn it into your Pact Weapon and use to roleplay one of Nico’s staff powerups like Witchbreaker. And here is where I would recommend switching one of your Warlock invocations for Improved Pact Weapon (which we couldn’t take before hitting this level), which removes that “no bows or crossbows” limitation, grants your pact weapon +1 bonus to attack and damage unless it already has one and from now on you can use said weapon as your arcane focus for casting spells. And it specifically states it overrules Hex Warrior limitations - you can always apply Hex Warrior bonuses to the Pact Weapon no matter what it is.

This venture into Warlock let us create Nico’s own Staff of One - summon a magic quarterstaff to cast spells and if someone is stupid enough to try to get their hands on you or your family, you can nerf them with Hex and Hexblade Curse and then beat up or even smite with the same staff, to remind them this witch is far from helpless.

As Daken here helpfully demonstrates.

We go back to the Sorcerer for the rest of this build. 4th level Sorcerer means a new Cantrip known, a new Spell known and a new 2nd level Spell Slot. We also get an Ability Score Improvement and our priority is to maximalize Charisma so we will take +2 to it.

5th Level means a new Spell known and 2 new spell slots of 3rd level. So let us go through the options

Offensive: Erupting Earth, Fireball, Sleet Storm and Lightning Bolt are all an area of effect spells that let you hit hard a whole group of enemies with fury of the elements; Melf’s Minute Meteors is something more focused.

Defensive: Blink and Gaseous Form can save your life in a pinch; Counterspell and Dispel Magic let you do something against other masters; Protection from Energy meanwhile can help you or someone else survive, say, things like your own area spell; Wall of Water is good against melee attacks.

Control: Fear and Hypnotic Pattern may temporarily stop some opponents, while Enemies Abound can turn one of them against the other; Slow slows down your enemy while Haste is gonna make one of your more combat-oriented allies love you; Stinking Cloud makes everyone in the area of effect sick.

Utility: clairvoyance lets you keep an eye on your home or check out for nearby dangers; Fly does exactly that; Daylight gets rid of darkness; Water Breathing and Water Walk are likely self-explanatory; Major Image is an illusion with a lot of use.

6th Level Sorcerer learns a new spell and gets a third 3rd level spell slot. You also gain Wild Magic feature - Bend Luck, which allows you to choose an enemy or an ally and as a reaction spend two Sorcery points to apply a 1d4 penalty or bonus to their attack roll, saving throw or ability check.

7th Level Sorcerer gets to learn 4th level spells

Offense: Blight deals necrotic damage to target; Ice Storm is another, now ice-based area of effect ofensive spell; Storm Sphere and Vitroic Sphere are each a concentration-based area of effect offensive spell and so is Wall of Fire, which also has defensive uses.

Defense: Stoneskin gives you resistance to nonmagical attacks, Greater Invisibility is better version of an already good spell

Control: Banishment lets you put an enemy in a time-out or banish them completely if they’re from another dimension; Confusion can cause chaos among the enemies; Dominate beast lets you take over control over a beast; Watery Sphere traps enemies inside itself, Polymorph is a great spell for turning one tricky enemy into something less frustrating to take down or weak ally into a combat monster or Old Lace into a puppy.

Utility: Dimension Door lets you teleport with limited range.

8th Level Sorcerer - more spells known and spell slots and also an Ability Score Improvement, you should be able to cap your Charisma by now.

On 9th level, you get access to 5th Level Spells

Offense: Cloudkill, Cone of Cold and Insect Plague - evn more spells dealing damage in large areas; Immolation just SETS SOMEONE ON FIRE; Animate Objects turns a bunch of items or furniture into your servants who may fight for you.

Defense: Wall of Stone sounds, well, self-explanatory really

Control: Control Winds has several uses for defense, offense or just to make your enemy’s life harder; Dominate Person and hold Monster are better versions of spells we discussed already;

Utility: Telekinesis lets you move objects, teleportation circle can offer some help on your travels;

10th Level means more spells and you get another Metamagic. What to pick depends on what spells you selected. If you picked a lot of offensive and control spells affecting a whole area, most of them allow a saving throw and Careful Spell lets you for 1 Sorcery point to pick a number of creatures within the area up to your Charisma modifier, and make them automatically succeed said saving throw, meaning you no longer hit your allies. If you picked a lot of single-target spells, Twinned Spell lets you spend Sorcery points equal their level to make copy their effects on a second target. Distant Spell for 1 Sorcery point increases the distance of a spell so that if your teammate turns into a giant crab, you can deal with it at safe distance.

11th Level of Sorcerer lets you learn 6th Level Spells

Offense: Chain Lighting lets you hit up to 3 targets with lightning; Disintegrate hits one target and can deal even 100 force damage; Circle of Death is your area of effect murder spell of the level; Sunbeam hits all targets within a line for Radiant damage

Defense: Globe of invulnerability cuts off the target from rest of the battlefield, it can be both a life-saver and a control spell;

Control: Eyebite makes it that as long as you maintain the spell each turn you can grant some nasty things on your enemies by simply looking them in the eye; Mass Suggestion is like good old Suggestion for multiple targets.

Utility: Move Earth lets you manipulate the terrain around you; True Seeing has a number of uses, surprisingly

Investitures - there are 4 spells called that way, of Flame, Ice, Stone and Wind. Each one has a combination of defensive, offensive and control effects in one package.

12th Level Sorcerer gets more Spells and an Ability Score Improvement but we will pick a feat. Inspiring Leader lets you spend 10 minutes on boosting the morale of your allies. Choose up to six creatures within 30 feet, including you, who will get temporary hit points equal your level + your Charisma Modifier and you cannot give them the same bonus again until they finish long rest. Most of the players roleplay this as giving a speech for 10 minutes but it’s not said you must do it that way and a 10-minutes long speech in a game is gonna be a pain in the ass. You can easily use this to roleplay Nico being caring dean mother to her teammates.

13th Level Sorcerer learns 7th level Spells

Offense: Delayed Blast Fireball lets you cast Fireball with time for your allies to run away from the area; Fire Storm is, well, a storm of fire that you may be able to place in a way that avoids said allies; Finger of Death deals necrotic damage and slain target raises as a zombie; Prismatic Spray may hit an enemy with wide array of damage or effects

Defense: none

Control: Reverse Gravity is another one in a long line of “make your enemies’ life hell” area of effect spells, bonus points if Nico starts singing that one spell from Wicked.

Utility: Teleport, especially climactic with its possibility of mishap; Etherealness allows you to reach places you shouldn’t with an extra defensive effect; Plane Shift lets you take the entire team to another dimension or send an enemy on a such trip.

14th Level gives you a Wild Magic Feature, Controlled Chaos. From now on when you roll on Wild Magic Surge Table, you can roll twice and choose one result.

