#because I set all my tames to passive so they wouldn’t kill him before I knocked him out

[emuwarum]

sometimes when playing ark you completely forget about something you’ve read.

I finally build a nice little enclosure for all (I think it’s around this number) 30 dodos. I put a feeding trough in and fill it up. I set everyone to passive flee, wandering, disabled mating.

I take a quick step outside to grab something, come back, look up in horror at all the mating hearts floating above the enclosure. I completely forgot that you can’t turn off mating when they’re wandering, and that they automatically mate when they wander.

so I guess I’m gonna have to deal with that tomorrow (use the resulting eggs to make kibble)

[bubbasbarbeque]

How would the slashers react to you being nice to like the cashier at the grocery storer/gas station when you buy something ? And they think you flirt with them ?? Or in general being jealous hc’s ???

this ones been sitting in the box for a while— sorry about that!

I can't do all of them so I'll choose my favorites for this one~ jealousy is a good trope 👀

Michael Myers

Michael is a very jealous and possessive lover, if that wasn't already obvious. He takes your kindness towards strangers much more personal than a normal partner would.

Everyone is a threat. God forbid someone smiles a little to sweetly at you.

So when you took a small trip to the gas station in town and the new cashier slipped you a note with his number on it, it did not go unnoticed.

Before either of you had time to react, Michael had the poor man's wrist in his grip and was already close to snapping it in two. The man, fearing for his life, begged for him to let up and dropped the piece of paper.

Only after you pleaded with Michael to let it go did he relent. Normally he wouldn't have, but he was hungry and wanted to be alone with you, to remind you who you belong to.

Long story short, you were banned from that gas station, and learned to avoid making Michael jealous at all costs.

Jason Voorhees

Jason is generally passive when it comes to his emotions. Well, his romantic emotions towards you, at least. Mostly because he didn't understand them until after you two started dating.

Before you two were together he thought his feelings for you meant he just wanted to kill you ten times more. Be glad yoh managed to convince him otherwise.

But when he saw the grocery store clerk sweet-talking you after he went to retrieve an item you asked him for, his entire body was filled with seething rage.

Jason didn't have a lot in his childhood aside from his mother, who he's already deathly protective of. So the thought of some small-fry taking you— the one thing he's ever wanted —away from him, made his core burn with anger.

Knowing better than to cause a scene(unlike Michael), he promptly went over and loomed behind you, which almost immediately scared the guy off. You, oblivious until noticing how upset Jason seemed to be, hurried to pay for your groceries and take Jason home for some quality cuddle time. You have to constantly remind him that you love him; he's very insecure!

Bubba Sawyer

Out of these three, Bubba is definitely the most tame. He doesn't kill for vengeance or for a lust, he's scared. He's not an evil person.

So when he has to deal with jealousy for the first time, he's very conflicted.

You were at the local market, collecting ingredients for dinner. It was a routine, nothing out of the ordinary— until someone new in town, claiming he was just driving through, started up a conversation with you.

You didn't seem too interested in his advances and were more focused on getting the right seasonings for the chili dinner that night, but Bubba was.

Bubba isn't exactly good at words, if he manages to form them, so there wasn't much he could do but glue himself to your side and whine at you to go home.

The passerby seemed disturbed by this and made some rude comments, even going so far as calling Bubba some discriminating slurs; and that set you off.

Rather than Bubba going off like Michael or Jason, you did. You practically yelled the dude's ear off as you reprimanded him for being such a dickwad before promptly grabbing Bubba's hand, giving him a kiss and waltzing out of the market.

Once at home, you had to explain to Bubba that what he was feeling was normal, and that he wasn't evil for it.

Give him some kisses and cuddles after that whole fiasco. He'll forget about it and feel better real quick.

[secret-engima]

Team Gremlin verse: The Reunion

(So this is ... a very rough draft so to speak of what I wanna do for the reunion scene with Oscar and Ozpin. I’m not dubbing it ‘canon’ yet because I’d have to wait for the actual fic to catch up and then tweak accordingly but so far- this is what is in my head and I figured I should let others enjoy the angst :D)

...

     Ozpin slipped away from the crowd exiting the tent with a pounding heart. He could feel his fingers shake on the hilt of Long Memory as he managed to duck into the shadows outside the large emerald and gold tent. He had found him. All this time searching, all this time praying and hoping and looking only to be too late and he had found him. He had sat in the stands and seen the boy in action, heard the music and seen the magic both fake and real, and felt the sheer energy and joy the little Ringmaster felt in his performance like lightning in Ozpin’s own bones. And then- the song. The final song. Because Oscar always rounded off with a song, ones not meant for spectacle, but instead for the heart. A sincere wish and message for those fortunate to sit beneath the ceiling of the Emerald City for the night.

     The song alone could have brought him to tears. But to hear it sung by the little boy in the ring, the impossible, wonderful, miracle child who had every right to lash out at the world in hate, yet instead chose to fill it with wonders … it had been all he could do to keep from crying with there in the stands. To not try to climb down the makeshift seating and into the ring because all he’d wanted was to hold him.

     His son. The son he had never seen outside of grainy photos and shaky recordings, who he had tried desperately to find the more he learned what the child had lived through. And now Ozpin had found him. Now Ozpin had a chance to meet him. He just had to get backstage.

     It wasn’t hard to escape the eyes of the crowd, and it wasn’t much more difficult to slip through the shadows to the little ring of emerald tents set up behind the big top, the tents where the various performers of the rare and popular Emerald City act stayed. He hesitated on the boundary, trying to pick out which one of the colorful, green-themed tents belonged to the Ringmaster —his son, his child that he had never gotten to meet, would never have known about save a series of accidents—. He heard laughter and activity behind him, the performers returning to their temporary homes, and he ducked forward into the shadows of a tent at random. They would run him off if they found him, he was certain of that. He was a stranger to them at best, or worse, a known player in the war that had created the boy he hoped to meet, that had no doubt hurt many of those who followed him —such as Hazel, and how the man had ever been swayed from Salem’s promise of revenge, Ozpin could not fathom but did not want to test—.

     He heard no activity from the tent he was hiding behind, and while the air whispered with hints of magic, it wasn’t coming from this tent, so he moved on to another. This time, he dared peak into the tent flap, but saw nothing but the vague shadows of personal belongings. No sign of the little Ringmaster —his son, his child—.

     Ozpin backed away from that tent, heart drumming anxiously in his chest. Then he turned and froze.

     The massive Grimm, the strange one that Qrow called Hound. The monster that for some reason Ozpin never wanted to contemplate —but had spent many hours doing just that— followed his son everywhere. Behaved like it was tame and natural rather than a creature of Darkness that longed only for destruction. It stood just a few feet away, so large it’s head was even with Ozpin’s chin as it watched him with flat, glowing red lights for eyes.

     His fingers tightened on the hilt of Long Memory, lifetimes of instinct screaming to raise his weapon and attack first before it could kill him or anyone else here. But he had seen recordings of this same Grimm, dressed up in ridiculous costumes to hide its true nature from unpracticed eyes, parading around in the circus ring like a big dog. He had seen his son ride on its back and balance on its head and Qrow had recounted more than one instance of Oscar and the other children escaping on its back. It hadn’t been present for this particular show, but he had seen multiple recordings of previous ones where it entered the ring and no one had been harmed. Of course, Ozpin’s son —Salem’s son, for all the second half of that coin tore at his guts— had been close by all those times, but here there was no one in sight but the two of them.

     The Grimm tilted its head slowly to one side, a ragged ear pricking like an actual dog’s. It wasn’t attacking. Even though Ozpin knew he must stink of so many different types of fear he could attract an entire pack of Beowolves all on his own. It just … studied him.

     Slowly, it’s jaws opened, and Ozpin prepared to dodge some attack. Instead, the large, blood red tongue slid out from between massive teeth and lolled there, a slow, thoughtful trio of pants before it licked its teeth and shut its jaws again. Without any further reaction, it lowered its head and turned away, walking slow and ponderously toward one of the tents that had light peaking through the bottom. Ozpin watched it leave with a blank, confused mind, then startled when it stopped and twisted around to look over its shoulder at him.

     It looked like it was waiting.

     It looked like it wanted him to follow.

     Inhaling raggedly —this was the stupidest thing he had done in lifetimes he was sure—, Ozpin started following in the Grimm’s footsteps.

     It led him to the tent farthest from the bigtop, nudged open the flap with something like practiced ease, and shouldered its way in. Ozpin lingered outside, suddenly too afraid to go a step further. There was a Grimm in there, but somehow, the realization that his son might be in there was even more terrifying than that. If he stood out here too long, he would be caught, he knew that, and yet…

     “Hey, Sondor,” murmured a voice through the tent fabric and Ozpin’s world crystalized, “Everything alright? You left in a bit of a hurry.” A deep rumble, inhuman and bass and … oddly content sounding. The voice —a child’s voice, a gentle voice, a voice he’d just heard laughing and waxing dramatic for a show of fake magic and real mysteries— laughed faintly, “Checking on someone then? You know everyone has to stay up late on performance nights.”

     If he held on any tighter to his cane, he thought it might shatter, but the feel of it grounded him like it always had, and with the last bit of courage he possessed in this lifetime, he pushed the tent flap open and slipped inside as the voice —his son— finished saying, “We’ll be sure to take long naps in the morning.”

