#but they need to try REAL hard not to fucking maim and kill each other for at LEAST 5 minutes

[cryptidofthekeys]

Friendo Chaaaaase - A question for your consideration Would your favourite big red monster (Bob) be friends with your other favourite big red monster (Kane)?

<3 - Mitch

Friendo Mitch!! Hmmm... That’s a good question tbh, I’ve never thought about that kinda crossover ...It... Could be interesting-

they can both shake hands in solidarity on one thing in particular bc damn, my boys can work grills like no other lad NFGJKDJFS-

but Idk,, I feel like maybe those two could get along ...Decently- if Bob didn’t try to eat the other, I mean I guess even if he tried he’d be fuckin planted in the goddamn ground bc I’m sure Kane would not let that slide

but who knows, maybe they can bond over weirdly creepy facts n shit like that- ...I’m not sure how much Kane would be up for trying any human flesh ...I mean, considering all the other shit he’s done ...Imma go with a m a y b e he would but not a definite yes or no

but the two could share some creepy stuff with one another, creepy facts, stories, etc-

Another thing, they are both sadistic as all hell and both seem to be fucking slasher levels of pain tolerance bc these fuckers just do n o t care about pain jgkfljgfdksl

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

So in conclusion, I feel like they could VERY much get along if they just sat down and didn’t try to fucking mangle n kill each other for FIVE MINUTES, they can both work a grill p damn good, they both are creepy as hell and have creepy facts n stories to tell one another

and they are both sadistic as hell, they got a good amount of things in common, they could be friends, shake hands in solidarity on many factors- the funniest thing in my head rn and this is unrelated to the topic of them being friends but

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

just that fuckin trend of your old comfort character meeting your new one fdjksjdfks I’m thinking of that, Kane just staring and Bob just laughs “...Ah, well, I reckon that makes sense” ...I was choosing bastard characters from the s t a r t jfgkdldjfsdla from when I was a wee lad

[daddyissuesyo]

Monsta X Yandere Headcanons

tw: implied sexual content, non-sexual consent violation, murder, suicide, emotional and physical abuse, harm/endangerment, severed ties with family, vulgarity

seriously guys this is intense

Shownu: The Protector

- you pique his attention and he asks you out, seemingly normal

- becomes obsessed after the first date and captures you on the second

- avoids physical harm unless absolutely "necessary" to keep you in line. manipulates you until feeling as though you failed him.

- reckless, unconditional love

- you can't help but reciprocate a little; he's just so caring & attentive

- vanilla sex, because he loves you

- funds EVERYTHING you could possibly want: fluffy comforters and a massive mattress, personal maids, deluxe coffee maker, stuffed animals that he doesn't let you name, etc.

- you thought your dynamic was normal until you caught him dragging the limp body of the postman that accidentally saw you changing into a shed

- from that day forth you feared him, yet didn't stop loving him

- "you are my entire world. my everything. we need each other. forever and then some."

- will not kill you unless he convinces himself others will and death by his hands is the better option

Minhyuk: The Deluded

- i n f a n t i l i z e r

- pities you, oh so much

- thinks you are a helpless baby in dire need of rescuing

- treats you like a porcelain doll & refuses to let you make even the smallest decision for yourself

- convinced you are just as infatuated and dependent on him as he is you

- on good days, he will draw bubble baths, play card games with you, and play G rated movies, pausing every minute to explain what happened

- on bad days, he will yell at you, bind your limbs, and carve his name into your flesh

- simply doesn't understand your disobedience and grief and takes it out on you, hoping to "knock sense into you"

- unlike many yandere archetypes, he enjoys parading you about like an accessory. has friends come over to admire you

- "i know it's too much for you to understand, but you need my care. where is this behavior coming from? don't you love me?"

- you'll kill yourself before he can, driven to the point of insanity

Kihyun: The Jealous

- no pets. no friends. no contact with the outside world aside from media he approves.

- shelters you like mother gothel

- insists you cut off all male contacts, even family (if you are lgbtq, it's best not to reveal this to him because then you won't even be able to speak to female family members)

- doesn't hesitate to murder any man you won't cut off. forces you to watch.

- comforts you afterward in a sick way

- you have to PLEAD to go anywhere

- if he allows it, you must wear a face covering and stay by his side

- tends to be rough in bed; he lets loose all his pent-up frustrations on you

- isn't COMPLETELY out of touch with his humanity; treats you well on birthdays and holidays and even permits a supervised phone call with your mother

- "you overwhelm me. you fill me with so much joy and so much rage. you'll never know the effect you have on me, sweetheart."

- inevitable murder-suicide in the end. i give it no more than 5 years.

Hyungwon: The Sadist

- it's all a game of cat and mouse to him; he kidnapped you while you slept after stalking for quite some time

- keeps you in chains in his basement

- decorates his home with your missing posters like a real sicko

- will torture the living shit out of you with no remorse. inflicting fractures, head trauma, slicing you open, digit dismemberment, drowning, strappado

- gets off on your fear more than your pain

- unlike the others, he recognizes when you're suffering; he just doesn't care

- destroys your self-worth and self-esteem by berating and insulting you. it's your fault you can't tell he means "I love you"

- sex entails bondage, degradation, and cruel laughter. incorporates pet names like: "bunny," "little lamb," "kitty," etc.

- may get bored of you and seek out a new victim, leaving you inexplicably desperate for his attention (which is all part of his game)

- always comes back to you after he's maimed and fucked who knows how many people. and you let him every time, holding out hope that he'll stay

- "you're never going to escape me. i hope you know that."

- would rather almost kill you and keep reviving you. you're in it for the long haul.

Jooheon: The Two-faced

- like shownu, things begin typically

- gradually shows his hand over time, but you're blinded by your feelings for him (he's a very good faux boyfriend)

- waits until your most vulnerable moment to attack

- strict and often overbearing; will beat you black and blue to the point of unconsciousness

- will actually apologize, but he doesn't stop

- tries to keep things around that you enjoy and allow domestic hobbies (congratulates your accomplishments but doesn't want to fuel your ego too much because then you'll leave him)

- struggles with internal conflict over how to treat you. wishes he could be more lenient but can't bring himself to

- allows you to have family and friends over while he's present

- very good at acting normal, it's scary. will flash you a psycho smile after they leave.

- "i'm sorry things have to be this way. if only you could see... i really do love you."

- kills himself in the end due to guilt

Changkyun: The Unhinged

- yes, yandere are psychotic, but changkyun is another level

- if you try to escape or resist him, he just stares at you with round eyes, slowly growing a grin that turns into a crazy laughing fit

- protects you from outside forces, unaware that he's the greatest danger in your life

- only upside is he takes you out on the town

- slaps across the face. sometimes at random, just to let you know he's in control

- you live on eggshells, unsure if he's in a loving or violent mood

- a strange dichotomy of worshipping you and craving your attention, yet feeling like you should be the one begging for him

- fucks hard and often, but can't look at you after

- owns an industrial freezer and locks you in there until you collapse from hypothermia III

- "w-were you trying to escape? FUCK no. what don't you understand, hon? you're my fucking property."

- will stab you repeatedly in the end, smiling with tears streaming down his face

Would anyone be interested in me developing these characters/storylines further?

[dreaminpetals]

Yoooo can I get some norton sfw and nsfw headcanons 😳 your writing is top tier btw !!!!!

⛏ norton hcs ー sfw & nsfw . . .

art credit

SFW ;;

♡ norton deals with frequent mood swings, hallucinations, and intense survivor's guilt, so he had cold feet about relationships for a long time. he views himself as a burden and stain on society, he doesn't want to put anyone through the misery of dating him.

♡ if he had a partner all he'd do was hurt them, norton thought. he'd try to rescue them during a game but accidentally maim them, or lash out at them during a fit of uncontrollable rage and scar them forever.

♡ when he began to develop a crush on you, he was even more gloomy than usual. he cancelled plans with you, walked away the moment you sat down beside him, and refused to heal you even if you were standing in front of him and the hunter was far away.

♡ it was your compassion that made him fall. hard. although you didn't speak much, you always went out of your way to help norton and offered an ear if he needed to vent rather than being scared and fleeing.

♡ he thought that if he made you hate him then his feelings would go away, but it only made you more determined to support the crumbling man who had your heart.

♡ every time he thought about holding you, he would be plagued with visions of him hurting you right after. sometimes he would burst into tears when he met your gaze because he couldn't stop thinking about you dying like his coworkers.

♡ it took weeks of nonstop affection to convince him that you'd be safe with him and that you'd love him no matter what.

♡ he wanted to be as close to you as possible to keep you out of harm's reach, but he also didn't want to be near you in case he hurt you.

♡ your love was like magnets. he pushed you away, pulled you closer, pushed you away, pulled you closer.

♡ the best s/o he could ask for would he a levelheaded and understanding one, if you were calm and nurturing (but not overbearing) then he could have someone to pull him out of his fits of catatonia AND calm him down when he was blazing with fury.

♡ norton's rage would never be directed at you, it was always himself or anyone who posed a threat to you.

♡ he'd give hunters tons of shit for even daring to lay a finger on you. he didn't care if hastur was a god and norton was a man, he was going to calamari that bastard for letting you bleed out.

♡ huge fear of abandonment. he needs constant reassurance that you aren't complaining about him behind his back or planning to pack your bags and leave.

♡ when norton is in a good mood, he can't keep his hands to himself and acts so smug.

♡ you want to keep him in his sleazy money hungry moods for as long as you can, you insist on gifting him with stunning gems or interestingly shaped rocks just to see his face light up.

♡ he gets frustrated and genuinely upset when you tease him or don't give him what he wants but when it comes to teasing you? norton is the most mischievous man you've had the experience of meeting.

♡ he uses the height difference between you to his advantage, if you have a hat he can and will hold it above your head and chuckle as you try to reach for it.

♡ give him sweet food!!! he may not look like it, but pastries and candy remind norton of his childhood and have a calming effect on him. for every donut you donate to him, he'll kiss you in any spot of your choice.

♡ if he has a game on golden cave you'll volunteer to play it for him, he can't handle the claustrophobia and flashbacks he gets when he has games there. he appreciates it so much.

♡ favourite cuddling position is laying on his back with you resting on his stomach or under his arm with your hair splayed on his chest.

♡ burns everything he touches but will still cook and bake for you!!! maybe you should give him lessons?

♡ never knows how to ask to vent. he lets you know by talking to himself, saying "i killed them", that's when you drop what you're doing and console him.

♡ he wishes that he embraced love earlier, nightmares and hallucinations are easier to handle when he has someone clenching his hand and running their palm along his hair to calm him down and remind him it's not real. the voices that asked norton "why did you kill me?" are replaced by his lover cooing "norton baby, it's not real, you're safe in your bed, i love you so much dear" in his ear. he feels like he can handle anything with you by his side.

NSFW ;;

♡ like his moods, norton's behaviour in bed changes like the weather.

♡ norton is a fan of slow, intimate sex where nothing exists except you two. when you can mumble that you're hopelessly in love with him as you give light strokes to his cock, each lick worth a thousand words.

♡ other times, norton is brutally rough and you have to use a safeword with him.

♡ on bad days he'll enjoy humiliation or degradation, by having you beg for him or be called filthy names it reassures him that you aren't plotting to abandon him if you're doing all this embarrassing stuff.

♡ when he tops, he prefers to fuck you from behind and grip your hips until his nails like talons leave a mark, drawing blood. he can't control himself when he sees you submitting yourself to him and spanks you.

♡ holds you no matter what, when he wraps his arms around your belly as his hips snap into yours from behind he feels like he's protecting you.

♡ likely has a breeding kink as well, he wants to cum inside of you as deep as he possibly can and never pull out.

♡ he has such a thing for your hands ー their softness, their size, how your nails feel when they scratch his back, how you play with his hair... he wants those same hands to turn his cock into a red, leaking mess.

♡ candles. norton would use candles to set the mood and lighten the room so he could look at you better, but he would also enjoy watching (safe) wax trickle onto your skin.

♡ especially if you already have cum on you, he'd rub it in with his hands until they stuck to your body.

♡ something about the smell and the mess of it all drives him wild. the fact you're willingly letting him corrupt you like this is enough to make him cream in his pants.

♡ obsessed with claiming you, he would mark you up from head to toe and have you promise you wouldn't leave him while his teeth sunk into your skin.

♡ pulls your hair so hard that some chunks have accidentally come out... in the moment norton growls and fucks you harder when it happens, but once he cools down, he feels awful and wants to give you a massage.

♡ the heavy breathing and strings of curses that fall from his lips make your legs weak, his voice sounds huskier and more primal during sex.

♡ when he eats you out or blows you he digs his nails into your thighs and doesn't let go until you've cum at least twice, the unmistakable scratch marks left on your thighs leave him ravenous.

♡ norton doesn't like when you make references to past sex when he's in one of his happy moods, it's so embarrassing for him. but when he's in a teasing, possessive mood? the same room you mentioned it in would be the same room he jackhammers you in. even if there's other people, he'll find something to stand behind and act like he's fixing your outfit for you... don't try to tease norton when he's horny because he does Not show mercy.

[ultimatetornshipper]

Steam

A lot of facts could be seen as only opinions. A lot of facts could be seen as flexible depending on one's experiences and perspectives. Facts could change and facts could be more than just the part of it that you're made aware of.

Blossom knew this.

But there was one simple fact that would remain the same for all of eternity.

Blossom Utonium hated Brick Jojo.

And he hated her.

Nothing, NOTHING would change this simple fact. They were natural enemies, opposites made to challenge and contradict one another.

It was simple.

Key word being was.

It's easier to hate and despise one another when your siblings weren't all friends and dragging the two of you along every chance they got.

It's easier to hate one another when your morals are directly clashing on a weekly basis.

Yeah, they still didn't exactly agree on a lot of moral questions but the boys aren't really evil anymore either.

But when the boys stole something the girls would fight them, take it, arrest them, they'd escape and everyone would let bygones be bygones.

By everyone she meant the blues and the greens.

She was pretty sure Brick was the only one who actively wanted to still do that stuff and Boomer and Butch just followed his lead. Or maybe Mojo still had something on them. She couldn't be sure, but the point was that they still committed crimes and that was illegal so it was their job to stop them.

And she wasn't stupid, she knew full well that she and Brick were the only ones who weren't pulling their punches and treating it all like a game.

So like she said. It was simple.

Until her sisters decided to make it complicated by befriending their rivals.

Blossom despised complicated social situations.

In any other context she could handle complicated. Fights? Sure. Science? She adored it. Books? What other kind is there?

But in group and friend dynamics? It annoyed her more than yarn catching on her nail, more than nails on a chalkboard, more than a dirty, uncleanable chalkbo-

It annoyed her a lot.

Why? Because it created situations like the one she was in right now.

Where her sisters and their counterparts were play fighting and joking around while she and Brick maimed eachother.

And it was always followed by a lecture by Bubbles on how she was too hard on him and Buttercup telling her to chill out while Brick and his stupid smug smirk would mock her and wouldn't leave her alone and how his red hair would be messy afterwads and half out of his ponytail and wisps falling into his face surrounding his gorge-

No.

She flew up to dodge a kick and landed behind him, pushing him forward so that he lost his balance.

She was fighting him right now. She couldn't think about his eyes or his pink lips forming a smug little grin and how she just wanted to kiss that stupid little smile off of his dumb face-

She froze in shock.

Kiss Brick?

Since when had that been an option?

She felt him get a hit in her stomach and her bottom collided with the ground.

She shook herself out of it. Later. She could analise... whatever this was... later.

She started getting up but suddenly he was straddling her waist and pinning her hands down above her head.

She stared at him in silence for a few seconds, because he was really close now and she could see the light freckles dancing across his nose up close and-

Bad Blossom! Now is not the time! You hate him, you despise him, he is the enemy! Stop checking out the guy you're fighting!

He smirked down at her victoriously, "At a loss for words, eh, Pinky?"

She felt him lower his guard and loosen his grip and quicker than lightning she flew out beneath him.

What in the name of Einstein was wrong with her?

She flew quickly and as high as the tallest building in Townsville, then she stopped and turned around and the handsome bastard was right there in front of her-

Wait a minute- handsome?!

Blossom needed to lie down.

Sadly, he seemed determined to keep this going.

They traded blows and each time he said something she didn't reply.

She was too busy freaking out about the fact that she had not only wanted to kiss him but also mentally referred to him as handsome and what the actual frickty frack?!

"What's wrong Bow Pink? You're awfully quiet today, afraid me and my brothers are finally gonna beat you and your sheep?" Brick taunted.

Blossom's brain with all its genius level intellect then decided that the only way to deal with whatever was happening to her heart was to stuff it in a jar and bury it deep, deep down and pretend it wasn't real.

She hated him.

He hated her.

That was a fact that couldn't and wouldn't ever change.

So she did what she did best.

She riled up Brick Jojo.

"I'm not the one here with sheep, Rock," she said mockingly.

He narrowed his eyes, throwing a punch that she quickly dodged, "Oh now she speaks?"

"You finally said something worth replying to. Though I must say, Rick, I'm disappointed, I can't believe you've been reduced to using puns," she replied, kicking his side and pulling away quick enough that he couldn't grab her leg.

"It's Brick and you know it, and don't pretend you don't pun, Pinky, we both know that's a lie," he said with a small growl in his voice. Dodging her once more.

"I still think your insult was just some good old projecting. Clearly if one of us have sheep it's you. My sisters fight of their own violation," she taunted, smirking. He grabbed her and they wrestled midair, each one gaining and then losing the upperhand.

Suddenly they pulled apart, flying in circles, eyeing one another. They were both panting, clearly out of breath.

Anyone could sense the electricity crackling through the air from a mile away. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that her siblings and their counterparts have stopped fighting and were now eyeing their leaders wearily.

She'd deal with it later.

She turned her full attention back to the man in front of her as the silence grew sharper.

His shirt had small tears in places, his hair was all over the place and he sported a few new injuries. She was certain she was in a similar state.

"They choose to fight," he broke the silence, glaring at her, "I don't force them to do anything they don't want to. I don't control them,"

The sharp, delicate silence fell apart and she felt her temper flare. The electricity turned to fire and she launched herself at him and felt her eyes heat up.

"The only reason for that is the fact that you're too busy being controlled," she screamed.

She could almost taste his fury at her words and their fight went to a whole new level.

Neither of them held back anything as they shot lazerbeams and went for one another unlike ever before.

She pushed him against a building, trapping him. And for a moment they locked gazes and time froze. The anger and frustration and denied attraction flared between them like a wild electric cable, their faces only inches apart.

"Are either of us really in control, Pinky? Or are we all just the result of someone else's choices?" he whispered harshly as they gazed into one another's eyes.

She felt her guard lower only for a split second before he grabbed her and pushed her against the building.

"But then again," he said quietly, and she felt his breath mingle with her own, "maybe if we want control we need to take it ourselves,"

He closed the distance between them and she only felt his fire approach for a second before she reacted with her ice.

So that's the was he wanted to play this?

She deepend the kiss and poured all her hatred and love and frustration and attraction into it.

She bundled up his shirt in her hands and felt his own get tangled in her hair. She faintly heard his hat fall to the ground not too far below.

Yet she couldn't care less as she kissed him the way she'd never allowed herself to kiss anyone before for fear of their life.

But she could do this with him because he could counter her perfectly.

He really was her opposite, huh?

Then she registered the fact that the air around them was slightly more humid than before.

She ignored it though, because this was the best kiss she'd had in... well, ever, and she was not going to pull away because as soon as she did that it would be over and it wouldn't happen again because now that they knew that it didn't-

Blossom felt him pull her closer and pushed all her previous thoughts away. She'd worry later, for now she just allowed herself to disappear into the kiss.

A few minutes later she became aware of a rather large amount of water hitting her.

They pulled away from one another in search of the source.

She quickly noticed that Brick was in a similar state as her and they turned to find their siblings staring at them.

Bubbles was holding the hosepipe that was likely the source of the water and Buttercup handed Butch 20 dollars.

"Really?" Her black haired sister asked, "You couldn't have waited just three more days for your murder make out session?"

"Our what?" she asked while Brick replied with a simple, "Fuck you,"

"Actually, Brick, you've got the wrong sister, I'm Buttercup, the one you wanna fuck is in your arms, her name is Blossom," Buttercup replied slowly, in a mocking tone of voice.

The red heads turned to look at each other and when they noticed their proximity, they jumped away from one another like the other had the plague.

Brick turned to them, "I was trying to kill her!"

And Blossom followed suit, "And I was just defending myself!"

"Nothing else!" They said at the same time.

Bubbles rolled her eyes and Boomer smirked. Butch waved them away, "Don't worry we have a completely different bet for when you two will acknowledge and accept your feelings for one another,"

"Yeah, and I can still win it!" Buttercup agreed.

"Feelings? What feelings?!" Blossom screamed, "Bubbles, tell Buttercup she's being ridiculous,"

Bubbles rised an unimpressed eyebrow, "Bloss, you're both redder than Brick's cap,"

"And you just spent 10 minutes making out so much that literal steam started surrounding you," Boomer snickered.