15th Level Sorcerer lets you earn 8th Level Spells

Offense: Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting, Sunburst and Incidentiary Cloud are even more powerful area of effect spells to hurt your enemies. Warning, if you pick the first, you WILL mispronounce it at some point as “Horrid Writing” and lead to the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy jokes at the table.

Defense: none

Control: Power Word: Stun lets you stun any target with less than 150 hp; Earthquake is the most overkill way to terrorize your enemies with some possible damage effect; Dominate Monster lets you take control over someone but remember - it has nothing to do with BDSM so don’t try it on Karolina during your kinky nights.

Utility: none

16th Level Sorcerer gains an ability score improvement, boost Constitution and remember it gives you bonus hit points for each level, including retroactively, adding 16 to your hp. Tough feat might have given you twice as much but we also need to boost up your Concentration and Constitution Save.

We will cap on 17th Level Sorcerer, grab another Metamagic of your choice and one 9th Level Spell. By which I mean grab Wish, Wish is fucking awesome and it fits perfectly with Nico’s “price to power” thing. If you exchange one of your other spells you can pick another 9th Level Spell (but remember, you only have one Spell Slot per long rest for 9th level spells) so choose one: Power Word: Kill lets you flat out murder someone with 100 hp or lower. Meteor Swarm is an area of effect offensive spell that bombards the area with meteors because I guess an Earthquake wasn’t over the top enough. Time Stop is sadly nerfed, but you can use it in a pinch to run away, no pun intended, buff or heal yourself

So we did it. Nico is a Warlock 3/Sorcerer 17 so now let us take a look at our pros and cons

For the pros, you have the way with spells that you think fits Nico’s character best and, if you choose right you can be a devastating force capable of taking down many enemies, control the battlefield or have a hefty dose of utility spells at your disposal. You have some additional versatility with Sorcery Points and Warlock spell slots, keeping you in battle a bit longer. You are a skilled party face, able to act as the leader to your group. You can also add your friends in direct combat with Hexblade abilities and your HP should on average get beyond the dreaded Power Word: Kill range.

For the negatives, your melee effectiveness is not THAT great, merely a last resort thing and you do not have that many spells that can improve it. Your strongest offensive spells are almost all likely to be the area of effect, meaning you need to be careful and your Wild Magic can as easily help as mess things up. Finally, we didn’t cap Constitution, meaning your concentration, Constitution save and health points are not as good as they could be. Finally, as a sorcerer, you cannot wear armor and your dexterity is not the best so your AC is meek and you need these defensive spells. However, you still are gonna be a great supporting caster capable of acting in second or even first line. Have a friend who is a good front-line combatant to shield you and add some punch to your magic and you should be a force to be reckoned with.

Get it?

As always, feel free to drop any constructive criticism or say if you tried this build in a game or have some suggestions. Also, check out my previous Cassandra Cain build.

- Admin

#Nico Minoru #Runaways #A-Force #Marvel #Dungeons & Dragons

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polygon-streams · 5 years

Text

22/04/19 - Jenna & Pat streaming Days Gone

Pat and Jenna are streaming Days Gone for one hour because that’s how much they’re allowed to show us. The game is about fighting zombies (”freakers”), other humans, and keeping the main character’s brother alive, but mostly actually about riding a hog around. They also discuss the horror genre, Alien vs Aliens and if you can pet dogs in this game.

Link to the VOD.

The stream starts with a “Stay Tuned” screen, but Jenna is welcoming people in the chat.

“I’m just oiling my bike up, polishing my decals.”

“Yes I am steaming up my hawg”

Pat enters the chat to say “Yeehog”

Video starts at just after 6:00, Pat begins by saying “Yeehog” out loud, Jenna echoes back, Pat then immediately goes to fix sound levels

Jenna’s bike is named “The Tenderloin” and we’ll see why when she starts running down some zombies

Jenna’s played about 10 hours of this game, but we’re back to a specific save

Pat: “It seems like a video game” Jenna: “It certainly is that”

Subs get turned on, game audio gets turned down, Jenna says writing of the game is surprisingly good

Jenna: “about to make some friends”, Jenna then attacks and kills a man with a bat

Stealth is important in this game, freakers (zombies) can take a lot of damage, but stealth attacks allow one hit kills

Explanation of the game: it is like Last of Us, but with “sick hogs”

“There were no hogs in Last of Us, which I think is one of the biggest shortcomings.” - Pat

This is one hour into the game play and they’re only allowed to show us one hour of the game from this point, if they go over time Sony will send a biker gang and Jenna will be in trouble for being “too cool a biker”

An important mechanic of the game is marking “boyos” with binoculars, because enemies wander and it tracks their health

Pat thinks zombies sound like they are eating spaghetti. He also makes spaghetti eating noises. Don’t like that.

Jenna hasn’t had an issue with ammo management, Pat is excited for some “hog action”

Chat asks if the game is running at 60 fsp. Pat: “My gamer eyes tell me big no”

Chat really likes Pat’s gamer eyes

Embargo on this game is apparently pretty strict and maybe the lower fps is a preview setting

“Should we go deal with Crazy Willie’s infestation?” - Pat

Pat: “Oh, cool, you got a fleshlight” Jenna: “Uh, yeah, I guess you could call it that”

Pat, at the chat: “I said flashlight, why is everyone being weird?” (No, you didn’t)

The controller starts speaking and neither of them like it

They’re talking about hogs now, Jenna: “Hog ride real good”, “Hell yes you can drift this hog”, her previous hog got “metroided” (Pat’s word)

Jenna just ran over a zombie for chat. She did that for us.

Someone from chat says “Jenna is too good at games to know what happens when you fuck up”, Jenna is one with the hog, in tune with it

Jenna doesn’t like zombies surprise attacking her since she’s talking on stream

She goes to deal with a zombie infestation and keeps saying she’ll “release the Molly” (Molotov cocktails), she is nervous because there weren’t many zombies inside the nest

Apparently the freakers eat each other ??? like when one of them is dead, the other will eat it

Jenna kills a zombie, Pat: “Knife to meet you”

She said that if you kill a zombie, you keep their EAR!!

There are children zombies, which are called newts, and adult zombies will sometimes attack and kill them, which is “something”

There are human enemies in this game as well, Jenna: “as we all know, humanity is the true monster”

Pat says the zombs seem really dumb

He thinks they’re too easy to kill, but I think Jenna is just too good at gaming

They’re talking about horror! (timestamp 27:30, if you want a discussion about the origin of zombies in this game and whether they are infected or not)

Jenna says that she keeps thinking we’re over zombies, but we’re not, she predicts environmental horror as next big thing

“We’re seeing an emergence of horror movies where people without disabilities are forced to live the life of people with disabilities. Which isn’t great.” Go off Jenna.