     Ozpin was here. He was standing in the same space as his child, without a crowd to be wary of or a performance to keep them apart. He was standing in some kind of makeshift workshop, with a cot on the floor on the far side and the vast majority of space taken up by a battered, foldable metal table that seemed to be a desk and all the tools of a magician’s trade. Cards and wands and hats, gloves and fanciful outfits and a hundred thousand other things that didn’t matter, because amid all the mess, with his back mostly to the entrance and a massive Grimm lying contentedly next to his feet, was the Ringmaster.

     His child.

     The Grimm raised its head again to stare at him, a low noise he’d never heard the monsters make before rumbling from its chest, and the boy tilted his head toward the tent entrance absently, still not looking away from the Dust gem he was setting in his elaborate cane, “Hey Neo, you’re back early. I thought you were still scoping … out…” he finished setting the Dust in his cane, looked up and saw Ozpin standing there. Neither of them moved. Green-gold eyes in a young face —he looked ten had Qrow really been correct on estimating his age closer to twelve or thirteen?— went wide, and the magic passively swirling through the tent shrunk in on itself until he couldn’t feel it.

     It occurred belatedly to Ozpin that while he had essentially been stalking his son for the last few years in an attempt to meet him and make sure he was okay, the boy wouldn’t know him at all. Or worse, had only heard of him from people who hated him —from Salem herself even—. And now Ozpin had just shown up in the boy’s living space without warning or invitation.

     Terror and nerves tangled up all the words he wanted to say, all the ones he’d longed to say, and instead he found himself folding both of his shaking hands on the pommel of his cane and bleating out the first, most habitual line currently living in his brain, “Hello, I’m Professor Ozpin-.”

     A shout, loud and gutted, and all his words died in his throat again as the boy threw himself off his little camp chair and at Ozpin. Long Memory clattered to the ground unnoticed as Ozpin instinctively raised his hands to wrap around the little body that collided with his waist, slender arms tightening like a vise around him and Ozpin couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-.

     Had he really said-?

     A hiccuping sob from the child in his arms, a fully body thing that shook him from his tousled black hair to his shoes while that word spun endlessly in Ozpin’s mind, haunting him and confusing him because he couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have heard…

     “Dad.”

     The word echoed between them again, muffled by a young face buried in his suit jacket, and Ozpin felt his own breath start to stammer as he clung tighter to the boy in his arms, sinking down to his knees despite the screaming in his leg and burying his face in flyaway black hair, “I’m here.” He choked out, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re alright. I’m right … I’m right here.”

     Magic pressed against his skin, burrowed into his soul, needy and desperate and fearful in a way his daughters’ had never been until the very end —until the moment his shield broke and he could no longer protect them—. It begged him and Ozpin forgot about everything else, forgot every other concern or person in the world as he let his own magic unspool and twine with the younger, needy magic begging him for comfort. Behind his closed eyelids he could see it, the colors spinning and twisting in the space between their souls. His ever-dwindling green wrapping around a younger, deeper, stronger wellspring of emerald laced with snapping red, whispering black and dancing flickers of purple, gold, blue, and white.

     The younger magic coiled tightly in his, desperate and pained, crying in relief and fear just as loudly as the sobs that shook his son’s body. It was open to him, painfully open and raw, trusting despite how this boy had every reason to fear another’s magic. In the breath between crying and comforting and accepting, Ozpin’s magic brushed up against what could only be called a crack in his child’s soul. A jagged old wound that had never properly healed. Glass sharp and weeping and-.

     Pain-pain-pain-fear-fear-please-pleasedon’tleavedon’tleaveme-.

     Magic, green and old, bodiless and desperate and half-mad with agony sinking inside and locking in place in a message that screamed all the way down to bone marrow and soul fiber.

    Mine-my-child-I-love-you-I-loveyoumychildmy-

     “Oscar.” Ozpin choked out, struggling to shake off the remnants of memory hidden in soul shards and old wounds. Realization reeled, pulled at the fabric of reality beneath his feet. “Oscar,” he repeated, rolling the name of his son over his tongue and wondering at the sensation of right, of familiarity even though he had never met this child before. He had, of course, known his name. The boy made a little joke of it at the beginning of all his performances, but now the name had weight. Had an echo of knowledge to it that he couldn’t quite grasp.

     Even though, somehow, his son knew him. And perhaps that should terrify him. Because his son was a child still, yet somewhere in the spaces between incarnations, or in the moments between life and death and dreams, his child remembered him and clung to a message of love even though it had been tangled up in so much pain.

     “I tried,” Oscar sobbed into his chest, “I tried, I’m- I’m so sorry-.”

     Ozpin hushed him, ran shaking fingers through his son’s hair and ignored the way his glasses had completely blurred over from the tears they caught, “I know. It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re alive, Oscar.” He guided his son’s face to his scarf and pressed his cheek against the top of Oscar’s head, “You’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.” He inhaled raggedly and set aside the spinning theories trying to take root, the odd mix of age-youth-age and time-turned-back in Oscar’s magic that made him wonder. He had long assumed that Oscar’s aging was … strange, a byproduct of being the child of two immortals. Yet feeling Oscar’s magic, the soft echo of bells and clockwork gears hidden inside it, he couldn’t help but remember that gravity and its magic was an aspect of space and space was a partner of time. There had been spells that toyed with time long ago that left impressions on the souls that used them, though never on such a large scale as what Ozpin was contemplating.

     But if anyone could reinvent a way to turn back the hands of the world’s clock, it would be the child of Ozma and Salem, surely —had his son known a previous incarnation, or had his son met Ozpin himself in the future, had he lived a prisoner of Salem until he was a teen or even an adult, only meeting his father to see him die in agony at his mother’s hands, had a single dying message of love amid a lifetime of darkness truly been enough to make him fight time itself to make things right—.

     But that didn’t matter right now.

     He was here. Oscar was here. They were both alive and safe and his little boy was tucked trustingly in his arms, and that was what mattered right now. It mattered more than anything else in the world.

     “I love you, Oscar,” he whispered into his son’s hair as he rocked them back and forth, uncaring of his jacket and scarf becoming soaked with tears, or the way Oscar’s magic coiled around his soul so tightly it was almost burning, “I love you. I’m here.”

     “I missed you,” Oscar choked out between sobs, another piece to Ozpin’s puzzle set aside for later times, “I love y-you t-too.” A hiccup, loud and ugly, a shiver in Ozpin’s arms, “Don’t go.”

     “I won’t,” Ozpin promised, hand cradling the back of Oscar’s head, trying to shield him from the nightmares he could sense lurking within, “I won’t go. I’m right here.” He exhaled wetly, “I’m right here.”

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Pt 29

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping  - Manipulation

Z

Nothing felt real.

Maybe it wasn’t.

Eos wouldn’t have taken Sasha away from me. The Society wouldn’t have let her take Sasha, I had done nothing wrong. I gave her a good home. There was no way she would rename her. Sasha was her name, it was meant for her. 

She wouldn’t have sent a retrieval team after me. That couldn’t have been her. It didn’t make any sense.

None of this could be real. But I looked into the empty cage, the door hanging open, it cleared my head a little. Even if it didn’t feel real it had to be. The door felt real. The sound it made when I opened and shut it was real.

I walked back into the toy room and grabbed the old shock collar and it’s remote. I wrapped it around my neck and walked back in front of the cage. I pressed the button and felt the electricity wash over me as the seconds slowly passed. 

The pain felt real.

But the cage was empty.

So what could I do now? I took off the collar and dropped it onto the floor before I took out my phone. It was noon. I had lost hours of time just sitting here. But it didn’t feel like any time had passed. It felt like just seconds ago Eos had walked out. That Sasha had been sitting in her cage.

I scrolled through my phone. I didn't have a lot of contacts. Satori had to have given me up. How else would Eos know anything? Every contact in my phone was someone in Eos's social circle. None of them were safe to talk too.

Except for one. Briar.

I hadn’t really talked to her in over a year. Briar was a strange person who made me feel very uncomfortable while being one of the few people who treated me like a normal person when I joined the Society. Sometimes it was easy to forget what I had been doing when I was talking to her, everyone else was always caught up in their work and it was hard to escape from it.

We talked a bit after I left my breaker work for the Auction House, but I ended up shutting almost everyone out after I got Penny. Everyone but Eos because she just wouldn’t stop coming around when I wouldn’t answer the phone. She had encouraged me to spend all my time with Penny. I had loved Penny so much. Until I didn’t. Until one day she was no longer the person I had felt something for that I hadn’t in such a long time. Maybe something I had never felt before.

Who knew if this was even Briar’s number anymore, for all I knew she had changed it several times over. I doubted she worked for the Auction House anymore. She always had some vague plans she was working towards that she never elaborated on.

I had no one else I could turn to. No clue what I could do to get Sasha back. Trust is hard in the Society. Why would you trust such gleefully evil people? Even if Briar was nicer than most of the other people I’ve met here, she was still a member and who knows what she might be like now. Vulnerability was dangerous. But I had to try and give my trust blindly. I pressed call and waited.

It kept ringing.

Her number had probably changed.

Or maybe she didn’t want to talk to me anymore after I had ignored her for so long.

I was about to hang up when I heard a voice on the other end. “Z? Everything ok?”

I didn’t really know what to say. Do I just tell her what happened? What if she doesn’t care? Or worse, what if she’s friends with Eos now? I did the only thing I could think of now that I had gone through the trouble to call her.

