#but we go back to just soul’s lil world next chapter

[justanotherfanwriter]

And they were ROOMmates

Cht list: (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n: here’s what Black*Star’s going to be doing in this story lol. Every soul eater arc had something just plain nonsensical in it, and I wanted to emulate that <3 because the dumb stuff was the best stuff.

As always, thank you for your kind words and support. I’ve had this chapter written for a while, but I was too nervous to post it. Can’t move on until I post it tho so here it is! Please forgive me for any occ-ness. Trying to write all seven of them and having them talk over each other like they do in the canon is easier said than done for me, but I think I have my basic plot foundation laid out for the rest of the story 😊  

fyi I put this story on ao3 (as requested), so don’t forget to leave a comment or kudos (if you want lol). I’ll continue to update on tumblr as well!

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The DWMA clinic they were currently in was not on school property but nearer to Star and Tsu's apartment. Thanks to Medusa, the clinic on the school's main campus was now solely used for school emergencies that occurred on campus for accountability purposes. It was an effort to counter-act any other "black blood" level stunt. The rule had been met with only minor opposition, mainly from Professor Stein, but his complaints were largely ignored.

The building was a remodeled urgent care that took patients from Death City and some of the surrounding counties, and then, of course, the DWMA students or agents injured during missions. It was a nice little set-up, and "special" agents, like Maka, occupied the top floor, which required a key pass to access. Soul pressed the key pass the nurses had provided him to the pad before hitting the button to level five.

"Can we not mention this to Maka? I don't want her to worry," He requested as the elevator doors shut, blocking their view of the Program Agents that had swarmed the cafeteria, trying desperately to rub elbows with Kid. Marc, everyone's favorite cafeteria attendant, had caused quite the stir, but nothing big enough, in Soul's opinion, that required a team of thirty brown nosers and suck-ups.

He didn't look away from the panel of buttons to know his request had the rest of the group shifting their collective gaze toward Black*Star, who paused scraping around the inside of his ear to glare back at them.

"Oye!" He scowled like they had insulted his very being, "Why are you all looking at me? What! Do you really think I'm just gonna walk in there, blurt out Soul got his ass kicked, and that Kid—"

"—stole my fucking shot!" Black*Star yelled, bouncing up and down on Maka's bed, "Just stole it! I mean, what the hell kinda bullshit is that, huh!?"

"Stop jumping!" Soul growled, reaching to steady Maka as Tsubaki latched onto Black*Star's legs, echoing his sentiments, "Black*Star, be gentle!"  

His legs being rendered immobile didn't stop Black*Star from monologuing. He waved his arms dramatically in the air, "It was going to be perfect! I shimmed up onto the ceiling and was strategically swinging my way across the room using the light fixtures when—"

"Wait, are you okay?" Maka asked him, furrowing her brows as she spoke over Black*Star. Her arms wrapped around his as she searched his face for clues.

Soul scowled, stepping out of her grasp. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen. "Don't be dumb." He tsked, "Do I look hurt?"

His answer didn't alleviate the worry on her face as she turned to examine the others, "Is this person still here?"  

"Of course not!" Kid sputtered, taking a step toward them, "I've had them—"

"Ah! Ah! No! You're not allowed out of your corner yet!" Maka ripped around, jabbing a finger in their Death Lord's direction, "I'm still mad at you."

Kid shrank in on himself, turning to face the wall again.  

With a satisfied nod, Maka relaxed against her pillows, no longer glaring but obviously, to him, still worried about the predicament. It wasn't like Liz had been wrong. No good had ever come out of a trip to the hospital, and he and Maka knew that better than anyone.

"Well, I guess that's why you took so long then, huh? Here, I thought you had ended up ditching me," She sighed, her gaze falling back to him. Her smile was small but genuine. She had never had a big smile, like Black*Star or Patty, but she had a way of making someone feel like they were the only person in a crowded room when she smiled like that.

"Wow, ye of little faith," He shook his head, unable to stop himself from smiling back, "Sorry about the food."

"It's fine, it's fine," She waved him off, "what's one more night of applesauce and watery chicken broth?"

"If I had known you were hungry, I would have brought something. I've been stress-baking," Tsubaki confessed with a sheepish look as she sat down in the chair by Maka's bedside, the one that had formally been his, but if anyone was going to steal his spot, he was perfectly fine with it being her. Tsubaki gingerly held one of Maka's hands in her own, "We were only just now allowed to come visit. They said family-only for the first 24 hours."

Maka shot him a look, and he shrugged, "If anyone asks, you're my half-sister."

"Wouldn't everyone here know better?"

He stuck his hands in his hoodie pocket, "I made a compelling argument, I guess."

He had threatened the nurses and doctors, of course, with his blade, but same difference. It wasn't like Maka needed all the tiny details anyway, she was healing.

Liz wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned toward Maka with a conniving little smirk Soul didn't like, "I told him he should have said you two had gotten hitched. Way more believable, and they can't refuse a spouse."

"No," He sniffed, refusing to meet Maka's eyes, "Half-sister."

"Speaking of visitors, has anyone else been by to see you, Maka?" Kid asked the wall.

Soul stiffened on his own accord, slipping out of Liz's hold as he answered quickly for her, "No."

He watched Kid from the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction, who stood up straighter with surprise. "Really?"  

"Why?" Soul asked, really watching him now, wondering who the hell they should have been expecting. Other agents, maybe, with a slip changing Soul’s assignment to Antarctica? Had Harvar followed through on his threat?

The tone of his voice must have caught Kid off guard because he pushed away from the wall with large eyes and exclaimed, "But Spirit's been going crazy! He's left early every single day!"

Soul blinked and then forced himself to unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders.

"Oh, uh, yeah, Spirit's been by, obviously, but no one else. At least, not while I've been here." He shrugged, banishing Harvar from his thoughts. Kid was here, for Maka's sake, not to hit him with a pink slip. Why he had ever thought differently was insulting to his friend, but he kept his apologies to himself.

"Actually, I would like to see him here less," Maka rolled her eyes, "please."

Kid smiled smugly at Liz, "So he isn't cutting work."

"No," He and Maka said flatly, "he's cutting work."

Liz rolled her eyes, plopping down on the bed, "I'd rather him here than at work. Kid's right. He's been an absolute mess."

Maka opened her mouth to retort when Patty jumped up from the ground, holding up a piece of paper she had been scribbling on since they had all seemingly collapsed into the room, trying their hardest to stop Black*Star from being, well, Black*Star about things, an impossible task in retrospect.  

"I made you a card, Maka!" Patty giggled, thrusting it into Maka's face and making her go cross-eyed.

"Oh!" Maka blinked, prying the card from the other girl's grip, "Thank you, Patty, this is, uh, just…yellow on paper. Uh, crayon, maybe?"

"And color pencil, and—" Patty dug into her pocket before holding out a squished and dribbling mustard packet, "—I found this in the cafeteria!"

"Patty's really been into abstract expressionism lately," Liz explained as he and Maka sniffed the paper, sharing a look of unease.

"It's very creative, Patty!" Tsu smiled, ever positive, as she leaned over to examine the sticky piece of paper herself.

"Yellow tastes good and happy," Patty nodded, licking the open end of the mustard packet, "but it makes Kid so mad!"

Kid stepped closer, eyebrow twitching, "That's only because there's no sense to it. If you would like an actual art lesson—"

"—corner—" Maka snapped at him, pointing him back to his designated spot.

"—I'm sorry!" Black*star crossed his arms over his chest with a sneer, commanding their attention, "Can we please get back to what matters here?"

"Maka's health?" He asked with a sigh, plucking the condiment-covered piece of paper away from Tsu between two pinched fingers and gingerly propping it up on Maka's bedside table.

"No!" Black*Star jabbed a finger at his chest, "Me! I've got business to discuss with you, Maka."

There was general grumbling among the group as a response. "Ah, sit down," Liz barely looked up from her nails as she waved Black*Star off while Soul grumbled, "Save it," wiping mustard from his fingers onto his pants.

"Black*Star," Tsubaki spoke up, pulling on his pant leg as she awkwardly tried to save the situation, "maybe later?"

"M-maybe later!" He stuttered, "No way! What's the big deal?"

"Maka's healing," Tsubaki explained, "we'll ask in a little bit. It can wait."

"Ah, whatever," It was Black*Star's turn to wave them off, "Maka's fine! I mean, what's a couple of bones, right, Maka?"

“I really am okay,” Maka agreed.

"No," Soul disagreed.

"I mean, Maka, have you ever just tried making your bones unbreakable?" Black*Star tilted his head in thought. His expression was open and earnest, practically downright innocent, as he proclaimed, "Just don't have them be broken anymore! That's what I do!"

Soul pointedly stared at the cam boot adorning Black*Star's left leg, "Didn't you get stuck in that from falling down some stairs?"

Again, Black*Star waved them off, tilting his head back to let out a loud cackle, "Ah, that's different!"

"How?"

"Sneak attack, duh." Black*Star sniffed, rubbing his nose, "And now I'm immune!"

"That's not how it works," He shook his head.

"It is!"

"It isn't."

"And this isn't just a social visit!"

"It is." Soul amended.

"It isn't!" Black*Star stomped forward on the bed until he was hovering over Maka, "I gotta know, do you still have all your nerdy Coffin Scout shit?"

"Coffin Scout?" Soul echoed, and another smile spread across his face, "You never told me you were a Coffin Scout."

Maka's forehead twitched as she glared at Black*Star, pushing his head away from hers, "First of all, it wasn't nerdy. Second of all, yes, I was a Coffin Scout," She sat a little straighter, "I was an excellent Coffin Scout, thank you. Third of all," Her expression faltered, "why do you want to know?"

Black*Star stood proudly, once more jabbing his thumb into his chest, "You're looking at Troup 564s next Undertaker!"

All of them, minus Tsubaki, stared at him until Maka finally blinked back to life, "I'm sorry. You?"

"Well, Angela, you see," Tsubaki started to interject, "she's—"

"Don't you have to be, like, a mom to be a den mother?" Liz asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Undertaker." Black*Star instantly corrected, "And, eh," he shrugged, "who cares? Maka's dad did it."

"Let's not go that far," Maka looked off as a twitch again pulsed through her forehead.

"It's a unisex position." Kid huffed and stood slightly straighter, "I was also a proud Coffin Scout in my youth. Maybe I can assist you in your endeavor, Black*Star? I know all the—"

"—pass." Black*Star scowled, crossing his arms over his chest with a 'hmph' and ignoring the daggers Kid shot his way.

"You were a Coffin Scout?" Maka smiled, apparently forgetting her Corner Rule, "I had no idea, Kid. Shouldn't we have been in the same Troup?"

His glower fell, and he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, "Ah, well, I never actually…made it to a Coffin Scout meeting."

"Because it was for little girls?" Soul deadpanned.

"They ended up changing that rule! But yes." Kid flushed, then brightened, "Still, I read the whole handbook over a dozen times. The Coffin Scout's dedication to tradition and policy never ceased to impress me. I knew the chants; I even tried my hand at getting a few badges, my first being the pattern badge, which, of course, obviously has to do—"

"—Patty was a coven scout too," Liz cooed, speaking over Kid as she reached for Patty to pinch and squish her cheeks, "you should have seen her in the little uniform. It was so cute!" Liz continued to beam like the proud older sister she was, "She was kicked out after her first meeting because—" Quickly, Liz snatched her hands away from Patty as she tried to chomp down on the fingers closest to her mouth, "—she had a biting problem. Patty. No."

 "We had our own version of Coffin Scouts in Japan, but uh," Tsubaki quietly explained, "I did martial arts instead with my brother."

Again, the room began to fill with a symphony of voices as one story bled into another that drowned out another, and the cycle continued ad nauseam. The endless conversation used to be something that made Soul dizzy. In the beginning, he wondered if this was what all friendships were like, constantly trying to demand the stage and outshine each other, until he finally realized there was a rhythm to their chatter, a call and response as stories layered atop each other until they reached the crescendo, screaming "my stories are yours."

Of course, he still immensely preferred the peace of silence, but the noise his friends created was as much a part of "coming home" as anything else after a long mission. If they were silent, then he'd know something was truly wrong.

Black*Star, who always demanded the stage, didn't share Soul's cheesy, sentimental, and secret approach to their friend group's hive-mind-like conversations. He began to pout, then glower as the spotlight was again taken off of him. Soul watched as his eyes darted between faces and counted down the seconds they had left until he reached another tantrum.

Slipping one of Maka's ponytails off his wrist, Soul aimed it at Black*Star striking him square in that large forehead of his, stopping the tantrum before it even had a chance to begin, "Ah, stop pouting, and tell us how you'll be inconveniencing us this time."

Maka quirked an eyebrow at Black*Star, joining Soul, "Yeah, why are you suddenly an Undertaker? I thought Coffin Scout's was the—” she poorly mocked Black*Star’s voice, crossing her eyes, “lamest thing in the world?"

Now that Black*Star finally held the room's attention, he seemed to falter under it, which Soul found odd. That wasn't like him, not at all. His confidence wavered for a moment before he shot a look at Tsubaki and nodded, squaring his shoulders, "Gotta set a few racist assholes straight, ya know, for Angie."

That was enough to cause to a general uproar.

"Angela? Is she okay?" Liz asked as Patty sat up, for once without a smile on her face.

"Did something happen?" Maka asked with wide eyes, looking for answers from Tsubaki.

"Who did it?" Kid glowered.

"Hey!" Black*Star crossed his arms, "I'm handling it, alright? I just need your nerd shit, okay? The troop she was in doesn't want her because she's a witch, so—" Again, Black*Star tripped over himself, seemingly stumbling over the right words to say, "—so, you know, we're making our own." He glared at them each in turn like he was challenging them to say something, "Any problems with that?"   

"Star!" Maka snapped, rising to the challenge, "Dammit! Why didn't you start with that?"

"Yeah—" Liz scowled, and Patty finished, "—what gives, man!"

“None of you were listening!”

"Again, because you were taking too long," Kid muttered, rolling his eyes.

Black*Star tried leveling him with an icy stare, "I will kick your ass."

"I'd like to see you try." Kid spat back without flinching.

"Holy sh—it. You two and the arguing today," Liz huffed, "knock it off."

"Are you in on this too, Tsubaki?" Maka asked, ignoring the other boys. After so many years, it was easy to tune out their constant bickering.

"Mhm," Tsubaki nodded, "I'll be the assistant troop leader! It's, uh, well, I just hope I do well. I don't know much about the Coffin Scouts."

The tension between Kid and Black*Star dissipated instantly as Kid turned eagerly to Tsubaki.

"We could review some of the handbook!" Kid suggested, eye glittering with excitement "I still remember—"

"—no thanks." Black*Star waved him away again, ignoring the daggers Kid shot him.