No matter how much Blossom or Brick denied it, no one in all of Townsville believed their denial after that day.

Buttercup won the second bet.

Approximately 3 months after what was dubbed their first Murder Makeout session the two finally confessed to one another.

Those 3 months are another story entirely.

But it was this that proved to Blossom that truly no fact was concrete, facts changed and facts expanded. Facts were flexible depending on your experience and perspectives.

And the fact was that while once upon a time, maybe Blossom did hate Brick and maybe Brick did hate Blossom, things changed.

But that mutual hatred melted away into something new, something beautiful, something flexible.

Something a little bit like steam.

Authors note:

Inspired by this post

I don't plan to continue this but if someone wants to continue or expand this idea or world like tag me I'd love to read it

Thanks to @maltrashdump for coming up with this idea, I love it, hope u enjoy my version of it

Also sorry for not putting a read more thing I'm on mobile atm

[stillness-in-green]

I felt like the plf war was rushed

1.Plf advisors getting hype but no payoff

2.Only miruko, Momo, and Kirishma got time to shine

3.Machia got defeated to easily

4.The war felt more like a raid

I don't know if I feel like it was rushed, per se--it's by far the longest arc in the story so far by number of chapters, and would be even if you cut off the Tartarus jailbreak and the entirety of the hospital aftermath. What it absolutely does feel like to me is unbalanced.

You note that the "war" feels more like a raid, and you're right. As a caveat, it's worth keeping in mind that "Paranormal Liberation War" as a name for the arc in question is entirely an invention of the fanbase. To the best of my knowledge, the reasoning for the name was that big action shonen series like BNHA (Naruto, Bleach, Hunter x Hunter, etc) always have a war arc, so what we were seeing in the lengthy, mass combat confrontation with the PLF had to be HeroAca's equivalent. It's not a term that's in the manga itself, however, not called as such by the characters, not referred to as such by Horikoshi or his editors, not even namedropped in chapter or volume titles. If it feels like a raid, that's probably because that's what it was intended to be.

And that's the problem, really. This arc shouldn't have been about a couple of raids; it should have been about a war.

(Below the cut: a bunch of fired-up complaining. Uses some harsh language, and talks about both injuries and deaths we did see and some we logically should have.)

From the outset, we were told that the resources Shigaraki had amassed were "on par with, or even stronger than" the resources of the hero-saturated society. Yet, we're expected to believe that a force that strong is so easily taken down by a single coordinated set of raids? Yes, the heroes had the benefit of surprise, but there's just so much that doesn't work for me.

First off, and to get this out of the way, it's ridiculous that the heroes even had the benefit of surprise. The MLA had an unknown number of hero double agents. They had people in the government; they had people in the infrastructure. This is an organization that had been living undercover completely unsuspected for multiple generations--how did the HPSC ever manage to carry out a massive, country-wide investigation on such a secretive group and coordinate multiple simultaneous, comprehensive raids without a single person finding out and alerting the higher-ups over a period of only three and a half months?

When exactly did Hawks have time to go and revive Best Jeanist--which he tells us he did personally--such that none of the bugs and micro-cameras he was covered with picked up on it, and both he and BJ could be back in the positions they needed to be in for the raid to begin?

How did Skeptic find out about the raid such that he only discovered it at the last possible second and not minutes, even hours, before it kicked off? How did hundreds of heroes (and even "hundreds" is being conservative, given the fact that they had seventeen thousand people to detain) close in on the villa without anyone from the PLF noticing, either Skeptic with his information network or mundane precautions like people on watch?

Even granting the heroes their surprise advantage--which I don't want to--if the advisors were all supposedly "stronger than the average hero," why didn't we see any of them winning? Okay, yes, Hose Face beat Midnight, but he had every possible advantage in that "fight"; I hardly count it as some big impressive defeat that shows us that the villains were holding their own.

Here's another thing: the MLA styled themselves as an army--they were demonstrably trained in troop tactics. When we saw them in Deika, even their nameless on-the-ground people were capable of coordinating with each other on the fly in response to the movements of the enemy, as we saw come up repeatedly:

Yeah, they were off-guard at first, but as soon as the advisors made the front line (which, you'll note, was immediately), that disadvantage really should have begun eroding. Certainly once Geten--Geten! The number one MLA member most willing to disregard collateral damage! And there he was being a proper leader!--got to the front and started yelling orders, we should have seen the PLF rallying, and I can't imagine any sensible justification for the tides not turning when a) Re-Destro showed up to occupy the highest-ranked hero on the field, b) a bunch of heroes peeled off to try to stop Machia only to get trampled for their efforts, and c) Trumpet got dug out.

You know who don't style themselves as an army, though? Heroes. Oh, they get some basic lessons in cooperation as students, but the extent of such lessons we see is stuff like "why it's important for heroes to have signature moves"--so that on group missions, their reputations will precede them and fellow heroes will already know their shtick. U.A. teaches the odd lesson plan that involves the kids fighting in groups, but there's a huge difference between you and 3 to 6 of your buddies fighting a similarly-sized group in a practice fight, or a handful of heroes teaming up to take down some criminal low-lives, and the mass combat scenario that was the raid. For heaven's sake, look at our closest other equivalent: the raid on the Hassaikai base. At every turn in that encounter, the heroes let themselves get split up and picked off, winnowing down their numbers. It's even explicit in the narrative that hero team-ups were, in the age of All Might, uncommon, and heroes are only just beginning to adjust to fighting in teams. The erstwhile MLA should have had the advantage there.

As to Machia's defeat, I think the big problem with it is not how it happened, per se, but the timescale involved. The plan itself was sound enough, and even with all the kids' efforts, it still took Machia reaching Shigaraki and not getting any new orders to follow to really do him in. Given what we can extrapolate about his movement speed, though, I just don't think the kids should have had time to set all those traps, especially given how much of that equipment would have had to be fabricated by Momo on the fly. I know she's gotten stronger and all, and good for her, but you're telling me that in the four months between Joint Training and the raid, she went from passing out because she created a bag of goodies and one (1) cannon to being totally fine and still able to coordinate her fellow students while cranking out 23 jars of sedative, dozens of feet of rope/cable, multiple fire-resistant coats, explosives they somehow had time to bury, and three cannons?

For fuck's sake, Jirou gave Machia's ETA as under ten seconds. Yeah, Mount Lady slowed him down, but "only a little"--how much time could she possibly have bought them, that the kids were able to to coordinate and enact everything that plan involved?

You guys, go read this post by @codenamesazanka. Machia is so fast. So unbelievably, incredibly fast. "Twice as fast as the fastest train in the world" fast. "Horikoshi clearly did not stop to think about the distances involved here" fast. Three miles in ten seconds fast. It would have been hard enough to square with the needs of the plot that the kids were sufficiently far from the villa to have the kind of time they needed to swing Momo's plan at all, but Horikoshi explicitly letting Machia get right on top of them before the kids even start just makes it completely impossible for me to credit. Machia clearly being slower aboveground than he is when burrowing does not make that much difference to my suspension of disbelief.

My other big complaint? More people should have died, for real. The PLF warriors would not have been holding back. They were ready and willing to kill anyone they came up against. The heroes did have to hold back, because heroes, as we're told over and over again, are not supposed to kill, no matter how dire the circumstances. That difference in ability to exercise force should have been yet another significant advantage for the PLF. I could write an entire list of characters that I think could have reasonably been killed during the raids. That wouldn't be to say that I think any individual, specific character on that list should have died, just that, based on the parameters as they were presented to audience, some number of them should have.

I mean, honestly. How did Horikoshi wanna show us Gang Orca's unmoving claw in the wake of Machia's passage and not have Gang Orca on the list of the dead? How did Fat Gun run right into a mass melee and still have enough fat left over afterward to survive getting trampled by a walking mountain? How did Thirteen survive not getting pulled out of the hospital basement when Shigaraki's Decay hit? How did Trumpet survive getting a staircase dropped on top of him? How did Gran Torino survive a fist through his tiny old man chest cavity?

I could go on and on, but it's not just about the deaths, either. I'm not saying that Kamui Woods necessarily should have died by swinging himself face-first into a blast of blue fire, but I am saying that he should have been out of commission for longer than three goddamn days. You bet your ass I'm saying that after telling us that Hawks' weak point is fire, making us watch him spend at a solid minute or more with his wings wholly enveloped in Dabi's 2000 degree flames, and having Dark Shadow exclaim that his back is completely burned away, Hawks should never have grown his wings back, much less so quickly that they were already visible under his shirt a single day later.

More deaths, more maiming--heck, even more retirements. I'm not saying I love that kind of thing in my fiction--I don't, actually. I think an overreliance on it is a sign of edgelordy nonsense. But the scenario that we had demanded to be treated with the kind of gravity that would have led to such an outcome. To set up a conflict like the raid and have the villains only barely be able to scrape a partial escape, to try to tell us that Shigaraki's victory in Deika granted him such a terrifyingly powerful force only to have them lose every battle they got into, to tell us this was a blow that shook Hero Society to its core, only to be so unwilling to kill or retire any heroes the audience cares about that Midnight is literally the only significant loss… It doesn't work. None of it works.

I don't have much to say on which characters did or didn't get a highlight. I think there were a few more people than you listed that got some good scenes--Tokoyami and Uraraka both got material I liked quite a bit; Dabi famously out-trended the U.S. presidential election on Twitter when he (literally) came clean, and Mr. Compress gave us some wonderfully interesting and characteristically opaque material to chew on. On the whole, though, adding more character moments would only have been dragging out the problem: the scale of the PLF's threat and the HPSC's chosen method of dealing with it are simply incompatible with the feeble "neither side truly won or lost" resolution we got.

And that's my rant on that--thanks for the ask!

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

Marauders and Kate’s (Lack of) Leadership:

One more salt post, partially inspired by this issue, but something I’ve been thinking about the series for awhile.  Not bashing on Kate here, just feeling that Duggan is, to some extent, doing her dirty just like the rest of the group.

So, Kate is the Captain of the Marauder, but much like Bobby and Christian’s relationship, or Pyro’s reputation as the violent wildcard of the crew, it’s more an informed trait than something we actually see play out in the story.  Duggan really isn’t giving Kate all that much to do as “team leader.” 

I’d expect a team leader to be dealing with strategies and giving orders during battle, as well as dealing with conflicts and issues within the team itself.  Except we see Kate do next to none of that.  Most battles the group all seems to do their own thing.  We see Kate jump in to rescue her people occasionally, especially in the fight with Donald Pierce and the racist anti-mutant group, where she pulls both Iceman and Pyro out of danger.  But we don’t really see her stop and strategize mid-battle, like, “Okay, Pyro, you draw the Sentinel’s attention with fire creations, Bishop, cover him, while I phase the hostages free and Iceman freezes it’s feet.“  I think the King in Black Marauders is one of the few times where we really see Kate giving orders and making decisions during a battle.  Most of the time, the battles just kinda happen, and either they’ve been strategized beforehand or someone else has the idea (Callisto in issue 19) or people just charge in and fight.

And to be fair, Kate certainly acts like a captain in terms of their general mission.  She decides where they’ll go and what they’ll do, and she does give orders out at sea.  But she doesn’t seem to make good use of her teams abilities during battles - mostly because Duggan doesn’t really want to write about anyone but Kate and Emma (and occasionally Callisto), so he lets the potential of the rest of the crew just sit there and rot.  He’s too focused on Kate running around doing badass things to actually show her using her crew in an intelligent fashion and making proper use of everyone.

On the second matter - Kate doesn’t really have to deal with inter-team conflict because there isn’t any.  At most, there’s some friction between Storm and Emma in the beginning, and they make up after Kate’s death.  Kate’s crew just kind of automatically forms around her with no real effort on her part.  Storm and Iceman are there specifically to protect her, Bishop has his own agenda, but he is willing to work with the Marauders to do so.  Pyro is the only one who Kate would arguably have to win over as leader, and he’s been surprisingly well-behaved.  He’s never challenged her leadership or even pushed back or argued that we’ve seen.  I guess we can assume that Kate has earned his respect, or that he really enjoys the Marauders’ gig and is toeing the line so as not to get kicked off. 

It makes a certain amount of sense, but the lack of friction also feels unrealistic.  It’s hard to believe that former villain Pyro, even with his affably evil personality, will just settle right in with the crew and not clash with anyone beyond getting on Storm’s nerves.  It’s hard to believe that Bishop, who has his own agenda to follow as a Captain of Krakoa, would never run into a situation where his mission and Kate’s mission clash and he has to walk away or disobey orders.  (That was touched upon during King in Black, but then immediately fizzled out like so many other Duggan plotlines.)  Hell, even Bobby and Storm, who are Kate’s friends and love her dearly, might disagree with a course of action at some point.  But they never do.  All is well aboard the Marauder, everyone is best friends or at least willing to tolerate each other, and they all follow Kate’s orders without question, and it feels very unearned.

But to my mind, the worst issue of Kate’s leadership is the lack of information passing down to certain members of the team.  Marauders doesn’t feel like a tight-knit team, because most of the time, half the crew has no idea what the fuck is going on.  So much of Duggan’s story is focused on Kate and Emma having adventures, making back-room deals and doing sneaky Hellfire stuff, and we’re expected to just accept that Bishop, Iceman and Pyro will be kept in the dark.

As far as I know, Iceman and Pyro have no idea that Sebastian murdered Kate.  And BIshop only knows because he did his own investigation and figured it out, then had it confirmed by Storm.  I understand the need for secrecy since Emma is trying to smack Sebastian down without making it a Council matter, but surely the rest of the crew should know about this?  Bishop is a Captain of Krakoa working with the Marauders, he should absolutely know that Sebastian is playing power games.  I can understand keeping some things from Pyro, he’s a new team-mate and former villain who joined under suspiciously convenient circumstances (fell asleep on the boat?  Really?).  But surely Pyro should at least be warned that Sebastian is not their friend.  Otherwise, what’s to stop Sebastian from inviting Pyro up for a poker night at Blackstone Keep, plying him with whiskey and cigars, and getting him to spill the beans about all the Marauders latest missions?  As far as Pyro knows, Sebastian is part of the Hellfire Co, AND a Council member, he’s got no good reason to distrust him.  Because he doesn’t know that Sebastian betrayed them.

But Bobby is the worst, I think.  He’s Kate’s good friend (they even dated briefly, although it didn’t work out for....obvious reasons).  They are supposed to be close.  And Bobby straight up mutilated a guy who he thought was part of the group responsible for Kate’s death.  (To be fair, no one knew at the time that they raided that ship).  Bobby was both devastated and furious at Kate’s death, and they’re still keeping him in the dark?  Imagine how Bobby will feel knowing that the man he maimed was....not innocent, exactly, but not guilty of what Bobby believed.  How is Bobby going to feel knowing that it was Sebastian, and Kate herself kept it from him?  Bobby deserves better than to be treated like an underling like Pyro. 

Probably the worst example, though, was this latest issue of Marauders (24), where we find out that Emma Frost conned the Mercury away from a shady alien, and that alien has it in for her.  (I don’t remember the dude’s name, so I’m calling him Fake Greedo.)  Fake Greedo tries to kill both Emma and Kate, they get saved by Sebastian (?!), which is a nice moment for him.  Sebastian suggests they solved the problem with money, and Fake Greedo accepts.  Then the whole group assembles in the Mercury for dinner, and Fake Greedo double-crosses them and sends the entire group, including Sebastian, Iceman, Bishop and Pyro, out the airlock into space. 

The problem here, is that as far as I can tell, Bishop, Iceman and Pyro had NO idea about the deal or Fake Greedo’s grudge with Emma.  Pyro literally has a line when he’s handing payment over to Fake Greedo: “I dunno who you are, or what you did to get paid, but you happy?”  In other words, Pyro doesn’t know a damn thing about the deal or the Mercury.  And I don’t think that’s just a joke about Pyro being clueless.  He, Iceman and Bishop were off doing their own thing during most of the issue.  (What were they doing?  Who knows, Duggan couldn’t be bothered to show it.)  It seems like Emma and Kate just....didn’t bother to tell half the crew about what happened.  So they ride back to Earth with an alien who has a serious grudge against Emma, and the three of them have NO idea what’s going on, and they get sucked out of the airlock to possibly die, with without knowing what’s happening or why.  They deserve better than that.  If nothing else, Bishop is a security guy, he should know what’s going on. 

If this book was written by someone better than Duggan, I would expect some repercussions from this.  I’d expect Bobby, Pyro and Bishop to be angry that they were killed (or almost killed) because of one of Emma’s backroom schemes that they didn’t even know about.  I’d expect Bobby to be especially angry that his friend Kate keeps not telling him things.  I’d expect maybe some kind of splintering of the group or at least conflict that isn’t resolved immediately, because secrets have been kept that they deserve to know.  But what will probably happen is that next issue Emma will do something cool, and any dead Marauders will get resurrected, and everyone will be totally fine with everything.

Anyways, like I said, this is not meant to drag Kate as a character, this is me discussing how Duggan is really doing her dirty by not giving her a chance to be an actual team leader.  Because he wants her to be “in charge,” but he also doesn’t really want to write a team book, he wants to write her running around in pirate cosplay having swashbuckling adventures, so she winds up looking like a negligent, unnecessarily secretive leader.  And I know she can be much better than that. 

[g0reoz]

vent post under the cut, though i’m hesitant to even make this. (going to keep it brief-ish and not go into too much detail, just enough so you get the jist. this isn’t The Whole Story) tw uhh not real but possibly graphic violence and also mentions of csa. if you don’t actually know what i’m talking about in this post, either Good For You! ignore it! or dm me if you want links to previous posts on the matter. this might get long

god dammit, i keep doing shit like grinding my teeth and wringing my hands and randomly clenching up and digging into my arms with my nails. all very clear indicators that i‘m Freaking The Fuck Out over something (which. in this case that Something is the same bullshit that should have been over in like 2019). the problem is (the problems are, i guess), i don’t even realize this is happening half of the time until someone points it out. and i’m trying as hard as possible to stay chilled out about this. it’s not worth over a month of my time, right? it doesn’t make sense to spend that long on edge for something that might not even happen. but the thing is, there’s still a very real possibility of it happening. those letters from the court are there. one was sent in, and i fucking signed it. the other one is hanging on the fridge, taunting me. either i end up feeling like this for weeks on end over nothing and have nowhere to release the pent-up tension, or i end up going and dealing with the whole situation. and either way, it’s a lose-lose kinda deal.

this is the third time they’ve tried to reschedule the court case. everything about the case came out years before the first trial was even planned, so that was long enough. i heard there was going to finally be a trial, so i thought it was going to be settled for good. relief. until i found out they might want me to make an appearance. stress. but then they postponed it because of covid. minor relief. and it got rescheduled for awhile ago (last summer, if i remember correctly?), and the first official letter came. extreme stress. a few very tense phone calls later, and my mom convinced them that if anyone, she should be the only one showing up because i didn’t really Need To Be There. relief. and now, this time the letter is back. we had to Actually Send It In this time. there were no phone calls, no reasoning or attempts at compromise. just the signature lines and the sealed envelope.

it’s weird this time—i feel like i’m sorta going through the motions AND worse than ever at the same time. on one hand, i’ve been here before. but on the other, each time i’ve felt new and different things about it and about him—and none of them have been good. already, the violent dreams are back. not as extreme as some of the other ones, but Gouging Out Eyes With Your Nails is still pretty rough when you know it’s coming from your own brain. i’m really tense lately. this whole thing feels realer than the last times, which means i’m afraid the shit my brain comes up with as some kind of fucked up defense mechanism will be worse, too.

was gonna say “if i may, i’m going to go on a bit of a tangent about that subject in particular,” but this is my post for spilling my guts (metaphorically) so i don’t spill my guts (literally). whose permission was i asking for.

like i’ve mentioned, the dreams and occasional stronger-than-usual intrusive thoughts (though primarily the dreams) are the worst part of this all. i know my brain’s doing it defensively, to reassert my control when i was in so many situations where control was lacking and i could have been more severely hurt. i get that. but still, there’s something about seeing yourself kill and maim someone that‘s Really Fucking Unsettling.

to trace things back for context, i was In His Class as a fourth grader. even in classes that tended to rotate teachers, i was usually in his. being the well-intentioned kid i was, sometimes i would stay a few minutes before recess to clean shit up in the classroom. i, like anyone who had late homework, occasionally had to spend recesses or lunches in a (often his because of aforementioned Always Having Him As A Teacher Somehow) classroom to finish up the assignment. by the fact that our grade was too small to have manageable costs per student, i narrowly managed to avoid going to an overnight field trip thing conveniently chaperoned by both teachers for that grade. for mothers’ day, both classes made little photo frames for our moms with stickers/paint/whatever and a photo of us with a sign that said something like “i <3 u,” but who’s to say he didn’t have some of those still. he’s the reason i had to spend years trying to look at stickers normally again. and he pulled some other really weird shit, to me and the classes in general, looking back on it.

and as i look back now, i saw the way he looked at kids! at me! i saw the way out of all the assignments and shit hanging up, mine made it multiple times! i saw that i was probably alone in that classroom doing late homework, or in the library with only a few students between because i was assigned to run a study hall! i heard later on about all the kids who had it so much worse than what i dealt with, and i realized? those kids who got fuckin r***ed?? i‘m livid just knowing that it was them, but THAT could have so easily been me, too!! my mind was racing and it saw all the opportunities where, if luck was against me, you’d almost EXPECT it to be me. times it got TOO CLOSE to being me. and i think that fucked me up more than all of the small things he had ACTUALLY done combined.

see, i’ve definitely mentioned it before, but as a result, my mind’s been going haywire—mostly while asleep, but not always. it started when all the information was first brought to light, and it has spiked every time something new happens regarding the situation. at first, it was pretty basic stuff. ”i have to show up in court case and get Really Mad.” “i have to show up in court and [insert fictional entity] beats him up for me. yayyy woo we leave after that” “i see him and he is in jail. the end.” pretty basic, comforting-ish stuff. note that this was before i even knew i might have to Actually Be Involved In The Case. (btw, if you’re uncomfy with violence or cruel punishment, maybe skip the rest of this paragraph. just go to the next one. gonna try not to get too bad but i want to at least sort of show the progression with a few examples.) eventually, around the first planned case, it got worse again, both in frequency and content of the dreams. “i have to show up in court and i choke him to death.” “i have to show up to court and i disfigure him with the judge’ gavel.” ”i see him on the street and stab him in the liver.” around the second one, it got even worse. i know i talked about “i’m running from him and i find a gun, but even though it ends there i know i end up shooting him” because i had a breakdown over it. but there were also ones like “i cut off his head and fingers with safety scissors when we’re alone in a classroom” and “i shove his severed. y’know. down his throat n He Dies.“ now, it’s swinging back around with the previously mentioned one, but i’m scared of it getting worse.

the part that really unsettles me about all this is the simple fact that I’m Not Generally A Violent Person. obviously, i’ll flip my shit if provoked, but it takes a lot to even make me get visibly mad. and i sure as hell don’t get my kicks imagining Literally Torturing People, even if i fuckin hate them. so to have my own brain make me watch myself do all this? wowwww, lots of psychic damage is done. i can’t even Just Wake Up or anything. i’m forced to sit through it to the end. it’s not who i am, BUT. it does make me extremely concerned. how am i going to act if i do have to show up in court? especially with all these imagined scenarios that take place there? am i going to cry? yell? have a breakdown in front of everyone? start screaming at him? or, worst possibility, what if i actually do something Really Fucked Up And Violent? i mean, clearly my brain has no qualms with vividly imagining it and sometimes even giving me nasty intrusive thoughts while i’m awake, but how far will that go in real life?

needless to say at this point, i’m scared. i’m seething. i’m feeling sort of unstable. i know there’s a notice in my description as of right now too, but it feels worth repeating: please, be patient with me. i am doing my best, but with something like this coming back yet again and being so connected to my religious trauma at a time of year that’s already bad for the latter, i‘m not doing great. gonna be brave about this, but i can’t promise you that i‘m not gonna seem off. or tired. or a bit more easily burnt out. after all, i’m not exactly feeling like myself. i hope this post is the last regarding this situation.