Briar

She hung up on me. 

It had been over a year since I had last gotten to talk to her. She was a difficult person to work with. A conversation with her could be like navigating a maze, one wrong turn and you’d hit one of the walls she put up. I worked with her for over six months and barely made it past the surface level with her. I was desperate to learn more.

But then she left. I managed to stay in contact with her for a little while, but once she got ahold of Penny it became impossible to get her attention. The last time I had heard from Z was hearing Penny was sold. Then there were the rumors about what had happened last night that were spreading.

I knew Eos was always hanging around her. I knew she was untrustable. But I knew Z well enough, she went along with Eos because it was easier than rebuking her. Outside of the occasional violent outburst Z was a fairly passive person. I never did figure out what set those off.

I dialed her number and waited for her to pick up. No answer. I dialed again. I was starting to get worried. What if something was wrong? After the fourth call I sent a red notification. I’d wait the entire day if I needed too. If she wasn’t going to pick up I’d just go over as soon as I could.

Ten minutes passed as the phone kept ringing. Who could even know what that meant? For all I knew she had just shoved her phone in a drawer so she didn’t have to listen to it. But what if she was hurt and couldn’t answer the phone?

“Hello?” Her voice broke through my thoughts.

“Oh thank god you answered. Are you ok? What’s going on?” I waited for her to tell me what was happening and was just met with silence. “Z, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what happened.”

“Sasha.” She finally said something. She sounded like she was in a daze.

“What about Sasha?” I had been filled in on who Sasha was when I saw the report this morning. She had apparently picked up a new canine recently.

“Eos took Sasha. I don’t know what to do. Is there anything I can do?” I felt my heart break. Z wasn’t an emotional person but she sounded devastated.

“Are you at home right now?”

“I’m going to kill her.” The emotion in her voice was gone again.

“Z, please.” Alarm bells began to sound in my head. Z was in a bad place right now. I absolutely believed she would do it. “That’s not going to accomplish anything. That’s just going to guarantee you’ll never get her back.” I heard some snapping and looked up across the desk. Satori was trying to get my attention. He slid a note across the desk.

Tell her to stay in the basement. I haven’t cut the feed yet.

I waved him away. “Z, please promise me you aren’t going to do anything until I get there.” Last I checked Z couldn’t drive, but I didn’t want to have to go search for her if she decided to walk off. A few seconds past in silence. “Z.”

“Fine. I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she was lying, but it was something.  “I will be there as soon as I can. We’ll figure this out, I promise.” I hung up the phone.

“I should be done cutting the feeds in a few minutes.” Satori was still just at his computer typing away.

I had turned to Satori when I first heard the rumors, he was one of the few people Z talked too. If anyone knew what was happening he would. Not only did he know, I was upset to learn he had taken an emblem from her last night. No one in Eos’s social circle was trustworthy and Satori was no exception. Some help moving a slave might be worth a favor, but it was hardly worth an emblem.

I turned my attention back to Satori. “I don’t know why it's taking you so long.”

“This is security for a member of the Society, the most basic stuff we use is better than most of the market options. It takes a while.” He kept typing away at his computer as he talked. 

“I don’t care. That bitch has access to them and they need to be cut ASAP. When you finish with that Satori.” I walked behind him and leaned down, whispering into his ear. “You’re going to tell me why you don’t have Z’s emblem anymore and it better be a really good fucking answer.”

Z

I wasn’t sure what I should do while I waited. Calling Briar was stupid. I’m not sure why I did that. There probably wasn’t anything I could do.

You should just kill Eos. That little voice chirped up again.

Maybe it was right. It made sense. If she was gone they’d have to give her back to me. What else would they do with her? If Eos was gone there was no one to take care of her. She’d have to be returned to me.

But Briar edged back into my thoughts. I think she was right. That wouldn’t solve my problems. Even if I succeeded I wouldn’t get to see Sasha ever again. She’d go up for auction or someone else would take over the farm.

I wandered around the Wolf’s Den and wondered what I could have done differently. Would she have behaved on the call had I not lost my temper in the gym? Should I just have given her nice food from the start? She didn’t enjoy the tricks, but dogs were supposed to know tricks. I guess I could have turned down the shock collar, but it was helping her understand her place. She never would have given an inch without it.

I was just trying to help her.

I walked into her cage and looked at all the things I gave her. The soft pet bed. The pillow and blanket. The litter box. The toys. The teddy bear. Was it not enough for her? Did she want more? I had spent so much money on everything in here. Did she want more toys? She didn’t seem to like these ones, I never saw her playing with them. Was the bear too small? Maybe her bed wasn’t soft enough? Did I not give her enough attention?

I heard the doorbell ring and checked my phone. I had been standing there for over an hour. It didn’t feel like it though, it felt like just a few seconds past.

I tried to open up the security feed and was met with nothing. My heart jumped into my throat. No video. No sound. Nothing on any of my cameras. Was it Briar? 

A darker thought slipped into my head. Could it be someone else? What if the people who came with Eos were coming back? What could they want? Did they cut the feed? What else could they want from me? Why did they come back? What else did I have that they could take away from me? 

My pulse shot up as I heard some footsteps coming down the stairs. I never locked the entrances after Eos left. I looked over at the box of things I had grabbed earlier and saw the cattleprod. I grabbed it and quietly slipped into the toy room, leaving it cracked open.

"Z? Are you in here?" A woman I didn't recognize called out my name. She was dressed casually, long black hair. She was tall, maybe around six foot. I couldn't think of anyone who matches this description. 

"Z? Please come out." She called my name out again as she walked over to the cage. She was looking at all the gifts I had gotten for Sasha. She was looking at Sasha’s bear. Was she here to take that away from me as well?

I wasn’t going to let her take it.

I quietly left the toy room and approached her from behind. I pressed the button on the cattleprod and lunged at her.

Briar

I heard the crackle of electricity and barely managed to move out of the way before the cattle prod hit me. I tried to grab it and pull it out of her hands. I almost didn’t recognize her, she looked wild and angry. She was trying to rip the cattle prod out of my hand with more force than I thought she should be able to muster. Then for a second our eyes connected and she calmed down slightly.

"Oh. Briar?" She blinked a few times and let go of the cattleprod. It looked like she was surfacing from a fog, the frenzied look on her face from just a few seconds ago was gone. I tossed the cattle prod aside and examined her to make sure she was ok. It seemed to take her a few seconds to register what I was doing and pull away from me. “What are you doing here?”

“Z.” I started cautiously. I’d never seen her like this. “You called me here.”

“Oh. Right.” She blinked a few more times before turning to the cage. “They took Sasha.” I saw her lip quiver slightly but like always any sign of emotion was quickly gone.

“Z, look at me.” To my surprise she actually turned to look at me. “We’ll get her back. I’ll do everything I can to help, I promise.” She just nodded slightly. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

“I ate yesterday.” 

I suppressed a sigh. I couldn’t help but wonder how far into old habits she had fallen since she started living alone. I’d need more hands to count the number of times I was told she had collapsed because she hadn’t been eating. “That’s not today. Let’s make something to eat and then we can plan on how we’ll get back at that bitch.”

I ushered Z upstairs without too much complaint. She was still in a bit of a fog. Now was going to be the easiest time to work with her. She’d be the most receptive to suggestions, maybe I could talk her out of the more violent options she was considering.

 I’d call in a few favors to figure out what was happening and what our options were. I had a lot of favors stockpiled at this point, a benefit of my line of work. Some obscure law or maybe someone of a high enough rank we could convince to overturn the ruling.

Maybe, after all this effort, my little Z will finally appreciate everything I’m doing to help her.

[jamaisjoons]

bloom II | pjm

Summary: It takes Jimin six tries to tell you he loves you. He fails five times, he won’t fail a sixth. Hanahaki AU.

sequel to bloom

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of death, lots of angst, but this ones quiet tame with the warnings!

A/N: the sequel to bloom I promised a while back that I’d forgotten about until my best friend and hardcore Jimin biased reminded me she was waiting for this! This ones for you Natasha, i love you ♡ Is this edited? No. Why? Because its 3:30am and a bitch is fucking tired 😭

Bloom

def. be in flower; to flourish into full beauty

Jimin sits in the waiting room, along with the rest of Bangtan and their partners. It’s been a couple of hours since you’ve gone in and no one is sure what’s happening. He’s currently sitting on the floor, knees pressed against his chest as he stares at the wall, a blank look on his face. His eyes are still red, but he’d stopped crying an hour into your surgery. Taehyung had tried to get him to respond, get him to eat something, but Jimin was practically catatonic, refusing to answer anyone. His sole focus was on the doors, awaiting news of your surgery.

Time moves sluggishly and there’s not much he registers. People are bustling about as they do in a hospital, but he doesn’t care. He wonders why he ran away from you that fateful night. It was the night that marked the change for your relationship. He should have stayed by your side, he should have spoken to you and made his feelings for you clear. Because he hadn’t lied and told you he loved you to try and save you, it didn’t work that way. He knew the symptoms and cure to Hanahaki all too well; he himself had been going through the disease; but he hadn’t expected you to develop it either. He hadn’t expected yours to progress quicker than his.