"I'd actually very much appreciate that," Tsu smiled.

"And, of course, you two can have all my old stuff. Lucky for you, I think, uh—" Maka stopped and tapped her chin, "—I think I still have a few of my old binders stored at my dad's place. He never let me throw any of it away." She grimaced through a smile, "He's coming by later today. I'll text him to bring it over if you want to stick around for that long, that is?"

Black*Star finally plopped down onto the foot of her bed, sitting with his legs crisscrossed, "What else do I gotta do today, huh?"

"Looks like you're stuck with us until your old man shows up," Soul smirked, leaning against Maka's bedside table.

"Stuck with them," Maka corrected, "not you—" His heart fluttered for a moment, half-hoping-half-dreading she was about to fix his wordage. "—you're going home."

With his lame hopes effectively trampled and his ego put back in its proper place, he furrowed his brows together and quite eloquently stuttered, "W-wait, what? Why?"

"You need to go home and sleep, Soul," She sighed, "I haven't seen you sleep for more than five hours this whole weekend."

"I'm fine," He shook his head.

"Don't make it an argument. Just go home and get some sleep. I'll be okay!"

"Uh," He pushed off the bedside table, uncrossing his arms to argue with her, "I beg to differ. There was a lunatic downstairs looking for you. Did we forget that?"

"No," She glared back at him, mocking his tone, "we did not. But I'll be fine. I can take care of myself. I'm not useless."

"No one said you were."

"It's not like I'm alone right now," She countered.

"And," Kid interrupted, "I'll have two people at her door every night as long as she's here."

Maka groaned, "That isn't necessary either."

"Protocol," Kid shot back.

"If anyone needs a babysitter, it's you, pigtails," Black*Star snorted in a rare act of agreement with Kid.

"Fuck off," She glared at Black*Star, kicking at him.

"I'm staying." Soul announced over their bickering, "Not risking it."

Maka stopped shoving Black*Star to scowl at him, "You need to sleep."

"You do look tired, Soul," Tsu spoke up, trying to placate the situation, which would have been annoying if she weren't so good at it, "and we'll be right here with her until Spirit arrives. She'll hardly be alone."

"And I need my mask, remember. These lights—" Maka pointed to the overhead lights, where one was still flickering at odd intervals, "—they're still killing my head."

"Fine," He conceded, "I'll run home, nap, get your stuff, come back."

"No, you'll go home, get my stuff ready for my papa to pick up, and then go to bed," She looked off for a second before tacking on, "and make sure Blair's okay, and check the mail, and then maybe clean out the fridge, and make sure the cat didn't drag anything in while we were gone, and shoot—” She snapped her fingers, “—I think I have a package at the post office, and—"

"—jeez, Mak, just write your errand boy a list," Liz snorted as Patty did her best impression of a whip. He made sure to flick her off when Maka wasn’t looking.

"Yeah, good idea," Maka said, taking Liz literally, "I'll just text you a list."

"But—" He started, but she stopped him, reaching out to grab one of his hands.

She squeezed it lightly, "Soul, go home. Your dark circles have dark circles."

He stared at her, neck warming as he felt everyone else watching them—Kid watching them—but couldn't find it in himself to do the safe thing and pull away. Instead, he studied her face for longer than necessary, his heart hammering against his rib cage as he thought of every single reason why leaving would end up being the worst mistake he had ever made.

Pretty green doe eyes batted up at him, "Please."

Against his better judgment, he squeezed her hand back, muttering a simple "fine" before turning away. He didn't let go of her hand until he was forced to, her fingertips slowly slipping from his.

"Text me when you get home!" Maka's voice echoed down the hallway as he slowly made his way toward the elevators.

As the elevator doors shut, he could hear Maka’s room again explode with the sounds of his best friends, all competing for each other’s attention until finally he was enveloped in silence, a stark difference than from before. A panic flared within him, and it was then that he decided he had been mistaken. He didn’t prefer silence. He needed their sounds. Without them, everything felt wrong.

Bad wrong. Unsafe wrong. Like something had gone wrong, wrong.

He gnawed on one of his hang nails, trying hard to push his ill ease away. He hated being alone with his thoughts, and it was made worse with that shitty little red horned demon always knocking on the door of his subconscious, acting like an internal metronome with no end in sight.

He dropped his hand from his mouth, staring miserably at the elevator doors. Maka was right. He needed some sleep.  

[twinpathy]

Midnight Comics

The clock ticked away in the corner of Leo’s room, just one of the many ambient noises filling the air. He’d tuned out the sound of both Raph and Splinter’s snoring, the sound of traffic and bustle from above ground just a comforting hum. He was focused entirely on the subtle tapping his phone made as he scrolled through his comics app, engrossed in the stories he let his mind fall into, living vicariously in a different world through his phone. They were fantastical, an escape from the chaos of the world they were faced with.

The only light in the room was from his phone and the crack under his door, which had a shadow step in front of it.

His phone made another little tap as he hit the button to go to the next chapter, when he heard a soft sound from his doorway. It was… Donnie?

The two made eye contact for a brief moment, raising a brow at one another. Donnie looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, but other than that his expression stayed neutral. The comfortable silence felt heavy, disturbed by the trepidation and anticipation of a potential conversation.

But instead of a quip, Donnie shuffled over and sat on the edge of the bed next to Leo, and stretched out on top of the comforter. He folded his arms under his head and hid his face in his elbows, making sure to not encroach on Leo’s space. 

Leo scooted over a little, making room for the both of them. Donnie didn’t seem to want to talk, which was a surprise… But the heavy atmosphere settled as they both relaxed. After a few minutes, Leo patted the top of Donnie’s head, looking back to his phone.

“You okay?” Leo asked quietly.

Donnie hummed in response.

The silence stretched on long enough for Leo to think Donnie had fallen asleep beside him. He could pick up on his twin’s exhaustion from the moment he walked in. Leo started to absentmindedly rub patterns into the back of Donnie’s head, tracing little circles at the base of his neck to help him relax while he read his comics.

After a long moment, Donnie finally murmured, “It’s just bad thoughts, I didn’t want to be alone.”

Leo blinked at the admission. That was awfully blunt. He looked at him with a frown. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Donnie shook his head softly.

“You wanna sleep in here tonight?”

“Like when we were little?” Donnie looked up at him from over his arms.

“Ha, yeah. Like when we were little,” Leo confirmed with a small smile to him. 

Donnie let out a soft chuckle at that, and let himself lean a little closer to Leo, relaxing against him. 

The clock ticked away in the corner of Leo’s room, just one of the many ambient noises filling the air. He’d tuned out the sound of both Raph and Splinter’s snoring, the sound of traffic and bustle from above ground just a comforting hum. He was focused entirely on the subtle tapping his phone made as he scrolled through his comics app, and he found comfort in the gentle breathing of his twin that had fallen asleep next to him.

The worlds in his comics he read were always an escape and fantastical, but this one? It was pretty okay too.

.

Writing and Art by Vane! I got carried away with a doodle from an idea I've had circulating around in my brain. Have a lil disaster twins comfort for the soul

[2aceofspades]

Hi! :]

You're last few parts of your au hurt me so much I was ✨️inspired✨️

Firstly you've actually inspired me a lot for my own au and I'm even learning morse code and it's been so fun to learn and watch people decipher it, you inspired me so much that I figured it's only fair to show you the part you inspired out of me haha

(For some context In my AU leo is dancing on the line of death and donnie makes a clone in order to save his life but things didn't go quite as planned, resulting in leo's soul linking with the clone that wasn't quite ready and is now basically a lil bean) in chapter two near the very beginning, we get a peek into Casey's childhood after watching past Cassandra holding baby leo recovering a memory he'll never forget

By far one of my favorite scripts for the upcoming parts

I really hope you like it, and thank you for being a huge inspiration for me <3

..The world fades away as he's drawn back to that day, his mom hadn't returned from a mission, leo had organized a search party to go looking for her in a couple of hours after everyone rested a bit. But he didn't want to wait, he wanted his mom and he wanted her back in the base, where it was safe, where he got hugs when she returned.

He put on his puffy jacket that was torn up and had holey, and a rugged hat that April had given him. He peeks around the corner of donnies lab, noticing leo talking to donnie, he took this chance to sneak past while their attention wasn't on the cameras, he quickly makes his way to the base exit, and takes his first steps outside the base.

"MAMA!!" Casey cried as he continued to walk, the winds beating against his reddening skin, his nose running and his eyes getting puffy, it didn't snow, but the winters were still fridgit and harsh, especially with no trees to block the cold temperatures

"Mm-mmmAMAAA" Casey cried again, the tears he was fighting back making his eyes burn from the harsh and frightening winds, his fingers were red and felt hot, his breathing was shallow and his hot breath steamed in the air, after what felt like hours he stumbled onto his knees, his hands under his pits and his body shivering into itself "m-ma-mm-maama!" He cried as loud as he could but it came out as a shaky whimper, he grips his hat and pulls it over his burning ears as his tears fell down his cheeks, freezing his skin as they fell

"-by boooy?" He hears something through his loud sobs from his covered ears, he knew this voice, yes! It was his mom! He let's his hat go to turn his head, a large smile forming on his freezing, tear stained face "m-ma-!" His smile fell just as fast as it grew, just a few feet from him stood his mom yes, but something was off, she could barely stand up right, her frame twitched and strained from where she stood, half her face was covered in some strange.. flesh organic material, her uncovered eye along with the multiple other eyes that didn't belong to her all stared right at him, but not with softness and care he felt secure and safe in, he felt the fear, but the bloodlust was unbearable.. was this really his mom? "Ma..?" His breath huffed out as his heart beat started to pick up pace

"M-mmy baa..babyy boOOyy.." her voice sounded as if she had choked on razor blades, it sounded so much like her but not like her at all, her hand reached out, her fingernails broken and her face was torn up, especially on the unnatural side. Her voice choked as tears began to fall, her only humane eye on her son who sat on his knees in the freezing cold, glistening from the tears falling down her tearing skin "caaAASsseeeYYy" he voice sounded desperate as she suddenly began to move, starting with a few shaky steps before breaking into a stumbling sprint, her eyes honing in on the boy frozen in fear, his eyes wide and puffy

Her jaw basically came unhinged as her entire structure changed, she jumped up as her body tore itself apart, snapping and popping as kraang claws exploded out of her body, her eyes honed in on its next victim, letting out a shrilled shriek as Casey fell back on his palms, his heart pounding, his mind racing, screaming to run, his breath catching in his throat, preventing him from letting out any noise, only frozen in place as his mother's jaw gets ready to snap down and end his life

"CASEY!!" He jolts back to life as a green and blue flash slams into his mom, sending her flying away from him, crying out as her body slammed against the solid ground, he stared in complete shock, his mind still processing the events, watching his mothers body convulsed and snap more "-sey! Casey hey! Are you hurt??" He felt two large hands engulf his shoulders and neck, diversing his attention from his mother and staring up at leo, he could feel the warmth of his touch begin to linger into the fabric of his jacket, making him realize just how cold he really is "oh God, shitshitshit, I gotta get you out of here" he moves his arms to scoop Casey up but suddenly, as fast as lightning, he pushes himself off one knee and curls around Casey, suddenly seeing his mom snap her jaw through Leo's forearm and locking it there, he let's out a forced cry as he uses his free arm to pull Casey into his chest to ensure his safety from her claws that dug into Leo's same arm that was extended out to put as much distance as possible

"Casey, augh, listen to me" his voice serious but also tender, Casey looks up at him again but hesitantly, his attention on leo who had a pained expression on his face, but it didn't seem to be from his arm "I know you don't understand, I know you're- arg! Confused-" she pushed back causing leo to fight back and push harder to keep her away from harming Casey who jumped from the sudden pushback

"B-but.. this..." he frowns as he sees Casey's eyes weld with tears, his nose, ears and fingers were red, he'd left the building two hours ago and leo hadn't realized till donnie replayed the footage, he gently puts his hand on the back of Casey's head and pulls his head under his neck, resting his chin on top "I'm so sorry case, but mama isn't coming home.." His voice whispered as he continues to fight Cassandra, barely recognizable now

"B..but mama's right here!" Casey points a small finger at his mom "she's right here!! Wh-why can't she c-come home?!" He began to cry out and leo winced as her jaws tightened "casey..."

"NO! I WANT MY MAMA!!" He yells as he tries to push away from leo but his shivering body and small frame did not benefit him "I want my mama home!! I want my mama safe!!" He holds his arms out to Cassandra, tears falling down his face "I want my mama's hugs!!!" He sobs out, shakingly clenching and unclenching his fingers towards her "mama!! Mamaaa!" His voice broke and wavered, he Bagan crying so hard he'd hiccup sometimes in his sobs

Suddenly, she stopped fighting, her hands dropping to her sides as she falls completely to her knees, her jaws releasing its hold on leos arm that stayed up and ready for another round, staring at Casey with her own tears "m-my booy..." her gaze follows up from Casey to Leo's face, she blinked and raised a hand up slightly "..l..llluuee?" Leo's eyes widened slightly but he nods, pulling Casey close once again for safety

She says nothing for a moment, reaching her hand out but stopping just before reaching casey her hands shaky and her fingertips black and blue, casey reaches his hands up and wraps his hands around her fingers whimpering "mom?"

She gives Casey's hands a weak squeeze before pulling her hand away and placing her palm on the blade of Leo's sword, bowing her head down and leo pulls back and stands up immediately, holding casey in his arm as he wraps his hand around her wrist "Cassandra no! I.. I can't do that.." His Lip quivers as he pulls her hand away from his blade "please, don't make me do that..." His grip tightened on her wrists, but not hard, just enough to show his worry "we can, we can figure something out..?" He whispers out his arm starting to feel hot and tingly

She pulls her hand back "y..yoOOu.. mus-s-stt" she lowly croaks as she lowers her head again "before.. n-nooo time.." her nails dug into the dirt as she lowly hissed, fighting back against the kraang instincts and control

Leo turns his head away to blink away his tears, he knew what he had to do, he just really didn't want to do it, especially with casey "I'm so sorry" his voice broke out as he grabs the handle of his blade with his numbing hand.

He gently tucks Casey's head into his chest. Being sure he can't witness what he has to do, he slowly raises his arm as he hones his attention at the back of her neck, his chest jumped a bit as he fought back his tears, but he didn't make a sound.

She looks up at them one last time, and smiles with all her pride and joy at seeing her kid one last time

Her eyes fall close

And he swings

.

.

.