[trashyslashers]

Can I get some stuff for Poly Billy and Stu, Myers, and Bubba or any others for them catching feelings and not knowing what to do so it all bubbles up and explodes? Like a massive rant/confession or rash actions?

I wasn’t sure if you wanted the reader to catch feelings or the slashers to catch feelings, so I went with the slashers!! This came out much longer than intended.

I feel like Bubba’s is a small bit OOC and I apologize!! I did something a little different for his.

The endings are open! I left them up to the reader to determine how the confession turns out, so let your imaginations go wild. 

This is as gender neutral as I could keep it!———————————————————————————————————–

Billy & Stu:

Stu was the first of the duo to catch feelings for you - the fresh, new senior from some out of town high school that moved to Woodsboro before the year started. Casey, his ex, seemed to take a liking to you, which of course in turn caught Stu’s attention, and he found himself wanting to know more about you.

Of course, though, anything Stu was interested in, he’d tell Billy about - and that included romantic interests. The more Stu spoke about you, the more Billy paid attention to you. The particular way you spoke, the way you dressed, your type of humor, even small things like what kind of drink you brought with you to class every day all became of interest to the both of them as time went on.

The two of them are much more ridiculous together, now that they have a mutual interest in someone. Who’s spent the most time with you? Who knows more about you? Who do you talk to more? It’s almost, almost, like they’re in a competition with each other over you, but you’d never know it. The degree that they manage to keep their feelings a secret to is utterly astounding. They keep their cool around you whenever you spend time with them.

…Which they make sure happens, a lot. What’re you doing over the weekend? Wanna hang out at Stu’s house? - his parents won’t be home, and there’s a scary movie marathon on Saturday. Billy will be there, too! What about after school on Thursday? You’re almost overwhelmed by how much they want to spend time with you.

The two’ve them have actually never had a genuine, shared interest in someone before, if we’re being honest. Were you more into goofy, fun-loving guys like Stu? Or more laid back, confident guys like Billy? They’ll probably argue about it. A lot. The topic of who’d be a better boyfriend is a hot one between them. 

Though they argue about it, they honestly have no issue when it comes to sharing with each other. All they had to do was get your attention, right? EZ PZ.

…Or so they thought. Their minds went absolutely blank every time they tried to think of what to do, how to approach you, or how to even talk to you about this sort of thing. Being with two guys at once? What if you were only into one of them, or neither at all? How the hell do you even approach someone about this sort of thing? Neither’ve had any real issues with approaching people for relationships before, but a poly relationship was… very, very different.

Day in and day out they kept trying to figure out when the right time to make a move would be - should they wait until the holidays? Should they approach you individually, or together? Billy felt that one on one would be better, though Stu thought that they’d do better together - if they each approached you on their own, the other would miss out!

Any sort of plan or idea they had completely goes out the window one dreary, Friday afternoon. School had just let out - most students were piling into cars or onto the bus to hurry home. You, though, unfortunately, had been left without a ride. Planning to just walk home in the icy rain, a classmate of your approached you - a guy from your Economics class you knew as Chris. He was kind and pretty dorky, but he was charming in his own way; you’d heard rumors that he had a thing for you.

He approached you as you were leaning up against the wall of the school’s exterior, shivering as you fiddled with your walkman as you prepped it for your trudge home. In his typical, faux-confident manner, he came up to you - a sideways smile on his face as he asked if you’d like for him to give you a ride - he didn’t want you to get too cold out there, and surely he could help keep you warm.

“Nah,” - another voice suddenly chimed in before you could answer. “They’re good with us!” Stu, in his usual fashion, interjected as he hopped to your side, slinging his arm over your shoulder lazily. Before you or Chris could speak, Stu pulled you away from the conversation, over to where he was previously standing by Billy. 

Both took delight as you laughed out a “thank you”. As nice as Chris was, you weren’t particularly interested in spending much one on one time with him, you explained. You’d heard that he liked you, but he wasn’t “on the list” of the guys you were interested in and you hated rejected people.

This absolutely delighted them to no end; both the mention that you had no interest in that other guy, and that there were apparently multiple guys that had your attention.

Now - now was their chance. Most classmates had left, there were no prying eyes to watch if they got rejected - they couldn’t wait, they needed to ask and they needed to ask now.

Stu, with his arm still draped over your shoulders, tugged you closer as Billy’s arm joined his.

“Any chance the two of us are on that list?”

Michael Myers:

You’d really have to find some way to draw Michael’s attention and keep it, especially his non-hostile attention.

Michael’s no stranger to having an obsession, or a strong idée fixe on one single person, and you’re absolutely no exception to this. Once he’s caught feelings for you, they aren’t going away.

It’s different; it’s kind of scary for Michael, and considering the fact that he isn’t used to feeling anything even remotely nice towards another person, he… really has no idea what to do.

What he does know, though, is how to stalk. He knows how to watch, he knows how to observe and keep his presence hidden, revealing it as he pleases. He figures that since that’s what he knows best, that makes it the best way to get your attention.

Quite unintentionally on his end, he scares you for awhile. Giving you brief glimpses of himself as he lingers in the treeline across the street, or as he saunters through your neighbors yard, his eyes looking up to your window as you peered out, your heart pounding away in your chest as you were unsure of what to do.

You would never feel alone, now that Michael had his eyes on you. Walking to work, to school, or to the store? You can feel another presence out there, distant but close, somewhere in the sleepy streets of Haddonfield. Even if no other person was visible, you could feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, the eerie feeling of knowing that you weren’t quite alone out there even though it appeared as such unnerving you to no end.

But Michael didn’t want to hurt you, no - he wanted to keep an eye on you. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about you; was this love? Just curiosity? Budding antagonistic feelings, yet to come? Michael couldn’t name it. He didn’t care to, either - he just knew he wanted you in some way.

What did people like? Michael’s vague memories of Judith and her various boyfriends came to mind. She seemed to like the notes they left her - but Michael couldn’t write, nor was he interested in doing anything physical - another thing he knew she liked.

Gifts. Gifts are the way to a person’s heart, Michael recalled, something he remembered hearing in an old television commercial. Michael had no money, but that was no issue; he had his ways of getting what he wanted. The way his chest felt tight with agitation and restlessness whenever he thought about you became too much for him to deal with, and Michael began to make a move.

You begin coming home to the strangest items left on your doorstep. One day it was an overripe baby pumpkin, a few days later, an old hairbrush. The most alarming of the “gifts” was the wristband that had gone missing from your room a week prior. “Should I call the police?” was the first question that came to mind.

As the days drew on, Michael grew impatient. You seemed more scared of his gifts than you seemed happy or pleased - was it really that bad? Usually, he felt entertained when he knew that he was scaring someone; playing tricks on their minds and letting them know they’re being watched and followed against their will was a forte of his, but he didn’t feel this way when it came to you. He didn’t want you to run from him, he wanted you to run to him.

Michael’s desire to have you grows too strong to resist one day in the middle of October. Halloween was approaching, the itch to maim was growing too strong too, and Michael knew that sooner or later he wouldn’t be able to have you like he wanted if he didn’t act soon. His idea? Chill in the coat closet of your hallway until you came home, of course. 

The way his hands gripped your shoulders as you opened the door to hang your jacket up was enough to shock you into silence. 

What the fuck? Should I call the police? What the fuck! Your head felt as if it were about to burst from fear - until the gentle shake of his head caught your attention - no. 

You flinched awfully hard as his hand reached into the front pocket of his coveralls. You recognized him from somewhere - the mask, the height - the news? It didn’t matter now, though - he was probably going to kill you. 

Slowly, he pulled out a small object him his pocket, his fist opening to reveal that it was a small hair bow - blue tartan. It wasn’t yours, of course, but it was in surprisingly good condition, for something that he’d been keeping in the pocket of his filthy suit. He shook his head no once again, signaling that he - apparently - wasn’t going to harm you. He slowly, timidly, if you dared call it that, held the bow out to you - the tilt of his head asking something he wouldn’t speak.

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba caught feelings for you the second he first laid eyes on you - and when Bubba falls for someone, he falls hard.

You were the adult child of a family that lived some bit away from the Sawyer’s house, and while you weren’t particularly close with them or anything or the sort, your lot got on fine with theirs and there were never any issues during your brief interactions with them.

Drayton gets on him much more frequently now about being so careless and absentminded, but Bubba couldn’t help it. His mind was constantly preoccupied with thoughts of you - the nice-looking, kind neighbor that had his heart caught in a trap.

Unfortunately for him, Bubba’s never felt this sort of thing before. Sure, in the past he’s… had to deal with a few victims that he couldn’t help but fine particularly attractive, but he’s never felt such warm feelings towards someone before. That, combined with the fact that he never really learned about this sort of thing, left Bubba absolutely clueless about what to do.

When would he see you again? How would he act? Should he even find a way to tell you how he feels? How does he even feel? He doesn’t know how he should even begin to approach you about his feelings, in the instance that he actually gets the chance to.

Any time in the past that he’s interacted with you, he was always either completely silent, or a stuttering, blubbering mess as his shyness left him unable to calm down. This led to him almost dreading interacting with you - he always made such a fool of himself!

Seeing you was inevitable though, as Bubba soon learned. Despite his family’s usual desire to keep to themselves, Drayton had apparently, for whatever reason, invited your family over to the Sawyer residence. While your little lot wasn’t allowed inside - Grandpa’s a bit under the weather, as Drayon put it - the weather outside was pleasant enough for conversation on the porch.

Bubba couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He hadn’t actually had the chance to be this close to you, before - were you wearing perfume/cologne? You smelled so good, so sweet - and you looked sweet, too. Bubba could tell you were intimidated by him, but who wouldn’t be? But despite your obvious unease, you were still kind to him, to his brothers - that was the straw that broke him. You two barely knew each other yet you had his heart in the palm of your hand - he wanted to be with you.

When no one was paying attention, Bubba approached you. His hand reached out to tug on your sleeve gingerly, and he gestured for you to come. He wanted to show you something.

After the initial awkwardness of him trying to convey that he wanted you to follow him, the both of you made your way to the back of the house for more privacy. Rounding the corner, your eyes fell upon a small, almost-dead patch of wildflowers that was spread out amongst the tall grass and weeds. 

Bubba, noticing your interest, quickly reached down and plucked one of the flowers, a wilted, pale buttercup, and before you could question him, he quickly stuck his arm out, offering the flower to you as his empty hand scratched at the back of his head awkwardly.

If Bubba could, he’d ask if you liked flowers. What if you were allergic? What if you didn’t like flowers? What if you thought he was weird, or ugly, or strange or something? What if you laughed at him, or even worse - screamed? His head was full of emotions - excitement, love, uncertainty, fear - but they were all shut down when he felt the gentle brush of your hand against his larger, rough one as you took the flower, a gentle smile on your face as you softly thanked him.

Bubba felt his heart skip with glee, and before he could stop himself, he found himself reaching his arms out and pulling you into the tightest hug he could muster without harming you. He’d made sure he wore his nicest outfit - no bloody apron, no stained undershirt - a nice button up, and his favorite tie instead. He wanted to impress you! 

Bubba became deathly aware that you were stiff in his embrace though, and with a blubbering mess of nervous whimpers he pulled back from you, his hand finding its way to your face so he could brush his fingers against your cheek, making sure you were okay - that he didn’t hurt you. He was trying his hardest to be gentle with you.

He didn’t know how else to convey his crush. He knows of kissing - he’d seen it on the old TV they used to have, but Drayton said that kissing was something you only did when you were in a relationship with someone - but you two weren’t. Surely it would be inappropriate for him to kiss you now!

The look on your face was unreadable to Bubba. A slight curve on your lips, warm eyes - but no smile. How did you feel?

He was about to let go of you completely and flee into the house out of shame, but you stopped him by opening your mouth and speaking your true feelings.

[elyreywrites]

when i’m like this you’re the one i trust

a huge thank you to my fellow brainstormers: Aque and Mizuphae, my betas: robinlikeitshot and kitcat, and my friend for introducing me to my favorite dick/tim song, which is also where the title is from!!

title is from The Weeknd’s “Blinding Lights”!

please REBLOG - DO NOT REPOST

AO3 Link

Teen 3,107 words Dick Grayson/Tim Drake

Summary:

“You died,” he tried to snap, to hopefully push Dick away, but his voice broke. “You—you fell, and I couldn’t catch you in time.”

- - - - -

Tim reached out, someone was screaming – was it him? – but Dick was still falling and falling and where was his grapple! Dick reached back for him but— he was too far, too far, too far!

“Dick!” He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even close his eyes as Dick hit the broken concrete with a resounding crack. He watched every second, the sight forever seared in his mind.

The world shifted around him and he found himself in the Cave. Tim didn’t know how he’d gotten there and he didn’t care, Dick was dead and—

“My son’s body is on that table because of you,” Bruce growled. “Jason would have caught him. Damian would have caught him. And he’s caught you before. I knew from the start you would never be as worthy of the Robin title, never as good as them. If I had known it would get my son killed, you never would have become Robin.”

Jason scoffed, sprawled over in the chair by Di—the body. “Shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone close to him gets killed. He got his own dad killed, why not his boyfriend too while he’s at it?”

Damian snarled, tears running down his face, and leapt forward with a knife in hand—

“TIM!”

Tim jolted up, grabbing his attacker’s arm and pinning them to the floor before wrenching their shoulder up and—

The person under him sucked in a sharp breath as they hit the ground. When they spoke, their voice was strained. “Timmy, baby bird, it’s just me, Dick. Sweetheart, you were having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have shaken you awake, but, baby, you weren’t waking up. Come on, Timmy, you’re safe. You’re safe, I’m safe, can you let me up now, sweetheart? We’re okay, but I need you to let me up.”

Dick. A distressed keen slipped from Tim as he threw himself backwards, as far away from Dick as he could get. He’d killed-hurt-maimed him, it was all his fault, oh god. His eyes were glued to the bruise on Dick’s arm as he sat up and gingerly held it close to his chest. Tim did that.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I—I’m sorry, Dick, I’m so, so sorry. Oh god. I should—I need to go, you – everyone will be safer, I have to—I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I did my best but—I know I was never good enough, never should’ve been Robin, Dick, I’m so sorry.”

Scrambling to the window, his fingers clawed uselessly at the latch, shaking too much to actually do any good. There was a shout from behind him before an arm was wrapping around his waist and hauling him back until they both collapsed on the bed together. Tim thrashed – he had to get away, before he could hurt Dick again or get him killed, for real this time.

A strained grunt made him freeze. Just like that, he thought, nearly hysterical. God, how fucking worthless could he get? He couldn’t even stop injuring his own goddamn boyfriend—

A kiss was pressed to the side of his head and Dick started whispering to him. “Hey, Timmy, just calm down, okay? My shoulder’s just a bit sore and you knocked it, that’s all. I’m alright, I promise. Breathe, baby, come on.”

The stream of soft, comforting words didn’t stop even as Tim shakily gulped in air, breath catching on half-formed sobs. When he had calmed down, Dick shifted them to be side-by-side, his good arm still wrapped around Tim, just tight enough that he knew Dick wouldn’t let him leave. Tim kept his gaze locked on the wall. The image of Dick’s body lying broken over cement was still bouncing around in his head, and he needed to hold on to that image, needed to remember what he did to the people close to them.

“Come on, you know the rule, baby bird. If you have a nightmare, then you have to talk about it. And you were the one who made that rule, Timmy,” Dick teased gently.

And Tim couldn’t be a hypocrite on this. On a lot of other things, sure, but… not on this. “You died,” he tried to snap, to hopefully push Dick away, but his voice broke. “You—you fell, and I couldn’t catch you in time, and Bruce and Jason were right. It was all my fault, I got you killed just like I get everyone close to me killed, and I never should have been Robin in the first place! I knew—I knew I would never be as good as you or Jason, or now even Damian. I just—I hoped that I’d been enough, but I wasn’t, and they were right! You caught me and I couldn’t even catch you!” Tim bit his lip hard before he could start crying again.

Dick was silent for a long moment, taking one deep breath after another. “Okay. So. Okay, there’s a lot to unpack there, but first of all: Tim, baby bird, sweetheart… I don’t know how many nightmares I’ve had where I fail to catch you. I think I had that nightmare for a solid month and a half afterwards. Some nights it’s so real that I wake up absolutely convinced that’s what happened. I know I worried Alfred with how often I jumped out of bed to immediately review the footage of that night, just so I could see myself carry you in, beat to hell but alive.”

He pulled Tim into his lap, rested his chin on Tim’s shoulder, and continued, “So, when I say that it absolutely is not your fault, please…” Dick absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair out of Tim’s face, tucking it behind his ear. “Trust that I know what I’m talking about? You don’t get everyone close to you killed. It’s just that most of the people close to you live the same dangerous lives that we do, and terrible things tend to happen to us.”

“As for being Robin…” Dick huffed, a sound that was almost a sad laugh. “Jason wasn’t the same kind of Robin that I was, and you weren’t like either of us. Now Damian isn’t like any of us. We were all Robin, but we were all Robin in our own unique, amazing ways. And you were, Tim. Amazing. You were an excellent Robin, and I will say it as many times as you need to hear it, and then some. I know you aren’t likely to believe me because of how I handled things while Bruce was gone.” He sighed, clutching him just a little bit tighter as he said, “I will fully admit that I fucked up with you. There were so many other things I could have done instead, but that’s on me. You were everything a Tim-Robin needed to be. Bruce and I… I don’t think we could ever regret having you as Robin, except for all the pain you’ve suffered because of it.”

Tim broke with a harsh sob, still not able to forget Dick’s fall. “I—I can’t stop seeing it. Dick, I—”

Dick moved them again so that they were facing each other. “Come on, look at me. I know you haven’t, don’t think I didn’t notice that, Timmy. But I’m right here, alive. You just have to look at me, not at the wall. There we go, see? I’m okay.” He offered Tim a small, sad smile.