The roots coiled around his chest shifted and he felt himself able to breathe a little better. They were slowly unwinding. You had confessed your love for him and he knew that he’d soon be free of the flowers born out of his love for you. But he couldn’t celebrate just yet. There was a chance they’d start growing again with a renewed vengeance once your surgery was complete. His fate depended on whether or not you remembered him or your feelings for him. His life depended on whether you could still love him.

Jimin had been in love with you for almost two years now. He had wanted to confess his love that Christmas night, when he’d gifted you a handcrafted necklace. He hadn’t lied when he said it was as if it was made for you, because it was. He had it commissioned specifically for you, pouring all his love into it. It was one of a kind, something only you would ever own. However, he couldn’t get the words out. You had looked beautiful, cosy in your blankets as you snuggled up, reading under the soft lights.

He remembered you smelling strongly of vanilla hot chocolate, the beverage you had been sipping the entire night, overpowering your natural scent of cinnamon and pine. He had stared at your lips almost the entire night, wanting nothing more than to take them between his and find out whether you tasted like vanilla hot chocolate or if you tasted of something even sweeter. If he closed his eyes now, he could envision the slightly sparkle to your eyes when he’d given you the necklace, he could almost feel your delicate neck under his fingertips from when they’d brushed against your neck as he clasped the delicate chain around you. That was the first time he had failed to tell you he loved you.

The second time he tries to tell you he loves you, is on New Year’s Eve. He knew you’d take his breath away the moment he saw you in the dress both he and Hoseok had picked out for you and he was correct. He didn’t think you’d ever looked more radiant, almost glowing under the cover of various lights littered around the place. The romantic in him envisioned sweeping you off your feet, confessing his love for you just before it struck midnight before kissing you senseless and entering the New Year with you by his side. However, a second time, he had failed. He just couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

The third time is when you’re on Jeju Island. He has many opportunities to tell you he loves you then, but instead he’s waylaid by spending time with you. He spends the entire time at Jeju practically glued to your side. Thoughts of telling you he loves you are at the forefront of his mind, but he decides to live in the moment and ignore confessing his feelings. It works pretty well; that was until he’d sat down with you, admitting to just how much he knew about you, admitted to how much he’s paid attention to you over the years. It’s almost picturesque, the setting sun in the background giving you a glow that makes you look angelic. He wants to tell you he loves you, but instead his breath is taken away by how beautiful you look. And one again, he fails.

The fourth time, he has a plan. He asks you out on an impromptu date, a small restaurant near your house that he knows you’ve been dying to try. He plans it all, his outfit, the bouquet of flowers and even his entire speech. All goes well and there’s butterflies in his stomach but the minute you walk in and smile at him, they’re gone and his nervousness fades. Instead, he feels like he could do almost anything, especially with you by his side. The date goes well, you laugh and joke and chat and Jimin can feel himself falling for you more and more. Something he wasn’t sure was possible. He offers to walk you home and as you near the building, the butterflies begin to flutter again. He hugs you outside your building, for a little longer than he usually would. Holds you just that bit closer. And then he pulls away. The words ‘I love you’ are at the tip of his tongue but suddenly he’s tongue tied and the next moment you’re walking away from him, bidding him goodnight.

The fifth time and final time he tries to confess is the night you sleep together. It’s perfect and Jimin is so happy to finally feel you under him, to touch you the way he always wanted to.  And then it’s over. He carries you to his room before leaving to tidy up the living room. And then he’s back, sitting on the bed beside you. Jimin spends part of that night simply watching you sleep. At one point he reaches his hand out and strokes your face. At the point, he wants to wake you up and confess everything he has ever felt, ever will feel and everything he wants to feel. But he can’t.

Staring at you, then and there, he knows that after having you in the way he wants you, in the way he doesn’t want anyone else to have you, that if you reject him; it would very well kill him. So instead he decides to run. He knows that he shouldn’t, the flowers you’ve blossomed in his chest continue to slowly grow until they begin choking him. But rejection from you, he decides, would hurt so much more than slowly suffocating with the florets of love you bloomed in his lungs. So, then and there, he decides that he will move on and give you up, even if it kills him.

That’s why he begins to date Ri-El. She’s a nice girl, albeit a bit star struck and fame hungry. But other than that, she was nice enough. In fact, she was everything you weren’t. The complete opposite to you and in a way, it helps him forget about you. The entire time he’s at tour, you are far from his mind; buried deep within the recessed of his thoughts. And everything is fine, until he returns to Korea and sees you. The short-lived contentment immediately fades the minute he lays eyes on you.

And all the pain returns.

Jimin doesn’t expect you to care he’s with Ri-El but he notices the slight change. How you hang out less, how you avoid them, but especially her as if she were the plague. Part of him wonders if it’s because you feel something for him. But he chalks it up to wishful thinking on his end. What he doesn’t expect, is that you didindeed love him back and that like him, you too had been suffering from the Hanahaki disease. He doesn’t expect it because you loving him back, is almost like a fantasy bred out of his wildest imagination.

Jimin’s heart lurches as he thinks about how much pain you must have gone through seeing him with someone else. He wonders if he could ever make it up to him but also admires how strong you were. There was no way he’d ever be able to watch you date someone else, he knew he’d be a mess. Just imagining it drove him crazy. But he had done that to you. He’d made you watch him date and kiss and hug someone that wasn’t you.

He runs a hand through his hair, shoulders sagging as he thought of all the time wasted. If he had just confessed the night you slept together. If he had not run away from his emotions, if he hadn’t been a coward. Maybe, just maybe, the two of you would be happy. Maybe you wouldn’t be on a hospital bed due to the Hanahaki disease reaching the final, most critical stage. Maybe you wouldn’t be getting a surgery that had the possibility of removing every loving emotion you felt for him.

“Are you the guardians of ____?” Jimin is immediately drawn from his thoughts by the Doctor’s voice. He immediately stands up, looking for anything that would give away news of your condition. The Doctor’s face however, is grim and passive. Jimin doesn’t know what to think of it.

“We are. How is she?” Sooji asks, her tone worried. The Doctor sighs, rubbing his head.

“It was a complicated surgery, completely unusual, but we’ll let her explain that. However, she is fine and awake” The Doctor explains and everyone audibly breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Is the man she loved here?” The Doctor asks and Jimin’s muscles immediately lock. The Doctor notices the change of demeanour and immediately zeroes in on the smaller boy.

“I assume it’s you?” The Doctor asks and Jimin nods, “Well then, I believe you should see her first. In private. She’s in room 245” The Doctor continues, looking at the rest of the group expectantly. But Jimin doesn’t care, instead he’s immediately rushing of to find your room. He runs as fast as his legs can take him, narrowly missing the nurses and people bustling about. He doesn’t care that at one point he knocks a person over. Instead, only stopping for a brief moment to pick them up and apologise before he’s off running again.

A couple moments later, he finds your room. His palms are sweaty, hands shaking as he moves to grip the door knob before stilling. This is the moment of truth. Was the love you had for him lost forever? Was there any way of you ever reciprocating his feelings? He had no idea. A part of him wants to run again, but if history has taught him anything, it’s that running never helped anyone. He’d rather not repeat mistakes of the past. So instead, Jimin takes a deep breath and knocks firmly on your door before slowly turning the handle and opening it. He enters the room quietly, eyes taking in your figure.

You’re sitting up on the bed, dressed in a white hospital gown and your hair loose. Initially, you’re staring out the window on the opposite end of the room but the minute he enters, your gaze turns to his. Jimin’s heart clenches at the slightly blank look on your face. Even now, looking tired and worse for wear, you still look completely radiant to him. His breath catches as you lock eyes, your gaze curious as you watch him gingerly approach the bed, taking a seat on one of the chairs next to the cot.

“Hi” Jimin says cautiously, unsure of where to begin. Your facial expression gives nothing away; he doesn’t know whether you remember him or whether you remember him and your feelings for him are gone. You stay quiet, just watching him fidget and finally, when the silence is too much Jimin decides its time for him to man up and confess. Even if it’s pointless, even if it means nothing anymore, he wants to tell you he loves you. At least once. He owes you that much.

“I… I don’t know where to start. Everything is wrong and it should never have come this far. There are no words, nothing in our language to express just how sorry I am for the pain I caused you. I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but none will haunt me as much as this one. I love you. I have loved you for almost two years. I will continue to love you till the end of my days. I should have told you. There were so many times where I wanted to confess and ask you to be mine but instead, like the coward I am, I ran away. I ran from you and I ran from my feelings when I shouldn’t have. But I did.” Jimin began, taking a deep breath and you listened to him, eyes slightly wide as you watched him in curiosity.

“And now we’re here. And we shouldn’t be here. I’m confessing to you, quite possibly when it’s too late. God, what am I doing? You may not even remember who I am. The Doctor wouldn’t tell us anything, said it best that you explain, and if you don’t remember me I must sound crazy. But it is what it is, isn’t it? God, I’m just rambling at this point, aren’t I? I don’t know what to say. I just… I love you. I love you so much and I want you to love me back. Is it selfish of me to want that? To want your love after all the pain I’ve caused you? But I do, and I don’t feel guilty about it. I could never feel guilty for loving you” Jimin rambled, spilling words after words and despite his monologue being stilted, there was so much raw emotion behind every single one of his words.

“Jimin” You say quietly, voice raspy and throat hoarse as you cut of his words. Jimin immediately shuts up, looking at you in a mixture of hope, pain and relief. It’s a weird combination, but you can hazard a guess as to why he’s feeling each emotion.