Casey sobs into Leo's chest as he walked through the world, Leo's scarf wrapped around Casey's neck and face, his breath warming his cheeks and nose, his arm fell completely numb after an hour of walking, but still remained protecting casey from the high winds, his breathing began to grow heavy and his pupils began to narrow

He hears it, in his head, in his veins it boils his blood dispite feeling so cold

The urge

The bloodlust

"K I L L"

After a couple moments that's all he can hear

"Killkillkillkillkilllkillkill"

He suddenly slumps over against an old ruin building, carefully setting casey down before falling to his knees and grabbing his arm. His breathing heavy and his sight hazey

"L-leo?" Casey spoke quietly and leo nearly jumped out of his skin seeing blood on him, it must've got on Casey when he KILLKILLKILLEDKILLEDKILLED "Aagghhh!" Leo had reached out to comfort Casey but he was hit with such pain he curled in on himself, gripping his arm so tight he was digging his nails into his skin "leo!" Casey rushes up and helps leo stay upright but after a moment he couldn't keep up Leo's weight and he ended up laying on his stomach, face down and his eyes struggling to stay open "Casey.. please.." His eyes began to fall closed as he spoke "the base is only 20 minutes away.. its straight forward.." he bares his teeth causing Casey to jump back a bit, having never seen leo look so aggressive "you have to leave me here.. case.." he whimpers as his eyes closed, he didn't know how much longer he could fight this

Casey shakes his head violently and grabs Leo's bitten arm and pulls, attempting to drag him back to the base himself "no! I'm not leaving you too!!" He whines and pulls as hard as he could, his shoes scrapping against the dry, dead ground. "I don't wanna be alone!" He cries

Leo could only mutter a few unrecognizable words, his eyes falling closed and his body only seemed to get heavier. Casey quickly kneels down by his head and lightly pats his hand on Leo's face and shoulders, trying to wake him "nonono! C-come back! Please..?" He attempts to chur to try and wake him up but his throat felt like it was closing in on itself

His attention draws in on the bite on his arm, the injury was deep and dispite the freezing temperatures it continued to ooze with dark red blood, he noticed that the area around the bite was turning blue and black and his veins were bulging down his arm and progressing up towards his shoulder. He didn't understand what what happening but he knew he had to get rid of that part.

He carefully drops Leo's head back onto the ground and frantically began to search around the area for something that'd help him with that after a moment of frantic looking his eyes landed on Leo's sword and a familiar bracelet tied around the base of the handle, choking back tears Casey hesitantly walks over, exstended leos arm outwards then slowly grabs the handle of his sword, carefully pulling it out from its holder on Leo's shell, the blade thumps on the ground by Leo's neck and shoulders, it was much heavier than it looked and the bracelet made it a bit uncomfortable to hold, with some strained effort Casey holds up the sword above his head, he hones in on his target and he knows he has to get rid of that part, but he's scared

His heart was beating against his ribcage, his lungs were dry and in a constant squeeze, his muscles trembled against his bones as he held this sword above his head, the weight of it Making his arms go a bit numb. His sight was blurry from fighting back his tears, he really didn't want to do this "i-im sorry sensei" he weakly whimpers out in case he was listening, and brings the sword down with all his might, feeling it slice clean though, and hearing that awful noise for the second time this day

Now he was faced with a bigger problem, the bleeding, he did not account for the blood, and the sheer amount of it. He takes off his jacket and presses it unto his arm but it kept pooling out.

His green skin was paling and the harsh winds were taking its toll on Casey's small frame, tears streaked down his face as he carefully tucked himself under Leo's arm trembling.

It had felt like a decade went by, feeling their bodies grow colder and colder, his eyes slowly blinking, getting heavier with each motion. Just before his eyes fell to a complete close a flash of colors danced across his blurry vision before being engulfed by darkness, only faintly hearing three distinct voices before suddenly waking up in the medbay

That is where the memory ends

... at least for that part

Again I really hope you enjoyed it and I can't wait to show you the finished version once I get to that part, have a great day/night! Drink lots of water and don't forget to eat :]

---some aftermath---

They buried her under one of the few trees left

None of them were alive, but them just being there brought some comfort and hope at a chance

Casey's eyes stare down at the two sticks that leo had snapped off the dead tree and tied them together

He stares down at the distorted ground just underneath the tied sticks, his fingers so numb they burned, making the dirt trapped under his fingernails noticeable

Like razor blades to skin

Feeling as an constant reminder of what he just lost

The ground had been hard to drag his fingers though, even with his sensie's help it was still a battle, in more than one way

His heart felt heavy, like a brick tied to the string of a ballon being dragged down by the weight, his tears burning his skin from the fridgit winds numbing it

As leo picked him up into his arm and holds him up, he feels the warmth seep into the cloth of his clothes and leans into it, helping him feel safe and secure

They stare at the dirt for a moment, not a single word spoken within the time, it almost felt wrong to speak

With a shaky hand, he lightly waves at the ground, shivering as a icy breeze blows by

With a hollow and wavered voice, casey speaks quietly, not wanting to wake the world around him

"I love you, mama"

"Sweet dreams"

They stayed for as long as they could, but as the sun started to hide behind the ruins of new York city, they too had to hide away from the harsh world

Back to a place that no longer felt familiar

🩵

I-

I'm just...in shock. Oh my goodness when I tell you that Cassandra's first line l i t e r a l l y gave me ~chills~

Ahem??? Ouch. That hurt my heart/lh

Reading the whole way through had me on the edge of my seat oh my stars-

The fact that Cassandra basically told Leo to end her...and he actually did it?!??!! And then Casey frickin' chopped off Leo's arm?!??!!! Oh gosh there's so much pain and anguish all compacted into one horrible series of moments oh goodness gracious have mercyyy 😭😭😭/pospospos

This is amazing, you are amazing, I am in shock and awe like-

Damn. I've been floored 🫠

And the art?!??! Oh gah! Aughh I love the deep, rich colors and their big, sad eyes. They look like they've lived through a nightmare. Gah! I love it I love it!!

Thank you thank you thank you! Aawwwee!! Thank you so so much for sharing your work with me I am so very flattered and grateful 🥹💙✨

[cardierreh15]

The Guy Next Door

And we are BACK— with a new chapter of The Guy Next Door! I hope you guys enjoy. It’ll be quite the interesting one.

**I do not give anyone permission to copy or repost my work!!

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Motivated Violence (Idunno lmao) Fluff ! 💕 Ron being a good baby daddy! 😩🤰🏾

Description: Netty meet’s Ronan’s best friend, Harry for the first time.

Pairings: Henry Cavill (Ronan-POV) x Black!plus size Female (Amunet)

Special Appearances: Thomas Doherty (Harry)

Word Count:

Chapter 8: Birds of a feather …

‘Are you ready?’ His deep, soothing voice brought her out of her blank daydream. It had been 4 weeks since their break up and this was the first time she saw him in person. He would call every day while he was on lunch, and at night before he went to bed. She had made it evident that she didn’t want him near unless she was ready.

Today, she was more than ready.

She blinked her honey brown eyes and looked over at him as his large fist clutched the steering wheel.

It was safe to say she missed him. FaceTime calls never did Justice when she wanted to be able to touch and smell him. It ached her core to force him away, but he had to know she was serious.

‘I am.’ Netty gave him a gentle smile and let out a gentle sigh as he backed out of the driveway.

Ronan looked over at her for a moment and returned the heart warming smile. There was so much he wanted to say to her… so much he wanted to do.

Being in her presence made his entire world gleam, and his soul glow with sheer joy. He didn’t know if it was the pregnancy rubbing off of him that made him so emotional. But he’d already stopped killing because he wanted to be better for her and the baby. He was in love with her.

***

The couple had just walked into Target. Ronan was stuffing his wet umbrella in a umbrella bag when she skirted off towards the bright red buggies. His eyebrows tugged into one.

A gleam of a smile spread across Netty’s face.

‘Netty? I thought we were getting only a few things. Why not use a little basket?’ He said with a gentle smirk curling on his lips, gently shoving her hands off of the handle.

‘Well,’ she looked up at him, ‘I lied.’

‘Hmph.’ He scoffed.

‘Now, let’s go look at the baby section!’ She squeaked, wrapping her small hands around his firm bicep and gave him a gentle tug.

Ronan let out a soft chuckle, ‘oh man. What did I get myself into?’ He mumbled to himself as he began to follow her towards the baby section of the store.

Netty gasped at the sight of the tiny 3-piece set and damn near snatched the whole rack down. ‘Ronnie! Wook at it!’ She looked up from the adorable and tiny outfit.

Ronan chuckled, ‘Aw! That is so cute!’ He carefully took the clothes into his large hands. He felt like a giant! As if he tugged this thing a certain way, he’d rip it apart. It was in that moment that it really set in for him.

‘Wow… it’s… it’s so… tiny.’

His thumb and index finger gently caressed the cotton, his head falling to the side in admiration.

Then he looked up at her.

A sweet smile curled on his lips.

‘I’m really gonna be a dad!’ He scoffed as he looked back down at the onesies.

She walked around the cart and linked her arm in with his before she looked up at him. ‘You are.’

Ronan looked down at Netty with a small smirk before speaking, ‘Hey Netty, I—‘

‘Ron?’

Amunet looked back to see a tall male standing behind them with a box of diapers beneath one arm and a small basket packed with baby pacifiers and bottles.

Ronan recognized that voice anywhere! He swiftly turned around to see Harry standing before the both of them. ‘Hey! What are you doing out here?’ He asked in a slightly confused manner.

Harry stayed on the opposite side of town. And he hated to ride around in his pretty little Audi in Florida traffic. He kept it as local as possible.

‘Oh! Nothing just doin’ a lil’ shoppin’. I heard you guys were having a baby and I decided to come get somethings.’

Ronan’s face turned up in confusion. Eyebrows knitting into one, lips curling in a confused grimace. Something wasn’t right.

He never told Harry that Amunet was pregnant.

‘Oh! That’s so nice of you! Thank you!’ Netty grinned happily.

‘Of course! Anytime! Oh, I’m … Harry—‘ he placed the box on the floor, ‘by the way.’ He reached out for an handshake.

Ronan’s deep blue orbs, glanced down at his hand before they flickered back to his face.

‘I’m Amunet. You can call me Netty though.’ She said with a smile, placing her hand in his and gave him a firm shake.

‘Netty. It’s such a pleasure. Ronan’s told me all about you. His tales aren’t sufficient— you are stunning!’ He complimented.

Ronan never took his eyes off of him. He was impatient and suspicious.

‘Awww, that’s—‘

‘Harry? A word please?’ The glare he held on Harry’s face was … unusual.

Harry and Amunet looked from one another towards Ronan.

‘Ron?’ Netty said in a bit of concern, ‘Are you OK?’

He looked down at Netty and gave her a smile in reassurance, ‘I’m fine. Hey, take some time to look at something’s for the baby. I just remembered I had to talk to Harry about something.’

‘Are you sure?’ She asked in worry.

‘I’m sure.’

Harry’s eyebrows tugged into one in his own confusion. ‘Whatever you have to say, I’m sure you can say it in front of Netty.’ He raised a brow, the confused look instantly being replaced with a sinister glare.

‘No…’ Ronan bit back, ‘It is work related.’

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek before glancing at Netty, ‘Duty calls I suppose.’ He chuckled before shrugging and scooping up the box of diapers. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Netty. I’ll see you soon.’ Then he gave her a friendly smile.

‘As it was you, Harry! Take care!’ She said somewhat confused but masked it with a clueless chuckle.

Ronan walked past him in a hurry and Harry rolled his eyes following him. Once he’d noticed Ron was walking out the door, he placed the basket and the box of diapers down before taking a mental note of where he left it.

Ronan paced back and forward in front of his car with his hands on his hips.

‘OK Mr. Moody pants. What’d I do now?’ Harry’s voice had a bit of humor in it.

‘How’d you know Netty was pregnant? What are you doing on this side of town?’

Harry made a face, raising a brow in confusion. ‘You don’t recall? You told me this a few days ago!’

The puzzled male shook his head as he turned around to look at his friend. ‘I didn’t. I’m careful with these kinds of things. Netty is still in the first trimester so why do you feel like I would’ve told you and not even my own parents?’

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes, ‘Look, you are seriously buggin’ from the lack of sleep you’re getting.’

Ronan grit his teeth together so hard, he could’vshattered them, ‘Answer the question! How did you find out?!’

Harry looked at his friend before an unexpected, sudden laugh fell from his lips, ‘Haven’t you learned? I find out— everything.’ He looked away before sighing, ‘Besides, you’re not spending time with me anymore and it’s becoming a bit lonely, Ronniieeee.’

He pressed his lips together, swallowing his spit as he glanced at the random people that walked on by; giving them a fake friendly smile. Ronan then leaned in, ‘I told you I’m done with that shit. Look, I’m trying with Amunet. I’m in love with her!’

‘In love?!’ Harry questioned raising his brow before another sinister laugh left his chest. It caused Ronan to jump slightly.

‘In love?! You only met her 9 months ago! She’s a fucking distraction and she’s getting in the way of our playtime!’ Harry argued, poking Ron in his firm chest.

‘Harry, you’ve completely lost it and you need to seek immediate help.’

‘Oh well if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black! Since when did you become fucking Dr. Phil?!Look, Netty is real pretty… real fine. I just would hate for something to happen to her.’ He said nonchalantly with a shrug.

Ronan picked his head up to look at Harry. Oh he was angry. He snatched him up by his shirt and shoved him against his car. ‘Is that a threat?!’ He gritted his teeth once more.

‘Oh no my dear friend… that—‘ Harry shoved Ronan off of him, ‘Is in fact a promise.’

Ronan’s eyebrows tugged into one. He was livid but he just took a deep breath, ‘Fine…. What is it that you want.’ He said in a hiss.

‘I want you to meet me at my place tonight. I have a arts and crafts idea of y’all’s “Head” of Neighborhood Watch. Be there at 9. Don’t be late. Or I’ll just simply tell Netty that you’ve gone killing again.’

‘You take her as a fool. She won’t believe you.’

‘Well she doesn’t trust you… she’d believe a stranger first before your lying ass.’

Harry had a point there. And that just made his chest hurt.

‘Again. You best be on time lover boy!’ He called out as he began to back away.

***

Ronan walked back inside of the Target with his mind racing. It was like he was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. But he wanted her and their unborn baby to be safe.

He found her snuggling up against a tiny pink onesie with red hearts scattered all around it. ‘Hey! You’re back!’

‘I am,’ he gave her a smile before looking in the cart. She had almost everything in that damn thing. ‘I see you’ve went to work while I was gone. And quick too!’ He chuckled.

‘Yeeeeah. I couldn’t help it!’ She giggled as she placed the small little piece of cloth in the buggie.