Pat talks about Godzilla and climate change, also he thinks the new Godzilla looks good because it looks like a bunch of big monsters fighting

Pat asks Jenna what her favourite horror archetypes are

Jenna likes witches, but doesn’t like how a lot of the stuff is like “what if we were right for burning witches”, she also likes undead and cult stories

Jenna doesn’t like and understand the grading - she got 44% and doesn’t understand why

Pat says he thinks it looked boring, Jenna says she’s already done this story, so she knew what to expect

Continuing with horror (timestamp 31:00): Alien or Aliens? Pat likes the first one more, the second one is “a bunch of James Cameron bullshit”, they then discuss why they like the first film more

They are wondering how much of a good guy the main character is, as he kills nearly all other humans he meets, Pat: “and then a book about their murder plans falls from their body”

Oh we’re meeting Jenna’s in-game brother. A cult burned his arm because they didn’t like his tattoos. Pat doesn’t like his tattoos either. Jenna appreciates the aesthetic of a full head tattoo.

Jenna likes that every time the main character is asked where his brother is, he tells a different lie about his location.

Pat asks about “bike juice”, they then discuss game mechanics regarding the bike

Jenna’s having some hog trouble, she ran into a fence.

Jenna’s riding to go “fuck up some humans who have done nothing to us, but someone’s paying us to do it”

Oh shoot Jenna drove too far into the human’s camp and everyone is swarming to the bike, she stealth kills some from a bush, then runs away while shooting from an AK, Pat provides extra sound effects

Someone from chat asks what happens when you die, Pat says that that’s a difficult philosophical question, another ask is if the main character is going to hell, Jenna says definitely, there was some drug delivering she had to do

Jenna killed another guy with a wooden plank, Pat: “You just introduced him to the newest millennial trend: planking.”

Chat is mad at Pat for that

They discuss Rockstar-type open world games and having to do stuff for characters you don’t like

Jenna: “You know he’s [main character] a good guy, because he let that one woman go, despite killing ten people just before.”

Everyone in chat is saying that Deacon, main character, is a true feminist (probably because he saved that one woman???)

Pat points out that the location of the game is Bend, Oregon, the location of the last Blockbuster. Jenna will keep her eyes peeled for it.

“I feel like zombie fiction just gave up on scary and just goes for stressful.” - Pat

My cat just showed up to cuddle with me and I just think that’s worth noting.

Someone from chat notes that they got a blueprint for a spike bat, because you can’t just hammer nails into a bat, need a plan for that

The in-game brother says to the main character that “That code of yours is gonna get you killed”, Jenna repeats that to Pat, is this a running joke/thing for them? (Pat nods in response)

Pat has started yawning

Jenna starts riding and says “Hogs up, boys” (timestamp 51:47, I recommend listening to it), Pat asks, while laughing, if that’s what bikers say when they start riding, Jenna says that that’s what this biker says and repeats it, Pat laughs more

Pat: “Hills are sort of nature’s bike ramps”

They’ve decided to close out the stream “just ridin’”

Oh Jenna’s STUNTIN, she drives into a tree, Pat: “you are immune to trees”

Except she just ran into some people and has to kill them

She’s just freed Charlie Day from a hostage situation

Apparently the studio that made this also made Bubsy 3D? I don’t know what that is. Pat verified that with a quick google.

Pat asked if she can drive the bike into water, it killed both the bike and the main character

Pat yawns again

Jenna took out some more humans and then stunted too hard

“Ooh my bike’s really smokin’ isn’t it?” - Jenna

“It’s vapin’. You got a vape bike now.” - Pat

Jenna says that biking is the best part of the game.

Jenna’s hog has run out of juice and they’ve just decided to end the stream there

The game will be out on the 26th, that is it.

Jenna, rotating the camera: “Here’s Deacon. He’s doing his best, but that involves a lot of murder.”

Lighting round: haven’t seen other outfits for Deacon, can do hog upgrades, can do new weapons, the bike has a decal and a bandana (it’s part of Jenna’s gang)

Final note: Jenna hasn’t seen any dogs in the game, but there are wolves. You cannot pet the wolves, more “die by their hands”.

They might stream this game again once it’s out of embargo, they’ll stream also when they have other games they want to show us.

Pat has got the lunch time sleepies and that’s why he’s yawning, he says that Deacon is a bastard and “hog up, boys”, and that’s the end of the stream.

#polygon #days gone #jenna stoeber #patrick gill #pat gill #twitch #sidenote: there's two of us admins who worked on this post and sadly only one of us has a cat #winky #sofia

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fullmetalscullyy · 5 years

Text

hit and run - chapter 10

summary: Riza Hawkeye is a thief who is trying to get by in Victorian Central. Hard times fell on her family, tuberculosis claiming her mother and then her father when she was a teenager. Now, femme fatale Riza steals to put food on the table for herself, her canine companion - an abandoned puppy who just won’t leave her alone - and two brothers with circumstances similar to her own. However, dipping her hands into the pockets of the rich and famous is always a dangerous game.

rated: m | words: 3238

title: “hit and run” by lolo

read on ao3 and ffnet

“Why would she leave?!” Rebecca raged as she paced in what used to be Riza’s bedroom. After she’d managed to give Roy the slip in the maze, he’d returned defeatedly to the mansion asking for the staff to round up Riza’s friends so he could let them know what had happened.

Roy was at a loss of what to do. He was scared for her, and angry that she would just up and leave without saying anything or thinking this through properly. Did she not understand that it wasn’t safe for her to go out there, especially not by herself? That Kimblee had his men out looking for her? He’d no doubt made the connection between the woman in The Vaults who’d slipped through his clutches, disappearing off the face of the earth, and the description his men had given him the night of the raid on his home.

It sparked a lot of fear inside Roy when his mother had filled him in on the situation around the city and had murmured quietly that he should make sure everyone kept a closer eye on Riza. Given her character, Roy knew she’d hate it, but whether she liked it or not, while in his mother’s home, they would do their absolute best to make sure she was safe.

They owed it to her, after all.

And that included when it came to taking down Kimblee.

Roy had watched Kimblee and Riza's interaction from the hidden escape tunnel at the back of the inn. His mother had asked to provide back up and remain on standby should Riza need help, but she never specified exactly where he should provide back up from. As much as his mother did not like Roy going into The Vaults, he couldn’t leave Riza by herself. He wouldn’t do that to anyone.

Kimblee was an evil man – Roy had sussed that out within five minutes of being in his company – and something didn’t sit right with him at the thought that one person was being left to face him head on, alone. Especially a woman. Roy had heard stories. Kimblee was evil as evil can be to everyone, but he had a fascination with woman that made Roy want to vomit.