“You remember. You remember me!” Jimin whispers before bursting in excitement. However, his joy is short lived, instead he clears his throat and looks at you wearily.

“Do you… are your…” Jimin begins, wanting so badly to ask if your feelings were completely gone. He didn’t want to ask if there was a possibility of never loving him again.

“I remember you. Jimin… I love you too. I still love you” You confess and Jimin immediately sits up straight, his eyebrow furrowed as he looks at you in confusion

“What? How? How is that possible?” Jimin asks and you smile softly at him.

“I heard you. Before I passed out… I heard your confession. I guess, knowing you loved me saved me” You say, laughing nervously.

“I don’t understand… you still had a surgery” Jimin points out and you nod.

“They still had to. I hit a stage where they still needed to operate despite you returning my feelings. They were too many flowers; granted the roots did detach themselves from my lungs. But the rose thorns and lily petals were still blocking my airways so they needed to remove it. If you had confessed a bit earlier, I wouldn’t have needed the surgery. But… it’s all gone now and I can breathe normally again” You say, smiling brightly.

“So… you still remember me? And your feelings are still there? I got to you in time? You love me back?” Jimin asked nervously, hope filling the entirety of his chest. You smile brightly at him, nodding your assent. The minute you nod, relief floods through Jimin, washing him in waves of both love and ease.

Jimin wastes no time. He immediately lurches forward, until he’s beside you on the bed. You turn to him in surprise, but before you can question anything, he palms the back of your neck, bring you forward before bending his head and pressing his plush lips against yours. Instantly, your eyes shut and you lean into his kiss. The minute you lean into him, Jimin feels the roots wrapped around his lungs slowly loosen until for the first time in years, he feels like he can breathe clearly once again.

He smiles into your kiss, pulling you closer as his hands move to your waist, your own trailing up his chest to wrap around his neck. This time, the kiss feels different to that night. Unlike the hot, urgent kisses, this one is slower and more sensual. You taste nothing but Jimin, smell nothing but Jimin, feel nothing but Jimin. His embrace wraps around you, filling your senses with nothing but love, hope and belonging. You welcome the burn in your lungs from the need of oxygen, happy that this time the pain is from a pleasurable experience. The two of you slowly draw away, both your eyes still closed as Jimin softly continues pressing chaste kisses on your lips. Slowly the two of you open your eyes, and you star deep into his deep coffee eyes.

“I love you” Jimin whispers, his eyes raw with emotion and you nod, Jimin pressing his forehead to yours before leaning up to place a kiss against your temple.

“I love you too, so much” You whisper back, Jimin grinning happily at you.

The two of you stay like that for who knows how long. You know your friends are probably worried about you, but in that moment,  you can’t bring yourself to care.

Because Park Jimin loved you back and the flowers of unrequited love have wilted.

Instead, leaving flowers of love blooming in their wake.

Masterlist

[qm-vox]

Sigilverse Fanfic - In It To The Death

The completely unasked-for continuation of What You Think Of Death, this time without pay or prompting, and still set in @periakman‘s Sigilverse. Go poke her page, find out what it’s all about! I can vouch for Warlocks of the Sigil and Heroes of the Sigil as fun and unusual reads.

As before, we have content warnings for violence, suicide, and child abuse, as well as a certain amount of imprisonment. Do as thou wilt.

Vellkill Island, Grevelt. Early Autumn

“Tell me what you think of death,” Deirdre ordered. Monika spat a thin line of blood into the dirt of the training yard and shook her head; the older warlock beckoned another soldier into the ring, bringing it to four on one. Her teenage apprentice squeezed the handle of the dulled practice knife in her hand and lowered her stance. “They will hurt you, kid. Last chance.”

“Eat me,” Monika growled.

Deirdre shrugged. “Have it your way. En garde!”

The first soldier in caught a stomp to the side of his knee that shattered it with a grisly snap; Monika turned with the motion, clocking him upside the temple with the hilt of her knife. The teen whirled, seizing her victim’s falling body and using him to catch a pair of slashes directed at where her torso had just been; the man’s fellow soldiers recoiled.

Their mistake. Monika threw her shield at one, forcing the soldier to drop her knife and catch the man, and faked a lunge at the other. He fell for it, moving to meet her; the teen faded past him, slipping through his peripheral vision. The dull edge of her knife touched his throat (”Kill” she muttered in a quick, low voice), before she turned and kicked him in the small of the back, sending him sprawling.

At the sidelines, Deirdre’s eyebrows raised beneath her red hair. “Good!” she called out, even as her apprentice ducked. Her attacker now was a friend she’s made here at Fort Vellkill, a greyshade named Sasha, but you couldn’t tell from the way Monika took them out. The teenager locked their arm and brought them down into a vicious knee that broke the soldier’s nose and sent blood spraying all over the dust.

“I yield!” the last soldier said quickly, still holding her friend. Monika nodded, breathing hard, and sat down in a heap.

Ysabelle, the Fort’s healer, ran over from the sidelines with the look of pure malice they generally reserved for any and all times Deirdre was in their presence. Their assistants brought stretchers to haul the wounded away.

“You know I’m just going to keep asking you,” Deirdre said after a moment, but she got up and brought a canteen of water over to her apprentice. Monika doused her frizzy hair with it, then took small sips. “I can always throw more soldiers at you.”

Monika swallowed a gulp of water. “Sounds like child abuse to me.”

“No shit. Would you like an award for that amazing discovery, you impertinent ass?” Deirdre paused briefly, then switched topics. “You gonna be okay with Sasha?”

The canteen was passed back. Monika swallowed hard, took a deep breath to get air back in her lungs, and nodded. “We talked, awhile ago. They know how it is. I’ll check on them after we’re done for the day. If this is a day when we’re done?”

Deirdre snorted. “I’d ask where you found the nerve but I damn well know where. Let’s -”

“Deirdre!” the unmistakable voice of the island’s master called out, thick with outrage. “What in the rippling Void are you doing to my men?”

“Run,” Deirdre muttered, and Monika got up and ran.

*

In the nearly six months that she’d been on Vellkill, Monika had come to know the infirmary intimately. It was state-of-the-art, as these things go; spacious, well-stocked, in possession of a pair of warlocks with healing affinities and trained staff besides. Though the island rarely had to deal with military attack or mass monster incursions, it was prepared for them.

These days what it mostly dealt with was her and Deirdre and the latter’s idea of training exercises. Monika winced as she passed the guy whose knee she’d broken - he’d be in here for the better part of a month. Ysabelle’s main power was to speed up natural healing, essentially passively, and the Fort’s other healer was away getting some license or other renewed and wouldn’t be back until spring at the earliest.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Ysabelle snapped, the moment Monika crossed into the threshold. The teenager caught a bundle of medical supplies. “Go dress Sasha’s nose. You and that Master of yours are a plague on honest people.”

“I didn’t choose this!” Monika protested.

“She says, knowing damn well she could have just answered Deirdre’s stupid question,” Ysabelle mocked. Monika let out an exasperated sigh and went to go treat her friend.

|She’s stressed.| Sasha signed; the greyshade was mute, and had been since birth. |That was a good hit.|

“You coulda slipped it,” Monika chided, as she got to work. “You haven’t been keeping up on your practice. That’ll get you killed.”

|By what?| Sasha asked; the look on their face made Monika laugh so hard she had to stop what she was doing. |Things don’t happen to Fort Vellkill. We happen to things. Deirdre, mostly, happens to things.|

Monika sighed and got back to work. “Yeah, I bet. We still haven’t worked on unlocking my affinity. It’s been months, but I haven’t exactly brought it up to her either...”

The greyshade soldier tilted their head at their younger friend and signed a question. |Why not? You bring up other stuff, like when you wanted to learn rappelling.|

Sasha drew back, gingerly touching their nose to check it while their younger friend sighed and looked away. Monika seemed to sigh a lot any time she wasn’t around Deirdre. The young warlock’s master got her blood up like nothing else, and Sasha wasn’t the only once concerned about that. It was, what, Midsummer that Monika’d lost her temper during a sparring exercise and fucked Otoya up bad enough that she’d been sent home with a medical discharge? The kid had been torn up about it for weeks. Now she just looked out the window instead of at the people she’d so recently maimed.

Monika looked back over at her friend. “I guess because she said we can only do one at a time. I keep telling myself she’ll stop this part when I’m ready, but what if it’s another test of...of...my nerve? My judgement? Am I overthinking this?”

|You could talk to Lee| Sasha pointed out.

“I could -”

Shouting, through the window. Deirdre’s voice, her usually flat and dead inflection colored by a hate only rarely heard from her: “You cannot give orders to me about my apprentice! I have absolute authority over her education and if you think for one fucking second -”

The master of the Fort cut her off, his own voice a deep bass roar: “You forget yourself, Silencer! I own you and all that you have, are, and could be. If I tell you to drown that brat you will.”

Monika rushed to the window, Sasha close on her heels. Deirdre had her employer’s head by the hair, her dagger - glowing a dull cherry red, like forge-metal - pressing into his throat. All around them, soldiers leveled crossbows.

“If she so much as scratches me, throw her bitch from a window,” the man snarled.

“You can’t play this game with me forever,” Deirdre warned, her voice back to its low, lifeless tone. “You lay a hand on my apprentice and I will cut that hand off. You speak her name and I’ll rip the tongue from your mouth, and before I do it I’ll call the dogs in so they can hold you down for me. Are we clear?”