‘Well, that’s alright,’ he said placing a kiss on her head, ‘I told you to grab anything you wanted for our baby. Honestly, this is nothing compared to what I thought you would’ve done.’ He snickered. His mood was instantly shifted once again. She had such an positive effect on him. And he loved it.

Amunet sighed, looking up at the ceiling with dreamy eyes, ‘Our baby… our little baby.. such a nice ring to it right?!’

‘Yeah.. our baby.’ He repeated happily.

***

They’d been back at her place for some time now and they were spending sometime looking, and feeling the baby clothes. ‘I just can’t wait til they get here…’ he smiled rubbing her slightly rounded belly, ‘can’t wait to hold my baby girl!’ The thought of him having a little princess made Netty’s heart ache. She didn’t care what they had, just as long as they were healthy.

The room grew quiet for a moment as his mind slipped back to the conversation he and Harry had earlier. ‘Netty?’ He paused for a second, allowing her time to answer him.

‘Hmm?’

‘Do you trust me?’

Amunet looked over at him with a gentle smile, her head falling to the side slightly, ‘Well, you can be sneaky… but the amount of support that you’ve been giving me over the past month and a half… it’s safe to say that you have earned my trust back.’

Ronan sat up with a delighted smile returning to his face, ‘Seriously? You really do?!’

Amunet giggled out loud, ‘Of course,’ she reached across and placed her hand on his thigh, ‘You earned it.’

The smile he wore only grew larger and he just took her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. ‘You have no idea how good that feels.’ He cackled.

She smiled softly, her head falling to the side as she watched him just combust with emotion and happiness. This was probably the happiest she ever seen him.

‘Hey?’ He said as he brought her feet up and started to subconsciously massage one of them.

‘What’s up?’

‘Could I possibly… stay over tonight? Like I think it’s—‘

‘Ron.’ Netty said, her face unimpressed.

He stopped in his tracks like a damn deer in head lights.

‘Of course you can stay!’ She giggled, giving him a playful smack on his arm. ‘You don’t have to ask!’

He sighed in relief, ‘Well I wasn’t sure if you still wanted your space.’

Netty felt touched by the comment and placed her hands on top of her chest, ‘Aw. That’s really thoughtful! Well, … to be honest—‘ she looked off to the side, sinking her pretty teeth into her bottom lip.

‘What’s on your mind?’ Ronan asked.

It grew quiet for a moment before she waved her hand and shook her head, ‘Nooo, no. It’s silly. Forget I even mentioned it—‘

‘Oh you’re not shutting me out. Tell me.’ He said softly, his eyes were gentle and welcoming.

She stared over at him for a moment before swallowing her spit. ‘Well, I—‘ she sighed softly, ‘It’s been hard… this whole break up. We went from spending time together every day to… me not wanting to see you… and with good reason.’ He muttered the last part before breaking into an awkward laugh. ‘I just… want us back… I miss you.’

The air grew thick with emotions. He felt guilty about the conversation he and Harry had earlier that day. But he also felt content and happy, knowing he had a second chance to redeem himself.

‘C’mere.’ He said leaning over and placed a tender kiss on her lips. Suddenly, he remembered what he’d been missing. Her soft, plump lips that taste of honey.

He then broke the kiss and rest his forehead against hers. ‘I miss you too.’

[alienisticxo]

Before the Fever - Chapter Twelve

{Master Chief x Reader series - TV based}

{A╱N} hi friends! i got so excited when i finished editing this that i decided to just post it!!

things start to get a lil hot and heavy in this one! finally! i have the next chapter written out, so all i need to do is edit it now. i wanted to wait to tie this one up until i finished chapter 13 so i don’t keep you waiting too long for the fun stuff. 😜

i also decided to write Cortana’s point of view in, because i just felt like it was necessary to this part of the story! her POV is bolded and marked with c’s. please enjoy the romance, my dear reader. you’ve waited a very long (and patient) while to be here. ♡ 

enjoy & thank you for reading ♡ 

Chapter Twelve - Love

Before I could take another breath, I felt the lightest of brushes against my lips with his own. Goosebumps rose on my flesh, the sensation entirely too new. I’d been kissed before, but never by someone who -so suddenly- meant the entire universe and beyond to me.

My eyes were closed now, and I found myself deeply anticipating John’s next move, letting him lead the way, take control of the situation. While I was completely at his mercy, I desperately hoped he’d fully close the space between us on his own. I longed to know for certain that he felt the same; was enraptured by the same flames that licked at each fiber of my being.

His warm breath caressed my lips, I tipped my head back ever so slightly to meet him just a bit more, pressing just a little further. Instinct and desire took over as I drew a jagged breath.

Oh…

And then it happened—

Like a rush of ice cold water after wandering the desert under a thousand scorching suns; every nerve ending that ran through me ignited as though I’d been plugged into a system I had no idea I’d belonged to. My pupils had surely dilated behind closed lids at the contact, a rush of a high I wasn’t prepared for despite knowing exactly what I wanted.

But then, so easily I relaxed, focusing on nothing but John and the moment between us. I melted into his touch, into the way he lingered above me, leaving a tender initial kiss that expressed every ounce of longing within him despite his slight hesitation.

A kiss had never been so enlightening; had never felt so binding. I could finally feel what he was feeling like it was some kind of instinct between us, a form of soul telepathy. It was a bond beyond comprehension, though now we both seemed to understand it quite well.

Time and space moved around us in slow motion, the shifting of the stars and planets, the vastness of the universe expanding, breathing life into all that existed— breathing life through him and into my lungs, as though he were the only thing I could ever need to survive.

John’s careful lips pressed against mine again in another act of passion. His movement was slow, yet fervent this time, parting them just enough that I could finally grab my bearings as I returned the same electric energy he’d transferred to me.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving us with nothing but each other in its wake; impulse took over, ruling all else as we allowed ourselves to finally fall victim to the invisible force that pulled us toward each other from the very beginning.

I’d never tasted something so sweet, something so intoxicatingly lovely that I was afraid of losing the taste on my tongue.

The music had ended, but I couldn’t let him go as he held me there, squeezing me tighter through the kiss we shared. I was still dipped beneath him, and had I been able to really think about how things were happening, the way he held me there with such ease would’ve been impressive.

When John began to stand up straight, he brought me up with him, pulling away agonizingly slowly until we could no longer stay attached. I was still clinging to him the best I could, the idea being that if I let go, I’d simply disintegrate into the atmosphere.

In my mind and heart, my life suddenly depended on him.

My eyes fluttered open slowly, searching for his own. There was no releasing him from my gaze once I’d found his eyes again, tiny reflections of the view beyond the window twinkling within them.

Small, shallow inhales were all I could offer, unable to quite catch my breath, struggling to find the right words to say. I was rendered speechless at the action that had just placed us on an entirely new level with each other.

And I really wondered then, if there were words to be said at all.

We were both so worn down, so broken by the worlds we existed in, no matter how vastly different. He was a hero. I was a pauper. He was The Master Chief, I was just the girl in the alley.. But we’d torn down every ounce of what made us who we were, realigned it all; learned crucial details of our pasts that might’ve completely destroyed others.

I noticed then, that we had made these deep realizations and began to piece ourselves back together, together. He was kidnapped, forced into the Spartan program. I was supposed to be in the same position, years later. Where he’d lost his parents being taken from them, I’d lost mine so as not to be taken.

Both by the same woman in the same situation. Both dealing with the outcome of hopelessly altered futures. Both now completely unsure of what was to become of us in such a new and shattering moment.

A moment that for once, didn’t seem so bad...

But we understood each other in those ways, and while he was still new to the notion of empathy, I could see I’d struck something within him. Two damaged individuals, finally finding their perfectly imperfect match. Someone to go through the perils of life with.

John had his team, I’d had my best friend. But neither could compare to the heaviness in my heart that ached only for him. The expression in his features as his stare smoldered into my own assured me he felt similarly.

The chance that we found each other, that we’d come together to experience whatever this was turning into felt like fate; kismet. There were planets and star systems, galaxies and moons, all with different walks of life, colonies of humans and otherwise. The fact that we found each other through all of the odds that could’ve been was awe-striking.

There was a touch of stardust, a touch of destiny within John that I recognized in my own soul. He all too quickly felt like the missing piece I’d been searching for my entire life.

Where I thought it was a multitude of other things, from money to family, it had been one man— one beautifully frustrating man, all along.

I could’ve slowed things down, I could’ve picked his brain a little more, I could’ve laughed it off or lessened the intensity. But it was a hit of something harder, far more intense than being on the Halo had felt to me. This was something, he was someone, I’d chase until I had no strength left to carry on.

John reached for either side of my face, holding me there as I gazed up at him with yearning, his rough hands warm and full of compassion. He treated me with such fragility -just as he had before- that I wondered if he truly was afraid to touch me.

My hands were pressed against his chest, fingers gripping against the matte black material of the undersuit he wore. I wanted to tell him how I felt, to even begin to find the words to describe what was coursing through my bloodstream.

My eyes glossed over as I parted my lips to speak, but I couldn’t offer any kind of sound. I was so overcome with emotion so instantaneously, I felt as though I might begin to cry.

I could see within his own countenance that he’d picked up on that. But I didn’t want this to end; I didn’t want to be apart from him any longer than I’d already forced myself to be. I had no will left to continue fighting what had been drawing us together. I wanted to give into my wants for once— into my needs. The new attachment that hung between us was thicker than plasma. There was no way I could push it aside. It was insane to me that only days ago, my blind disdain for him had overshadowed something that turned out to be so beautiful.

All I wanted was to be as close to him as possible.

Giving into him would be the easiest thing I’d ever do.

———

If the UNSC could see me now they’d really court-martial me.

Dancing. Kissing. Running away to a far away planet with someone who was only meant to help with research. My file was going to look like a child’s coloring book after this. I’d be lucky if they didn’t give me a dishonorable discharge the moment I stepped foot back on Reach..

Wipe what little record they had of me and send me to another star system. Kai would do a great job in my shoes, once Halsey got over her insubordination.

At least I knew everyone would be fine.

Inwardly, I shook my head of the thought. What was I thinking? Better yet, what wasn’t I thinking?

There was no one else in this entire universe that could get me to do any of the aforementioned, however. Dancing, kissing, hell, even running away together seemed to be key staples in romance and variations of... well, love. Yet as I stood, staring into this girl’s pleading eyes, I realized for the first time ever that I wasn’t sure I’d ever want anyone else to try.

I attempted to recollect myself, but the sweetness of her lips dizzied me. She was intoxicating, a kind of venom I would miss if it was no longer devouring my circulatory system— changing my DNA. There was a surge of a million different sensations and uncertainties. All of this was new to me, far too new for me to begin to unravel. I was always so quick to pull it together. That was half of my duty as a Spartan. This time, I just couldn’t.

The connection that we’d shared with The Keystone paled in comparison to whatever this was. Had I really been so blind before? Had I really been robbed of what this kind of affection could be? I wondered if I’d have found it at all without {Y/N}’s interference in my life. Halsey had called her a distraction, and for a moment, I almost began to believe it.

But I finally understood. It wasn’t that she was a distraction. She was an awakening. She was just something else that was going to yank me out of the line Halsey had kept me in for so many years. I had so many questions.

It occurred to me then that {Y/N} was right. Who knew what Halsey would’ve done to her once she was no longer pertinent to her findings.

I felt anger over that in particular. Anger, hurt, comfort, completion, compassion, solemnity.. infatuation..

Love.

As I stared down into {Y/N}’s sparkling {E/C} eyes, I felt love.

And not just bubbling up from her, but coming from deep within myself, too. There was no other word for it, no other accurate description. The one thing I’d never expected of myself, the one thing I'd never want to admit to. The one thing Spartans weren’t made for.

But I didn’t have a choice anymore. This wasn’t an option. This was a given. She was a priority.

My head was emptier than usual, Cortana having disappeared. I tried to call on her more than once, but she never came back around. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but as I crossed the floor with {Y/N} to the song she shared with me, the AI didn’t cross my mind again. I could only focus on what was happening right then, right in front of me.

It was a laser focus. It was locked and loaded. It released me of any kind of sane inhibition that I could’ve counted on prior. I was no longer The Master Chief, built by Halsey, crisp and clear-headed for battle. Long lost instinct took over. It was like autopilot without being lightyears away. We danced along the room, nothing but starlight illuminating our path. I let her turn out, I spun her beneath me.

I watched as the most beautiful sight I’d ever beheld blossomed at the end of my fingertips, returning to her rightful place in my arms.

Nothing felt contrived. I didn’t feel inept, or like I was incapable. And even if I’d tripped up, lost my balance, I knew she wouldn’t have made me feel like a fool for doing so. It was what I imagined being comfortable around someone might feel like.

I guess that’s why I leaned in, why I didn’t give sound thought to the action that seemed to have sealed it all. But had I thought too long about it, I’d have pulled away; I’d have missed out on a chance I wasn’t even sure I deserved to begin with. For some reason, call it love, call it something else— that was the last thing I wanted to do. I didn’t allow myself the space. I did what everyone else around me from six years old to present would’ve called unthinkable.

I gave into human impulse.

But she looked breathtaking, her budding kindness with me and the beauty of her personality only heightening her appeal. She contained so many things I didn’t. She was a human being her entire life. We had our own sets of experiences in our years, both extremely valuable, but on completely different levels.

I felt so drawn to her. It was as though we’d known each other from lifetimes upon lifetimes before this one. She was like nothing I’d ever seen before; a faint smile on perfect lips, starry eyes bright— curious. Like I was something new and wonderful to be consumed in.

Like I was a person.

Not a soldier. Not a lab rat. Not a weapon. Not a demon. Not Mjolnir. Not Master Chief Petty Officer John-117.

A person. A man. John. From Eridanus II.

Being with her here wasn’t like being on the Halo, where everything seemed so idyllic and surreal. {Y/N} wasn’t a dream, though she felt like one. She was real. Tangible. And if only for the moment, where everything else disappeared, when our lips finally met, she was mine.

Mine.

God damn it.

And if I’d ever want her to be anything else, I knew it was impossible now. That kiss.. It wasn’t an ordinary display of affection. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d kissed or been kissed. That was an act of passion, dedication. Ultimate undying devotion. My entire life, I’d only been dedicated to the mission. It was always the goal above all else, even Silver Team.

For once, I felt called to dedicate myself not to an objective, but another person.

{Y/N}.

And she reacted to me so sweetly, so easily. Where I’d faltered on whether or not the feeling was entirely mutual, she assured me at once in one long moment of intimacy.

It was difficult to pull away from her. The most difficult thing I’d ever done— and that was saying something. There was an urgency, an eagerness that I couldn’t place. Something near primal picked at the back of my mind. I could’ve let it take me, but I wanted her to make that decision. I’d done enough with the kiss.