Kimblee had done horrible things to his female victims.

So, as Roy watched Kimblee touch and manhandle Riza, he’d bristled angrily. A part of him wanted to reveal himself and shove his knife into the throat of Kimblee there and then, but he had a job to do. Plus, it would only make things worse. Killing Kimblee wouldn’t be a loss to the world, however, it wouldn’t be enough. They needed to take down his entire organisation and system, or someone else would just take his place. From the shortlist, each person was just as bad and as twisted as the head man himself.

A thought occurred to him, given Kimblee’s past, that made Roy swallow the bile in his throat. Kimblee knew what Riza looked like. In the past, there had been whispers that once Kimblee was fixated on a target, there was no stopping him until he got what he wanted.

They needed to act, and fast.

“What did she say to you?” Rebecca demanded.

Roy sighed. He’d already told them everything. Edward had sat with his arms crossed angrily, a glare on his face which was directed at Roy. He no doubt thought Roy had been the cause of all of this. Rebecca was baffled about how, and angry her friend had left without saying at least something to Rebecca. Gracia was quiet and lost in thought. So was Alphonse, however he wrung his hands on his lap nervously.

“She said she needed to leave in order to protect us all,” Roy reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time. “She wanted to protect us from Kimblee’s wrath.”

“But it’s not safe out there!” Rebecca cried. “I told her this. There’s something else. Something she’s not telling us.”

Roy’s stomach tightened at the thought. “I’m sorry,” he added helplessly. “I lost her in the maze. I couldn’t track her.”

The room fell silent. Even Rebecca had stopped pacing. The only other change was Edward’s glare seemed to deepen, his eyes trying to burn into Roy’s.

Give it a rest, kid. He didn’t want a shouting match with a teenager. He didn’t run Riza away, although, Roy knew for a fact some people in the room had already considered that possibility. It only made his frustration grow. He only wanted to help. Why couldn’t they understand that? He didn’t want to run her away! He didn’t want to see her hurt again. It was their fault that she’d been dropped into this mess. All Roy wanted to do was make it right. He already felt guilty enough as it was.

“Where does this leave us, then?” Maes asked the room. He pushed off the doorframe he’d been leaning against and walked forward, joining their circle. “We’re all sitting around here stressing out or trying to pin the blame on someone.” Edward dropped his gaze and Rebecca’s shoulders sagged in response to his words. “No one is actually moving into any action. Where is she likely to go at a time like this?”

Maes had also attended their impromptu meeting, standing silently behind them all. He leaned against the doorframe with his shoulder, silently listening to them converse. With one ankle hooked behind the other, he crossed his arms over his chest while he observed objectively. He’d made no sound, no contribution, but Roy could tell from the air about him that he was concerned. Maes was never someone to leave a man behind. Roy knew that from experience. So, after his initial encounter with Riza, it didn’t surprise Roy that Maes felt protective of her like the rest of them did. It was just his nature.

Rebecca sighed after a moment’s pause. She raked her hand through her hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

“We all are,” Maes told her. That caused Edward to look between the two men who weren’t part of their little family. He looked slightly disbelieving of Maes’ confession. Roy couldn't blame him but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t frustrated by it.. Edward was very protective of the woman who had essentially been a mother to them. In a way, Roy was glad Riza had this kind of support system behind her. She’d always spoken about how she was so used to being on her own, but she wasn’t. She had four people in this room who would fight by her side and who loved her fiercely. That number was slowly creeping up to six people.

Roy didn’t know Riza very well. He’d never had the chance to. However, he could recognise when someone wanted to try and shoulder the whole world in order to protect the ones they loved. Roy had done it himself when dealing with Kimblee. He’d fought tooth and nail to keep his adoptive sisters away from that man, insisting he could handle the situation by himself. He just hoped that familiar feeling wouldn’t get Riza killed. That thought made his stomach tighten painfully in response.

* * *

The party was in full swing by the time Riza arrived at the ball. Couples were dancing throughout the ballroom, smiles on their faces as they moved together, laughed together, and had fun together. The strings filled the room with a beautiful sound that Riza would have stopped to appreciate fully, had she not had an agenda that night.

Symphonies were her favourite. When she was younger and had more time on her hands, she would sneak into the Central Opera House by the roof and listen to the orchestras and their instruments. There was something about the strings section that just tugged at her heart, swelling with emotion as she listened to the stories the violins and cellos had to tell.

She had her eye on her target – a man who was in the top tier of Kimblee’s organisation - Frank Archer. No one was as bad a person as Kimblee, but Archer was a close second. He made his way around the guests with a smug look on his face that Riza wanted to smack off.

Despite this being one of Kimblee’s balls, Riza had overheard snippets of conversations that told her Kimblee wouldn’t be attending tonight. That made her relax slightly, however in this company that was never fully possible. All the worst of the worst were here tonight. This was essentially the Central Mafia’s night and that set Riza on edge. She wished she had at least Rebecca and Gracia here with her, but this was her mess to clean up. She didn’t want to get them too involved. She already had by asking them to help her infiltrate Kimblee’s home. Thankfully he was interested in Riza, and Riza only.

She wouldn’t put them at risk.

There was a quiet tinkling of glass as a butler took to the staircase, elevating himself above the heads of everyone in the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen, if I could have your attention please.” The quiet murmur of the room died down and the orchestra ceased their playing. It made her uneasy losing the one thing she found was familiar in what was essentially shark infested waters for her. “I would like to announce the guest of honour tonight, Sir Solf J. Kimblee.”

While the other guests clapped and murmured excitedly between themselves, Riza felt her stomach drop. Dread prickled her skin and her heart rate picked up. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Mr. Marco had informed Riza that Archer was an incredible suck up to Kimblee. If he was here tonight, then Riza would lose her chance at trying to find out who’d ratted her out to Kimblee and would lose the opportunity to discover another way to take him down.

A week of work wasted, just like that.

It had been three weeks since she’d left the Madame’s mansion. Three lonely weeks. She missed her team, the boys, and she even found herself missing Mustang, despite what they’d gone through. During that time, he’d been kind to her. He’d looked out for her when it seemed like his mother wanted to kill her. He had watched her back while on a dangerous task set out by his mother. Most importantly, he’d watched out for her family.

In turn he’d suffered for it – he’d been stabbed – however didn’t despise any of them for it didn’t hold it against them. He felt guilty for his mother’s actions and Riza respected that he wanted to make it up to them.

So yeah, she found herself missing even his company.

Unfortunately, Riza wasn’t sure if that was just the loneliness talking or not. She chuckled to herself, muttering about how desperate she was getting nowadays now that she was missing him.