Tim lurched forward, burying his face in Dick’s neck, and curling around him as tight as he dared. “I’ve mourned so many people,” he whispered thickly. “Even if most of them came back, I can’t—I can’t lose you too.”

“I can’t promise that you won’t,” Dick said after a moment’s pause. “Our lives don’t allow for that. But I swear, as long as I’m alive, I’ll be here for you. Come on, it’s still only one in the morning. Let’s try to get some more sleep, alright? You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Dick tugged Tim into curling up against his side – the uninjured side – and murmured words of comfort that gradually slurred more and more until Dick finally dropped off to sleep.

Tim waited an extra ten minutes before he slipped out of Dick’s arms. He couldn’t stay. Dick would only keep getting hurt until Tim eventually got him killed, just like he ended up getting everyone close to him killed. It didn’t take very long to grab the things that he cared about that were solely his and pack them into his car. The one thing he hesitated on, though, was his box of photographs. If he was going to leave Dick to keep him safe, he needed to leave all of it behind. Dick, the Bats, the vigilante life. The first step would be to let his beginning, his past, go. And that meant he had to leave the photos behind.

Before he left, though, there were two more people he needed to talk to – even if they couldn’t talk back.

- - - - -

The realization wasn’t immediate when he woke up. He was aware that something felt off, but Dick wasn’t sure what it was. Being a vigilante meant that he stayed limp, acting as if he were still asleep and reaching for Tim just as he would have if he were still asleep. If he could subtly wake Tim up, they might be able to—

Tim wasn’t there. Aaand, Dick had found the problem. He shot up, immediately looking for signs of kidnapping – could Ra’s please stop trying to snatch his boyfriend? – or for Tim to be sitting somewhere with his laptop like he usually did when he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he found a room that was emptier than when he went to sleep. Most of Tim’s stuff was gone. After the conversation they had before going back to bed, Dick really doubted that was a good sign.

His eyes caught on a box still on one of the designated Tim-shelves. Tim’s photos. He wanted to take it as a sign that Tim would come back – because he wouldn’t leave those behind for good, right? – but Dick didn’t want to risk it either. He’d let Tim go once before, expecting him to come back until Tim didn’t. He wasn’t making that mistake again.

Babs wouldn’t be pleased by Dick waking her up, but he reasoned that she would be even less pleased if he lost Tim when they had just gotten him back not too long ago. So he called.

Two rings later, she answered. “Someone better be dying if you’re waking me up at… 3:30 in the morning for this.”

“Something happened. Tim thinks that just by knowing him people get hurt, and he decided to leave after I fell asleep. He’s missing and I need your help to find him before he gets too far. Babs, he took nearly all his things.”

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, “Shit. Alright, while I get to my computer, tell me what you can about a timeframe, and I’ll try to find him on a security camera.”

“You already know we both had the night off tonight, so we actually went to bed pretty early,” Dick started explaining. “But then he had a nightmare and woke up sometime before one o’clock. By the time I got him calmed down enough to get some more sleep, it was about one. I was still awake until maybe 1:30, then I crashed. He must have still been awake and snuck out after that, but it would’ve taken some time to load up his car, especially if he was trying not to wake me up.”

Barbara hummed, the clacking of keys in the background. “Alright,” she said, “That gives two hours to work back through, but that shouldn’t take too long sped up. Once I see Tim’s car in its normal spot, I can work forwards more slowly until we’ve got a better idea of when he left. Then I can follow him on the cams. I’ll call back once I have something.”

Dick sagged in relief as she hung up. Babs would find him, with the Bats’ extensive camera coverage of Gotham at her fingertips. A half-hearted laugh slipped out; it was Tim’s own suggestion many years ago to increase the video surveillance over Gotham. Now, it was working against him.

In all fairness, Tim probably thought Dick would stay asleep long enough for him to get too far and disappear completely, but Dick didn’t want to think about that.

He jumped up and hurried to get ready, throwing on warm clothes and bundling up because it was late October in New Jersey, 3:30 in the morning. It was pretty damn cold out, and Tim sometimes forgot to actually put a jacket on, the spleenless idiot. He’d have grabbed Tim one too, just in case, if Tim hadn’t already taken all his. All Dick could do was hope he’d actually put one on.

By the time he was ready to go, he heard his text tone for Babs, hopefully with a location.

[He’s at the cemetery where his parents were buried. I’ll call if he leaves before you get there.]

“Oh, Timmy,” Dick sighed. His chest ached knowing that Tim was visiting his parents’ graves, something he almost never did. He snatched up his keys and headed out. He had a boyfriend to retrieve.

When he got there, Tim’s car was still parked outside the cemetery, packed just as he’d expected. Tim had really been prepared to just drive off and disappear for good. He made his way through the rows of graves silently, soon spotting Tim in the distance. He was curled up against Jack’s gravestone in a t-shirt and jeans. As he got closer, Dick could hear him talking to his parents, and his heart hurt at the words slipping from Tim.

With a quiet sigh, he tugged his jacket off and draped it over his shivering boyfriend. Tim’s rambling stopped abruptly as he looked up at Dick.

- - - - -

Updating his parents on everything took some time, but he had needed to get it off his chest. But now that he’d gotten to what he had really wanted to ask, he hesitated. “Did… did you guys know?” he finally whispered. “Is this why you were always leaving me, because somehow you knew what I do to the people I get close to? Did you leave to try to stay safe from me?”

He choked out a sharp, bitter laugh, and looked down at his fingers weaving through the weeds. “It didn’t work in the end, did it? You’re still dead and… how can that not be, like, my curse? I get people hurt and killed, that’s… that’s all there is to it, really. I got you both killed, just like I got so many people killed already. Just like I’ll get so many more—”

He cut himself off as a jacket – Dick’s jacket – was dropped on him, head snapping up to find Dick watching him sadly. He settled beside Tim, snaking his arms around his waist to pull him closer.

“Baby bird,” Dick murmured, “you’ve got to take better care of yourself, especially without your spleen. You know this.”

Looking away, Tim could only shrug. “Forgot to,” he mumbled. He climbed to his feet, tossing the jacket at Dick, and began weaving back through the graves to his car.

Dick caught up to him quickly. He draped the jacket over Tim’s shoulders again and wrapped his arm around him for good measure.

“Let go already. I’m leaving and you can’t fucking stop me,” Tim snapped, pulling away.

Dick hummed. “We’ll see.”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

“It means,” Dick drawled, holding up a set of keys with a distinctive dice keychain, “that I’m the one with your keys.”

“Dick! Why do you even care?!” Tim yelled. He tried to grab his keys, only for Dick to hold them out of his reach.

Stopping in his tracks, Dick swung Tim around in front of him and stared at him with a hard expression. “I can’t believe you actually just asked me that, but I’ll leave it be because you’ve had a bit of a rough night. I care because I fucking love you, Tim.”

Tim couldn’t help the way his shoulders curled in, or how he looked away.

“Hey,” Dick whispered. A hand on his cheek turned him back towards his boyfriend. “Tim, I let you go once. I let you run off and I didn’t go after you like I should have. I’m not making that mistake again. If you really have to leave you can, but I can’t imagine not coming with you, sweetheart. If you run… I will be right behind you unless you tell me that you truly don’t want me anymore.”

A raspy chuckle slipped out against Tim’s will. “You aren’t exactly Nick Parker, and I’m no Elizabeth James,” he murmured.

That drew a small laugh, as Dick wiped away Tim’s tears that he hadn’t realized were falling. “You can’t distract me with ‘Parent Trap’ references, Timmy. I’m serious. If you need to leave Gotham, I’ll be right there with you. I’m not letting you run off alone with some dumb idea that you’re protecting me.”

“Yeah,” Tim sighed. He leaned into Dick’s touch and squeezed the hand Dick still held. “I’m starting to get that.”

“Great! Then you are going to get back in your car and drive straight home. When you get there, I want you to bundle up in blankets and put a Studio Ghibli movie in.”

Tim stopped mid-reach for his keys. “And what, exactly, are you planning on doing, if you’re not following me back?”

Dick dropped Tim’s keys in his hand and winked. “I’m going to swing by a 24-hour diner for pancakes, and then I’m coming home to snuggle up with you and watch movies. We’re both taking tomorrow off. And,” the grin gave way to a Bat-glare, “if you aren’t home by the time I get there, I’m calling in the entire superhero community to hunt you down.”

“Okay, okay,” Tim laughed lightly. “I get it. I’ll be there.”

“Good!” Dick pecked the cold tip of his nose. “Head home, baby bird, and… please, don’t try to leave again, unless it’s what you really want?”

Tim pulled Dick down into a full, chaste kiss. “I’ll try not to,” he murmured. “See you at home.”

“Go get warmed up, sweetheart,” Dick said, pushing him towards his car. He had some pancakes to pick up.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 59

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I rolled up on the Seventh Heaven on a motorcycle with Neo riding behind me with both arms wrapped around my waist. She exhaled through her nose in a slow sigh.

"Good evening Mantle. Good evening SDC. Good evening Mother who lives in the corner of my eye but disappears when I try and look at you. What do you think, Neo? We finally going to get what we deserve?" I asked.

She squeezed my chest tightly.

"I meant about Cinder. Though you and I probably deserve to have other shit happen to us. Don't you think? Just a little?"

I stroked the engine and it went off like a gun while I sat outside the bar and waited for Avalanche. The cobblestone street wasn't crowded with the little motorcycle. I'd seen some bigger models that called out to me but for now this little one was enough for me.

"I mean the shit we've done..." I laughed. I laughed hard. It was funny. It was all so, so funny. Why wasn't I able to laugh at me like this all the time? "The shit we've done we probably deserve some horrible shit to happen to us. Probably something like exactly what happened. They call that karma. Not what will happen to us for what we've done, the shit that is happening to us for what we did."

"You with Roman," I murmured. "I imagine you did some horrible awful shit. I'm not worried about it. I do awful shit too."

She squeezed me tighter. I embraced the feeling. The touch of another was something so simple. It was something so alien to me at the moment but it was all too Cetra. Maybe I was just stopping Neo from getting close to me. Maybe she wanted to be close to me. Maybe I was the only real stopping block.

I wanted to embrace it, even if it was something from a sadist like Neo. She got off on torture and killing people. And hey, I liked it too. I liked my boot on the necks of those who would stand against me. I liked killing Tyrian. I savored in the memory of his blood pouring out onto the street. I wasn't about pain but I was about killing. I was this sort of monster that reveled in death.

Would Ruby love me now? If she could see the things I'd become would she pull at my hair and kiss my chest? Would her heart beat faster for me still? I could distantly remember the pulse between her legs. I remembered the taste of her sweat, it was sweet like cinnamon. I remembered when she rode me out in an Anima forest and I recalled pressing her against the tile of a shower. Breathless moans leaving her little frame. The skin of her neck against my teeth. Her full lips against mine, so tender against my own harshness. The memory of it was enough to make me shift in the motorcycle seat with Neo clinging to me.

I wasn't sure I had the answer. Or maybe I just didn't want to accept the answer I had. Maybe I didn't like it. Maybe I was just depressing and wallowing in it. Or maybe I had a good point. Maybe at some point somewhere I'd crossed a line.

Bugs crawled around behind my face. I could feel it in my eyes and ears tonight. I picked at the inside of my ear and rubbed an eye, slow and hard.

The soft whisperings of Mother were fit enough to drive me mad. They were loud tonight. Or maybe not. It was hard to tell. It didn't exactly come with a volume setting or a good frame of reference. There was nothing to compare the loudness to. It came and it went. The bugs were like that too.

I was an alien monster to Ruby. I was part Grimm somewhere inside of me. Maybe that was how I'd tracked the Nuckelavee so well. I knew its heart because my own heart beat that same black. My blood and insides were red but so was that of the Grimm. I was inhuman.

Would Weiss still give me that small affectionate smile I remembered gleaming at me in the early Mistrali dawn? A teasing smirk on her blushing face with her hair down around her shoulders.

Would Yang still laugh when I bit back against her?

Could I ever go back? Could I ever be forgiven because I killed my friends? Maybe I really should just kill myself and be done with it. If I turned it on me… if I evened it out… would that make it better? Could I get into heaven if I killed myself?

My friends would want me to go on. It wasn't fair. I just wanted to die.

I pulled my pipe out and took a long draw on it. I had a lot I wanted to relax about. My thoughts were wild and creeping up on me.

I'd never have another calm and patient conversation with Ren. Nor would I ever share a bubbly dialogue with Nora. That was my fault. I may blame Mother but I had been the one to draw my blade against them.

What was Ruby feeling right now as I set off to cause more chaos? Did she still think of me? Did I deserve to have her think of me like that? No. I didn't. And it wasn't because I was born a monster. It was because I embraced it. I tortured, maimed, and killed with impunity.

Ruby would never do something like that. Her heart would go out to each and every person she ever hurt. Meanwhile I was content to smoke and forget 'em.

I exhaled a long batch of smoke out into the cool Mantle night air. I let the earthly odor and feeling settle over me. It was fast. Inhaling drugs worked quick like that. Much faster than anything other than injections. Ghostly hands wrapped over me. The cold suddenly didn't feel so bad and Neo's arms felt nice and warm.

Her hands gripped one another tight, just under my armor where she could be comfortable. "We deserve to die. Me and you. You and I." I told her. "And it'll get us, too. Just you wait and see."

Avalanche came backing out in a little turquoise truck. It backfired a little as it came rolling away from the bar.

I gestured to them with a wave and let them lead the way down the street. It wasn't busy out and I was able tailgate Avalanche pretty closely as we made our way to the mine.

Thoughts crept in on me as I drove under the influence. It was actually pretty easy. I'd fought Tyrian under the influence and that went well enough. My control was fine and as we slipped into traffic I was aware.

I put my pipe in my pocket and out of sight. I didn't need some officer to pull me over because of basically nothing before the operation even started.

We rode up on this massive open pit mine and stopped our vehicles. It had a spiraling depth of road to it for heavy machinery with the walls braced by metallic supports.

"Neo, watch the rides."

She nodded. She leaned her parasol against her shoulder and leaned herself in turn against my new bike.

It was a shallow gold and stripped with platinum. It was easier on the eyes than Yang's bike was. The colors were dull and metallic unlike the bright colors of Bumble Bee. She even named her bike. Maybe I'd name mine too. Maybe one I was a little more attached to than this. I could fucking afford it, I'd bought a whole plane. A nice bike would be nothing. Depending on just how nice it was.

I stepped away and Neo took my hand for a moment and squeezed my fingers. I hesitated for a moment and grabbed her hand back and returned her squeeze.

Then I stepped away for real.

Avalanche swung their way out of their truck. The vehicle heaved as Wenge made his way out of the back of it with his machine gun in hand. Bisque stepped out of the driver's seat, pistol drawn and at the ready. Jasper stepped out of shotgun with an easy grin and a wave at me.

I stared down into the large open pit of the mine with the spiraling road.

"You didn't forget the charges, did you?" I asked.

"Oh, right," Wenge mumbled. He tossed an explosive at my head which I caught.

"Where am I setting this up?" I asked. I began to step down the rings into the large open pit. Blowing the sides of the place would cause a landslide and bury the dust that was ready and waiting for extraction.

"One over there." Bisque pointed. "And another over… there. That should just about do it. Then we blow it remotely."

I laid down a wall of the place on both legs and I walked up to a strut he'd indicated and began to strap the charge into place with duct tape. I set it for remote activation with a push of a button.

"So far this is going very well!" Jasper exclaimed next to me.

A small Schnee Dust Company marked airship spun overhead. It came in low and fast.

"Go set the last charge." I told her. I drew my sword and advanced on two men descending from the plane. I activated my semblance and drew my sword. I flew up to match the height of the plane with a mighty leap. I bladebeamed it.

The beam crashed into the hovering plane and it began to spin out from the tremendous attack. Pieces flew off as it started to spiral into the massive pit. I watched the plane start to level out but it was clearly struggling to remain in the air. I had been hoping to outright destroy it but this was close enough.

I turned back to the two who had descended on guide wires. They were picking themselves off the ground where they fell from the spinning plane.

I stepped up to them and charged my semblance.

"You must be Cloud Strife." The redhead said. He coughed a little but stood firm. He pulled an electro-stick on me as he stood up and caught his breath. The other man just raised his fists with a quiet grunt.

"That's me," I spoke quietly. Speaking quiet is always more threatening than speaking loud. At least in my experience.

Kill the girl. And the boy.

Like that. Exactly like that.

"I'm Rosso. And this is Rude." He gestured with his stick. He brushed dust off of his slacks. They were both wearing full suits and Rude was even wearing a tie. Rosso on the other hand was wearing a pair of goggles up above his eyes and he had an exposed chest under his jacket. He had tattoos next to his eyes, as well.

"We're the Turks. We're going to fuck up six ways to Sunday."

"I'll make this quick." I lowered my sword down at Rosso.

He laughed like I didn't just cut down the plane he was riding in. "Get 'em Rude."

Rude came at me with his fists. I blocked the heavy string of attacks he came at me with using the wide side of my blade. I spaced him out with the giant sword. I swung it around my body and into his gut and knocked him off his feet.

Rosso came at me in an electric blue blur. It was bright blue unlike my deep wafting blue semblance. A speed semblance perhaps. He moved behind me and hit me in the back of the head with his stick. I spun to deal with him but he just blurred away again.

Rude came at me once more. He was enormously strong, but slow. His partner more than made up for his lack of speed, however.

"Cloud's engaged the Turks." Came through a mic in my ear. It was Jasper's voice. "How long until the charges are set?"

My semblance activated. When Rosso came by for another swing I blocked his attack on my sword and reached out and grabbed him by the throat.

"Rude! Help!" I slammed him into the ground through his words.

I was at my most dangerous in a one on one fight. There were certain adaptations I had to make in a two on one fight that made me considerably less formidable. For one I couldn't stand there and non-limit Cross Slash my enemies. It just took too much time while an enemy could come up behind me.

Rude tackled me but I rolled rather than be grabbed by him. I came back up to my feet.

I flew at Rude and brought my sword in a tremendous swing upwards. It caught him in the chest and smashed him into the air. I jumped and swiped my sword down over my head in a brutal strike downwards that slammed him into the ground.

Rosso appeared next to where I landed and hit me in the back with his staff, making me stumble forward. He moved around and hit me in the gut, lightning fast. I grunted and bent over.

He made for another pass but I blocked it with the wide side of Crocea Mors and slashed him to the ground such that he landed on his ass and a blue crackling of aura went over him. He wasn't out just yet but he couldn't keep getting hit by me while I was Limit Broken. He just couldn't afford it, didn't have the aura.

Rude came at me from the other side and I kicked him in the chest and brought my sword down on his head, forcing him to sidestep.

I pulled a lightning crystal from my pocket and crushed it. I swept my hand towards Rosso but Rude reached out and grabbed my arm. I stared at him for a moment in surprise before it blew up in both of our faces.

I kick-jumped my way back to my feet easily and was just in time to block another swing of Rosso's electro-stick. He pushed me back on a pocket of air rather than forcing my feet to slide over the ground. He pushed me all the way back into the side of the pit along the dirt road we fought on.

I flew straight up on the wall and front-flipped over his head, I swung my sword at his back in a non-Limit Break Braver as I flipped over him but he moved out of the way of the helmsplitter with a narrow dodge.

I backflipped in place in his direction and nearly pinned him against the wall with an upward slicing aerial attack. He tried to step in and do some damage with his staff but I followed him with two horizontal slashes that forced him to block the first and jump out of the way of the second.

Rude came up on me in a huge bear hug. He grabbed me from behind and suplexed me. I felt my neck slam against the ground.

I slid back to my feet, already hovering back up. Rude clubbed me once and I thrust Crocea Mors forward and caught him. Then I pulled him into the air with it and then slammed him back into the ground.

"Charges are almost set." Wenge's voice came through my head. "And done. We're good to go."

I backflipped in place and hit Rude with a devastating falling aerial attack that swung horizontally. It forced him to slide back and made his aura flare up in a deep electric yellow.

I chased after him and kicked him in the middle of the chest. Then I kicked him in the side of the leg, making him fall, then I brought my blade around on the side of his head.

Rosso clashed with my blade before I could bring it around on the side of his partner's head. He grunted under the force of my early executed attack.

"Gah! What are you made out of?" Rosso grunted.

"I'm a hunter. A real one." I put my shoulder into the side of the blade and slammed the entire thing into his chest and knocked him to the ground. “You’re both bad jokes. I’d laugh but I don’t find it very funny.”

I was still holding on to my semblance. In a two on one fight like this I needed the speed and strength buffs more than I needed to spend it. Without the movement improvements I'd be unable to keep up with Rosso's speed. So unless I cornered him with it, I'd still need it. It was a difficult balance to play.

So I chased him after I knocked him back and brought my sword down in a massive downwards swing. I gambled and spent my Limit on a Cross Slash. I only caught Rosso in the last two swings of it but it shattered Rosso's aura and slammed him back into the crater wall.

Rude came at me but even in my non-elevated state he was terribly slow. I swept my blade at him which he caught on his knuckles. Then I hit him in the gut with my blade, and after that I kneed him.