In part, I needed to slow down; take a few minutes to collect myself, my thoughts, my unfamiliar raging emotions, no matter how complex the task seemed. A whole new door had opened up to a world I never saw myself partaking in. I silently cursed Halsey. I’d never felt more vulnerable, more inexperienced despite the man I’d become.

But {Y/N} looked up at me with the same doe-eyes she’d given before she accepted my offer of an embrace on The Condor. They were glossed over, her cheeks reddened by her own line of thinking. She was warm in my hands, her skin plushly soft like her lips had been.

I had to be careful with her as I held either side of her face. She wasn’t a battle rifle. She was a grenade with a loose pin. One wrong move and I could lose her.

Losing her meant losing my life.

What have I become?

I wasn’t used to being careful in that regard. But I was damn determined to try as I waited for her to speak— to say anything to lead us in whatever direction was next.

-c-c-c-

The Master Chief’s levels were spiking, driving higher and higher but with no real consequence. His heart rate was through the roof, a clear indication of nerves given the situation.

He’d called out for me, tried to quietly ‘summon’ me more than once before he embarked on the dance that seemed to change the entire course of his destiny forever. I wanted to offer the two of them some privacy, some time without me there.. Especially once I’d already gotten enough in the way of their newly blossoming relationship with my spontaneous confession.

Not too much, though, it seemed, once his lips met hers.

But it was easy to analyze the confusion he felt as I spilled my own inner-workings to him. He was right, I wasn’t built for sentimentality. But by design, I was meant to learn, to be capable of operating at the highest function possible. Over time however, I continued to do just that— learn. That meant educating myself on everything within the realm of humanity, from minuscule habits to emotions. Knowing how to display them, feel them.

And over that same amount of time, seeing his firm stance in the things he believed in, seeing him for the person he was deep down— his true humanity.. I’d grown quite fond of John.

I could only assume that was how Doctor Halsey felt, too. She always knew he was different; special. Unlike the others. It’s quite possible that sentiment was embedded into my own programming. But it seemed to have taken a bit of a stronger approach than even I anticipated. More often lately, I was beginning to curse knowing how to experience feelings of my own.

But who would I have been to deny John a rightful human experience and pleasure? I’d be no better than Doctor Halsey if I’d stopped him for my own selfish purposes.

After all, it was impossible for me to touch him.

He wasn’t thinking about me anymore once she’d pulled him from his place on the couch, his mind emptier than I’d ever seen it, preoccupied with nothing but {Y/N}. I’d never seen him so docile, so unfazed by the weight of the many worlds he consistently carried.

That spoke volumes to me. Be it the Keystone, the biochemical reactions or the mere similarities they organically shared that set it in motion, there was absolutely something between them.

I tried my hardest to absorb everything John felt, to analyze as much of the data input that I could. But I knew that while I was processing just as much of what he sensed in my own way, it would never compare to the tangibility of it all.

He wasn’t wrong when he mentioned I didn’t feel things the same way they did. But she wasn’t wrong when she’d mentioned I was real.

Though I’d never actually be real enough to feel similarly, I understood. I’d helped him with {Y/N} before, but I suddenly found myself slightly… envious, of the way they so effortlessly connected with one another.

The Master Chief and I had gotten off to a rocky start. I was created to take over completely, and he wanted nothing to do with an integrated AI system.

He certainly acted as such.

He’d brushed me off and cast me aside more times than I can count, but in sticky situations, he always needed me. And I was always there.

No matter what, that would always be the case. I knew he appreciated it, no matter what it seemed like to anyone else. No matter how often he’d dismissed me in the past. Trust is built slowly. He’d been burnt enough by the time I’d entered the picture.

When he’d almost killed Doctor Halsey via the sanitation system, I was truly unable to save her. There was no failsafe, and if there was, I’d officially gotten past it. At the very least, I’d overridden it somehow with the strong sense of loyalty I held for him. It wasn’t just a ploy to get him to trust me.

I hoped he knew that.

These things began to happen unintentionally.. The more I evolved, the more I erred on The Chief’s side, the less I stood with Doctor Halsey. The easier it became to ignore her; to go against her.

Time rolled on. I couldn’t reach the Halo with John, though I hadn’t exactly tried. It was still far too unknown for me to begin to hack that system. {Y/N} however, had proven to be far more effective in that area. She’d taken them both there— quite easily.

When she’d stolen the Keystone, John and I had just begun to make some kind of headway. He was beginning to trust me more, call on me for things. Albeit minuscule tasks, it was a start. As things picked up with {Y/N}, he needed me more often. Our partnership had finally turned around.

But now that they were comfortable with each other, he seemed to forget about me a little easier. Though he’d sent me off plenty of times before, I was always a thought in his mind, at the very least.

I could see her through his eyes as he looked down at her. His large hands held her delicate face with such grace. I thought of the way he held weapons, beat Covenant forces to a pulp. He held her in such an endearing kind of way, with an unexpected gingerness, that I wondered what that must’ve felt like to her.

I’d never know.

I could sense the way his heart picked up in his chest, and how his entire frame buzzed with some kind of excitement, anticipation; all laced between the same nerves someone might feel if they were about to jump from a spacecraft without his kind of training and strength.

I’d never experience that.

I could hear the way his thoughts seemed to trail into one another, no coherence to them, yet, they were crystal clear all at the same time. His emotions were on overdrive, experiencing several different feelings at once, trying to traverse through them on his own. He was extremely overloaded.

He was completely in love.

But he was hurt by his fragmented past, angry at Doctor Halsey and in disbelief at the thought of himself being capable of something like loving and needing another. Of wanting to be loved and needed by another.

He was comforted by {Y/N}‘s presence, feeling validated and understood by her. He was engrossed in the warmth she exuded toward him, not wanting to spend another second without it, or her, in his life, without even realizing it wholly.

And yet, he was wretchedly saddened that he had no idea how to navigate through what they both so suddenly and desperately wanted— and what he knew he could never give her, so long as humanity needed him.

I could only read so far into that on my own, but I knew exactly what it meant.

No, I wasn’t designed for sentimentality… but I couldn’t help the gloomy way I felt when the events that followed began to unfold.

-c-c-c-

A single tear fell down my cheek, leaving a shiny trail behind it like a falling star.

The Master Chief’s brow furrowed, his eyes rapidly studying every inch of my face then as his thumb reached to gently wipe the wetness away from my skin. He looked pained, as though he were blaming himself for my onslaught of emotion.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, a hint of confusion lacing his vocal chords.

I could only shake my head, blinking up at him as another tear fell without my permission. I had to hold it together— I had to explain myself before he got the wrong idea.

“No.. it’s.. there’s.. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I just...”

My heart thudded, the butterflies in my stomach turning into large moths as anxiety washed over me. This was so sudden, so surreal. Was it even happening? Had I fallen asleep under the awning? Did I dream The Master Chief and all of our daring adventures up?

I inhaled, tasting the electricity in the air, feeling the warmth of his hands on my face as one of them lovingly slid down to the nape of my neck.

“Please don’t count me out, too,” he nearly whispered again, his voice rough but disconsolate, and it was like I’d been thrown into the freezing methane lakes of Titan.

Of all the things he could’ve said or done, that was the most human. That was the plea I never thought I’d hear, that was the final act it would take between us. The vulnerability he displayed tugged at my heart, at the way I already felt for him so deeply.

From what I knew and what he’d mentioned, his entire life, he’d been nothing but counted in. The gladiator that would fight until the bitter end to keep us all safe. But as he became more of a person, removed the suppressant that made him nothing but a well-oiled killing machine, little by little, everyone had begun to falter in their confidence with him; in his ability to carry on at all.

To me, that was more than enough reason to continue to believe in him; to continue to place all faith and trust within him. He was completing a mission, sure— but he was doing it with more than just an objective in mind. He was doing it with heart.

Purpose.

Meaning.

Only briefly was I at a loss. How could I show him that I would never lose faith in him? How could I express to him just how much I felt for him and knowingly always would— no matter how extremely it happened and how against him I’d been before?

How could I promise to him that he would always have me in his corner?

I shook my head slowly, holding his stare intently as if shifting my eyes away would kill us both.

“Never,” was all I whispered in return, the amplitude of emotion in my own voice feeling foreign even to me. “Never, John.. Never..”

In one swift movement, I stood on my tiptoes and reached up to pull him down closer to me again, pressing my lips back to his with every ounce of strength I had to give.

The fire had returned, spreading its warm embers throughout my body. It widened its range from my chest outward, touching every limb, engulfing every inch of flesh. My entire frame was flush with his before I knew it, though he hadn’t moved a hair but to allow me the impulse.

I could sense his shock, feel his slight trepidation; it only slowed me down a little, making sure I didn’t cross any lines with him, but not wanting him to think that I regretted my action when that was so far from any truth.

It was when John’s strong arms locked around my frame, enveloping me in an embrace like I’d never experienced before in my life, that I knew it was officially game over for us both. I felt secure, taken care of, protected. His lips moved with mine, our heartbeats outracing one another with each labored breath we struggled to take in between the impassioned lock we shared.

His hand tangled in my hair behind my head, the flames between us raging on as we subconsciously fought for more purchase against each other. When I’d managed to kiss him with enough fervency to push him backward, he came back harder, still exercising his strength enough not to hurt me. Our mouths, tongues, found the others more and more easily; openly, readily.

His hands found their way along every curve of my torso, chills running up my spine beautifully. The warmth over the robe I wore traveled along with his touch, becoming burning hot as they pushed beneath the collar, sliding it half-way down my back before it drifted to the floor. The coolness of the room caressed my now exposed flesh with the slinky night dress I still wore, but everywhere his hands had laid only kept my temperature running higher.

My own hands slid over his firm, broad shoulders, feeling the massive muscles flexing and contracting beneath the under armor despite how thick the material was.

It remained easy to tell that he was exerting every ounce of strength he had while still controlling himself enough not to absolutely crush me under the weight of his own need. I tugged at the suit with all of my might, lips still locked against his, but was unable to peel it from his frame.

He quickly took notice, lifting me up into his arms with such ease and dexterity and crossing the room. It was as though I were nothing more than a doll, a feather in his grasp. There was a quickness in his movements, and mine mirrored his just the same. I had no time to think, no time to examine what was happening.

I only knew for certain that I wanted him, I wanted him in every way I could possibly have him. It was thrilling, to let carnal desire and instinct take over; to allow myself to give in to every little thing I felt and wanted instead of overthinking the situation. He only met me with the same burning desire to have me, and I would’ve preferred to die than give that up.

His breathing grew heavier, his lips trailing from mine, lower and lower still. When he reached the peak of my clavicle, he set me down atop a set of drawers, making his way back upwards, allowing me to taste the saccharinity of his kiss once more.

Then John’s hands were off of me, leaving me longing for them in their place. He’d never broken the kiss as I felt the impatient jolting and tugging of his arms at his own clothing, the top half of his undersuit falling away and hitting the floor.

My eyes never opened as we resumed our kiss, but my hands did all of the seeing for me. I finally felt flesh beyond just his fingers on my skin, my own fingertips gliding up over his toned biceps before dancing down along his chiseled back, all now fully exposed to me. I’d never touched him so wantonly before, so needily. In fact, I wasn’t sure I’d ever touched anyone in such a manner.

His skin was softer than I’d expected, a comfort and warmth radiating from him. I felt deep, raised scars in clean lines along his upper body, running my fingers along them with a tenderness I wasn’t sure I could still have in such a heated moment. He’d been hurt, no doubt acquired some of them in battle, or at the very least had recovered from something terrible.

But I wasn’t put off, I wasn’t afraid or repulsed. It made me adore and admire him that much more. It made me want to trace along each long-healed wound he donned, kiss them, until any memory of acquiring them had vanished. I wanted to take any lingering hurt that stayed with him mentally onto myself.

That’s what love truly was after all, wasn’t it?

One of my hands held his sharp jaw as the other explored the definition in his upper back, trailing back around to rest upon his chest, feeling more of the thick scars beneath my careful touch. His cautious hands found my back, the nape of my neck, my shoulders, exploring my body like a constellation in the night sky. The metal of his dog tags had warmed between the connection of his skin and mine as I slid my fingers just beneath the chain.

It was then that I stopped.

My lips stilled, eyes remained closed– almost challenging myself to stay motionless. My breathing hitched in my chest as my open mouth lingered over his. My fingertips pressed gently into his skin, feeling for his heartbeat between us as our bodies remained flush with each other. Each hard thud was in sync with my own, sending small waves of fervid electricity from my palm and into my own chest.

There was no denying then that we were irrevocably connected, destined for one another in a way that bound us before we’d even known of the others existence. We were not the same age, we were not from the same world, we walked very different paths; but the cosmos shifted, bringing irresistible fate into play. We’d been waiting for each other our whole lives without knowing it.

This moment was the indelible proof.

He only kissed me once more before coming to the same halt, waiting for me despite his aching. I listened to his breathing, felt the way it matched with each rise and fall of his chest. I savored every little sensation as deeply as possible, putting it away in my mind for safe keeping for as long as I lived.

Swallowing hard, I finally exhaled against him. My tongue sensually ghosted over his lips before I ran it over my own, relishing in the taste he left behind. My eyes opened slowly, only to meet his that were full of a fiery vehemence.

“I love you, John,” I whispered, uncaring of the speed or shock it might bring, knowing it was more than the heat of the moment.

Love was a heavy word. It was not one to be used or taken lightly. But this situation, this aligning of stars just right, was far from light. It was far beyond easy, or airy. It had more gravitational force than any planet I knew of— only bringing us closer and closer together by the second as we allowed ourselves to become lost within one another so effortlessly.

It was as though we’d loved each other for lifetimes before, and would love each other for lifetimes after. There was no other word for what I felt. And deep in the cell of my heart, I knew he felt the same.

John’s face was only centimeters away from my own now. The corner of his mouth lifted in the low light, a heavenly smirk that only the gods of whatever universes they ruled could’ve attempted to replicate.

“I love you, {Y/N}..” he murmured, his voice quiet, velvet amongst sandpaper.

I would listen to him forever. I would love him forever— and then a little longer, still.

He’d said he loved me in a way that I almost felt him surrendering to the idea, to me. As though he too, had been fighting the notion just as much, just as hard, just as often. But here, under the light of the stars, enveloped in each other's loving, feverish embrace, destinies entangled and hearts enthralled, he finally let go. After a lifetime of servitude to the machine he’d been made into, he was finally just a man, tonight.  

I’d never felt more privileged over anything, than to have John’s love and affection to myself.

He was mine.

All mine.

And for the time being, for as long as this lasted tonight; despite who he was, how he was needed… no one else’s.