Riza weaved her way through the crowd, always keeping Kimblee to her right. He was situated at the bottom of the stairs in an incredibly expensive looking suit, his hair pulled and slicked back into his ponytail. A few men she passed by appeared to do a double take when they saw her and Riza begun to fear they recognised her face. That wouldn’t be good if they did. While on her own, that would be really bad. She was incredibly outnumbered here.

For a split second she lost sight of him and Riza faltered, turning in place to try and spot him again –

Only to catch his eye across the room.

Kimblee’s eyes bore into Riza’s.

Shit.

She needed to leave. Now.

Riza angled her head slightly so that only her profile was on show to Kimblee. Calmly, she shifted her arm so that her hands were close to the knives concealed on her forearms, hidden under the sleeves of her dress. She didn’t miss how his brow furrowed before she turned, obviously recognising her but couldn’t place her face.

This really wasn’t good.

She turned fully, her back to Kimblee and she walked away, acting nonchalant and as if nothing was amiss. She continued on her walk, still peering around the room as if looking for someone.

She needed to go.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Riza froze in her tracks. Her spine straightened as dread climbed up it, spreading across her scalp and lifting gooseflesh from her skin.

Shit.

She turned, seeing Kimblee’s eyes boring into hers once more.

“Good evening, sir,” she greeted, plastering a fake smile on her face. She ensured her voice was harsher than it had been before in the inn. It wouldn’t do much, however it might just throw him off enough that she could get away. It had a harder quality to it than before, self-assured and strong. She put on an Eastern accent, sounding more country than she was.

“I do apologise for my boldness, however, I feel we have met somewhere before.”

Riza cocked her head, pretending to think back to a time when she may have seen him in the past. “I don’t know, Mr. Kimblee. I don’t think we have had the pleasure of meeting before now.” She grinned at him, placing her hands on her hips.

“I feel like we have,” he pressed with a chuckle, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Testing to see if she could keep up a charade? Or, not believing her in the slightest?

“I’m sure I would have remembered meeting you Mr. Kimblee. I apologise, but you might be confusing me with someone else.”

“No, I don’t think I am.” His smile dropped and his gaze hardened. Riza cocked her head in confusion, despite feeling fear and dread coil in her gut.

“I –”

“There you are,” someone said from behind Riza. Their tone made it sound like they’d been searching for her for a while. She turned in surprise, coming face to face with Mustang. He grinned at her, placing a hand on her shoulder before turning his smile towards Kimblee.

“My apologies, Mr. Kimblee,” Roy offered, giving her shoulder a squeeze. Recovering from her shock, her fake smile returned to her face and she turned to look at Kimblee once more. He was looking between them both, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But I must steal my wife away from you for one moment.”

Wife?

Roy chuckled, moving to wrap his arm around her shoulders instead. “I’ve been looking for you all evening,” he stated, turning his gaze towards Riza. There was a meaningful look in his eyes, telling Riza that he really meant what he said, but not in the context that Kimblee was aware of.

“You better keep your eye on that one, Mr. Mustang.” Riza couldn’t help but bristle at his words. “She appears to be a wanderer. Who knows what trouble she would get into by herself.”

Riza smiled at him, acting oblivious despite the sharp look Kimblee gave her.

Shit. He might know who she was.

“Believe me, Mr. Kimblee,” Roy chuckled. “I would never let her go.”

“He’s such a hopeless romantic,” Riza cut in, jerking her head towards her “husband”.

“The only trouble she’ll get into unattended is running up a debt in my name. She does love her dresses,” he added, shaking his head and rolling his eyes fondly towards Kimblee. “Anyway, we must be going, dear.” He squeezed her shoulder with his hand again. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Kimblee.”

“Likewise, Mr. Mustang.” Kimblee’s tone suggested it was anything but a pleasure.

Riza offered her own goodbye and allowed Roy to guide her in a certain direction. To be honest, anywhere was better than in Kimblee’s company.

One thing she noticed was that his arm never left her shoulders.

An act. It was all an act. But why did she enjoy the feeling of his arm around her shoulders so much? Why was she so relieved and happy to see him again?

It was the loneliness. It was the isolation. That’s all it was, right? Nothing more.

“What are you doing here?” Riza hissed out of the corner of her mouth while smiling at passing guests. While she felt relieved that he was here, but the whole point was that she’d left to protect them all.

“You’re a difficult woman to track down, Miss Riza.” He steered her towards the bar, both hands moving to her shoulders, moving her in front of him, while he whispered in her ear. “What would you like to drink?”

Nothing. She wanted answers.

“Mustang.”

“What will it be, sir?” the bartender asked him. He looked expectantly at Riza, but she said nothing. She just glared at him, wanting an answer.

“Two martinis, please.”

“Coming right up.”

“Mustang –”

“Not here,” he murmured, leaning in close and offering her a soft smile, playing the part of her “husband”. “I’ll explain everything once outside,” he murmured.

Riza set her jaw, not happy at his answer, but also trying to suppress the shiver that spread up her spine as his breath caressed the skin of her ear.

“Kimblee is watching us,” he stated. “Closely.” Sure enough, as Riza casually cast her gaze around the room, there he was, standing by the staircase as he looked over towards her and Mustang. Her gaze continued onwards, nodding and turning back to Mustang, with a smile. She acted as if she’d been looking for something he pointed out, and was agreeing with him, her fake smile back on her face.

“We need to go,” Riza whispered. With Kimblee here and surrounded by all his men, they weren’t safe.

“I agree, but we can’t just run after talking to him.” He downed his cocktail and Riza followed suit.

An idea sprung into her mind. It made her stomach tighten in uncertainty, but it might just work.

“Follow my lead.”

She tugged him onto the dancefloor, adopting the persona she used when on a lift. It was the mask she used while trying to wrap her targets around her finger, to stop them from noticing that she was trying to rob them. Riza batted her eyelashes at him with a soft smile, tugging his body towards hers. Surprised, Mustang caught himself before crashing into her, but his body was now pressed up against hers. Riza suppressed her gasp of surprise at the sensation. His hand enveloped hers tightly, instinctively bringing his other to her waist. The fingers against her waist momentarily made her lose her concentration, but she blocked it out. Forced herself to.

Adopt the mask. Adopt the character.

She had to, or she would be dead.

They danced close to one another. Mustang pulled her closer at some point during the song, and Riza automatically moved her head to his shoulder.

Just a character. Just a character –

“He’s coming this way,” Roy murmured quietly. She felt the vibration of his voice under her ear. “Shit.”

Riza pulled back quickly, earning a surprised look from Mustang. Those dark eyes stared back into hers, mild concern on his face, as well as a hint of fear. He didn’t know what to do. His hold on her tightened as Kimblee headed towards them.

She continued on with her act and did the only thing that could cause a reason for them leaving.