“Stand down,” the island’s master ordered. “My threats move faster than yours, Silencer.”

A heartbeat. Two.

Dierdre let go of her superior officer, who immediately backhanded her hard enough to put the pale warlock into the dirt. His men started forward, only to be halted by a sharp gesture.

“From whom do you take your orders?” the island’s master demanded.

(Up above, Monika’s fists clenched hard enough that her nails cut her palms, drawing blood.)

Deirdre drew in a shaky breath and picked herself up. She sheathed her knife before standing at attention with a sharp salute. “Colonel Jared Ashe, sir.”

“Good,” the Colonel spat. “Tame your cur. Dismissed.”

Monika took off running for the stairs back down. She didn’t stop long enough to catch Sasha’s hurried |Wait!|.

Or the greyshade’s resigned |Goodbye then.|

*

Deirdre’s furious bellow of “to your quarters!” had shocked Monika enough that the apprentice obeyed without even a token argument, running like a little girl from her mother’s wrath. Hours later, with the sun setting, she was still up with a mixture of anger and worry, trying and failing to focus on her book. She hadn’t touched her fiction in months (admittedly in part because she’d read and re-read it to death); the book on the bed in front of her concerned locksmithing and lock-breaking, not that it was doing her much good, both because the door was unlocked and because she’d read page fifteen six times now.

A knock at the door, and then Lee’s voice: “May I come in?”

Monika smiled to herself. Deirdre did the same thing but she always made such a big deal out of it. At first Monika had thought her master was trying to impress her with how tolerant and accepting of the teen’s need for space she was being, but lately the apprentice had come to the conclusion that the person Deirdre was trying to convince of that was, well. Deirdre.

“Yeah, it’s open.” Monika sat up and closed her book while Lee slid in and closed the door behind him. Deirdre’s factotum looked as sharp as ever, though on base he’d traded his traditional suits for a sharply pressed uniform. You could shave with the creases.

“You are not in trouble. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Lee began. “Deirdre wanted me to assure you of that earlier but I...needed to be certain she was okay in her own company, before I left her side.”

“That man had no right,” Monika whispered.

Lee nodded. “But the situation is more complex than that, to the great misfortune and sorrow of many. And there are those who would say your master has no right to treat you as she does.”

“I picked her.”

“No. She picked you.” Lee crossed the room in slow steps and put a hand on Monika’s shoulder. “I have been asked to reiterate the offer Deirdre made when you landed on this shore. Do you wish to leave?”

The apprentice laughed, a bitter sort of laugh that sounded all too much like her master’s to Lee’s ears. “Don’t insult me, alright? If I wasn’t going to leave when she told me point-blank that she picked me up as a human sacrifice, I’m not gonna leave now. I’m in it to the death, Lee. You hear me? To the death.”

Lee closed his eyes and sighed. “You have no idea what that means,” he murmured. “But so be it. You are summoned to Deirdre’s quarters to begin your magical training. Sasha and I will take over your physical training regimen. I will not lie, it will be greatly reduced. I believe you discussed this with your master before?” Monika nodded. “Then attend to her, quickly.”

The apprentice stood, shook Lee’s hand, and then left as quickly as possible. She still wasn’t certain of her own technical rank, but no one seemed to expect her to salute and she wasn’t about to start until someone told her the rules. Lee would close her door behind him. He always did.

Deirdre’s quarters were in the highest room of the tallest tower, because of course they were. They weren’t used to meet or instruct Monika a whole lot, in part because no one wanted to deal with the amount of stairs they entailed. Still, the apprentice felt almost lighthearted when she ascended to the top floor and found the door open. She’d been looking forward to this for awhile.

Her master was more of a wreck than usual. Deirdre had cloaked herself in metal again, the full rusty regalia she favored out in the field, and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. Monika stopped at the door with her hands folded behind her back.

She’d long since given up on trying to comfort her master in moments like these.

“Lee told you it’s time, then,” Deirdre croaked. “There’s a couple of options, and surprisingly enough it’s not between bad and bad. Just annoying and frustrating. Option one is I take control and burn you through this. Now, that could be nothin’, or it could be an instant eternity of searing fucking agony that will scar you for life. Based on your ball, I’m leaning more towards nothing, but the risk is always there. Or you can try and breach on your own, which takes longer but has no risk. You can come in, by the way.”

Monika stepped fully into the room and pulled the door shut behind her. “Why offer to take control here when you wouldn’t for my combat training?”

“This is just to open the door, kid. Training with your affinity can only happen once we’ve got an idea of what it is.”

Ah. Monika nodded and drifted over towards the window. She could see the spot down below where earlier, Deirdre had -

“I’m not entertaining other conversation topics, kid.”

“Fuck you too,” Monika said in a light tone. “Why didn’t you kill him? How is it that you just hate everyone all the time without trying but you can’t stand up to that piece of -”

Deirdre appeared behind her apprentice. Monika hadn’t heard or felt her move

“It is the business of the dead to hate the living,” Deirdre murmured in her apprentice’s ear. “And I am not having this conversation tonight. What’s it gonna be?”

Monika thought it over a while longer, and then turned to meet her master’s dead green gaze. “Burn me through it.”

Deirdre nodded and slid away from her apprentice. “Never did lack for guts. Step into the center of the room. Safest for us both, all things considered.”

Monika did as instructed, clasping her hands in front of herself. She shifted uncertainly in place. Deirdre’d never actually used the tattoo before. Was there a warning? A build-up? She tapped a foot and her mind was slip-zip-slip-sliding, grease on grease on rubber, look closely, look closely, watch it bend, watch it flip!

When did the floor become the ceiling?

Wait. Monika was falling.

“Ah fuck,” was the last thing Monika heard from her master before her head hit the edge of Deirdre’s bed and she blacked out.

[rrrawrf-writes]

@josiatara is the one to blame for this, because they liked this one enough to make me resurrect it!

i’ve had a vague idea for sonya for a while now, but now i’m totally and completely in love with her so hopefully she’ll crop up more often :3

Sonya looked up when Eli knocked on her open door, and the smile her face was the brightest thing he had seen all day. He couldn't stop from grinning in return, as he meandered inside and raised his eyebrows at the two outside walls of the corner office. They were nothing but windows.

“Every time I come see you, you get a bigger window,” Eli said. Sonya’s electric wheelchair hummed softly as she moved it back from the desk.

“Well, they're sick of me complaining about not getting onto the roof,” she said cheerily, brushing her brown curls away from her face with her right hand. It was her only hand. “So they put me in a better office whenever I say something.”

“Still no elevator up there?”

Sonya snorted. “Apparently it’s cheaper to kick the mayor’s PR rep out of their top floor corner office than it is to extend the elevator shaft one story. Or even just build a ramp.”

Eli wrinkled his nose sympathetically. “So you get all this instead. You’re not even important.” He stooped to exchange kisses on the cheek.

“Oh, I know.” Sonya’s eyes glinted wickedly. “But I guess being head of dispatch for MI has some perks.”

Eli dropped into the chair on the other side of her desk. “How come your desk doesn't face the window?”

“Passive-aggressive underlings.” Sonya glanced over her shoulder. “This is how they moved me in, and I haven't gotten anyone to change the furniture around yet.”

“Sonya, you can just call me,” Eli complained. “I wouldn't mind moving furniture. Or underlings.”

“I can move my own underlings, thank you,” Sonya sniffed. She leaned back in her wheelchair, rubbing the end of one of her legs. They both ended above the knee; Sonya tended to wear short denim shorts now, and always cackled whenever someone sent her an email reminding her of the dress code.

“No one makes khaki booty shorts, you know,” she’d told Eli more than once. He had never suggested she hide the scarring at the end of her legs and arm; he still remembered the first days after the incident, and how long it had taken her to become comfortable with herself again.

“What did you bring today?” she asked, while Eli lost himself in an uncharacteristic amount of thought. He blinked and glanced down at the paper bag he held.

“Cupcakes,” Eli told her, pulling them out. There were two, each in their own individual plastic tin, and while Eli’s was (relatively) tame in regards to frosting, he’d picked out a monstrosity of icing and sprinkles for Sonya. She had a raging sweet tooth. It made Eli’s teeth ache just by the mere sight, but Sonya's face lit up.

“Oh, hell yes,” she said, reaching eagerly for the cupcake. Eli put a plastic fork on top of the container before sliding it across the desk.

“It has cherry filling,” Eli added, as Sonya held up her phone and snapped a picture of the confection. “I think it's a new one.”

“We have to eat this on the roof,” Sonya said. “It’s been forever since I could get up there. Hand me my computer bag.”

It was barely six inches from her, but Eli moved the laptop bag across the desk, and then packed their cupcakes back into the paper bag. He stood a bit too early, and waited as Sonya scraped her hair back into a loose ponytail.

“Would you like me to carry you?” Eli asked after a moment, a little awkwardly. This part always was, but the look Sonya gave him was one of exasperation.

“Well, I could just crawl up the stairs,” she said caustically, “but then the sunrise would be over before we even got to see it.”

Her left arm ended just above where her wrist would have been, and she used the crook of her elbow to hang the bag of cupcakes. Eli slid her laptop bag over his shoulder, while Sonya turned her wheelchair away from her desk.

“This never gets any less embarrassing,” she muttered, as Eli slipped his hands under her shoulders. He grinned sympathetically over her shoulder.