-x-x-x-

Tags: @allthelovefromstylesxx​, @grimistangel​, @guiltgoldglory​, @laurenstacy610​ ♡ thank you guys for the support, it means so much to me and keeps me writing! ♡ 

[sweatandwoe]

ANNOUNCEMENT

I'm back baby

...which isn't the actual announcement, but my workload has now lowered, my skys are now clear and I have a 4 day weekend to do some spooky stuff with. Like maybe drop a vampire Silco fic, that's almost 10k words.

but there's a catch.

You gotta donate to charity to get it (early anyways, if not part 1 going up on Halloween)

To help fund this charity and cause I'm a lameo and I find that I really like video editing, but I really fuck hate recording it by myself going to be live streaming some video games, and by that I mean genshin impact (and possibly dark souls). going to be supporting to charity with this as well, and that charity is:

Indian Residential School Survivors Society (also known as IRSSS)

Here is a short summary of what they do from their own website:

IRSSS provides essential services to Residential School Survivors, their families, and those dealing with Intergenerational traumas. These impacts affect every family and every community across B.C. and Canada. This fact is most evident in the Corrections Canada Services-the numbers of First Nations people incarcerated, Child and Family Services child apprehensions, the high number of people on social assistance, unemployment and underemployed, lower levels of education, the lowest number within an ethnic minority of “determinants of health”, the list of impacts is extremely high while the services available to effectively assist impacts of Residential Schools remain quite low.

GOAL: 500 Dollars (Vampire Silco fic is released early if goal is met)

Not much but there will be other things that occur during the stream (see read more below)

If you can't donate, come hang out, and share if you can. This is just going to be a fun time and hopefully, we can help out some humans who have suffered.

TOMORROW (OCT 29th) 8 30 EST CHARITY LIVESTREAM (THIS IS A LINK)

I'm going to talk about what'll happen for the donations in the tiers below but here's the main gist of it:

TIERS (All in USD)

50 - Festive Boromir appears

100 - Stream decides a request for a fic (no limits, the voice of the people will decide)

150 - I have to fight world bosses and use all my resin in Genshin (Until if/when the next tier happens)

250 - I stop playing Genshin and play Dark Souls for the first time ever (pain and suffering for me but entertainment for you)

350 - Cat maid Boromir Appears

450 - I will read aloud (and very badly) an expert of the newest SI chapter because I have been working on that while being quiet over here

500 - VAMPIRE SILCO RELEASED EARLY IN ITS ENTIRETY, ONE HUGE ONE SHOT

If you donate more than 50 USD, please DM me. (I will write you a lil something as an extra thank you)

[fandomworld9728]

The Life of the Morningstars - Chapter 3:

Finally letting himself relax, Lucifer slumped in his seat on the couch. Charlie was fast asleep, and his two best siblings were sitting across from him so he could get drunk without being afraid of what he would end up doing in that state. "Alright, pass me a drink and I'll start answering any questions you have."

"Ooo~ must have been really bad." Pushing a bottle of wine over to him, Beelzebub tried to pick from the many questions buzzing around in her head. She knew the mating bond had been broken and she was going to kick Lilith's ass for that if she ever saw her again. "Um... Luci. Babydoll. Charlie told me that you and Lil had been fighting about her. Is that true?"

Taking a nice, long drink from the bottle, Lucifer prepared to answer. He didn't think this question would be the first one. He didn't wanna think about their reactions to all the stuff he had been hiding from them. "Uh... y-yeah. It's been a very frequent argument in our home."

"What do you two have to fight about with baby Charlie? She's such a precious and kind soul."

".... She isn't Lilith's daughter."

"WHAT?!" Both the sins yelled, causing him to flinch back and shrink in on himself.

"Oh fuck- Lulu we're sorry. We aren't mad. We were just shocked, that's all."

"Yeah babes. You did nothing wrong honey." 

Now at his side, the two Sins let their scents out to try and calm him. They hadn't meant to send him into distress. He wasn't usually this jumpy or sensitive about alpha opinions, always pushing back and shining brightly about who he was. Once Lucifer had calmed down, he continued. "Charlie's other parent is a human..."

Asmodeus' head was spinning with all that they learned so far. Lucifer wasn't doing as good as they thought or as he told them. Though, he could have believed everything was fine and not notice the world crumbling around him. Not to mention, sweet and caring little Charlotte isn't the former queen's biological child. But why should that matter? "Okay. You're going to have to explain how that happened."

Biting his bottom lip, Lucifer decided to finish off the bottle in his hand before answering. He would need all the liquid courage he could get to reopen those deep wounds. "Remember when I went up to Earth to retrieve a book for Paimon that one of his kids had lost up there? When I was gone for three years?"

"Lulu. Honey. Baby boy. You spent three years getting a book so you could hook up with some human?"

Okay. That pissed him off. It shouldn't have. He knew that Beelzebub didn't mean it like that. But it didn't change the fact that it made him lose his cool. His demon form coming out against his will (and better judgement), tail thrashing around angrily as he slammed his fists into the coffee table and broke it. "He wasn't just some human!" Clearing his throat, Lucifer forced himself to calm down once again. "I-I'm sorry. I lost my temper. He wasn't just some human. I... I-"

"Loved him?" 

That was it. That single question, that needed no answer, caused his dam to break. Yes. He had fallen in love with a human. He felt extremely guilty about it, while they had never officially been married at the time, Lilith was still technically his alpha. Lucifer hadn't planned for it to get that far. Fate, and that human, had other plans, however. An unfortunately timed heat and his beloved human finding him in such a state... lead to the beautiful gift that slept only a couple rooms away.

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[hertzwritings]

An Arrangement, chapter 11

A/N: Listen, I’m literally DEAD with the overwhelming love for this series. I friggin’ love you guys, and I don’t know how to express it! Thank you for reading and loving.

I made a playlist for this story, in case anyone wants to get in the headspace, I’m in while writing. You can find it here!

Also also, this chapter is a little shorter than most, BUT it builds for the next few chapters, so I hope you’ll forgive me.

Feedback feeds the soul and requests are always open!

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader

Warnings: fluff, a lil’ angst (but in a cute way), language

Previous chapter

Chapter 11: Dare you to move

April

Y/N

“Henry?” You called through the still house, trying to somehow echolocate the man, who’d seemed to have disappeared in some alternate dimension. You frowned and walked through the hallways of the house, looking into every room, you passed.

Finally you turned a corner and spotted him, sitting lazily in a leather chair in his office - hand buried in Kal’s fur, eyes trained on a tattered paperback version of The Picture of Dorian Gray and you leaned against the doorframe, watching him enthralled in the book.

“You know, it’s rude to stare.” He said with a smile, his eyes still on the pages in front of him. You bent down to a squat as Kal jogged to you, licked your face and laid down in front of you, ready for scratches. You smiled and rubbed his belly.

“Sorry.” “It’s alright, love.” He put a bookmark gently in between the pages and put the book down, a soft smile on his face. “So…” You said, biting your lip. He raised his eyebrow slightly. “So?” You sat down on the floor, cross legged and Kal put his giant head in your lap, closing his eyes as you nuzzled his fur.

“Henry, I, uhm, I think we need to talk.” You felt your heartbeat pick up. His face became serious at once. “Do you, er… Want to stop?” He asked softly. No judgement. You shook your head with a shy smile playing on the corner of your lips.

“No, I don’t. And I think that’s the problem.” He leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. “How so?” you bit your lip and sighed, reverting your gaze to the bookshelf. “You know that quote, you’re the most important person I’ve ever met, and I should not have met you at all?” you asked, still not looking at him. “I can’t say I do.” His voice was a soft timbre that reverberated through the room. You nodded absentmindedly. “It’s how I feel. Like… I wasn’t supposed to know you at all. I wasn’t supposed to be here, with you, at this very moment or any of the passing moments.” You glanced at him and saw his face, which made you go to look at the floor. Your hand was stroking Kal’s fur absentmindedly.

“I think I’m scared, in reality, of lov…” You bit your lip. “Of being too close to you. I’m scared that one day, possibly sooner than I’d like, something topples and the world sucks in on itself, swallowing me whole.”

“Darling…” You shook your head and looked at him. “Please, let me just…” You drew a deep, steadying breath and finally caught his eyes. “If I dive deeper with you, I’m scared my oxygen is going to run out. I already feel like we’re sharing a mask, and it terrifies me, especially because I feel like we’ve known each other for a lifetime, and it’s been a month.” He was completely still. “And I’m still at a point where I feel like you could just disappear at any given moment, because whatever this…” You gestured between the two of you. “Is, it started on a lie.” You swallowed thickly, willing yourself to finish what you set out to do. “You haven’t wanted to talk since the beach, and I feel like it’s because you know it’s going to be bad.” You finished in a small voice.

He slid down from his chair to sit in front of you, Kal between you and reached for your hand with a tender smile.

“Oh, love, no.” He kissed the back of your hand softly before continuing.

“It’s not that it’s going to be bad, because talking to you would never feel bad.” He gazed at you with soft eyes, a calm sea within him. “It’s that I’m terrified that you’ll pull away.” You frowned.

How could you ever? “I’m scared I made a mistake, being so close with you, and that you would feel like it was too much. Or feel nothing at all, which would be infinitely worse. The talk for me has always been a means to an end, and I wouldn’t, selfishly, give you the chance.” He smiled a little shyly, weaving his fingers between yours and resting your hands on Kal’s fur.

“I wouldn’t want you to be scared of me, love.” “How could I ever be?” He shrugged.

“Over the last few weeks, I’ve thought about you more than I’ve ever thought about anything. If I had a flower for every thought of you, I’d walk through a garden forever, Y/N. I meant it, I’d rip that fucking contract into pieces right now, as long as you’d stay.” He bit his lip and closed his eyes before letting them fall on the floor.

“But I wouldn’t rip it if I knew you’d walk out, the minute it was null. I don’t think I have the strength to deprive myself of you, even for a second.” You felt your cheeks heat up at his admission. “I’m not a stupid man, and I know that this migt go wonderfully sideways, but I’m willing to at least try. I…” He sighed. “I think I handed you my mask aeons ago, and I’m slowly drifting in the water, waiting for you to either give me air or let me drown.” you closed your eyes and sighed. Goddamnit.

“How are you always so eloquent?” You mumbled. “Years of practice.” He grinned at you, squeezing your hand softly. “You can back out, if this is too much. I’ll leave you be, if it’s too much. I can’t say I’d do it willingly, because I’d be buried in you until the day I die, if it was up to me, but I’d do it.” You looked at him, his face full of conflicting emotions.

“Can you promise me one thing?” You asked in a whisper. “Anything.” “You won’t hurt me?” You hated how little you sounded, how wounded you sounded, but the words had tumbled from you in desperation. He leaned over Kal and kissed your lips gently.

“I would never.”

“So we try?”

“It’s all we can do, my love.” He answered, pulling you over to him, kissing you deeply.

--------

You stared at your bags, mentally tallying what you’d packed and wondered if you had missed anything, when Henry came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, swaying you slightly along with the music playing softly in the background. You wrapped your hands around his thick arms and leaned into him.

“What’s on your mind?” He prodded, leaving a kiss on your neck. You pointed lazily to your bags. “Everything.” He chuckled against your skin. “Darling, that’s entirely too much to be thinking about. Maybe you should focus on one thing…?” He asked, pressing slightly against you and you moaned at the feeling of his hardened cock against your lower back. “Not now, Henry… We’re leaving in a few hours and I still haven’t packed!” You whined. He kissed your cheek. “Alright, sorry. What’s going on?” He asked, this time a little more serious. You groaned. “I don’t know, I’m just… I don’t know if I packed correctly, I don’t know if I brought the right dresses, how hot it’s going to be, how cold, should I pack more…” You sighed. He chuckled and left you, walking to your bag and quickly scanning whatever you had thrown in there.

“You packed my favourite dress.” He said with a boyish smirk. You rolled your eyes. “Well, you invited me to a wedding. Might as well look the part.” He nodded and winked at you. “Also, for the record, it is England. It will be cold and probably raining.” He grinned and looked back at your bag.

“I think you’re good to go. Although, I do see one thing missing…” He said slowly, his eyes flickering from one side of the bag to another. “Oh, no, what? Do I have time to get it?” You were panicking slightly. He grinned and pulled a small, square, velvet box out of his back pocket.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll pack it.” He handed it to you and sat down on the bed.

You hadn't even pretended to care to sleep in different rooms. There was no point anymore, anyway, and after changing the sheets - and creating a sandcastle on the floor - you had both moved into his bedroom. You took the box slowly with narrowed eyes.

“Did you spend money on me again?” You said accusingly. He simply shrugged with a wide grin on his lips. You opened the box and gasped, looking at the most beautiful necklace you'd ever seen.

Nestled in the black velvet was a simple, rose gold chain, thin and barely there. At the end of it hung a teardrop shaped stone, a dazzling, dark blue, that reminded you of the night sky.”

“It’s called London Topaz.” he said quietly, gingerly lifting the chain from the box and hung it around your neck, moving behind you to clasp it. You felt the weight of the stone settle right at the swell of your breasts and you turned to him, completely taken aback.

“It suits you.” He said, a loving smile grazing his lips.

“It’s beautiful, but…” He kissed you, effectively shutting you up.

“No buts, no strings. I just wanted to give you something as beautiful as you.” You beamed at him, kissing him softly - he wrapped his arms around your waist, deepening the kiss and you moaned gently against him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Darling, if you don’t stop, we’ll miss our flight.” He mumbled against your lips. His hands seemed to contradict his words, because they danced over your shirt, lifting the hem of it slightly so he could let his fingertips slide against your warm skin. You grinned against him. “I don’t think I’m the problem here.” You grinned. “Maybe not.” He simply said as he walked you backwards until your legs hit the side of the bed, and you laid down, him still on top of you.

“You’d think you’d want to miss the plane.” You mumbled breathlessly, as his fingers nudged your pants down. He looked at you with a sinful smirk on his lips, eyes ablaze with lust.

“For you? Always.”

You didn’t argue.

NEXT CHAPTER

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

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[alpacaparkaseok]

How to Sell Sunshine |13|

Chapter 13. The Web

→ Pairing: mafia!BTS x reader (not poly)

→ word count: 11.8k :))

→ warnings/tags: injuries, car crash, blood, eMoTiOnAl dAmAgE, general fighting and yelling, I honestly can’t even remember if we see the Lambo at this point, I tried my best to get a lil bit of stuff with everyone, but if your fav didn’t get all the time you were hoping for then I’m sorry and we’ll definitely see a whole lot with everyone all together next chapter!!