She kissed him.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #emma writes #hit and run

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stilloutofmyvulcanmind · 5 years

Text

A Long Road Home Part 3

Fandom: Star Trek

Pairing: McKirk

Characters: Leonard McCoy, James T. Kirk, Original Characters

Word Count: 4151

Warning: Swears, implied torture, implied cannibalism

Summary: Two men from two completely different worlds meet in the aftermath of a great famine. Can they work together to save the ones they love and the remaining human race?

Author’s Note: Oh look! A new chapter after all this time! You can catch up here

Leonard's eyes were wide in fear as he stared at Jim from behind the rusted dumpster. Jim had pushed him to hide there as soon as he'd heard the crackle of radio chatter, the telltale sign soldiers were patrolling. Gun cocked at the ready, Jim peered out from the moldy, ancient sofa he'd ducked behind. A whole squad of eight soldiers marched by the dirty alley, guns at the ready.

It was the third squad they'd seen since sun up, and Jim didn't like it. Phoenix and its surrounding territories had always been quiet. It was why Jim and his group and chosen the city to set up their headquarters. The two of them were still on the outskirts, true, and Phoenix was a big place, so it was unlikely his people or their headquarters would be found, but it was still too close for comfort.

Jim motioned for Leonard to follow him as soon as the soldiers were out of sight, and together they slipped from abandoned car to abandoned car, attempting to keep to the shadows as much as possible. There was no one else to be seen, but Jim knew better than to trust his sight alone. They were still a days walk out from his team, and the sun would be setting soon. His plan had been to wait until the following morning, but with the higher presence of soldiers, it wasn't something he could risk. If the soldiers caught sight of them, they could follow them all the way back to the others. It was better to risk the gangs. Their numbers were less than the soldiers, and they wouldn't have the patience to follow from a distance. They’d just kill them both, and his people would be safe.

He managed to bring them to a derelict building, an old clothes store from Before. He picked his way across the broken glass and busted mannequins quietly, leaving Leonard to follow in his footsteps. The storeroom door was open but intact, complete with functional lock. Better than he could’ve hoped for. Ushering Leonard inside, Jim bolted the door shut behind them, with a soft sigh. Maybe when he was done with everything a shadow of safety wouldn’t be the only thing to bring others some relief.

“What’s the plan?” Leonard asked behind him, setting down his backpack with a quiet thunk. “We can’t keep movin’ out there with those guys roaming everywhere.”

“No. We can’t.” Jim leaned against the door for a moment as he collected his thoughts. He was so tired. So tired. But not yet. No sleep yet. “We’re going to stay here a couple hours, eat, rest, then move during the night.”

“During the night?! Jim are you crazy? The gangs-”

“The gangs will be the least of our problems if those bastards track us back to my people!” Jim turned suddenly, facing Leonard. “We’ll die, they’ll die, hundreds of innocent people will die!”

“And if the gangs catch us?!”

“Then we’ll just die.”

“Oh just us? Fucking fantastic.” Leonard scowled, stomping on an empty cardboard box until it was flat, and sitting on it. “Don’t suppose we have much choice.”

“Not really, no,” Jim said, mimicking Leonard’s action, only less angrily, and sitting opposite him. “But we’ll be fine. There’s just the two of us, we’ll be quiet, stick to the dark spots, and we have guns. They’re a good bargaining tool if it comes to it.”

“What’s to stop them from taking the guns and using them to kill us?”

Jim didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled out two ration packs and handed one to Leonard.

They ate in silence. Leonard finished and lay down on his cardboard, not sleeping, but trying to save some energy at least. Jim’s brain was too busy to do anything like that. His mind was whirling to find the best route for them to take. Unfortunately, the path of least danger didn’t coincide with the quickest path. Usually, he’d pick safety over swiftness, but the longer it took them, the more nights they’d have to spend on the streets, and they were already looking at two. To take three, maybe four if they were doubly safe, would also be a risk. There were no good options.

The sun set behind the dust covered window faster that Jim would’ve liked, and blackness took the world once more. At least the moon was new which granted them just a little more cover. Leonard didn’t say anything as they packed up, resigned to his fate. Jim hesitated a minute, then stepped next to him, holding out a gun. Leonard looked at the weapon dumbly for a second, then up at Jim.

“It’ll be safer if we’re both armed,” He said simply, waiting for the other to take it, and tuck it carefully away. “You know how to shoot it?”

“Yeah, my dad taught me when I was young as a just in case.”

“Smart man.” Jim still didn’t fully trust Leonard, far from it, but it wasn’t a lie that they’d be safer if they were both packing, and he didn't think Leonard would try anything. Not at night. Adjusting his pack a little, Jim unlocked the door. “Let's go.”

The city was almost entirely dark. The main electric grid had long been cut off so streetlights were no longer operational, and those who survived who'd managed to hook up a personal supply weren't dumb enough to leave lights on in any visible windows. It slowed them down, having to walk so carefully to ensure they didn't trip or walk into any debris that'd make a noise. In a ghost city, the smallest of sounds could give them away. Even their footsteps were too loud for Jim's liking. He'd nearly had them remove their boots and sneak around in just socks, but he couldn't risk either of them cutting their foot on some germ infested object.

They crept their way onwards, going by the faint moonlight. Even with their wariness, they made some good time. Jim was trying to pick a route that mixed safety and speed, and so far it seemed to be working. If all went well they'd arrive at his group by sun-up the next day.

It was all going so well Jim really shouldn't have been shocked when everything went terribly wrong.

They'd just crossed a road when from out of an open sewer drain, a monster-sized rat came barging straight at them. It wasn't that Jim was scared of something as benign as a rodent, it was that he knew full well that the rats in cities carried more diseases than they had medication for.

Out of instinct, he jumped back and away from the rat. And clashed straight into Leonard. The Doctor being taken by surprise, lost his balance and grabbed onto Jim who still wasn't steady on his own feet. To both their credit neither made a sound as they crashed to the ground, yet one of Leonard’s flailing limbs caught an abandoned shopping cart, pushing it down the road.

The cart rattled as it bumped along the road, but Jim hoped it'd come to stop on its own.

Like he'd ever been that lucky.

With an echoing smash, the cart collided into an abandoned car, instantly setting off the alarm. Jim swore under the shrill beeps, leaping up to his feet and sprinting over to the vehicle, thinking only about how he needed to shut the noise up.

He smashed the window with a brick, not bothering to acknowledge the jagged edges of glass as he reached in, fumbling about until he managed to pop the hood open. Pulling out his knife as he skidded around to the front, Jim yanked up the hood fully, but the inside was barely visible. Cursing again, Jim dug out the flashlight he had stored in his pack. He didn't want to use it, but if he was quick it'd be off again soon. Holding it between his teeth, Jim looked back down into the car. His Mom had taught him about them when he was just barely seven, and so he was able to find the battery with ease. He reached in, cutting the cable and managing to pry it off the post.