I tapped my microphone. "Set off the charges."

"But Cloud…!" Bisque's voice came through.

"Just do it!”

I felt the charges go off and the rockslide begin as the struts collapsed. I hovered above and backflipped three times against the wall of the crater and escaped. I landed neatly beside Avalanche and Neo as the walls came tumbling in.

I looked down and over and saw Rosso and Rude climbing back on guide wires in the still recovering plane. I watched it take off with the two 'Turks' in tow. I felt almost positive that I'd be seeing them again.

"Let's mosey," I told them. I straddled my bike. Neo hopped on and wrapped her arms around me again. She pressed herself tight against me.

I watched and waited for Avalanche to climb back into their truck.

Then I spun off on a cloud of dirt.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

[flyingfoxwriter]

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the-

He could not keep on screaming internally, because he soon did so outwardly. She had loomed over them both for a second, just for one second. They both soon thrashed backwards when a sudden blast struck everything. They hit a van or the side of a truck, parted, short of breath; one wheezed because the slam hurt and the other didn’t because he was dead.

Vivi, or what once looked like her, raised her arms and took an offensive stance, a maniac grin on her face.

“Split up again, boys.”

Lewis’ sockets were impossibly wide, empty as well. He stared as she took multiple strides forward, towards their old van. She had always walked to it with a smile, proud to see it in pristine condition, thanks to a certain blond. But now, she was stepping closer to it with a sick grin, almost mocking its battered state. Those three horrid and unnatural eyes were piercing it… and what sat up weakly against its side.

Arthur groaned, still dazed by the blast. As his eyes rolled, he finally noticed something. With a gasp, he lifted his left arm at his side; or what was left of it. A million curses blared in his brain, noting the sorry state of his limb: there was a very deep slash right past its elbow, cables were torn out, and a thousand sparks were bleeding out of it. He could not keep it from dangling downwards like the arrows of a broken clock. He would have kept staring at it with a grimace… if a shadow did not begin to loom over him.

Amber and sickly eyes met, a shudder running through his whole body as she stood over him, bat twirling. He still tried to regard her as he always did; even if he could see nine horrifying... what he would call tails coming from below her scarf, three pulsing eyes, and a black and green tone on her skin. He somehow found himself calling her name, even if something was telling him it was a bad idea.

“V-vi-?”

He let out another scream and leaned sideways in reflex, because the bat sunk into the wall of his van where his head had been. It quickly unlatched and rose again, by which point he scrambled to his feet, almost falling face-first when his prosthetic tried to push against the ground and failed to hold his weight. She turned to face the direction of his stumbles quickly, grinning as she slammed her bat on the ground repeatedly, always inches away from his frame. He cried out while he tried to dodge her, incapable of processing what was going on anymore.

“What the fuck have I done for everyone to want to maim me?!”

Once, Lewis would have retorted at that very moment; he would have growled the word murder at his face. He couldn’t now.

He doesn't know.

The fear he had seen all this time was not born from him dreading retribution. He was just scared of a ghost, a very persistent one that he did not recognize. As he held him over what had done him in… he was shocked to see him unveil his real self. He whispered his name with incredulity, shock; not because he was dangling over deadly spikes, but because he seemed startled to realize he was dead. There was no reason for him to try to peek into that locket if he knew. As well, he wouldn’t have bothered to stop those shears. That arm… was gone. The very same one he felt on his back.

Her eyes, they had the same murderous look now, as she cornered him again; the same look he saw above at the edge while he fell. As a spirit himself, there was no way he could call what he was seeing natural. That was a possession, now and then.

Vivi chuckled, managing to swing her bat low enough to hit those quick feet. Arthur yelped, losing his balance, falling onto his right side, getting a few scratches on his fleshy arm as he hit the ground. When he sat up, she was already at it again, bat up over his head.

“S-stop!”

The next words were extremely vile, mocking, the bat was just leaning back gradually, building up force.

“You need some damn good rest already…” His eyes widened, her hands dashing down. “Sleep, Arthur!”

The bat came down fiercely. It did. But it did not strike him and force him into eternal sleep in death.

He breathed out, with air he did not know he had held in his lungs. His heart was beating impossibly fast, much like a locket somewhere on the ground.  He stared mouth agape at what stood over him, inches away. Something had flowed through everything to float in between, manifesting itself physically as soon as the bat came down.

Lewis huffed with a small shudder, feeling the strange green glow of the bat seep into his form. He eyed it subtly, noting how it was tearing his right shoulder, still pressuring down. He had manifested himself around it, barely any space to prevent collision otherwise. Vivi seemed surprised to see him let himself be struck, but her next expression hinted she had considered it a possibility.

“Ah, Lew…” That nickname should have made his heart melt, but it only made him snarl. “Finally figured it out in that thick skull of yours?”

“Painfully so, dear. It could kill me inside, if I was not dead.”

“You are always so smooth when you put brains into it. Shame you don’t have any now.”

“I had a very smooth fall onto deadly sharp spikes, yes; the dive would perhaps have impressed you, if there was not that much blood.”

“I saw, very breathtaking, loved the front row view. A real shame I forgot how life faded from your pretty eyes.”

“Well, I haven’t forgotten a thing, not your eyes, nor… these vile ones.”

“Ha, beautiful aren’t they? An improvement! You won’t see them much, however, because-“

A voice cut their rambles, confused to no end.

“Are you two fucking FLIRTING right now?!”

Lewis finally remembered he had Arthur behind him. He growled a sigh, because she remembered too, those eyes twisting to glare through him. The bat moved again, quickly yanked back. The ghost let out a haunted snarl, feeling the green mist around the bat claw him inside out. And still, he stood firm in between, knowing he was the only thing in between her murderous intentions and her victim.

“Wouldn't it be nice to have a ghost buddy, Lew? I’m sure he would like to find out how you’ve felt all this time.”

“I would certainly not appreciate it.”

Arthur was feeling a terrible migraine in his head, soreness on his whole body, and the horrible idea that he was not dreaming Lewis dead and Vivi possessed. The only thing that could make things worse would be Mystery trying to tear his other limb too, but he was unconscious some feet away. So he could only yell, mostly to himself.

“Can somebody just explain to me what’s going on?!”

“Later!” Lewis grabbed him much like he did when he hauled him into the truck, which did not help his anxiety any. But he had to, because she had lunged at him with a swing of bat again. “Just move!”

Vivi growled in exasperation, leaning side to side, each time blocked by Lewis, preventing her of batting Arthur’s head in. The ghost kept putting one arm in between, while the other was dragging the blond by his collar away from each slam.

“Drop him!”

“I won’t! Not again!”

“I’ll do it faster than any illusion you may invoke!”

“Won’t let you, you disgusting thing!”

“If I must, I will do it over your dead body!”

There was a rip, and a pained ghostly gasp. Arthur stumbled back and onto the ground again, that hand finally releasing him mid yank. He stood quickly onto his feet, no fear able to freeze him with what he saw. Lewis let out a silent curse, his figure flickering in pain. A shotgun had startled him, but it did not hurt. Somehow, he hurt now, very much like those spikes had made him. His ghostly eyes moved to glance at those three vile ones, which were gleeful and intent. Her left claw was holding tightly the bat, entangled in icy green, which in turn was stabbing into his chest, right where his locket used to float.

“You know… I hate to have to kill you twice, you numbskull. But I guess it will be fun to make him see you disappear once more, this time forever to remember, in what little time I will let him suffer.”

It was her voice, but it was completely clear it was not her at all. This thing started it all, hurt the two of them, and now her.

And he… could only drop to one knee. Vivi smirked, having noticed his fists rise subtly, only to drop in impotence. He could so easily invoke his flames on her. So easily, and yet it was so hard. He just could not do it, there was no way he could hurt her, even if she could not understand the pain at this moment. She would feel it.

And the demon knew he couldn’t. And so, she twisted her hand slowly, taking her time, seeing his figure flicker again, slump more, that skull unveil for a second, each jolt revealing his living eyes more. She gave him a sweet smile, one it knew would hurt more than the glimmers that were stabbing his whole form. Those multicoloured threads outstretched and caressed his face, as she whispered mockingly.

“This time you might finally disappear.”

The bat’s glow intensified, her will strong, fixated. And finally, he screamed. If exorcisms existed, he was feeling one now. Or perhaps, that thing was trying to tear him and consume him on a spiritual level. He could not know. But he knew that it was agony. She was not even hitting him, just letting her weapon sink. And yet, he was feeling a million worse stings than any stab from those spikes. It was true death.

She laughed, even though deep inside, something was screaming too, horrified and finally struggling. It had a tight grip however, her sudden emotions incapable of making it let go of her bleeding heart. Her fingers twirled over the handle, applying a little more pressure, making his hands tremble over the bat.

Just one last push, and finally-

It could not finish that malicious whisper in her mind. Those three eyes shot open, shocked to see something that should not be happening. It was not part of its calculations; it could not truly grasp human emotion.

Vivi stepped back, the bat unlatching from the ghost’s form; because it stopped being there. But it was not torn off from existence like she was trying to. Something had thrown itself onto the ghost from behind, clutching painfully tight in a fast embrace. It was a desperate and panicked move. A contact in which the ghost retreated, not really pondering much, knowing it was better than the pain and fading into nothingness.

“You… two-faced bastard.”

They took a few steps back, their frame still jolting and slightly engulfed by magenta glows. Those quickly pulsed inwards, fading from view. Their once amber eyes glanced all over their body, panting, afraid and confused. Only one had hoped for this outcome, even if perhaps deadly afraid of it. The other was still dazed from the agony, but was slowly processing the feel of flesh, the capability of breathing, even if laboured.

“What have you-“

“Don’t know. I don’t know, Lewis.”

She could not hear the panicked conversation they were attempting. So she just snarled and began to close in on them, while they shivered and cowered from her with confused and uncoordinated moves.

“She’s going to kill you.”

“She was about to kill you!”

“I’m already dead!”

“I know! And I’m so fucking scared of it! Why are you dead?!”

“I’ll save you the details! But it was this thing inside her!”

“But… how?!”

Their magenta eyes widened, hearing her swing her bat. Again, they dodged, somehow managing to dash below the truck and gain some distance. They kept on arguing as she growled, refusing to crawl like them, instead chasing around. It gave them some time, not much, but some.

“I’m out! I need to face her or she will-“

“That’s not her. It’s not her. It’s something else and it can take you out. I’ve been looking for so long, please stay, I can-“

“You can’t do shit against it! You are flesh and bone!”

“Lewis…” The ghost snarled in his mind, hating to hear his next thoughts. “I was up there with you that night. Wasn’t I?”

“I fell, it was an accide-“

“Nooo, no. I’m good at math. I was there. I totally was. I remember a cold sensation, a damn blur, I felt numb and out of it. And I’m so fucking scared right now, because I’m having trouble piecing it together. But I know some things. This thing is in her, like you are in me. It was hiding in that cave, and it did something. And there is no fucking way… that she could have been controlled then. She was DOWN there. And I felt something, something that only stopped crawling on my skin when I felt myself bleeding.”

“Art-“

“You were so fucking hellbent on tearing me to pieces, Lewis! You owe me an explanation before she rips me instead! Because I swear, I need to know before the chance slips from my cold fingers!”

There was an admission as they carefully leaned around a corner of the truck, her shadow stepping closer slowly, looking for them.

“You did lose an arm, Arthur… I felt it push me.”

Their magenta eyes opened more, each sharing something in their mind.

“Mystery ripped it.”

“I did push you.”

In their mind, Arthur was laughing slightly out of it, while Lewis was cursing himself for not seeing before.

“Oh god, I did shove you! So fucking obvious, and here I am, still trying to accept it! So-“

“Arthur.”

“Fucking stupid! No wonder you were so angry! Why are you not angry?! Why are you not controlling me and making my hands twist my neck right now?! Or making me walk towards her?! It’s easy, so damn-!

“Arthur!”

“What?!”

“I need you alive, for fucks sake! So shut up!”

“But-!”

He could not keep complaining. Arthur would have yelled in alarm, but he did inside instead. Lewis finally took control as he suggested, but not for such reasons. Their body jumped back when a bat swung from a corner and dented the metal of the truck. Her eyes peeked from the edge, a playful smile on her sickly looking face.

“I’ve always liked tag more than hide and seek~”

Lewis made Arthur stand tall, even if he could feel him struggle for control. He was panicking, not able to move his own body, even if it was nothing compared to what he felt that night. The ghost was not strangling his will, just merely leading with much more focus. If he were to allow him control, they would be running for the hills, something that would not help them any.

“Stop struggling.”

“Ah, now you want her to slam my head in?!”

“No. I’m saving your ass. So stop, I need you to relax.”

“How do you want me to relax?! Her bat is already-!”

Lewis dodged her next swing, precisely and with an elegant sidestep, one Arthur would have never managed in his entire life. It would have been impressive, if their frame was not jolting faintly, both yelling inside.

“Stop keeping her close!”

“She will chase anywhere if we run! And I feel your exhaustion; you have not slept at all!”

“Well, I was being chased by a wraith! Who I might add-!”

“Do you want me to leave and let you run?!”

“N-no! We can flee together and-!”

It was getting harder to dance around her slams and dashes of claw, their left arm was broken and sparking madly. There was only one way in which they could both be safe from her attacks, and only Lewis knew it.

“Arthur, please, just trust me! Let me lead! I can’t bring myself to force you! I can protect us!”

Lewis feared, because they hit a wall, both gasping as they glanced over their shoulder. They quickly glanced back again, her tails and weapon high over them. And so… the ghost rose their arm and hand, in what would have stopped the hit if he were manifested out of Arthur. He trusted, trying to invoke what would only appear if there was enforced submission or… willing compliance.

Those three eyes blinked, a glint blasting and reflecting on them. It was not the glimmers of her tails or bat; it was not the hue of blood pouring. She shuddered and growled in anger, again seeing something it could not understand.

Lewis and Arthur panted, their hand clasped tightly onto the point of the bat, keeping it strongly away from slamming onto them. Its green icy glow should burn them, hurt them. But it did not. It could not.

Vivi stepped back, finally losing confidence. Her play was over. She did not have an advantage anymore. Not when she was staring at a willing possession, one between two souls that were not trying to tear each other inside, no malicious grasp. They both flowed freely, each trying to listen to each other’s wills and wishes. And with it… flames seemed to flow and tangle. Not as strong as the ones the ghost could invoke, incapable of burning… but able to shield against any ill-spirited icy flow.

Both stood there, vile and magenta eyes meeting. It was their voices what broke the silence.

“Two’s company. Three’s not a crowd… but a fourth should fuck off.”

They did not flinch when she took a step closer.

[mypoisonedvine]

I Never Danced Until I Met You - Chapter 4

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Taglist:  @a-banana-for-your-thoughts @saint-hardy @sophiasescape @letscici @itsametaphorbriansblog @wackiekebab @tinyybiceps @lilredbird101 @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @terrainhead @100percentamess

Word Count: 4k

Rating: E (less E than last chapter but yknow. still E lol)

Before we start, a warning that this is the final chapter... thank you so much to everyone for reading, it has truly been a pleasure.  Love to you all!! xx

Everything had felt so right this morning.  Laying in bed, holding each other, sharing whispers and kisses and soft touches.  Now it was the afternoon and you were in the same room, your own room, but it was so much colder than before, and the three of you were standing around and it might have looked like a normal conversation but really, your heart was breaking.  How had everything gone so wrong so fast?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, fighting the emotions threatening to taint your speaking voice.

"I didn't know how to say goodbye,” Jaskier admitted. “I've never been good at goodbyes.”

"You must've known we couldn't stay forever," Geralt posited.

"You must've known I wouldn't have- we wouldn't have- I would've done things differently," you said to Jaskier with a pointed tone, hoping he understood what you were referring to, "if I'd known you'd be riding off a day later."

Jaskier looked down to the floor shamefully.  Geralt’s eyes went wide, and he suddenly grabbed Jaskier’s arm, pulling him into an interrogation.

“Care to enlighten me to what she’s talking about?” Geralt asked intently.

“It’s- it’s not what you think,” Jaskier defended weakly, shifting uncomfortably in the witcher’s grip.

“I think you fucked her,” he growled.  You felt shame crawl under your skin.

“Oh… er, then in that case, it is what you think.”

Geralt let out a grunt so loud it was nearly a roar, tossing Jaskier to the ground.  “I told you to stay away; she’s like my sister.  Gods, Jaskier, of all the people you sleep with… you had to pick her?”

You felt sick, your gut starting to twist around itself.

"Is this what you do?” you asked Jaskier quietly. “Ride around the Continent, pick the toughest nut to crack and then… crack it?"

"No, no,” he began to deny as he picked himself up off the floor, but Geralt started laughing.

“He never puts that much effort in, but yes,” Geralt explained.

“Geralt, shut up,” Jaskier grumbled.

Tears began to burn your eyes.

“I can’t believe I fell for it,” you shook your head in disbelief.  I can’t believe I fell for you, you added internally.

“No, you don’t understand,” he replied desperately, though you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or Geralt.  “It’s not like that.  It’s not like the others.”

Something about the phrase ‘the others’ made your blood boil.  Even now, perhaps especially now, you were heartbroken that he had been with so many people.

“What is it then?” you asked. “You’re going to tell me I should be flattered that you put so much effort into deceiving me?”

“I didn’t deceive you,” he answered, his tone becoming dead serious. 

“You convinced me that I was important to you,” you remembered. “I know we never really talked about it, but it didn’t seem like a one-time thing—”

Suddenly he interrupted: “I love you.”

Instantly, you slapped him across the face, hard.  Hard enough that his face spun to the side, cheek already turning red; hard enough that Geralt winced just by seeing it.

“How dare you say that to me?  You don’t even know what that means,” you seethed, tears streaming down your face. “All you know how to do is lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” he replied softly.  And you almost believed it.  But you’d believed the wrong person too many times to fall that fast, at least not this time.

“Get out,” you hissed through your teeth.  

You were prepared for him to fight back, to keep pleading, but he didn’t.  And so the three of you stood there for a moment, until Jaskier sighed a little and walked out the door.  You shared a look with Geralt, briefly.  

“Do you have to go now?” you asked quietly.

“If we stay much later, we’ll have to travel in the dark.”

You sighed, and there was nothing good to say, so instead you crossed the room and pulled him into a hug.  He returned the embrace, not with much passion or anything but not begrudgingly either, which was nice.  You wanted to ask him if he really saw you as a sister like he’d said, but it would hurt too much in a number of ways.

“You’re always welcome here,” you told him as the hug ended, trying not to put too much emphasis on the you since you didn’t even want to think about Jaskier right now.

“Write if you need anything,” he offered.

You looked at each other and you wondered if he was struggling to decide how to say goodbye as well.  

As Geralt rode out of the castle gates, Jaskier plodding along beside the horse, you watched from a small window.  You saw Jaskier look back, scan around the walls, and you wondered if he was just appreciating the architecture or looking for you.  You stepped back behind the stone, not sure you could take it if he looked at you again.

You wanted to run to your room and sob, mourn for your dignity and everything else you couldn’t get back.  You wanted to fall asleep and sleep for a week, so that you could soak up the precious nothingness and blissful ignorance.  Instead, you went to the training fields and concentrated your anger into some archery practice.  

Must have been the will of Destiny, his voice rang in your head as you remembered being here with him, his perfect shot, the way he looked at you when you were standing so close, how exhilarating it felt just to touch him in the most mundane ways.  You scoffed to yourself, at least able to appreciate he was an expert in his craft: he’d made it all feel so real.  You swallowed uncomfortably as your mind wandered to the night you spent together, which not only felt real but felt like the realest thing you’d ever known.  It was everything else that seemed fake by comparison now.  Everyone else would say that he took your honour, even that he dishonoured you, and yet every touch had felt like his way of honouring you.  Patience, respect, reverence was palpable in everything you could remember about the encounter.  You also didn’t feel as different as you expected… for so much drama surrounding it, virginity apparently had no real emotional or physical ramifications.  Some things had changed, though: for one, you understood why people did terrible things to each other because of sex.  They would lie and cheat to get it, and maim or kill those who got it from someone they loved.  And as much as you could never have empathy for their crimes, you appreciated better why people were so obsessed with it.  Then again, you realized that maybe all sex wasn’t actually that good… maybe it was just him.  Or maybe it was both of you — maybe it was just how good you two were together.

You were trying your best to steady yourself before taking the shot but your patience ran thin.  Acting hastily, you ended up releasing too soon and hitting the outermost edge of the target.  You sighed in frustration and tried again, only to miss the target entirely.  Frustration turned quickly to rage, and you threw your bow onto the ground with a yell.  

Looking at it in the grass, the fire of rage died down into the embers of shame.  What was it about Jaskier that always made you lose control?  Even now, when he should have the least control over you, you couldn’t control yourself.  You slapped him, twice.  You laid with him, once.  And now you’d subjected an innocent bow to your cruel whims.

You bent down and picked it up, seeing that it had survived the throw; you’d never keep a bow around that couldn’t handle that kind of treatment, anyway. 