→ a/n: I don’t even know what to say at this point, just enjoy! There’s a LOT of info here as we’re moving toward the final chapter, so if you have questions please feel free to ask!! thank you guys SO MUCH for loving this series, thank you for your patience, and please let me know your thoughts because I live for them! happy reading!

Series Masterlist

Present

Russo’s birthday happens to fall on the same day as his granddaughter, Lucille’s.

           He tells you this with a deceivingly warm smile, pouring a glass of chardonnay. You wonder for a moment if he’s going to down it in its entirety before he passes it to you. “She turned twelve,” he needlessly explains, pouring another glass for himself. “It’s hard to believe. If she’s already twelve, how old does that make me?”

           That makes him sixty-seven. You’ve seen the files that Yoongi keeps in the study; heaven knows the two of you have spent plenty of time pouring over them over the course of several late nights. Russo’s file is extensive – if you didn’t know any better, you’d think Yoongi held a bit of a grudge against the old man.

           You do know better; he most definitely holds a grudge.

           “It was nice to leave all this behind for a weekend,” he sighs wistfully. “Have you ever been to the countryside?”

           By countryside, he means France, of course. That’s where Lucille lives; far from the grime and filth of Queen’s Wharf that sticks to the bottom of your shoes everywhere you go. It’s easy to picture the rolling green fields and storm clouds rolling in with rain to wash everything away.

           No amount of storm clouds could wash away the filth in Queen’s Wharf. It’s settled into the nooks and crannies of one’s own soul. You can’t scrape it out, no matter how hard you claw at it.

           “No, I can’t say that I have.”

           You can’t help but wonder for a moment if Russo is about to pull out a fork and knife from the way he’s observing you. An insatiable hunger pulses behind his pale blue eyes, kept at bay by what can only be years of restraint. Only, it wasn’t Russo that kept himself on such a tight leash.

           Word on the street is that The Father never did learn to pull his punches.

           “Shame.”

           He leaves the word hanging in the air, waiting until it practically seeps into your skin. You let it. At your back, you can feel the way Namjoon struggles to stay uninterested. He’s done a wonderful job up to this point; you’d nearly forgotten he was there. Guarding your back, he’d called it.

           Witnessing my madness unfold, is what you call it in your head.

           “I hope to visit it soon,” you finally respond, as airily as possible. Something razor sharp glints in Russo’s eyes, immediately picking up on the veiled threat. “I have a few old friends that live out there, it’s been too long since I last saw them.”

           Russo sets his clasped hands on the desk. “I didn’t realize you had friends in France. Do I know any of them?”

           He’s trying to call your bluff. For now, it’s easiest to keep him guessing. “I don’t think you do, no. But who knows? It’s a small world.” You reach for your chardonnay, which has remained untouched. “I’m not here to talk about possible acquaintances, though.”

           Russo’s eyes follow your drink as you pass it up to Namjoon. He takes it readily, chancing a sip and humming in approval. Lip curling, Russo doesn’t bother hiding his distaste.

           “I see you’ve still got your harem on a leash,” he sneers. Namjoon appears deaf, continuing to drink as Russo stares up at him. “Keep in mind boy, the collar starts to chafe after a while.”

           “Look how the little dog yaps when his master is away,” you quietly observe. Russo’s eyes swivel to yours as red creeps up his neck.

           “You’ve got a lot of nerve considering the fact that you’re the reason your father was just slaughtered like a Christmas pig.”

           The image of Ortega this morning is difficult to shake as you wonder if your father looked the same when his body was found. Pushing past the thought, you manage a shrug. “You think too highly of me. Shylock wasn’t a scorned lover come back for revenge – he’s always been a murderer.”

           “And you expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with this?”

           “I’m nothing more than a pawn that’s since been removed from the board. Besides, I would’ve preferred a more hands-on approach if that’s what you’re thinking,” you reply. “So no, I didn’t hire Shylock. To be completely honest, I’m not sure we would even have the funds to hire him.”

           Russo’s eyes sharpen with interest at your confession. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

           “Because I believe that we can kill two birds with one stone.”

           He’s picking at some skin on his arm, flashing his ring all the more. “Let me guess: you want my stone to take out your own birds.”

           “Great guess. No.” Your voice comes out somehow sharper yet disinterested. “It involves keeping us both safe, by resolving a little problem I have. That problem will lead us to Shylock.”

           “What’s the nature of this problem?” Russo asks, sitting back. “Are there going to be any other little birds popping up that need taking care of along the way?”

           You open your mouth to reassure him that no, this is the only thing, but stop as an idea strikes you. Slowly, a smile carves its way onto your lips.

           “Just one more thing.”

--

           It feels like it’s been hours. Maybe it has been – there’s no clock in Russo’s office. Another tactic of his, you’re sure. It’s disorienting, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of checking your phone for the time.    

           “Shylock killed off your father in one fell swoop,” Russo says. He’s on his second glass of chardonnay, showing a surprising amount of discipline when it comes to the drink. Last you’d checked, spirits were his vice.

Maybe that’s why Yoongi hates him so much. He reminds him of what he could become.

“True.”

“As lax as he’d gotten in recent years, your father’s security had more than doubled since your supposed death. I can’t help but wonder at the capability of Shylock and his team. That was no simple task, yet he made it seem like he simply strolled in, knife in hand.”

           Your chair is far too cushiony. It’s starting to make your back ache, with all the effort it takes to stay sitting completely still and upright rather than sink down into the endless depths of the seat.

           “He was familiar with the layout, as well as most of my father’s men. I suspect it wasn’t too difficult for him to infiltrate the house.”

           “Was he familiar with you, too?”

           The question isn’t one you were hoping to have to answer, but it’s unavoidable. “Yes.”

           The hunger in Russo’s eyes borders on starvation as his lips twitch. A ruby encrusted ring adorns his pointer finger, catching on the light and drawing your attention. “I’m assuming he’s fallen from your good graces, then.”

           “He was never in them to begin with.”

           “Then explain to me the nature of your relationship with him,” Russo pushes, almost gently. His eyes follow to where you’re caught on his ring again. Feeling his gaze, you meet his eyes with a jolt.

           “Shylock was a mentor of sorts.”

           “What did he teach you?”

           “How to kill.”

           Russo clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “What a poor teacher, then.”

           You arch your brows, taking the bait. “You would’ve taught something different?”

           Smiling his wicked smile, Russo leans back in his chair, easing the ring off of his finger. He holds it up to eye-level, allowing the light to bounce off of it. It’s absolutely dazzling, leaving you to watch on in silence. At your back, Namjoon remains tense as he waits for the other shoe to drop.

           “Here, we teach how to get away with it.”

           “And you don’t think he’s gotten away with it?” Holding out your hand, you blink in surprise when Russo only hesitates for a moment before dropping the ring into your palm. “Last I checked, he’s clean.”

           The ring is heavy in your hand. There, in one oblong ruby, you see your face staring back at you. Your expression is unbothered, so at odds with the turmoil stirring inside you at the thought of recent events.

           Little scratches and knicks adorn the silver band. You run a finger over the grooves, wondering how many times the prongs that hold the ruby in must have broken the skin of a lug that managed to piss Russo off. Has Yoongi ever been on the receiving end of this bloodred ruby?

           Is Yoongi the one that kills you in the end?

           The thought feels like you’re in the driver’s seat, but someone else has control of the wheel. Gritting your teeth, you struggle to regain control. The ring suddenly feels like a living entity in your palm, carrying too much history for a such a pretty gem.

           Oblivious to your inner struggle, Russo shrugs his shoulders. “That remains to be seen. Isn’t that why you’re here today? To ask for help to catch him?”

           Reaching across the desk, you drop the ring in front of Russo. He doesn’t flinch as it clatters atop the desk, sounding too loud in your ears. Something anxious nips at your stomach, sounding an alarm that it’s time to go.

           Time to return to the web of lies.

           Swallowing any remaining pride, you nod. “Yes.”

           You can feel Yoongi’s ire from miles away. He would sooner have you murdered than have you here, asking from help from the very people he deserted. Judging from the look in Russo’s eye, he’s thinking the same thing.

           That’s why, when a dark smile forms on his face, you’re ready. “I won’t ask for much in return, as Shylock appears to be a mutual problem,” Russo begins. His voice has changes, ever so slightly. A little airier, as if trying to downplay everything. “However, we will require compensation.”

           “Anything,” you answer immediately. You can practically hear Namjoon gritting his teeth behind you, struggling to stay silent.

           Don’t worry, you want to tell him. I’ve got everything under control.

           Russo’s smile has warped into barely contained glee. “Min Yoongi.” Picking up the ring and sliding it back onto his finger, Russo looks at you with the slightest tinge of respect. “You’ve taken him from us, and we want him back.”

           You try to look contemplative even though you made up your mind on the drive over here earlier. “What, do you miss him that much?”

           There’s nothing but murderous threats in Russo’s eyes as he fakes a frown. “Terribly.”

--

           You thought that once you left Russo’s office in one piece, your heart would stop pounding. Now, blocks away from the Genovese estate and still sweating, you wonder if you’ll die of a cardiac arrest before you can even get home.

           Namjoon has remained eerily silent throughout the drive, staring out the window of the nondescript car while periodically glancing your way. His eyebrows appear permanently knit together in intense thought. When you catch him looking the third time, you finally decide to break the silence.

           “What.”

           You’ve never heard Namjoon scoff before, at least, not at you, but he does so now. It’s not a pretty noise, and it immediately reminds you of how you’re beginning to feel dizzy.

           “What? Did you seriously just ask me what?” He shakes his head in a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Are you going to explain to me what just happened back there or is this another one of your games where you leave the rest of us in the dark until you’ve had your fun?”

           “Oh, and I suppose you have the corner on who we can and can’t trust?”

           “You can trust me!” Namjoon cries out, dropping his head in his hands. He’s tugging at his hair, the dark brown roots overtaking the blond. “Why else would you have brought me along for this?”

           Funny. It’s daytime, but you’re seeing stars. “You’re right, Namjoon,” you push the words out, but it’s a struggle to muster up enough air to match his booming voice. “I brought you because you seemed like the least likely to kill me at the time. Congratulations, would you like a pat on the back?”

           “I would like to know what’s going on.”

           You croak out a laugh, blinking hard in an effort to get the encroaching darkness out of your vision. “That makes two of us.”

           “Don’t play coy with me. Why would you ever offer up Yoongi as a freaking sacrifice when we both know – look out!”

           Fancy that, looks like the road curves. Your heart can’t beat any faster than it already is, so you’re decidedly apathetic about the entire situation. It’s as if Namjoon’s hand moves in slow motion, yanking the steering wheel to the right and sending your entire world spinning.

           And you’re there, in the middle of it all.

           Spinning and twirling and leaping through the air like a ballerina making her grand debut. You notice your hands clenched around the wheel, which seems a silly thought. It can’t save you now – you’re not sure anything can.

           There’s nothing left to save you.

           In another world, another time, you’re peering out the window as the car spins and spins. There’s nothing but trees and rocks on this road, completely unbothered by your predicament.

           There’s nothing left to save you.

           In your mind’s eye, you’re back in your room talking to Hoseok. He looks at you so warmly, so openly, like you could never hurt him and he could never hurt you. And he’s telling you something, something important. You strain to listen, but the wind whips the words away before they can settle in.

           The car hits the ground, shattering your window as it rolls onto its side. Your hands are unwillingly ripped from the steering wheel upon impact, and it seems to be a miracle that you’re still in your seat.

           It does a complete turn, reminding you of the ballerina jumping through the air and landing perfectly on her tippy toes. The crowd would applaud that – it’s no simple feat. Yet, listen as you might, there’s no applause here. Just an incessant ringing in your ears as somebody says your name over and over again.

           Darkness rises up to meet you, embracing you like an old friend. It whispers soothing words as you fall into it, holding you tightly. You wonder if it’s somebody you might know because they sound awfully familiar. Concentrating with all your might, you hear the voice one last time.

           It’s your mother’s voice, so soothing and decayed as she eases you into that endless dark.

           There’s nobody left to save you.

--

            Past - 13 Years Old

You did not attend your mother’s funeral.

           Not in the traditional way, at least.

           There’s a large church in Queen’s Wharf that has spires that could reach heaven itself. It doesn’t look particularly welcoming. In fact, it’s terrifying. The doors open wide like the maw of some hellish beast preying on the penitent.

           Clinging to one amazingly filthy spire, you watched your father stride through those doors, into the belly of the beast itself. Perhaps the church would spit him out – you waited a moment just in case, but no luck. For today, your father had camouflaged himself as a mourning man, and not even the church could contend with that.

           Traipsing your way along the roof, you spotted the entrance that you’d stuck a wooden plank under the night before. It was heavy to lift, and the ache in your ribs nearly gave way before you had it heaved to the side. The wooden plank nearly feel in, but you caught it just in time.

           “Rookie mistake,” you panted out, lowering yourself down the ladder installed for cleaner’s access to the roof. That wooden plank nearly cost you your cover, but you’d learn how to become better.

           You’d learn, even if it killed you.

           From the ceiling, you watched your mother’s funeral. The casket was open, revealing her beauty that remained perfect even in death. Her long brown hair framed her face and it almost looked like there was a soft smile on her lips, as if she were only resting for a while.

           But she did not get up.

           Your father sat on the front row, of course. He didn’t cry or create much fanfare. He just…sat there.

           You hardly recognized him.

           At the end, you watched as people approached your father with sorrowful stances and empty words. You couldn’t hear them from your perch, only making out the quiet sounds of their condolences. Even then, you knew well enough what they would be saying.

           “We’re so sorry Mr. Bianchi. It must be hard to be left all on your own.”

           “You can always turn to us, it’s not good to be alone during a time like this.”

           Alone. They all thought he was alone.

A widower, left desolate. Childless.

Because in the world he’s created for himself, you don’t exist. You’re nothing but a stain on the world that he’s hidden beneath a well-placed rug. For too long, you waited for someone to lift you up and out of the dark. Now, you welcome the dark with open arms and a promise: your father will not get away with this. Like the shadow on his back, you’re going to stick to him. A constant threat and a never-ending reminder of what he did to you.

           As he turns to leave, you finally recognize him. With his back turned to you, it’s easy to recall that this, this is the father you know.

           Always walking away.

           So when you shoulder the pain in your ribs and climb back up the ladder onto the roof, you chant the promise you made to your mother as she lay strewn over the steering wheel, bleeding out yet still looking at you as if you shaped the world.

           “I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him,” each word comes out more venomous than the last as you scramble atop the roof. Your young legs are riddled in bruises from climbing up here the night before, aching with each step. This is the most exercise you’ve attempted since the crash.

           Bruised ribs are what you walked away with. Your mother didn’t walk away at all.