Silence fell almost deafeningly loud, and Jim switched off the flashlight at the same time as he dived down the side of the car. Leonard was waiting for him, breathing heavily as he stared at Jim.

Jim held up a finger, indicating that they needed to stay still and quiet. Half the city would've heard that noise and he didn't want to risk moving again when there might be someone watching and listening.

He heard nothing, saw nothing. Jim almost started to believe they'd gotten away with it somehow.

Then, in the distance, a low rumbling sound. It was coming towards them. Jim peered around the edge of the car, and sure enough, coming over the horizon were several sets of headlights, all rolling right in their direction.

Shit.

“Run!” He hissed, dragging Leonard up with him as he set off at a sprint. The vehicles were gaining on them quickly, already the whoops and howl of the gang members could be heard. They couldn't stay on the roads now, the gang would hunt them all through the night. Their only choice was to find a secure building to hide in. Pulling them both down an alley, Jim hoped they could try and lose them in the maze of buildings. Cars couldn’t fit down some of these tiny side streets, and maybe, maybe, it’d give them a long enough chance to hide.

Roars of several motorcycles dashed those hopes.

Jim risked a glance behind them. There were at least two on their heels. Fuck. His lungs burned in his chest, his body protesting every step he took. He wasn’t used to running like this for long periods of time, he hadn’t had either enough food or sleep to maintain this pace for long, and sheer determination could only get one so far. Sooner or later he was going to falter, and they were going to get him. Leonard might get a little further; he wasn’t quite as worn. But without Jim and his knowledge, he wouldn’t last long. Someone would get him. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t.

Gritting his teeth against the ache in his legs, Jim took Leonard’s hand, using it to haul Leonard down another alley, trying to twist and turn whenever he could. Yet still, their pursuers continued to close in. They rounded yet another corner when his foot caught on an old brick. Usually, he was nimble enough to keep his footing, but now it caught him off guard and sent him tumbling down into the darkness of the ground below. He’d never get up in time, they were going to get him.

A hand grabbed at his jacket, hauling him back onto his feet before he hit the ground, and yanking him along. In the limited light, he could just make out Leonard’s silhouette. He’d saved him. He’d put himself at more risk to pause and help him. There wasn’t time to process that right now.

Jim managed to find his footing again, the two of them running, as the howls closed in on them, coming from all sides now. Another alley and Jim skidded them both to a stop. At the other end were two gang members on bikes, Jim could see their shadows, and the glint of metal in their hands. They couldn’t go that way. But they couldn’t go back either. Already the sound of the ones chasing them was drawing near. There was nowhere else to go.

He could feel Leonard watching him, waiting for him to find a way to save them. He couldn’t though. They were blocked in. He’d led them to their deaths. Jim drew out his gun, feeling the weight in his hands. Better this, than the painful death that awaited them when they were captured.

Grateful it was dark enough that the other couldn’t see, Jim raised the gun, aiming straight for Leonard’s head.

Something grabbed the edge of his jacket from behind, pulling him back with some force. Jim didn’t even have a chance to react as he tumbled backward into blackness. He tumbled down onto a cold metal floor, Leonard landing half on top of him with a soft ‘oomph’. There was a sound of metal clanging quietly, and a lock being scraped into place.

“What the fuck?” Jim scrambled for his gun, but before he could, a barrel of another was pressed against the back of his head.

A light flickered to life above them, revealing a man and a woman standing in front of them, both with guns raised. They looked normal. They didn’t have the piercings, or the face paint, or the jewelry made out of body parts that the gangs usually adorned themselves with. They looked just like him, albeit a little cleaner maybe.

“Who are you?” He asked, glancing over to see Leonard on his knees next to him, hands in the air, as the woman pointed her gun at him.

“We should be asking you that. What you doing out here? You don’t look like one of their prisoners.”

“We aren’t. We’re traveling. To find some friends,” Jim answered, trying to keep his answers to a minimum. The less they knew the better.

The man nodded, motioning with his hand, and the gun against Jim’s head disappeared, and a second man, walked in front of them. “Nighttime isn’t the best for wandering about.”

“I know, but there were soldiers everywhere today, figured we’d be better going in darkness.”

“There are no better options these days.” The first man stepped forward, offering a hand to help Jim up. “Name’s Mitch. This is my wife Rosie, and my brother Eddie.”

“Tiberius. And my pal Horatio.” Jim caught the side-eye Leonard was giving him but didn’t try and contradict him. “Our parents had an old fashioned sense of humor.”

“Seems so, lumping two kids with names like that,” Mitch laughed. Jim laughed with him, shaking his hand.

“Are we safe here? The gangs were almost on top of us.”

Eddie nodded, “They may be dangerous, but they ain’t the brightest. We camouflaged the door to look like the building, and they drive straight on by.”

It didn’t surprise Jim too much. He’d used similar techniques in the past when moving food about.

“You two dears, look half-starved! Come on in, and I’ll cook you something nice!” Rosie chimed in, already taking Leonard’s hand and ushering him through another door that led deeper into the building.

“Where are we exactly?” Jim asked as they were led through a kitchen, and into a huge dining room. It was a grand place, with high windows that had been blacked out. Jim imagined that under the layers of soundproof foam, the walls were covered with intricate decals.

“The White Palace Hotel it was called back in the day. We stumbled upon it a couple of years ago. The storage room was sealed shut still, but we managed to pry it open. It was full to the brim with more food than the three of us would need in a few lifetimes,” Eddie started to explain, as Rosie got them all to sit down. Eddie was a tall man, probably in his late thirties, with ginger hair, and a scar going down one cheek.

“We figured that at the start some rich dicks must’ve holed up in here. The windows were already blacked out, and everything was soundproofed, the locks on some of the outer doors are the best we’ve ever seen. We got lucky that in their haste to leave, someone left a door ajar,” Mitch continued. Unlike his brother, he was a little shorter and stockier. In his forties, his hair was starting recede, and he was going white at the temples. A raggedy beard concealed most of his face.

“So you decided to stay here? I can see why,” Leonard said.

Eddie nodded, “It was as good a home as any. But after a while, we decided we needed to do more. Several of the bedrooms were still in good condition, and we had more than enough food, so we started keeping an eye out for waifs and strays. We’re in a good spot here, the building’s high enough that we can keep lookout, bring people in for a night or two if they need.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Not too many people left who’d do something like that. If you ever get caught…” Jim chimed in. He was grateful that they’d saved them, but he was still suspicious. He’d never met anyone else who was as selfless as him and his team. He wanted to believe it true though, it would be nice knowing there was still a glimmer of hope in the world, and maybe they could all work together. “Don’t suppose you needed to be that high to see us though.”