Repositioning for another shot, you closed your eyes in an attempt to still your mind.  All you could see when you closed your eyes was him, though, and the way he looked at you in this very place just a few days ago.  And the way he looked at you before he kissed you.  The look he’d had in his eyes was gentle, and soft, and vulnerable.  You felt a tear roll down your cheek; there was love in his eyes, the way he looked at you.  And the way he looked at you when he stood outside your door, waiting for you to come back.  And the way he looked at you after you hit him, both times… there was love there, too.  Even then.  Perhaps especially then.

But that didn’t matter anymore, because he was gone.  

I’m in love with him, you finally admitted to yourself.  Not I was, not I almost, not I could have.  

I am. I did. I do.  

But that didn’t matter anymore, because he was gone.

Eyes still closed, you raised your bow, pulled back the string, and took the shot.  You felt the feathers graze your face and heard the wind whistle around the arrow.  You opened your eyes.  A perfect bullseye.

~

You were laying on your bed the next morning, reading and trying not to think about anything, when you heard it.  You weren’t sure what the sound was, but it came again, and you sat up in the bed.  Looking around, you realized it was coming from the window, you stood up and opened your shudders.  You stepped back just in time to avoid getting hit in the chest with a pebble.  Peering out, you saw quite the scene: Jaskier, sitting on a white horse (where did he get that?!), lute on his back, pebbles in his hand, love in his eyes.  When he saw you, he dropped them, instantly grabbing his lute.  He started to sing, and he had to do it pretty loud so you could even hear him from a story down, but even then his voice nearly brought tears to your eyes.

There lives a fair maiden in Revellon, A defender of justice and peace, She’s as sweet as honey but cold as ice, And yet kinder than soldiers should be

I melted her heart with a kiss, And broke it without a goodbye, I long to earn her affections once more, I pray to see her smile,

There lives a bard who wanders the world, Searching for purpose, writing his songs He found what he’d wanted for all of his life But fears he cannot right his wrongs

You were about to ask him what this was all about, why (and when) he came back, what he wanted from you, when he started talking.

“I’m not strong — at least not compared to you,” he shouted up at you.  You simply looked back at him with a puzzled expression.  “I’m not very brave, either,” he added. “This, right now, is the bravest thing I’ve ever done.  Before, it was just… running away from stuff.”  

You fought the desire to chuckle.

“I can’t cook,” he continued, “I get jealous too easily.  I’m a flirt, and I’ve fallen for the wrong people too many times to count.  I'm not good at goodbyes, as we've established.  I don’t read enough, considering how much my parents spent for me to learn how to read, and I’m not all that smart.”  You weren’t sure you believed that last one.  

“But, if you let me,” his voice wavered a little, “I will love you with everything I have.”

You smiled, a tear escaping from your eyes and rolling down your cheek.

“And now that I say it out loud, it sounds more sexual than I intended,” he added nervously.  You laughed, aloud this time.

“If not sex, what are your intentions?” you called back.

“Marriage,” he replied simply, and your face nearly hurt from smiling so hard, “with sex to hopefully follow.”

“Well, spell it out for me then, I’m not so good at the inductive reasoning,” you demanded.

He sighed, begrudgingly addressing you by your full name before finally asking: “will you be my wife?”

“Come up here and let’s talk about it,” you offered with your best attempt at a mischievous smile, face still wet with tears.

“You can’t even give me an answer first?” he whined.

“You’re going to like my answer a lot better if you get it in person,” you explained with a wink, slamming your shutters and waiting patiently for his knock at the door.  In just a minute you heard his footsteps coming down the hall faster than you knew he could even run.  You opened the door before he reached it, and he only stopped running when he had wrapped his arms around you, kissing you like it was the end of the world.

You fell back onto the bed, thankfully taking a moment first to shut your bedroom door.

“Marry me,” he asked again, although it didn’t sound like a question as much as it did a desperate mid-kiss request.

“Hmm, I don’t know, that song wasn’t very long,” you pondered with a quirked eyebrow.

“I didn’t have long to write it!  Besides, the next verses were going to be about the bard and the maiden either being together or splitting up, so I had to know what you would say first.”

“Maybe don’t write about this part, specifically,” you suggested as you started to undo his trousers.

“And to think I worried you wouldn’t forgive me,” he chuckled, helping you pull your blouse off from over your head.

“You’re the one who should forgive me,” you replied.  “I don’t know why I didn’t believe you, when you told me the truth.  And I keep slapping you, so I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t apologize,” he dismissed as he kissed up and down your neck, “although, feel free to stop slapping me.”

You laughed, and the way his body felt pressed against yours made you wonder how you could ever be angry at him.  

Clothes were hurriedly shucked off, and as soon as he could, he plunged inside you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, and he kissed you again.  

“I love you,” he mumbled, seemingly with no real prompting.  Thankful for another chance to do this right, you smiled against his lips.

“I love you, too,” you replied.

“Then say yes,” he pleaded.

“Make me,” you demanded.  He took that challenge very seriously, thrusting into you deeper, harder, faster.

“Yes, yes, Jaskier,” you moaned, gripping tightly at his arms as if it would stabilize yourself.

“Is that a yes to my question?”

You thought about it for a minute.  Really you were just worried that once you said yes, this wonderful tension would cease.

“Don’t hold out on me any longer, I can’t take it,” he begged.

“Yes,” you repeated.

“Yes?” he re-repeated.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” you clarified.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him smile quite like he did when you said it.

~

“You called for me, my liege?”

“At ease,” Queen Araja commanded, and you stood up out of your bow. “I’ve come to give you something.”

“I ask for nothing,” you dismissed.

“I ask that you stay quiet and accept my gift with grace,” she snapped back.  You nodded silently. 

She motioned for a servant to approach her, and when you saw that they were carrying a box, you assumed they would bring it to you on behalf of the Queen.  Instead, she took it from them and stood up, approaching you.  To have the Queen walking towards you and not kneel was very difficult.

As she was finally just a few steps in front of you, she stopped and handed you the box.  You felt yourself blushing as you accepted it.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, unsure what exactly to say or do at this point.

“Just open it,” she encouraged.

You pulled open the golden ribbon and lifted the lid.  Before you even knew what it was for certain, you gasped to see that it was made of purple silk — a rare and precious material.

“Araja,” you whispered in disbelief, a sort of you shouldn’t have being implied.

“Take it out of the box!” she pressed, and you set it down so that you could pull on the end to reveal that it was a gown: ornate, magnificent, enormous.  Gold floral embroidery covered nearly every inch of it, with pearls and precious stones sewn on around the collar and sleeves.  You were sure you’d never touched anything so decadent in your life.

“I figured it was time that you own your first dress.  You might want to wear one for your wedding,” she explained.  You looked at her to find her smiling at you with a softness you weren’t sure you’d ever seen on her.

“This is your wedding gift to me?” you asked, eyes welling with tears.

“Heavens, no; this is your engagement gift.  Your wedding gift is retirement,” she responded casually, as if it were nothing.

“What?!”

“Your own estate, a little land not so far from here, some servants… and freedom.  You’ve been a great warrior, and a great protector, best of all a great friend.  Now go live a normal life.”

You looked at the dress, and you looked at her, and you looked around the hall: the same hall where you danced for the first time, as Jaskier guided you through the motions; the same hall where you defended your country when you were only a teenager, Geralt of Rivia at your side; the same hall where you were knighted by Araja, and where you returned after every battle to report on losses and victories; the same hall where so many new soldiers were commissioned, where their funerals were held.  

“Your grace,” you began, “I am overwhelmed by your generosity.  But with all due respect, this is my home.  I cannot abandon my duties.”

“Does your betrothed know that?  Would he marry a working woman?” 

You laughed.  If anything, he’d be disappointed if he couldn’t get to see you in armor anymore.

“He knows that my people come first,” you explained.

“All right.  When your final day of duty arrives, if it does at all, your land will be waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” you bowed.

“Feel free to use the space for a honeymoon,” she winked.  You shuddered to imagine her concerning herself with things like that.  

~

“You look stunning,” the maidservant said with a smile.

“But do I look like… me?” you asked nervously.

“I’ll admit that if I didn’t know it was you, I don’t know how quickly I’d recognise you,” she answered.

You sighed, looking yourself up and down in the mirror as you twisted your body to see different angles.  Araja’s dress — your dress — was stunning, but you wondered if your wedding day was the wrong day to look like an entirely different person.  Was this the person Julian wanted to marry?

“You told me to wait for a good man,” the maidservant suddenly interjected. “Have you? Was it worth it?”

“I have, mostly,” you winked, and she giggled. “If it’s worth it, well, I suppose we’ll see in fifty years whether I’m happily married or not.”

“I can’t believe someone who claims to be conservative got married so fast.”

“I didn’t say I was conservative, I said I was traditional: it’s traditional to marry quickly,” you explained. “When you know, you know.”

“That’s so romantic,” she cooed.  You weren’t sure you agreed.  It was simply the truth.

“Say, what’s your name, girl?” you asked.

“Hana,” she replied.

“Hana, would you like to be my maid of honor?” 

She choked a little. “What?”

“Well, Julian made Geralt his best man and I don’t have any friends to even out the whole thing.  So, you can be my first friend and be in my wedding, if you’d like.  The position comes with a nice dress.”

“Thank you, madam,” she curtsied, “I’d love to.”

She scurried off with another servant to go find an appropriate dress, and you still worried that this look was all wrong for you.  You did your best to pick up the skirt, moving into the hallway.  You knew where Jaskier was waiting, and you knocked on the door.  Just as it began to open, you grabbed the handle.

“Don’t open the door,” you commanded.

“Sorry, I suppose I was thrown off by the knocking,” you heard him reply.

“You can’t see me before the wedding,” you explained.

“Well, it was nice not seeing you, then?” 

“I needed to ask your opinion on something.”

“Go ahead,” he offered.

“I was wondering what you think of my outfit.”

An awkward moment passed silently.

“Looks great,” he groaned.

“I know you can’t see it, I just mean…” you trailed off, and started over: “were you expecting me to wear trousers?”

“When I imagined you on our wedding day, I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about how wide your smile would be, how your eyes would sparkle, the colour of your hair when the light hits it just right…"

"...Okay, but was I wearing my dress blues?  Or an actual dress?” you asked, confused.  He sighed.

“Darling, you’re going to look amazing either way.  Wear whatever you want.  I’d marry you if you came out there in a burlap sack!”

You smiled, feeling yourself blush.  It might have sounded simple to anyone else, but to you, knowing his refined fashion sense, it was quite meaningful.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed.

“Alright,” he replied.

“Are they closed?” 

“Yes,” he answered.

“Don’t open them,” you commanded sternly.

“Yes, I get it darling, these instructions aren’t nearly as complicated as you’re making them out to be!”

You opened the door slowly, to find him waiting with eyes closed and a small smile.  You stepped closer, trying not to bump your skirt into him, and pressed your lips against his.  He returned the kiss, and his hands started to reach for your waist, but you grabbed them first, hoping to prevent him from feeling the fabric.  He smiled against your lips, his fingers interlacing with yours.

You pulled back a bit, appreciating how lovely he looked up close like this.  “Thinking of running off?  Again?” you asked.

“Not a chance,” he whispered back.

“You’re not craving adventure?”

“Of course I am,” he answered.  “My greatest adventure is right here in front of me.”

~

The ceremony was traditional, elegant, not obnoxiously lavish: fitting for a woman like you.  The reception, meanwhile, was rowdy, energetic, full of laughing and dancing, bathed in orange glow, warm and inviting: fitting for a man like him.

He practically dragged you to the middle of the hall, waving some instructions to the band (which he still played with most of the time at his own wedding) and swinging you into a dance.

“You know, I never danced until I met you,” you told him.

“I can tell,” he replied with a smile.  You laughed at the burn.

“I hate you,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“You love me,” he grinned.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” you countered.

He kissed you; it didn’t feel as different as you expected, now that he was your husband.

My husband Julian, you thought to yourself.  It had a nice ring to it.

Time seemed to go by quickly when the two of you were together.  A whole lifetime passed in an instant.  He had a habit of fiddling with his ring, twirling it around his finger.  He sang all the time, most of it just sentence fragments and little riffs, his way of working out new songs.  He was a ridiculously anxious parent, barely willing to take his eyes off the kids for a moment.  The only time he seemed to calm down was when he was serenading them to sleep.  He wrote so many incredible songs in his life; all his best love songs were not about you, actually, but the children.  Not that the love songs about you weren’t wonderful, because they were.  You had plenty of awkward moments when you met a new person and had to explain that yes, you were the Lady Pankratz of Revellon from the songs— even more awkward when it was someone you were arresting.  

Araja wanted you to do something spectacular for your fiftieth wedding anniversary, but you had one appointment you knew you needed to keep.  You had dinner with Hana, herself a girl turned wife turned mother turned old woman now (if this little girl is an old woman, how fucking old am I? you’d thought when you saw her again), and told her that you had made the right choice; that all these years later, you were still happily married.

[wrong-bts-shitposting]

The Cigarette Burner

“He knew he was building a brand for himself by now – the burnt cigarette in the mouth of his victims, the closest everyone will get to the actual evidence tying him to the murders while at the same time being far from it...”

Mafia!Jungkook x Detective!Reader lol??? help

��→ summary: You’re on Jungkook’s tail as he carries on doing Mafia stuff. Assigned to stick to him like freshly-chewed gum, you wonder if you can survive this case and tie him to all the murders.

→ genre: dark, angst, fluff, a bit of smut??? (haven’t decided yet)

 ‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

   Chapter 1

→ warnings: quite realistic description of the murders, weed mentioning+consumption, guns

→ word count: 2.064 words

  → a/n: Welcome to my first fanfic ever?? I decided to write this as a joke for my friend Lys over here, and she actually really liked it. After months of egging me on to post it, here I am, modifying my female heroine into a Y/N so all of you can read :) Please tell me what you think. I’m looking forward to any criticism, just don’t be mean. I guess that’s it, enjoy the read! I’m trying my best to come up with another chapter soon.

kisses, Omi xx

                Prologue

Everything happens for a reason – or so he tells himself. I’m not a bad man, they’re the ones who deserve punishment is the only thought racing through his head as he watches the life drain through the victim’s eyes. He wasn’t wrong, however. He was just mistaken. He was just as bad as them. How could a cold-blooded murderer play God as if he ruled over the kingdom of the living? A kingdom so beautiful at times, but more often than not, terrifying even to the toughest…  

Another gunshot echoes through the darkest of nights, startling the crows on top of a tall, abandoned building, causing them to caw desperately and flap their raven wings, deserting the place in mere seconds. Heavy footsteps walked towards the unknown man who was barely keeping his eyes open, gripping his chest hastily and fighting for his right to live. Suddenly, he feels the hair at the front of his forehead being latched onto and pulled harshly, causing him to tilt his head up and look the perpetrator in his eyes – a pair of onyx orbs staring right back into his, as if he was receiving some kind of sick pleasure from his pain. “You tried to trick me? Me? Out of all people?” he spat the words so hatefully that he made the dying man shiver. “Mr. Jeon, I swear we delivered the precise amount-“ he couldn’t even finish his sentence as Jungkook pressed the warm muzzle of his gun against his forehead and pulled the trigger, watching as blood splattered across the cold ground and all over the front of his white shirt. He lets go of the man’s hair in slight disgust and gets up, scoffing to himself. “I hope Leonard gets the message when he sees you…” he mutters lowly while pulling out a pack of cigarettes, grabbing onto an individual one by its’ neck and shoving it in between the lips of the corpse, lighting it with his Zippo, the whole image becoming a gory, unsettling sight.

He knew he was building a brand for himself by now – the burnt cigarette in the mouth of his victims, the closest everyone will get to the actual evidence tying him to the murders while at the same time being far from it, as the cigarettes always burnt away up to the butt. Without even giving him a second glance, he walks away, twirling his Glock in between his fingers before putting it behind his back, inside the band of his trousers.

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

               “This is it, Y/N, I’m really fucking done with this man!” the tall, blond man known by his high status in the Police Department of Los Angeles – the sergeant – almost blurts out in anger as he kicks the door to her office open. “Another day, another body; I’m about to lose my fucking mind” he throws a pile of documents under the name of Jeon Jungkook on your desk, the collision with the hard wood making a loud, slapping noise. “Sir, calm down, I told you I’m your best chance at tying him to all this-“ You stood up from your chair, a bit taken aback by his sudden presence and the fact that his face almost turned bright red from the poor managing of his emotions. “How could I let my best detective just throw herself at some relentless animal?? Tell me how? You know what he’s capable of.“ he walks to her desk, his breathing sounding a bit ragged as rushed up a flight of stairs and kept on raising his voice unintentionally.

               He opens the documents in front of you, gruesome pictures of dead girls almost flying out from in between the sheets of paper that were holding infinite amounts of details related to the autopsy and the surroundings they were found in, everything but one thing: proof that Jungkook is the one behind all this. “You need to understand that if you offer to go undercover, you might become just like them: a pretty face on a maimed body… or vice versa” you roll your eyes at his last comment, not wanting to interfere in his small speech about the girls. “I completely understand, Oliver, but you have to let me in on this. LA is already fucked by his drug cartel, we don’t need them to fear his killings on top of all that” you let out a long sigh, glancing with the corner of your eyes at the poor, poor girls. You knew he was right, and deep within you lay a fear of such death, your heart throbbing at the thought that you might give your life away for a grain of truth.

               A heavy silence fell upon both of you as you stood in the middle of the office, each staring at a random object from the room, hoping that the other would just say something. Anything. Oliver runs a hand through his thick, blonde locks and looks up into your eyes, feeling uneasy “Okay, Y/N, I’ll let you in on this job… But if you die, I’ll be so disappointed”. you quickly deliver him an encouraging smile, the dimple on your right cheek making a glorious appearance on your face “Thank you… I won’t let you down. I hope it doesn’t take too long...” you trail off before walking to your desk slowly, opening the first document that revealed a mesmerizing, yet somewhat scary man: his dark locks contrasted with his dark brown eyes and his really pale skin. The only picture available of him was slightly shaky; depicting him at what you could tell was a club, probably looking up at someone. How they got their hands on this – you’ll never know. But you were thankful that you at least had the smallest of leads on how he looked like. The man breaks the silence once again, letting you know that he’ll be preparing everything that’s needed for later that night, as you were bound to begin as soon as possible to prevent any more tragedies from happening. Amongst the many drug dealers killed, innocent people found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, falling into the killer’s hands. You nodded to Oliver before he disappeared out of your sight, leaving you alone with your thoughts which only became louder as adrenaline kicked in – you realized you’ll finally come face to face with the most dangerous drug lord. What if I die? What if he finds out who I am? God, I’m an idiot sometimes…

 ------------

               You were nervous, you couldn’t lie. You were holding a cold cup of coffee to your chest while staring outside the window of the office, your mind absent. You knew that Paula, Oliver’s assistant was almost done packing the bag which only contained clothes and a really small, device, which could easily be hidden almost anywhere. It served the purpose of alerting the police once you were in real danger or once you considered that you’d found out everything needed to throw him behind bars. You hear your phone go off and pull it out of your pocket, reading the text that popped up on the screen “I’m done, come downstairs and meet me” the name above the text was Paula. Sipping the last drops of your coffee, you throw the cup into the trashcan near your chair and walk out of the office, running both hands through your hair as if it weighed you down greatly. Everything around you felt heavy; it felt like you were walking to your death sentence – which was… probable. “Miss Y/L/N” shouted a high-pitched voice, reeking your ears painfully. You could never stand Oliver’s assistant, you thought she didn’t deserve her job, but only got it because of her looks. Shaking the thought away, you force a smile and walk to Paula, who was waiting next to one of the police cars which was often used by the detectives when going undercover – a black Mercedes. She reaches her arms forward, almost pushing the bag into your embrace “The clothes are a bit… revealing. Jeon is known for liking… naughty women.” Paula’s sentencing almost made you choke on your tongue, a slight blush appearing on your pale cheeks. Is this girl serious? How could Oliver hire such an unprofessional woman… Your biggest problem was your judgmental nature. Maybe it came from years of working for LAPD; meeting all kinds of people – the dumbest to even the smartest of criminals, whom you respected for their skillfulness, but despised for the field they chose to display it on.

               You hold the bag to your chest, afraid to open it, not knowing what clothes were chosen for you to wear. You could work with anything, well… almost anything. You weren’t going to flaunt your body around in patches of cloths rather than feel more comfortable in slightly revealing clothes. Giving Paula a soft glare, you unlock the car and throw the bag inside “I’ll go now, tell Oliver I’m not going to disappoint him”. The assistant watches you sit in the car and drive away, wondering if you know where you’re headed.

               You had the documents with you, hidden in the glove box, as you had been analyzing them all day. You noticed Jungkook had a habit of visiting a strip club named Trinity, somewhere downtown, almost speeding to that place as your memory had reminded you of it. You were thinking of your boyfriend and family, not to mention your friends. Bound to be gone for a while, you knew they’d start worrying. The worst part was not being able to connect with them or even see them, just to let them know that you’re doing fine.