“It’s five in the morning,” he said, lifting her from the wheelchair. “I doubt anyone is around to see.” He shifted her onto his left hip, in much a similar way he carried his daughters. Her legs fit neatly on either side of his body, and she wrapped her right arm across his shoulders, gripping his jacket.

“You’d be surprised,” she said, but dropped the subject. It took a moment for the two of them to get Sonya settled properly, and Eli grunted in surprise, “You’ve lost weight.”

“That joke’s only funny when I say it.”

Eli flashed her a quick grin. “No, I mean, from last time. Are you eating all right?”

“I’m eating fine.”

“You’re not.” Eli shuffled sideways through the door, careful not to bump Sonya against the doorframe. “That’s your lying voice.”

“I don’t have a lying voice,” Sonya huffed. Eli rolled his eyes up to look at her sidelong, and she wrinkled her nose and looked away.

“My nurse has me on a diet,” she said after a moment, as Eli stood in the hallway and tried to remember where the stairs up to the roof were hidden. He really had been gone too long. “It’s that way, dear heart.”

Eli obediently moved down the hall, towards a window at the very end of it. An alcove to the right held the firestairs, and he grunted a thanks when Sonya leaned forward, using her shortened left arm to push the door open. “Fire them. You don’t need a diet.”

“I can’t fire her, she’s my daughter.” Sonya let out a gusty sigh that Eli felt on the top of his hair. “And it’s my fault, really - I was moping, and I said something about how life took my limbs, it could have at least let me keep my flat tummy. Now she thinks that it’s important for my self-image.”

Eli snorted a laugh. It was a short flight of stairs up to the roof, and he leaned his upper arm against the bar on the door to push it open. “I don’t know anyone else who has less of a self-image problem, Sonya.”

“Well.” She fell silent, and he wondered if he had said something wrong. The wind tugged at them as they stepped out onto the roof, and Eli rounded the outcropping that held the door to the east side of the building. They could already see a faint strip of light outlining the skyline.

“We had a fight,” she said, as Eli found their customary bench. He sat down first, and let Sonya slide herself onto the seat next to him, rubbing the end of her right leg. It was a few inches longer than the left. “I keep telling her that she shouldn’t be here, taking care of me, and she says that she doesn’t trust anyone else. I know she doesn’t like nursing.”

“She switched majors, didn’t she?”

Sonya nodded. Eli slipped off her laptop bag and set it on the ground in front of Sonya, leaving the strap draped over the bench so that she could pick it up when she wanted. In turn, she set the paper bag between her legs and fished out Eli’s cupcake. “From astrophysics, Eli. You know there’s not enough girls in STEM as it is, and she’s always wanted to go to space.”

Eli made a sympathetic noise. Sonya took that as encouragement to continue, and went on, “I told her if she was going to be a nurse, she at least should be a caregiver for someone who’ll pay her. And I told her I wanted to get to the moon before I die. She’s not having any of it.”

“She’s only, what, twenty-two?” Eli asked, and Sonya nodded as she popped open her food container. “She’ll get sick of it and go back to what she enjoys, Sonya.”

“She better, or I’m going to run her over with my wheelchair,” Sonya muttered. She brushed her hair back from her face, then stuck a fork into the massive pile of frosting that smothered her cupcake. “What about you? How’s your kids?”

“They’re fine.” Eli watched Sonya, grinning at the obvious delight on her face as she tried her cupcake. “Tati’s getting a little jealous about Niki, but she’s trying not to show it.”

“Did Tati test positive?”

Eli shook his head. “Daniel wants me to test her again. And Siope hasn’t been tested at all.”

Sonya stilled next to him. “That’s illegal, Eli.”

“Yeah, and stealing kids with powers is unethical.” Eli’s tone was clipped. He really didn’t want to have this conversation, though, not even with Sonya, so he changed the subject. “You like your cupcake?”

“It’s delicious,” Sonya said, or at least, Eli assumed that was what she said. It was hard to distinguish her words once she filled her mouth with cake and icing. He finally poked at his own, and the two sat in companionable silence as they ate, watching the sun heft itself over the skyline. Light glinted off skyscrapers, and Eli almost forgot about the chilly air.

“You have something else to ask about,” Sonya said, finally, once all that was left of her cupcake was smears of frosting and crumbs clinging to the wrapper. She rubbed a napkin over her lips, before dumping her trash back into the paper sack.

“Take a wild guess.”

Sonya smiled at him, but it was hesitant and uncertain. “I didn’t force the west coast office to send you that case,” she said. “I almost forced them to take it, though.”

Eli looked at her sidelong. “Why?”

Sonya sighed. Setting aside the paper bag full of cupcake trash, she leaned against Eli and stared at the horizon. There weren’t many clouds in the sky. “I remember what you were like, Eli. After - After he killed them. I don’t want you going down that hole again.”

Eli put his hand palm-up on his thigh, and after a moment, Sonya wrapped her fingers through his.

“I won’t.”

Sonya gave an ugly snort. “No?” she asked, looking up at him. He felt color rising to his cheeks, and he looked away. “I can already tell you are. You aren’t as - as happy as usual.”

Sighing, Eli said, “I was hoping you could run ops for me.”

Sonya went still again. She straightened up, but didn’t let go of his hand, and used the stump of her left arm to brush away some of her hair again. “I - I can’t, Eli. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” The words slipped out, petulant, before Eli could stop himself. Sonya gave him a pained look.

“Because if you - Because when you,” she corrected herself, speaking slowly, “Because when you have Starblast there, on the ground in front of you, I won’t be able to stop you from killing him.”

The words fell into silence, like shards of metal dropping on a tile floor. Eli stared at the horizon, and gently, he extricated his fingers from Sonya’s. He clasped his own hands together, dropping his gaze, and felt the truth of her statement. His stomach twisted.

“Eli,” Sonya said, her words very soft. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Nothing in the rules says I can’t,” he said, as quietly as she spoke. “No one else would take the case, Sonya. Not just in my office. No one else.”

“I know.”

Mercury Independent made a lot of enemies. Its employees had been targeted before, whether as the mission objective, or simply as a bonus. And so, there wasn’t really any written policy on revenge missions. There were unwritten policies, though. If it was well-known that an MI agent had a grudge, and a job cropped up that focused on their grudge, they got first pick.

Starblast was probably the most famous example. Eli had never met a coworker who felt even indifference towards him; they, one and all, hated the bastard. And they all knew what he had done to Eli Montoya’s team. If someone else had taken this case, they would have been considered about as loyal as dirt.

After another long pause, Sonya said quietly, “I still have nightmares of being crushed.”

“Me, too.” Of course, Eli’s nightmares weren’t about being trapped under a collapsed building, but of standing there, helpless, watching it all happen again, and again, and the faces changed, sometimes. He’d thrown up, once, after waking from a dream where it was Kawai and Mickey.

What had he been thinking? Of course he couldn’t ask Sonya.

She put her hand on his arm, leaning forward a little to try and get a look at his face. “Who else have you asked?”

He hesitated, then admitted, “You’re the only one, so far.”

Sonya frowned. “Who else is on the list, then?” she asked, and when his answer didn’t come, her frown grew deeper. “Eli… you have to have a team.”

“He killed everyone on the last one, Sonya.”

“Not everyone,” she reminded him, sharply. “This is what I’m afraid of, Eli.” She glared at him until he reluctantly met her eyes. “You wanted me to run ops because you know I’m physically incapable of stopping you -”

“Sonya, no, that’s -”

“Don’t interrupt when your mother is talking,” she said haughtily, even though Sonya wasn’t anywhere near old enough to be his mother. “I know everyone in MI has this - this complex. Eye for an eye, whatever - but that’s not you, Eli, it never was.”

She turned herself so that she more or less straddled the bench, and tugged at Eli’s shirt until he mirrored her motion, swinging one leg over the backless bench. For all that he was probably twice her size, Eli always felt like a child whenever Sonya started lecturing him. “You’re not a killer, Eli.”

“I’ve killed people before,” he murmured. Sonya pursed her lips, looking down at their hands. She reached out and took one of Eli’s again.

“Not when you could ever have avoided it,” she reminded him. “You can’t let that change, Eli. Look at what you’ve accomplished. You turned Sparkwave, for heaven’s sake. You found out who was Avenicci and Steel’s right-hand man, and you brought him into the fold. What - What Starblast did - that was heinous, Eli. I can’t begin to describe…”

She took a shuddering breath, her eyes screwed shut. Eli looked at the stump of her left arm, the ends of her thighs, and closed his own eyes.

“It’s just another job, Eli.” When Sonya began speaking again, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, don’t… Don’t let him ruin you. It was never your fault.”

Something wet splashed onto Eli’s free hand; he raised it to scrub at his cheeks. “I know, Sonya,” he said, finally, and coughed a little, trying to chase the hoarseness out of his throat. “It’s just another job.”

“Tailor-made for you.” Sonya gave him a weak smile. “Now, pick me up and let’s go back inside. I have work to do, and you look like you haven’t slept.”

“I took a nap,” Eli protested. He stood up anyway, and after a few seconds to rearrange everything, he gathered Sonya up in his arms, settling her against his hip. They both paused at the same time, taking one last, long look at the sun that had risen above the city.

Sonya pressed her lips into his riotously pink hair. “You have five hours to submit your team to me,” she told him. “Remember, it’s a retrieval mission, so I expect no less than two others. I’d prefer a full set of five.”