“No. We heard your little racket, and after that, we just had to follow the lights. Once we saw you were heading our way, we camped out and waited. Hoped that you’d end up in the right place and the right time.”

Eddie was right, Jim thought. If they’d ended up stopping in another spot, it would’ve been too dangerous for them to step out. “Well, thank you. We’d be dead without your help.”

“Or worse,” Mitch said.

“Or worse,” he agreed.

It was then that Rosie came back into the dining room, pushing a serving cart. Just a glimpse of it had Jim’s stomach rumbling. She had a pot of minced beef, canned no doubt, but still, more than he usually had, some mashed potatoes, and a mix of peas and carrots. There wasn’t enough for any of them to have heaps, but it was definitely enough to satisfy the raw hunger clawing away at him. It took most of his self-restraint to not just dive in and eat like a slob.

The dinner was great, neither of them had eaten so well since that first night together, and Jim was glad of it. So was Leonard if the delighted groans were anything to go by. Between the warm meal, and the fading adrenaline, it left him feeling exhausted though.

“We have a room if you two want to get some sleep?” Rosie suggested as she and Mitch cleared up their empty dishes. “There’s only one bed though I’m afraid.”

Jim and Leonard exchanged a quick glance, silently deciding that they needed to stay and get some rest. Dawn must’ve been approaching already, and Jim still didn’t want to risk the soldiers. With a bit of luck, they’d sleep most of the day, hopefully, get another meal, and head out the next night. Quietly. Much more quietly. “We’d like that, thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, dears,” Rosie beamed. “The room’s number two-hundred and twenty-one, on the third floor. One of the nicer ones if you ask me.”

“After being on the road, anything will be like a luxury, ma’am,” Leonard said as he and Jim rose together.

“My you two are polite young men,” Rosie chuckled, brushing her greying hair from her face. “It’s Rosie.”

“Rosie,” Leonard smiled and nodded, the two of them saying their goodnights to the group before making their way upstairs.

Their room was pretty easy to find, and Jim whistled as they stepped inside and flicked the lights on. Everything was blacked out too, so it was safe to do so. “Man, you’d have to be loaded to stay here,” he mused, taking in the high ceilings and the Queen-sized bed. He’d never seen anything so big. There was still a sofa in the lounge, though it looked a little worse for wear these days, and the ornaments that were used for decoration back in the day still remained, surprisingly in one piece and clean.

Leonard just hummed in response, and Jim realized that this must still be squalor compared to what he was used to in Georgia. He curbed his excitement, and the temptation to throw himself on the bed, instead setting their packs down by the wardrobe instead.

“Are you going to tell them who we really are?” Leonard asked, sitting on the edge of the bed as Jim scouted out the ensuite. There was running water, but it seemed only to be cold. Not all that surprising, but running water at all was a treat.

“Maybe. I’m going to talk to the others once we arrive, see if they know anything. With some luck perhaps we can all team up. It’d be good to have some more people on our side,” Jim mused, returning to the bedroom. He pulled out the knife he had tucked in his boot and slipped it under the pillow. Noticing Leonard’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “Just because I want to work with them, doesn’t mean I have to sleep without precaution.”

“Not everyone is as bad as you think they are, Jim. By all rights, we should be enemies, but we aren’t.”

“You’re the exception. With everyone else it’s taken weeks, if not months for me to know I can trust them,” he said, taking off his jacket, but keeping his boots on. He didn’t want to get caught unprepared and have to face running through the streets in just his socks. Leonard looked like he wanted to protest as he climbed under the fresh sheets, but didn’t. Jim did notice how he made a point of removing his own boots though, before joining him with a quiet groan.

They lay in silence for a while, both on their backs staring up at the ceiling. It was the closest either of them had been, and it was admittedly awkward, with neither of them wanting to wriggle about too much on the comfy mattress, or risk taking up too much of the bedding.

Jim was about to doze off regardless of the awkwardness when Leonard spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Jim frowned, shifting onto his side facing Leonard. “For what?”

“I nearly got us killed tonight. If I hadn’t hit that cart, those bastards wouldn’t have heard us, and we wouldn’t nearly have died.”

“It’s not your fault. They were already close by, for all we know they could’ve been hunting us. And besides, I was the one who knocked you over. If I hadn’t reacted like an idiot…”

“I saw that rat, Jim. Anyone would’ve reacted that way.”

“I shouldn’t have! I’m meant to be calm, collected. I reacted out of fear, and that was stupid!” Jim rolled away, putting his back to Leonard. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe he’d just kept everything bottled up for too long, but Jim felt the tears burn at his eyes, and he couldn’t let Leonard see. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing them away.

“Fear keeps us alive, Jim. Just a scratch from that monster and you’d probably be dead,” Leonard spoke softly, and Jim heard him move too before a hand came to rest on his hip. He almost pulled away, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was nice. “I’d be dead a hundred times over if it wasn’t for you. You’re an amazing leader, an even better protector, but not every mishap is your fault.”

He was right, Jim knew it. Didn’t mean he had to like it. His Mom had raised him to be accountable for every mistake, and that wasn’t a thing he could shake. But he was too tired to argue about how psychologically fucked he was. “Let’s just get some sleep.”

“Okay.” He’d expected Leonard to take his hand away, but he didn’t. He kept there, lightly curled around his hip, protectively almost.

Jim found himself liking it, he thought as he finally succumbed into a deep sleep. It was dreamless for once, no terrors sought him out, no monsters chased him. There was no fear or death, or hunger. Just a quiet peace, and a vague sense of warmth and comfort. It was the best he’d slept in his whole life.

A shout woke him. Dragging him from his sleep like a bucket of cold water. He reached for his knife out of instinct, but couldn't. His hands had been tied. The plastic of the binding digging into his wrists painfully. His ankles were bound the same. He was trapped. “Leonard?!” He shouted, trying to squirm his way onto his back. There was a muffled shout, but nothing else. “Leonard!” He yelled again, using all his effort to roll over.

He was met with something dark and solid looking hurtling towards him before everything went black.

Tagging: @medicatemedrmccoy @trustno1inapt221b @ravennaofasgard @thefanficfaerie @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @feelmyroarrrr @impalaanddemons @daytimemaniac @toosouthernforspace @dreaming-about-starfleet @skull-in-a-jar @fromashell @artemisodinson @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @onemoore @loststarlight @haveyouseenmymind

#mckirk #apocalypse au #Leonard McCoy #Jim Kirk #dystopia au #Doctor Leonard McCoy #James T. Kirk #Leonard H. McCoy #james kirk

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