               What a shabby place… is this where I’m supposed to be? You wished your thoughts would just shut up at times, as they only made you grow more anxious. Parking the car in a very dark place, on an alley, you glance at the board of the car, becoming aware that it was well past 11 PM at that point. Rifling through the bag on the passenger’s seat, you pull out what seems to be a baby blue, short dress with noodle straps and a pair of white high heels. You let out a really long sigh, although you were glad it wasn’t the worst outfit ever. You might’ve as well worn this at some point in time when going out clubbing. Making sure no one’s around, you quickly change in the car and hides the small device in between the foam and the material of your bra, on the inside. Okay, I’m ready… somewhat ready. It won’t be bad, right? He can’t be that bad.

               The bodyguards let you get through quite easily as you batted your long eyelashes at them and pleaded them nicely. Upon opening a heavy door and walking down a set of stairs, your mind could only comment on how sketchy it all looked. This definitely isn’t filled with criminals… A thick cloud of smoke could be cut apart with a knife, and as you waved your small hand near your face to push it away, you see him. All the way back in a corner, dimly lit by a red light, he sat sprawled back on a cozy couch, surrounded by girls… and a few of his men. He was wearing a black shirt, the top buttons of it undone, paired with black jeans and a pair of worn-out black boots. You stop dead in your tracks, your lips parting so softly and slightly, your bright blue eyes slowly widening at the sight of him. This man was… gorgeous.  How could you think such things about a criminal? As you indulge in the sight, from across the room, Jungkook notices everything. His keen eyes saw everything the second it moved, one of the things which annoyed most people he knew. He shifts his dark orbs towards the front door and sees you, slightly scanning your face as it was the only thing he could see through the crowd of people dancing around. Your eyes meet his briefly and you swallow tightly – understanding that there’s no turning back now. He was watching you curiously, although his glance was too intense, burning holes through you, wanting to find out everything about you on the spot.

               I will definitely throw this mission…

[queen-scribbles]

Legends

Kei had been raised on legends of kraken.

Over the years, they went from bogey-monsters that would eat her toes if she got out of bed during the night, to pure myth, to real but rarely sighted leviathans that lurked in the deepest waters of the Deadfire 

And then she killed one. In a frozen lake under a fragment of a fallen moon, smack in the middle of the White March mountains. Seeing one herself, she thanked every god that came to mind the terrain worked to her advantage and prayed she never had to fight one of these monsters--which could easily swallow her or any of her friends whole--in its natural habitat.

Like so many other things she’d prayed for, the gods had very different--opposite in fact--plans.

It came in the middle of the night, well after the gentle patter of rain on the window had lulled her to sleep. A lurching stop, warning cries from up on deck, and the vague shadow of something big visible outside her cabin window, even through the rain. She didn’t even dare pause long enough to don her armor, just grabbed sword and shield and headed for the deck. The earlier drizzle had worsened into a torrential rainstorm that quickly soaked through her clothes and severely curtailed visibility.

Still, it was hard to miss the massive form that reared up over the starboard rail. Even as Kei took rapid stock of the situation, tried to process that they were being attacked by a kraken of all things(she’d almost have preferred fighting that vithrak pirate again), she caught the silhouette of a torso-thick tentacle swinging toward the deck from the opposite side of the ship. She was already moving, stumbling across the rain-slicked deck, before she’d calculated where the tentacle would hit.

And who was in its path.

The rocking of the ship threw off her aim, but Kei still managed to grab Tekēhu’s arm and half-spin, half-yank him out of the way just before the tentacle smacked into the deck hard enough to dent the boards and send up a shower of splinters. The two of them slammed into the mast but caught their balance a moment later.

Tekēhu grinned. “My thanks, Captain.”

Kei matched the grin as she dashed water from her eyes. “Would have been a bullshit end for Ngati’s favorite, and we wouldn’t want that.”

He laughed, the sound rising in harmony with yet defiance of the storm. “Very true, indeed. Let us vanquish this monster, instead, I say.” He tugged her down as the writhing tentacle swung toward their heads. “And add another impossible feat to our own legend.”

She shook her head at his teasing enthusiasm, water flying from her hair. “I’ll settle for driving it off before it sinks my damn ship!”

As if to underscore her sentiment, the kraken bellowed and slammed another tentacle to the deck, splintering the rail and knocking several crates into the turbulent water.

“Don’t let it wrap around!” Kei hollered, pushing off the mast with her shield arm to hack at the tentacle trying to do just that. It took three blows of her sword to cut away the upper part. The kraken screeched as it flailed the maimed tentacle away, knocking Irrena and Kostanten perilously close to the shattered rail as it withdrew. They caught their balance just in time.

Several frustrating minutes passed, where no one armed with guns or melee weapons could do much damage to the beast itself, thanks to either the pouring rain or the distance. Kei lost track of how many times she or Edér or Rekke wound up sprawled on their backside for trying. But there was only so much good that could be done hacking off tentacles; it would take more serious injury to drive away this beast.

Finally, however, the rain started to slack off even if the kraken didn’t relent. Indeed, it appeared the barrage of spells--along with several lost tentacles--it had suffered made it all the more determined to drag this ship down. Or at least exact recompense in kith’s lives. The tentacles not trying to curl around the Defiant or too badly injured swept toward sailors and companions alike, and there was only so much dodging one could do while also keeping the beast at bay. It showed particular malevolence toward Xoti, Aloth, and Tekēhu--the ones doing the most damage. Kei deflected so many hefty blows from arrow-pricked or bleeding tentacles in their defense, her shield arm started to go numb.

Xoti jumped a tentacle swiping at her legs and took advantage of the increased visibility to drop a pillar of fire on the kraken’s face.

It screeched and reared back, and a few seconds later came a muffled bellow belowdecks as a pair of the Defiant’s cannons took the opening to fire. Another, even angrier, screech filled the air and the tentacles snaking across the deck jerked back toward the water. One snapped a yardarm as it went, forcing several of the crew to scramble aside as the spar swung down toward the deck.

“Get this thing off my ship!” Kei hollered in frustration, and though the words were lost to the wind, the cannons roared again as if in answer. Two of the tentacles went flying, blown off at the root.

The kraken thrashed, bellowing and screeching in turn, the remaining tentacles flailing in search of something to grab, a way to claim recompense for damage suffered. Every time one started to close around a sailor or other kith, however, someone nearby pulled them back or made it pay. Another volley of cannon shot thundered over the dying storm, the casters each hit it with spells in quick succession, orange flame and purple energy illuminating the barrage of thorns, and Rekke and Serafen each hurled bombs at its head.

This final assault was too much for the kraken. What tentacles remained on or around the ship withdrew, still twitching.

“Kuldrun, get us out of here!” Kei yelled hoarsely toward the quarterdeck. Kuldrun’s reply, if he made one, was lost to the weather and what she hoped were the death howls of the repelled leviathan as he brought the Defiant about. She made a quick scan of the deck as adrenaline faded into exhaustion. They’d taken a beating, but nothing that couldn’t be repaired, and it didn’t look like they’d lost anyone, which was a minor miracle--

As if in a final Fuck You to the meal that got away, a tentacle whipped through the air, wrapped around Kei’s hips, and yanked her into the air. Her sword and shield dropped from her relaxed grip, but even as she cursed the lack of weapons, the tentacle fell limply away. Not that that improved her situation much; she was now in freefall over a part of the ocean she knew contained a very pissed, very hurt kraken, not to mention the still-dizzying waves from the storm.

She was close enough to feel the spray from the waves and see the kraken’s blood staining the water when something else wrapped around her waist and suddenly she was flying back toward her ship. Kei’s hands instinctively went to the pressure around her midriff, found it malleable and... wet? Water?  

Tekēhu. She smirked as the water-tentacle twisted around so she could see the rapidly approaching ship, her friends’ worried faces, and Tekēhu towering over the rest of them as he concentrated on reeling her back in.

The Defiant rode up a wave at the worst possible moment and threw off Kei’s landing. She hit the deck at the wrong angle, barely got her arms under her to keep from cracking her head, heard something snap on impact, and rolled a couple times before running into a crate hard enough she just knew it was going to leave a  bruise. She sat up with a groan, shook her head to clear the dizziness, and sent Tekēhu a still-dazed grin.

“My hero,” she said glibly, leaning back against the crate she’d hit as she started tallying various aches. “Knew sweet-talking the Watershaper would pay off someday.”

Tekēhu chuckled, but she could see the worry lingering in his eyes as he glanced at the wrist she held cradled to her chest. “Ekera, Captain, I would have preferred not to injure you in the process.” 

“Of saving my life?” Kei finished for him. She pushed wet braids out of her face, winced at the sting as her hand grazed a cut on her forehead. “Trust me, this is vastly preferable to being kraken bait.” She tried to stand, but her knee and hip both flared with pain.

“Or drownin’“ Edér chipped in cheerfully as he helped Beodul tie down loose crates. 

“Or drowning,” she agreed with a nod.

“The ocean, of all things, is not allowed to take you from me,”Tekēhu said, and light-hearted as the comment sounded, Kei could hear the underlying seriousness in the words.

“It hasn’t yet,” she promised with a wink.

“Perhaps not, but you still need to see the surgeon, beloved,” he returned quietly as he crouched to help her stand. 

“No arguments here,” Kei grunted. Besides the various other bumps, bruises, and aches, she was fairly certain her left wrist was broken. “But surely there’s others who need it more.”

“That’s why you hired more than one,” Aloth countered as he raked hair out of his face. “For situations like this.”

“True.” But thinking about the healers made her mind leap elsewhere as Tekēhu guided her up to her feet. “Oh, gods, Vela!”

“I saw Daelia scoopin’ her up on my way to the deck, Kei,” Xoti said, looking up from the bruise on her arm with a smile meant to comfort despite the priestess’ large black eye. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

Kei’s knees wobbled, a combination of relief and pain, and Tekēhu caught her elbows to keep her upright. “Thanks,” she mumbled, her good hand clasped against his bicep.

The soft light of ship lanterns showed the mischief dancing in his eyes. “My pleasure, Captain. Now, let’s get you seen to.”

Even if she’d intended to protest--she hadn’t--the faintest brush of his hand against her injured wrist made her whimper. Tekēhu gently shifted them so her arm was around his shoulders to help her cross the deck.

Kei tripped over the threshold as they reached belowdecks, started to rest weight on her bad leg to compensate, and yelped as she promptly fell against Tekēhu’s chest. His arms wrapped around her in support, and he seemed content to let her take her time recovering from the slip.

“How long have you been dreaming of me all soaking wet and snuggled close like this?” Kei asked playfully.

Tekēhu chuckled. “More months than is likely wise to admit.” He carefully wiped blood off her forehead with his thumb. “The injuries are a less welcome addition, I say.”

You and me both. She laughed, rested her forehead against his temple. “That’s a relief. Might’ve had to end things if you were fantasizing about me getting the shit kicked out of me.”

“Perish the thought,” Tekēhu declared, pressing a tender kiss just below the cut on her forehead. “I’d much rather you whole and hardy, my lioness.” He winked. “There is much more fun to be had then.”

Kei raised a brow and smirked. “Well, if we stop flirting and start walking, I think one of the surgeons can help with that.”

He eased back ever so slightly. “You are ready to continue, then?”

She nodded. “Fun as it is to flirt with my handsome fish, I would prefer doing so without various background aches.”

Tekēhu grinned. “Your handsome fish would prefer that as well.” He nodded toward her cabin, the door still ajar from her earlier hasty exit. “What say you wait in there, while I fetch one of the surgeons, beloved?”

Kei hesitated. She hated to be so much trouble, but walking was an ordeal right now, and steps would be extra tricky… “I say that sounds like a good plan,” she finally nodded. “One that minimizes further jostling of my injuries and doesn’t risk you hurting yourself to help me.”

“Ekera, Kei, never fear on that count,” he protested, carefully shuffling them toward her cabin. “You would be worth a tumble down the stairs, I say.”

“Very romantic,” Kei deadpanned, but she couldn’t fight a smile. Her wrist twinged and she instinctively cradled it closer to her chest as Tekēhu helped her across the room to the wide seat under the window. 

He kissed the top edge of her forehead. “I’ll bring one of the surgeons with all haste, beloved.”

“Only if they’re not busy,” she called after him. Badly as parts of her hurt, she’d hate to pull Daelia or Tylla from someone who needed the patching up more.

Tekēhu didn’t reply, but she thought she saw him shake his head slightly before he was out of sight down the stairs.

As promised, he was back only a couple minutes later with Daelia right behind him--and a giggling Vela wrapped around his arm like a spider monkey.

She let go as soon as they passed the doorway and dashed across the cabin to perch on the corner of the bed. “Did you win, Mama?”

Kei chuckled. “We did. Is it that had to tell?”

Vela shrugged. “You us’lly don’t get hurt so bad when you win’s all.”

“Usually we’re not fighting something so big,” Kei said with a smile. “Did you stay with Aunt Daelia like I told you?”

Vela gave an emphatic nod. “I ‘membered what you said if anything happened to the ship. An’ I was good,” she added, anticipating the next question.

“She was,” Daelia confirmed with a chuckle as she rolled up her sleeves.

“Happy to hear that, and happy you’re both safe,” Kei said. “Were there a lot of injuries?”

“Mainly bruises and the like,” Daelia replied. “Tuliak’s shoulder got sliced open, so Tylla’s stitching her up. And what about you, Captain? Aside from the obvious”--she nodded toward Kei’s swollen wrist--”what other injuries did you sustain?”

Tekēhu sat next to Kei as she started to list off the ones she’d found, lacing his fingers between those of her good hand. Daelia pointed out an additional gash Kei hadn’t noticed across the inside of her arm just below her elbow.

“Best to take care of your wrist first, though,” she mused, “since that’s the most serious.”

“Won’t hear me complaining,” Kei muttered, squeezing Tekēhu’s hand. She glanced at Vela. “You don’t have to stay, sweetheart. It’s late; you can try to go to sleep.”

Vela shook her head and fiddled with her carved fox necklace, a gift from Sagani for her last birthday.”I know you’re okay even if it hurts, Mama. You’re very tough and very brave.” She wrapped her hand around the wooden pendent. “‘I’m not sleepy anymore, an’ I wanna see.”

“Ekera, it seems you have a surgeon in training here, Kei,” Tekēhu chuckled.

“Or else just an insatiably curious daughter,” Kei said wryly. “You can stay if you want, Vel.”

Vela nodded. “I do, Mama.”

“Alright, then.” It didn’t really surprise her Vela wanted to stay; both to be close and out of that insatiable curiosity. 

“Would you like a better seat, dear one?” Tekēhu asked, extending his arm toward Vela in clear invitation.

Another eager nod. “Thank you, Teku!” she effused as she climbed down from the bed and up into his lap. She giggled and made a face--“You’re all wet!”--but settled in regardless.

It made Kei smile, even as Daelia started feeling out the extent of damage to her wrist and the pain spiked. She tightened her grip on Tekēhu’s hand, teeth grinding together.

“Fairly simple fracture,” Daelia  commented. “Shouldn’t be hard to set straight.”

“Good,” Kei managed between clenched teeth.

Tekēhu leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Breathe, my lioness,” he whispered.

Kei pulled in and released a deep, slow breath at the remainder, and it did help. Daelia was as good as her word; she had Kei’s wrist set and splinted in short order, then set about tending the other injuries.

Despite her assertion of not being tired, Vela fell asleep halfway through, curled up against Tekēhu’s chest. He just shifted her more center on his lap with one arm and settled in again, hand still intertwined with Kei’s.

Finally, though, everything had been tended. Her hip was just bruised, she’d wrenched her knee, the gash on her arm had needed a few stitches, but the cut on her forehead wasn’t serious, just needed cleaning and would scab well enough. After Kei had thanked Daelia profusely for her help(and the pain draught that had her a very pleasant level of numb), the elf took her leave and Tekēhu very gently settled Vela on the bed.

He ran a slow, appraising look over Kei, taking long enough she finally arched a brow.

“What?”

Tekēhu chuckled quietly. “Just musing on the likelihood you would desire dry clothes before turning in, beloved.”

“And planning to offer your assistance?” she asked, smirking.

“Ekera, it is as if you read my mind,” he grinned. “You do only have one good hand at the moment. And I promise to behave myself with your daughter in the room and you so battered.”

“What a relief,” Kei deadpanned, mischief sparking in her eyes. “In that case, I accept.”

His grin widened, but he made no comment as he dug in her trunk for dry clothes, coming up with deep brown trousers and a short sleeved, off-white shirt.

“Good choice, with this,” Kei said wryly, briefly raising her splinted wrist.

“My thoughts exactly,” Tekēhu confirmed. He returned to his seat by her side, helped her gingerly remove her sodden clothes and dry off before just as carefully pulling on the new ones.

Once she was dressed, Kei paused to cup Tekēhu’s jaw with her good hand. “Thank you, Teku,” she whispered playfully, leaning in to kiss him.

His low laugh rumbled into the kiss. “It was my pleasure,” he murmured, then kissed her back. “And I won’t tell Vela you stole her nickname.”

“Borrowed,” Kei protested with a smile, resting her forehead against his. “Just this once.” She kissed him again.

“Ekera, beloved, you are making it quite difficult to keep my promise,” Tekēhu mumbled, breath ragged, between kisses. His hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers toying with the narrow braids.

“Which one?”

“To behave myself.”

She leaned more fiercely into the current kiss for a moment before pulling back. “Sorry.” She traced a finger down his cheek. “You’re just extra irresistible when you’re being sweet.”

He favored her with a warm smile for that, turned his head to lightly kiss her palm. “All the more reason to do it frequently, I say. But for now…” He reluctantly sat back. “I believe Daelia instructed you to rest?”

Kei nodded, letting her hand fall to her lap, the warmth of his skin lingering. “She did. And it is very late. Or is it early, now?”

Tekēhu chuckled, helped her stand. “I don’t imagine it makes much difference either way. You should go to bed.”

It was a short journey, but he didn’t let go until she was safely settled in bed. Vela easily shifted in her sleep to curl up snuggled with her mama. Kei ran a hand over her hair and looked up at Tekēhu. “Thank you,” she repeated. “For everything.”

He bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You are most welcome, my lioness. Though I do wish my help had not cost you such an injury.”

Not wanting to wake Vela, Kei rolled her eyes instead of scoffing. “And as I said, I’d rather have a broken wrist than be kraken bait. Thanks to you, my handsome fish, I lived to tell the tale. My wrist will heal.” She smiled. “Now, you should get some sleep as well; you look ready to fall over.”

“I would lie to deny it,” Tekēhu admitted with a wan smile. “So if you have no more need of your handsome fish tonight, Captain, I shall do as you say.”

I always need my handsome fish. Kei giggled and rolled her eyes again. “Goodnight, Tekēhu,” she said, patting the bed next to her and Vela.

His eyes fairly glowed as he accepted the unspoken invitation.

Kei had been right; he was asleep with his head on her shoulder mere seconds later. Her own lingering aches made it take a few minutes before she followed into slumber, and she didn’t truly mind. They’d fought a monster straight out of legend tonight and lived to tell the tale(grown their own legend in the process, she was sure he’d point out). Sleeping sandwiched between her two favorite people in Eora was as perfect a celebration as she could want for now.

Everything else could wait until daylight.

[jewels2876]

It’s Someone’s Fault

A/N: Tropes, tropes, who likes tropes? I picked the bold line below from the @the-ss-horniest-book-club  HBC Time to Fall challenge and worked out the locked trope and threw in sharing the same bed ... who am I? 

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1782

Warnings: mild swearing

It wasn’t your fault that your feet were colder than blocks of ice. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that the weather decided not to cooperate on the one weekend you had been assigned a mission to the Pocono’s at the end of September. It was Tony’s fault, and maybe Steve’s, that this mission was ‘suddenly’ give to the two of you, instead of Steve as originally planned.

“Who the hell didn’t give us a key?” you whined as you tried the door for the hundredth time. You and Bucky had been keeping an eye on this place for two days before you decided to try and get in. The door had shut behind Bucky and now you were both trapped. It had only been one day and you were both ready to kill… okay maybe maim, each other.

Bucky muttered something unintelligible under his breath. You shook your head then rolled your eyes. “I’m going to get a shower,” you decided. 

“Fine,” he sneered. “Not like I could use one or anything.”

You gave him the finger and stomped off in a huff. You never knew why Bucky was so short with you; you had gone out of your way to be friendly to him, and to everyone really, when you had joined the Avengers after the fall of SHIELD.  

“Real mature y/n!” he yelled at your back.

Your shower was a mess: you couldn’t get the temperature just right, your towel got wet, and the water didn’t even last 10 minutes. You muttered a lot of “shits” and “fucks” as you toweled off with a frown and threw on some clothes. You thought about grabbing a pair of socks out of Bucky’s luggage but didn’t want to hear his whining. 