Eli sighed. “Yes, mother.”

“You know, I like Sparkwave and the mob guy - Sam, right?”

“I’m not picking Sam, he’s not big on kids.”

She gave his shoulder a fond pat as he carried her inside. “You’re picking Sam.”

[vowel-in-thug]

so @corsaircourser whose username i can’t tag right now wtf asked for “22. It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.” which i immediately tweaked. also i’m fucking eating my words here because this is....a little grim. NOT angsty, but like. casual conversations about cannibalism. like if you watched the show Hannibal this would probably be considered tame. this is also my second (2nd) black sails fic with a romantic cannibalism theme which is an interesting fact about me.

set during 3x4

“It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.”

Flint stands, watching Billy by the treeline. Watching the strange men behind him file out ahead, training their guns on Flint’s crew, who are still too weak and starved to do anything but blink and curse. Billy looks grim, more so than usual, with a gun pointed at his head.

Flint stands, and then, slowly, moves to stand in front of Silver.

Silver, who is still on the ground, and letting out quiet exclamations as a man with a gun approaches them. Two more men with weapons are quick to follow. Flint can’t see what Silver is doing, but he can feel him shift at his feet. He is still on the ground when the men approach.

The man in front of Flint looks at him like he’s fishing. Like Flint is just another fish caught in a net. There’s no anger, no passion, no sympathy. No wariness about what Flint or his men might do. It’s just another task --  to catch him, to kill him, like all the other fish before and all the ones after. Flink thinks this man could cut off his head and then never think of him again.

The man says something, which Flint doesn’t understand. But Flint understands the barrel of his gun. Slowly, so slowly, he lifts his hands and removes his own weapons. He tosses his pistol, his sword, and his knives into the sand. The other men scoop them up, while the man in front of Flint doesn’t even glance at them.

Flint sees out the corner of his eye Silver following suit, his own pistol striking the sand, and then the man in front of Flint glances at him.

And suddenly, the man in front of Flint becomes the man in front of Silver. He points his gun at him and says something sharply, but the way he gestures with his pistol suggests only one sentiment: get up.

Flint finally looks down. Silver’s hands are shaking, in part due to the imminent threat, but also because they’ve been starving, and sick, and when you can’t eat, you can’t sleep either. He has the iron leg on but it’s not straight, and he’s fumbling with the buckles to try and adjust it, but the faster he moves, the more his hands shake.

The man in front of Silver repeats what he said before, only louder, and gestures harder with his gun.

“Wait!” Flint steps in front of it, hands still raised. “Just wait. He just needs another moment.”

The man says something again, his face as passive as before, but the other two men approach Flint, and the man in front of Silver pulls back the hammer of his gun.

“Wait,” Flint says again, “he just needs a moment, please.”

There’s a hand around his arm and he’s never felt so frail in his whole fucking life. The hand wraps itself almost all the way around his forearm and begins to tug. Normally, Flint wouldn’t have been moved an inch, and he tries to stay still, but he is also shaking, and with one more tug the only thing that will be standing in between Silver and a gun is air, but  if he struggles they’ll both be gutted like fish either way.

“Just wait, please -- “ and the man in front of Silver steps forward.

“It’s on,” Silver says breathlessly. “It’s on. Captain, help me up, quickly.” He extends his hand to Flint and it’s still shaking. Flint doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He hauls Silver up and Silver stumbles, sinking into the sand. Flint’s hand comes up on his chest to steady him, and he feels sick at the bones he can feel through his shirt. Silver grimaces in pain but says nothing.

The man in front of them says something else, a single word, and gestures again with his gun. He leads them towards where the rest of Flint’s crew are waiting by the trees, waiting for them to head into the forest.

One of his men has run away, and Flint doesn’t even entertain the notion that he might see that fellow again. None of their captors seem all that bothered by it, though, which at least means they don’t plan to take the escape attempt out on the rest of them.

Or that whatever fate awaits them is so bad that any further punishment seems pretty irrelevant.

Silver is cursing beside him as he stumbles along. Flint is terrified what might happen if he falls again, afraid of any sort of additional attention on him and his missing limb.

Silver bumps into him, not very hard at all, but Flint sees the opening and takes it. He grabs Silver’s arm roughly and throws it over his shoulders before Silver can even get his mouth open.

“Enough of this,” Flint mutters, looking straight ahead. “The time for pride would have been before we almost starved to death.”

“It’s not --” Silver sighs quietly. “You need to save up your strength for what’s to come. You don’t need the extra weight.”

Flint feels his whole body trembling under Silver already. The muscles in his neck ache sharply, like he’s being drawn and quartered. His side feels stitched at the awkward angle of his body. Silver jerks when he walks, and it pulls and presses at every healing bruise and cut on him.

“You aren’t that heavy,” Flint says. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Silver doesn’t say anything, and then he snorts softly. “You must have the strength of Goliath, then, Captain.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve yet to see you look anything other than strong.”

It’s a lie, even if Silver doesn’t realize it’s a lie. Silver has seen him weeping on the floor with Gates in his arms. He has dragged Flint’s unconscious body from the depths of the sea. He has looked right into the heart of Flint and effortlessly seen how awful it is to be him. He has listened to Flint beg, in so many words, for Silver not to leave his side. They shared a cabin recently, in the days following Miranda’s death. Their entire relationship has been nothing but Flint being weak and Silver refusing to notice.

They come to a clearing of wood, and the ground drops below them. Silver steps away from Flint as they gaze out onto the expanse of the Maroon camp. It’s large and bustling and sophisticated. Flint had known they were fucked before, but now he understands just how much.

Their captors lead them down the embankment, which is rocky and steep. Flint walks in front by design, so when Silver finally trips (almost immediately), he lands right into Flint’s back. And then it’s easy to hook his arm around Silver’s tiny waist. Silver has no choice but to loop his arm back around Flint’s neck.

He’s flushed, like he might be embarrassed, and his features are twisted into a snarl.

He feels stupid to say it, but Flint asks again, “Are you alright?”

This time, Silver nods, teeth clenched, before finally spitting out, “Sand.”

“What?”

“There’s -- sand. In the boot.” Silver bits on the bottom of his lip hard enough to turn pink white. “It’s like grinding down right on the bone with each step.”

His fingernails dig sharply into Flint’s neck, in and out, like an agitated cat extending its claws. Flint doesn’t think Silver even knows he’s doing it. It’s the familiar twitch of a person in agonizing pain, unable to stop it and trying desperately to find something else to focus on, even if it’s another pain.

“It’ll be a small comfort, I suppose,” Flint says softly, turning his face so it goes right into Silver’s ear. Silver’s nails dig in again.

“What is?”

“When they decide to finally eat us,” Flint says, “there’ll be less of you to go around.”

Silver lets out a choked laugh, turning to Flint in surprise. Their faces are suddenly so very close.

“I must be honest,” Silver breaths, not looking away. “The thought had crossed my mind back on the ship. That we might have to resort to such measures. And you’re right.”

“I am?”

“It was a comfort.” Silver, of all things, smiles.

Flint looks away, even though he’d started the joke. The harsh terrain is ending soon. He can already see the edge of the river through the trees. He feels Silver panting on his cheek, as heavy as his whole weight on Flint’s frame.

Without thinking, Flint says, “No one would have eaten you on that ship.”

Silver huffs. It hits Flint’s eyelashes. “I don’t think the men like me that much to spare me if that’s the path we had found ourselves on.”

Flint doesn’t know why they’re talking about this. Maybe because they have, in some fashion, found themselves on a similar path, towards a gruesome end, and there’s nothing they can do about it now. Maybe because Silver has stopped twitching and instead is just pressing his fingertips lightly on the nape of his neck. Whatever the reason, Flint says, “I wouldn’t have let them.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, only that now, in this moment, with Silver holding Flint up as much as he’s holding Silver up -- now, he believes it. He’s not sure where the impulse comes from, but it’s there all the same. It’s the same kind of impulse that had struck him in the past, when that other sailor had insulted Miranda in that tavern, or when he’d asked Thomas’s father to leave the dinner table. He hadn’t known where or why those impulses had overcome him, then, either.

As if reading his mind, Silver says wryly, but no less quietly, “I wonder if you would have spared me before, when you were still in the dark about my role in the Urca gold.”

Flint doesn’t answer, because he also doesn’t know that either. And really, it makes no difference. He does know, however, that the only thing he’d felt upon hearing Silver’s confession was pure, unimaginable relief.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Silver whispers. “If you had tried to spare me -- either we would have both been the first to be eaten, or the last two left remaining. The two of us, gorged on the blood and fat of our brothers. And then, what do you think would have happened?”

They arrive at the river. There aren’t nearly enough boats for everyone, but their captors are efficient in dividing everyone up, so that their guards are never outnumbered by their prisoners. Flint is put in a boat alone with Silver, possibly because they are still supporting each other.

Silver doesn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, and in fact seems to have forgotten the whole conversation, staring out at the camp in trepidation. Even so, Flint doesn’t think Silver would like his answer, that, in that scenario on the ship, Flint would never have eaten a single man. He would have given all the meat to Silver, to keep him strong, and alive, and when there was no one left but him, he’d offer himself up for a final meal. He’d only ask that Silver start with his heart.

[alexryzlingold]

Family Matters pt 4 (Final)