The rest of the night was as great as the shower. Bucky tried to avoid you as much as he could, but with only a living room, kitchen and single bedroom with one bed, it was hard to do. Finally the two of you agreed to go to bed. Bucky offered you the bed. “I can see about starting a fire I guess?” he had shrugged as he looked around.

“With what wood? You gonna go out now and chop some?”

He stuck his tongue out at you as you closed the bedroom door with one last retort. “Real mature Bucky!”

*

The next morning both you and Bucky woke up to grey skies and pouring rain. You groaned and opened the bedroom door. Bucky was hanging half off the couch, his legs wrapped up in a tiny blanket. You felt guilty seeing him like this until you heard his snore. You chuckled to yourself and grabbed a bowl out of the cupboard.

Bucky shot up. “Who the…? Oh, it’s you.” He thought you looked cute with your robe tied around you, padding around in bare feet. But am I going to admit that, he harassed himself, no!

You were pouring out some cereal you found as you watched Bucky’s face move through different emotions. You decided enough was enough.

“Bucky, give it to me straight. If you hate me that’s fine, but if we’re gonna be locked in here, with this cold, rainy weather, you may as well tell me why.”

Bucky had the sense to look ashamed. “I don’t hate you,” he whispered.

“You don’t? You pick on me, you go out of your way to piss me off, you pretty much find a way to get under my skin on the daily.” You crossed your arms and stared into his eyes. “So are we in kindergarten now?”

“No! I just...I don’t... I’m a guy,” Bucky started. He saw you winding up and he held up a hand to keep you quiet. “I don’t talk about my feelings, I barely know WHAT I’m feeling, or how I’m feeling. And then you… you come in and you’re this light, happy person who doesn’t seem to any of my problems, makes friends with everyone, and I just…”

“Just what?”

“I was intimidated by you, I think. I knew that I couldn’t...wouldn’t… that I wasn’t what you were looking for,” he finished.

You took a bite of your now soggy cereal. You didn’t know how to respond to this revelation. But something tickled a part of your brain. You shoved it aside as you shoved the bowl of cereal away as well. “Okay, I need to think about this. I don’t know what to think. Are you gonna be okay if I hide in the bedroom for a bit?” Bucky nodded and you left the room.

You took a seat on the bed and started thinking about Bucky’s confession. You grabbed a pillow and stretched out, letting your mind wander some more. Before long you drifted off into a fitful sleep.

A knock startled you and you jerked up. The grey hadn’t gone away but the rain had tapered down. Bucky opened the bedroom door, a pile of blankets in his hands. “Are you ok?” He didn’t give you time to answer as he walked in. “I found a ton of blankets in a storage closet. I think we’ll be okay to ride this out.”

You nodded and cleared your throat. “Sounds good. And Bucky?” He looked at you, hope clear on his face. “You can share the bed with me. You looked really uncomfortable on the couch this morning.”

Bucky started to follow you into the bathroom; you whipped around and frowned. “I didn’t invite you to come with me.” Bucky stood at the edge of the bathroom as you gathered your fuzzy bathrobe, the one warm item you had thought to bring. You gave Bucky the stink eye, with a smile and a chuckle, and closed the door on him. You heard his footsteps retreating from the bathroom and took a deep sigh. You disrobed, stepped into the shower and let the water warm up before you stood under it. You relaxed as the water cascaded across your hair and skin; you finished up your shower and toweled off. Then you slipped your robe back on and exited. 

Bucky jumped into the bathroom the minute you exited. “You better have saved me some hot water!” he yelled with a grin as he shut the door behind you.  

You ignored him and walked into the bedroom to stare at the clothes in your suitcase. You slipped on a pretty pair of blue panties and matching bra, then the black leggings you had tossed in last minute. Your feet were already getting cold, still wet against the wooden floors. You sighed as you realized you hadn’t brought a single pair of socks or slippers with you. 

You decided to inspect Bucky’s suitcase and noticed several pairs of dark washed jeans and grey thermal shirts before you found a large stash of socks. You pulled out a pair of purple and black striped ones. “Who knew that’s what he’s hiding under his boots?” you giggled. You heard the shower stop and quickly threw on the socks and the one long sleeved tee shirt in your bad before scurrying to the kitchen.

Bucky stepped into the bedroom, noting the silence. I shouldn’t be so hard on her, he chastised himself. It’s not her fault I’ve had a crush on her and can’t deal with it. He grabbed a clean thermal and pair of jeans, forgoing any underwear. His nose caught a familiar scent and he made his way to the kitchen. He watched as you danced around to some unknown song, moving between the stove and the sink. He smiled to himself, admiring your ass in the leggings. You turned around and yelped.

“Jesus, Bucky! Don’t scare me like that?” 

He could now see the pot on the stovetop and a small pile of grilled cheese sandwiches. “Doll! Are you making me dinner? How… housewife like.”

You smirked and set the third sandwich on top of your pile. “Who said I was sharing?”

Bucky looked down at your feet and smirked back “Oh, you’ve started stealing my socks now?” He gave you a wink and you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from your chest.

“Yes, because I don’t have any socks or slippers,” you whined. “It was supposed to be warmer than this! And less windy! And your socks looked so…”

Bucky placed a finger to your lips. You startled at his touch, afraid to say or do anything that might ruin the moment. You sighed and moved a step back to stir the soup.

“If you can grab some plates, I’ll finish the last sandwich and soup,” you told Bucky. He wasted no time and grabbed the plates. A few minutes later, you put the last sandwich on your pile and tested the soup’s temperature.

Bucky ladled out some soup as you set the plate of sandwiches down. “Which of my confessions put you to sleep?” he teased.

You grabbed the other bowl and served yourself some soup before answering. “Sorry about the falling asleep. But honestly,” you set your bowl down on the kitchen counter and grabbed a sandwich, “I’ve always liked you. I just never knew how to get to know you better.”

Bucky started to say something but you kept going. “I asked Nat and Sam and Clint and Steve…”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, “when did you ask Steve?”

“About… fuck!”

You both looked at each other and laughed. “Do you think the door will work now?” you wondered aloud.

“If I know my best friend, nope. They will totally make us share the damn bed before that happens.”

*

A Few Hours Later

“Jesus, woman! You have cold feet!” Bucky yelped.

You pouted and moved your feet away from his legs. “Sorry.”

Bucky pulled you back to his chest, cringing only slightly when your cold feet grazed his legs again. “‘M sorry babe. I know it’s not your fault. Hold on just a sec.” He jumped out of the bed, wishing for not the first time he had put on underwear, and grabbed a pair of socks. He put them on your feet before tickling you. You giggled and his heart felt lighter than it had when this mission started. “Let’s be thankful I found a ton of blankets in the storage closet too.” As if on cue the wind blew and rattled the window opposite the bed. You both snuggled in closer. “Your feet already have warmed up,” he teased. “Are you comfortable enough?” He heard your gentle snore and glanced down at you, head on his chest, arm wrapped around his waist. He kissed the top of your head and let himself drift off to sleep.

fin

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[divineluce]

Southpaw and Witchfire || Adam & Luce

Timing: May 30th, 2020

Location: Deep in the Woods

Tagging: @walker-journal​ & @divineluce​

Description: Kindred spirits in grief, Adam helps Luce work through her pain.

Triggers: Derogatory language CW

When Adam had messaged her, with his stupid offer of fighting, Luce hadn’t taken him seriously. But here she was, in the middle of the forest, her sparring bag slung over her shoulder. About to meet Adam for some kinda… bullshit, punch away your feelings session. Real Fight Club style, just with fewer cult vibes. As she walked into the clearing that she’d been to so many times before, Luce tossed her bag on the ground and began to warm up, swinging her arms. The scratches and bruises she’d sustained while running through the woods had faded away to fresh scars and yellowed skin, and you know? Why the fuck not bring some new ones to the game. She didn’t give a shit. Noticing movement to her right, she looked up and saw Adam walking into the clearing. “Hey. You showed up.” She said with a nod. “I heard you wanna fucking go, bro?” Luce joked, though the words came out more aggressive and threatening than anything else. She didn’t care. She was angry and if he wanted to fucking fight, she’d fucking fight.

There were certain decoctions that could dull a Hunter's strength for a time. Adam had used them when he was very young and terrified of accidentally crippling classmates or a girlfriend in a reflexive burst of superhuman strength. Indeed, Adam had no intention of winning this fight, only surviving it for long enough to maybe give his sparring partner some brief release. The liquid had been absolutely foul, but a numbing sensation and feeling of heaviness signaled that it’d worked its way through his bloodstream. His mutant healing should let himself survive pretty much anything Luce could dish out without guns or fireballs, but now there’d be no danger of him accidentally crushing her ribcage. 

“Yeah,” Adam said, winding athletic tape around his hands. “You’ve kinna been acting like an uppity cunt and your weird carny sister biting it has pretty much made you fucking unbearable. Time for a reality check.” 

Lip curling at his words, Luce stared at him for a moment, her hands shaking at her side. Her carny sister-- How fucking dare you say that about my sister. How fucking dare you.” Gritting her teeth, Luce rifled through her bag and grabbed a pair of MMA gloves. Hand to hand wasn’t her forte, she’d never gotten good at it. Swords, swords were her strength. But, looking at his smug frat boy face, his stupid angular jawline? Luce wanted to beat him into the dirt herself. She wanted to feel him hurt the way she hurt. Which is why she chose the gloves over the blunted training swords or the ratan single stick she had in her bag. The gloves didn’t have much padding, but it would be enough to ensure she didn’t break a bone in her hand when she smashed this fucking asshole’s teeth in. Sliding the black gloves on, she stared at him, her blood boiling with rage. “You’re going to regret saying that shit to me.” She said, thinking about Kaden as she ran at Adam, fists raised and ready.

The Hunter calling being what it was, most of the fighting stances Adam had been trained in were explicitly intended to kill with cold brutal efficiency. Each said style had a specific kind of physiology and type monster movement pattern it was designed to counter. Adam, being a strictly Code-observing Hunter, had intentionally abstained from learning all fighting techniques designed to quickly maim or dispatch other human beings. So today’s stance was nothing fancy. 

Adam stood with his legs shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, left foot turned toward Luce. He made a loose fist with his right hand by his chin with the left hand in front of his face.

Old School boxing stance any coach would teach you. Chin Down. Eyes Up. Don’t Die. 

“Why? She was the only one of you three that had her shit together,” Adam said, making a taunting beckoning with one of his weathered brown MMA gloves as Luce advanced towards him. “Your Mom even fucking said so,” he said bicep’s bunching as opened with a quick Left Jab, the boxing punch typically used to gague your opponent’s distance and defenses in order to step up stronger heavier punches. “You’re the weird lesbian problem girl who...what was it…” Adam feigned a smirking thoughtful expression as he aimed a Right Cross right for Luce’s face. 

“...Hides in her shed,” Adam said in a stilted impression of a Turkish accent. “Let’s face it,” he said, continuing to attempt to circle Luce, throwing  out quick jabs mainly to test what kind of reflexes and guarding he was up against. “Beatrice was fucking carrying both of you…..but when then she actually needed you for once? Where were you?” 

Adam let out a sardonic chuckle, abdominals tightening as he aimed a kick at Luce’s stomach. “Useless, MIA, hiding in your fucking little shed while someone hacked her to pieces. Kinna late to come to her defense now Lucinda,” 

While Adam might have had the advantage of Hunter training, Luce had years of bar fights, run-ins with monsters in the woods, and pure, unadulterated rage on her side. Her untrained eyes didn’t pick up on his stance, or the way he was testing the distance with his jabs. She didn’t give a fuck about technique. “Don’t fucking bring my mother into this.” She growled, smacking his cross out of the way with a rough punch of her own. At his horrible attempt at a Turkish accent, Luce felt her neck burn red. A growl escaped from her throat and she rolled back and forth, ducking and dodging his jabs. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she did her best to make it through the barrage of punches. Adam was stronger than her, taller than her, with longer arms that could throw harder punches than she could. But she’d been through worse. 

When he kicked out at her, Luce sidestepped and caught his leg in the crook of her arm, pinning it to her side. “Shut up! Shut up! You don’t know a fucking thing!” She spat as she punched the inside of his leg with her free hand before pushing him away, trying to send him into the dirt.

Adam had to admit that a little regret about being so thorough when the enervating decoction Luce proved that she could handle herself amply. Even in the dusky forest, Adam could see the faint splot of red-stained yellow on the inside of his leg that signaled there'd be a bruise there pretty soon. Still on the ground he tried to swing out the uninjured leg to try and knock Luce off balance. 

“Really?” The Hunter sprang to his feet and attempted to shove Luce back in one alactious motion, attempting to exploit the leverage of his own brawny frame to knock Luce down. “What I see is a trampy tomboy screw-up who never fit in, so she puts on a scary Alpha Bitch act, but doesn’t actually have what it takes when someone actually needs her.” 

Adam aimed a Left Hook in a wind-up that sent a semi-circular punch towards Luce’s jawline.

Watching Adam tumble to the ground brought some small amount of satisfaction to her. But, that moment was lost when she kicked his leg out and Luce found herself joining him in the grass and dirt as he knocked her off her feet. Scrambling to get back to her feet, to regain the high ground, Luce did her best to avoid his shove. “She told me to stay away!” She yelled, bitter angry tears welling up in her eyes, but she forced them back. She couldn’t allow her vision to cloud. But, as she tried to control her emotions, the punch Adam sent her way clocked her right in the jaw. Her head whipped around and she fell to the ground, stunned. Her teeth bit into the side of her cheek and she could taste blood in her mouth when she hit the earth. Fuck.

Fuck. As she lay there for a moment, head wringing from the shot to the jaw, Luce’s mind was going a mile a minute. If she couldn’t take a goddamn punch in the woods, if she couldn’t handle this then how the fuck was she going to save Bea? How the fuck was she going to do what needed to be done. With a growl, Luce spit out a thin stream of blood and rolled back to her feet. Her hands were low, she didn’t give a fuck about defending. She wanted to make him hurt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She hissed before lunging at him, her shoulders low as she made an attempt to grapple the man.

“Well of fucking course she did,” Adam grunted at he attempted to catch Luce’s charge. Slayers and Wardens were innately faster then Adam even by the superhuman standards of Hunters, so the less specialized mutant had to leverage raw strength through his size and build in order to pull his weight on Hunts. However Luce wasn’t a Alghoul or Spawn, being lithe and unpredictable in a way only rage can make you. Through a grapple was arguably Adam’s strong point, this was proving more than he’d bargained for. “Why do you think that is?”

“I fought beside Beatrice you know,” Adam pointed out truthfully. “Saved her from a Fext.” The Hunter himself felt really the ‘saving’ had gone both ways there, and the late sorceress had more than held her own. However Adam was trying to incite Luce into giving her all, and dredging up all the rage and fury that you can’t reveal in public when people are endlessly reciting nice-sounding platitudes about your loss. Objective truth wasn’t a priority here. 

“If I’m a stupid mouth-breathing Frat broy,” Adam huffed through gritted teeth, broad shoulders knotting as he tried to force Luce to give ground in the grapple before sheer physically. “What’s that make you Lucinda? If I can come through where you can't?” 

A bare-toothed sneer broke across Adam’s hard jaw-line. “Guess Bea’d still be alive if she’d relied on me ‘stead of you.” 

Face pressed against Adam’s side, Luce held onto him, keeping him close as she began to smash her fist over and over into his stomach and ribs. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up, she thought with every impact of her gloves against his body. “Shut your fucking mouth.” She spat, though the words sent her reeling, almost more than his punches. Bea knew she’d been too weak, too fucking weak to do anything. Which is why she’d told her to stay away. Why she’d told her to protect herself. Because she wasn’t strong enough. 

Feeling the way he was using his muscle mass to try and force her to tap out, to try and wrestle her into submission, Luce twisted and turned, thrashing wildly to escape from him before he could reverse the move. She managed to wrench herself free from his grasp, but she could feel strands of her hair being pulled and torn from her head as she pulled away. “You think I don’t know that?! You think I don’t fucking know that Bea would still be here if someone, if anyone else had known?” She shouted, panting as she backed away from him. Her arms were aching, her lungs heaving. The adrenaline, which had propelled her forward in the fight, was waning and in its wake there was nothing but tiredness. Her anger, while still present, was fading fast. And the numbness, the sadness… that was all that was left. “I know Nell beats herself up for being targeted and for Bea, for Bea saving her. But I wasn’t even there! I should have been there! I should have fucking known!” She howled before throwing herself back at Adam, fists raised halfheartedly. She wanted him to hurt her, to punish her the way she deserved.

Adam had reasoned from what Penelope had told him that the perpetrator of Beatrice’s murder had a high probability of being human, or at least ‘humanish’ (A surprisingly broad category in the paranormal underworld) He hadn’t pressed Nell for any details the other night, not wanting to stir up all that pain. Adam was not a therapist. Thus when he saw Lucinda’s spirit flagging, he perceived the same necessity that had informed his own parents. This was a dark and unforgiving world, and caring for someone means ensuring that they were a survivor by any means necessary. 

“Yeah you should have,” Adam snarled back at Luce  in a baritone made thick by heavy breathing. “What ...the..actual fuck is this….” The Hunter’s harsh voice reaching a deeper note at Luce’s passionless defense. “The fuck you are you doing Luce!?” Adam’s face took on a livid tinge as he began a true assault. “They’re going to kill Nell! Kill you!” The previous ambient bird and animal noises were hushed as Adam’s yelling continued into a stream of dark profanity broken by an unrelenting barrage of uppercuts, right crosses, and kicks. The Hunter no longer bothered with any guarding or dodging, focusing all his muscularity and energy into a tool of violence. If his words couldn’t reach Luce, then Adam would fall back on the neanderthalic method. 

“They’re like me! They’re killers! They won’t fucking stop just because you beg or Nell’s innocent,” Adam hissed through clenched teeth, knuckles raining down in blow after blow toward Luce. “You give up and you’ll both die! Because you’re weak! Where’s that fucking fire?” Adam swung a roundhouse kick Luce’s way. “Step up or die in the dirt cunt! Killers don’t care if you’re mourning!” 

Words. His fucking words. Luce could handle the onslaught of kicks and punches, she let them fall without blocking them, her body absorbing the blows. His fists against her arms, his feet against her legs, his elbows knocking against her stomach. Each impact sent a firework of pain through her body but she let them come. She could deal with the pain. She could handle the pain. But his words, his goddamn words. Luce closed her eyes as she curled up in on herself, her arms coming up to protect her head, as if that would stop the words he kept hurling at her. “I know! I know they’d kill us in a heartbeat! I know they would!” She yelled, though the words were more of a sob. They’d killed Bea without a second thought, they’d do the same to her, the same to Nell.

But when he asked about her fire, her fucking fire, Luce’s eyes flicked open. He wanted to see fire? He wondered where the flames were, where the spark was? While part of her had died the moment she’d found out about Bea, another part of her had been unlocked. Flames fueled by hatred and sorrow and loss. He wanted to see fire? Dodging out of the way of his roundhouse kick, Luce stepped back, extending her gloved hands. “You want to see my fire?!” With that, she let out a roar of anger and grief. Blue flames exploded from her hands, shooting around the two of them. The flames formed a giant circle around them, their blue tongues reaching higher and higher as Luce stared at Adam with pain filled eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes to save my family! Whatever it takes!”

Adam flinched as the witchfire roared around them, a wall of phlogiston sapphire that made the Hunter’s vision ripple in a heat haze, as very air had become a boiling liquid. Blue fire was at least two thousand three hundred degrees if not more. The white sweat-stained fabric of Adam’s sleeveless gym shirt curled at the edges, fraying as small black-ridged holes appeared. Wave after wave of dry heat washed over Adam, a searing pain mountain even as his nostrils filled with the faintly sulfurous scent of his own singing hair. 

Adam lowered his hands to his own knees, the deep breathing of physical exertion made labored by the flame burning away the oxygen inside the ring. His brown eyes met Luce’s, bruised features painfully turning into an expression distinct from the contemptuous smirks and leers he’d been assuming. Adam walked to Lucinda across the blackened grass, gait a little stiff as the flaring heat accentuated the previous blow she’d landed on his leg muscle. 

If Lucinda permitted it, Adam attempted to catch her  in an embrace of sweaty bruised arms. “I know you will.” 

The air between them shimmered with heat as the fires roared around them. Luce could feel the energy rushing out of her body, her strength being consumed by the hungry flames around them. But, she couldn’t let go of the fire. She couldn’t release them. The sorrow she carried, the pain, the emotions were reflected in every flickering strand of light that surrounded the two of them. As Adam approached her, she watched his movements with a wary, tear filled eye. She wouldn’t burn him, wouldn’t do that to someone. But, if he said another foul thing against her and her family, if he doubted her abilities…

When his arms reached out for her, it wasn’t a headlock or a grapple or any other move she’d been bracing for. Instead, Adam pulled her into a hug.

The second his arms closed around her, Luce felt all the sadness and grief return to the surface, unfettered by the anger and rage and guilt. The fires died, leaving nothing but a circle of charred earth around them and smoke curls. Wrapping her arms around Adam, Luce buried her head into his shoulder and sobbed.