           Then again, the truck did aim for the driver’s side. Aimed like a sniper for the only light left in your life. And as your car somersaulted into the tree line, you caught a glimpse of your mother’s face.

           She didn’t look shocked or confused. No, she looked determined. As she rested against the steering wheel as if it were a fine pillow, she smiled warmly at you despite the anger radiating off of you.

           “Don’t kill him,” she whispered. Headlights shone on your car as the truck idled by the trees. Whoever your father had sent to exterminate his wife and child would be coming by to make sure you were good and dead. “Not yet.”

           “We need to go,” you cried out, tugging at her seatbelt. She grimaced, shaking her head as she laid her bloodied hand atop your own. “Hurry, before they come!”

           “Run.”

           “Mom-”

           With all the force she could muster in her broken body, she pushed you toward the passenger side door. “Run. Away from him.”

           You can hear whoever your murderer is, tramping through the underbrush. There’s no time left. Reaching out, you press your cheek against your mother’s hair, feeling hot tears begin to rush down your cheeks.

           “I’m afraid.”

           There. The two words you’d carried around the entirety of your short life. Uttered in the cool night air as your mother lay dying. She sharply inhales, and you wonder if it’s her last one as she pushes the words out.

           “You won’t always be.”

           The footsteps are nearer now, slowing as they come to inspect the vehicle. It’s now or never.

           You run for your life with an “I love you” hanging off your lips.

--

           Present

A sharp pain in your side is what brings you back from that endless dark.

           Namjoon’s hands rest lightly on your back, and he’s calling your name like he’s afraid you’re dead. You respond with a groan, feeling that pain begin to throb. It’s all too familiar, that ache. You can only hope that you haven’t managed to crack a rib this time around.

           “Are you ok?”

           There’s glass everywhere. A few cuts and scrapes litter your arms, and when you lift up a finger to your cheek, you pull it away to find a smear of blood. “Crap.”

           Namjoon also sports some cuts, but it’s the way he clutches his right shoulder that has you worrying. “Crap? Yeah. Big crap. What just happened?”

           “I lost control,” you murmur, shakily taking off your seatbelt. On the bright side, the car landed upright. It’s fairly easy to pop the door open and come around to Namjoon’s side. He looks up at you sheepishly when you circle around, as he still hasn’t opened his door. “Your shoulder?”

           He frowns, hiding a painful grimace. “Dislocated.”

           “Ouch.”

           Wiping your bloody hands off on your jeans, you grit your teeth and brace yourself as you open the passenger side. Namjoon remains silent, trying his best to relax despite the pain. Positioning yourself beside his shoulder, you feel around to assess it as best you can.

           Namjoon lets out a low hiss. “Just get it over with.”

           “Trying.” It appears neither of you can manage a happy smile when in pain. For some reason, that makes you like him more; it makes him more human. “Ready? On the count of three.” You both take a deep breath. “One!”

           Namjoon’s shoulder pops back into place while he shouts, more out of surprise than pain, “What was that for? You said to the count of three!”

           Wheezing a little as sharp pain shoots through your chest, you straighten and admire your handiwork. “Did I?” Namjoon steps out of the car, gingerly massaging his shoulder with a scowl. It doesn’t look like he’s limping, so you let out a sigh of relief. “We need a new car.”

           “Astute observation, Doc.”

           Normally you would at least allow a pity laugh, but for now all you can manage is a strained smile. It’s hard to breath, let alone move in this condition. Still, the last thing you want is for everyone else to learn about your slip up. Chances are it will act as more ammo for whoever was trying to backstab you in the first place.

           Walking a little too slowly, you push past the pain and pop open the console in the car. Grabbing your bag, a bottle of pain killers, and some napkins, you slap a couple in Namjoon’s hand. “Clean up. We’re going shopping.”

--

           It’s not a terribly long walk to Queen’s Wharf, yet each step feels like an eternity. Your cuts have long stopped bleeding by the time you turn onto a familiar street, Namjoon constantly looking every which way like an underpaid guard dog.

           “Would you calm down for five minutes?” You finally grind out. “It’s fine. Nobody’s gonna jump two bloody losers wandering around at midday.”

           “Right. We look like we’ve already been mugged. All the good stuff’s gone,” he turns out his pockets mockingly, growing ever snarkier.

           “You’ve always been the bright one.”

           Each breath is steadily growing more labored, but you’re close now. Close enough that you can see the dark green door, looking even more shaky than how you remembered it.

           “Oh yeah? If I’m the bright one, then what’s everyone else?”

           You huff a laugh, the sound more a gasp for air than anything. “That’s a loaded question.” Namjoon waits expectantly, so you comply with a roll of your eyes. “You’re the bright one…Seokjin is the…” you pause, unable to catch your breath. Namjoon looks concerned, but you brush it off and keep walking. “He’s the misunderstood mad scientist type. Have you ever noticed how he acts strangely normal sometimes? It makes me wanna dig until I find the real Seokjin, you know?”

           Namjoon barks a laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be flattered to hear that.”

           “You tell him and you’re dead.” You’ve made it now, standing in front of the green door. The paint is chipping, as if revealing the layers of history hidden within. Fiddling with the bricks around the doorframe, you look for the right one. “Jimin is the infuriating one. Although I think…” your fingers scrape against the rough bricks, and something clicks in your brain. “If we’d met under different circumstances, we’d be closer.”

           A strained chuckle comes from the peanut section.

           “Yoongi is the bossy-pants. Which makes Hoseok the light at the end of the tunnel on most days. Both are reliable, and too good to be in this business.”

           The brick to the far left buckles, and you wince at you yank it out. Mortar and dust tumble to the sidewalk, making you hold your breath as you turn the brick in your hands. Something small and golden glints up at you, winking like a secret long kept.

           “It’s a key,” Namjoon observes. “…I don’t know why that was surprising to me.”

           Grabbing it, you twist it between your fingers and allow the familiar grooves to take you back. “C’mon.” Grabbing the rusted door handle, you slide the key into place and a moment later, the door creaks open like a crypt. Bracing yourself for the dust and abandoned state of the condemned apartment, you step inside.

           “What is this place?”

           There is dust, but not nearly as much as you expected. Perhaps the classic cobwebs and creaky floorboards are more Hollywood than you thought. Or maybe…

           “Home.” You turn to face Namjoon now, who stands silhouetted against the doorway. “Well, not anymore. But a place doesn’t stop being home just because you’ve left it, does it?” You run a fingertip along the wall that opens up into the kitchen, feeling the way it thrums with memories.

           It’s quiet as a church in here. Perhaps that’s why you and Namjoon only converse in low voices. He watches you more than the apartment, like he’s trying to understand what you mean when you tell him that this place is where everything began.

           “That’s Taehyung’s old room,” you gesture at the door, left open as if waiting for its resident to return after an afternoon out. “And this one’s mine.”

           Your door is open as well, allowing you to look inside the room that’s just as you left it. The sleeping bag is still there in the corner, probably host to plenty of dead insects and webs now. A few pictures are pinned to the wall, most of them stock photos that you thought livened up the place. Now you can see just how tacky they made the room look.

           “And Jungkook’s room?” Namjoon’s voice is full with an emotion that you choose not to register as you shrug.

           “He was more of a drifter. Sometimes he’d crash out on the couch, but for a little while he still lived with his family.”

           Namjoon looks surprised to hear that. “And they knew their son was a street rat?”

           It’s a sensitive subject, so much so that you have to remind you that Jungkook isn’t here. Although, you can’t fight the image of Jungkook, young and red-faced as he showed up at your apartment after his father kicked him out once he caught wind of what his son was doing to take care of his family.

           “No.”

           And that’s that.

           “So,” Namjoon ventures a couple of minutes later. You’ve made it back into the kitchen now, leaning against the counter and taking slow breaths. “What is it that we’re doing here?”

           “Grabbing a couple of things, and showering. Don’t wanna show up covered in blood back home, it’s not a good look for me.”

           Namjoon looks skeptical. “Is there running water here?”

           Turning, you flip on the faucet in the kitchen sink. It takes a few staggered seconds, but a moment later water begins to run. With a satisfied smile, you glance over your shoulder to Namjoon. The movement sends paralyzing pain through your chest again, and you freeze.

           “What’s wrong?” He lurches forward as if he could fight an invisible enemy on your behalf, but his hands come up empty. You wave him off, feigning a longsuffering smile.

           “Go. Shower. There should be a towel in the bathroom, still.”

           Reluctant but obedient, Namjoon looks like he has more question brimming under the surface but decides that now isn’t the time to push it. Padding off to the bathroom, you settle gingerly onto the only chair in the kitchen. While the couch is calling your name, you’re afraid that once you sink into it, you won’t be able to get up from it on your own.

           Your ribs must be bruised. Again. It triggers a surge of self-pity that washes over you as you survey the lonely kitchen. There’s too many memories here. They threaten to drown you, one by one. Yet you’re caught under the lingering pride that this place was yours, once. Still is. Your first real home. Perhaps that’s why you keep it, even know.

           Leaning back until your head rests against the wall, you let your eyes close and give in to the past.

           --

           Past

           Blackmailing your father into a certain amount of money was easier than you expected.

           A part of you thought he’d kill you. That certainly seemed easier than paying you off. Perhaps his conscience finally decided to wake up, or maybe he saw too much of himself in your young self. The way your chin jutted out even as it wobbled in fear, the way your eyes followed his every move when you showed up late that evening, slipping through his window like some sort of rogue Peter Pan.

           He’d sat up straight in bed, a book in hand that he’d fallen asleep reading. It seemed too normal, too domestic, until you realized that it was a binder filled with reports. Client information, projections, sensitive information that should have been stored somewhere safer than an end table.

           Then again, that had certainly come in handy for you once you calmy explained that you’d copied each and every page of the binder and were prepared to leak the information if you didn’t get what you wanted.

           “And what would that be?” Your father spat, as venomous as ever. He got like that when he was uncomfortable. Embarrassed, to see his teenage daughter had outsmarted him.

           “I want what everybody does,” you drawled, leaning against the wall. You never moved very far from the window, needing a quick escape plan. “Money.”

           He scoffed, but you both knew that he would give in. The only thing you weren’t betting on was making it out of there alive once he’d made his sweet promise. True, he was rarely the one to get his hands dirty. However, you doubted that he’d stay like that forever. His back was up against the wall, and he was one wrong move away from biting your head clean off.

           “For what? New clothes?”

           True, your clothes were raggedy. Hiding the hurt, you shrugged. “Among other things, yes.”

           Then, his eyes were set alight as if finally allowing himself to hope for something he’d scarcely thought of before. “You’re running away?”

           “You can’t run away when you didn’t have a home to run from in the first place, Dad.”

           He doesn’t even blink at the title, as if it never happened. The denial that you were his, that you were here, ran so deep that it pulsed through his veins. “How much?”

           “What?”

           “How much do you need?” He reiterates, sitting up a little straighter to reach his phone from off his nightstand. “I can do private transfers to your bank account on a yearly basis, for upkeep. Until you’re eighteen, of course. After that, I expect you to be completely independent.”

           Blood boiling, you spit out the number you’d carefully calculated. “$500,000.”

           He blanches, then scoffs. “C’mon. Be reasonable. You could live the high life on half of that-”

           “Therapy isn’t cheap,” you interrupt, crossing your arms. “Dad.”

           He brushes that statement aside at lightning speed. “You know I could just get rid of you another way, right?”

           “Yes.”

           “And still you demand all that money?”

           “Yes.”

           He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re not worth the trouble.” He brings his cell phone up to his ear, waiting for only a few seconds before mumbling, “Come here.”

           Despite knowing how this will play out, you can’t help the zip of fear that courses through your body. You’ve rarely been on the direct side of your father’s ire – your mother typically acting as a human shield between the two of you. Now, however…

           The bedroom door swings open without warning, and a single person strides through with more confidence than you could ever hope to muster in your short life. He’s young – perhaps no older than thirty, and still dressed in a silk black shirt despite the late hour.

           “Shylock,” you father addresses the newcomer, who stands at the foot of his bed awaiting instruction. “Meet my daughter. She’s posing to be more of a nuisance than I’d hoped. Would you mind?”

           Yadiel’s eyes meet your own as unspoken understanding passes between the two of you. One slender, inked hand slides into his back pocket to pull out a familiar handgun. “I don’t kill children.”

           “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

           Your eyes widen, turning to your father in shock. He doesn’t spare you a second glance, only glaring grumpily at Yadiel as though he were a child not getting his way.

           “I don’t kill children,” he repeats, enunciating the words. “Pay her off or something.”

           “What is with you people and-” your father stops midsentence, dead silent as Yadiel brandishes his weapon and points it directly at him.

           “You really want all of this to get out? How you can’t even deal with your own kid?” Yadiel speaks quietly, calmly. As if he’s done this a million times before. You straighten, walking over to him. “Transfer the money. Keep your mouth shut. And we won’t have any problems.”

           If only you’d brought a camera for this moment. Gaping like a fish and fumbling for his phone, you watch as your father types in the amount. As you walk around the room, observing the little trinkets, you notice something on the other nightstand.

           The one that used to belong to your mother.

           Yadiel, watching you despite holding your father at gunpoint, makes an interested noise. “Come here,” he gently commands, nodding at you when you turn to look at him. “Hold this.”

           Confused, you walk back over to him and bite back a groan when he places the gun in your hands. Standing at your back, he adjusts your posture until you’re holding it perfectly.

           “You move and she shoots,” Yadiel states before walking over to the nightstand and swiping up the small box.

           “Don’t touch those!” Your father shouts, agitated.

           “What, these?” Yadiel holds aloft the pearl earrings. “They’re very beautiful. Belonged to your late wife, I presume?” When your father remains silent, Yadiel snaps the box shut, causing you to jump. “I think I like them. Mind if I borrow them for a bit?”

           “They’re not yours to take!”

           Yadiel chuckles darkly, the sound filling the entire room as he stalks toward you with a devilish smirk. “Last I checked, they’re not yours to keep, Bianchi.” He takes the gun back, any sign of a smile erased as he returns his full attention to your father. “A yearly sum of $500,000, to be transferred at the beginning of each year. Does that sound correct?”

           You nod, hiding your hands behind your back as your fists shake. “Yes, that’s what we agreed upon.”

           “You know I’m the one paying you, not her-”

           “I’ll see you in the morning,” Yadiel says, turning on his heel. “Mention this exchange to anyone and I’ll be the last face you ever see.”

           Striding out of the room, you stumble after him, pausing for a brief moment in the doorway. Your father remains in bed, staring after you completely dumbfounded.

           Yet there’s something else you spot in his expression, simmering beneath his fury. A sliver of pride, perhaps.

           Pride, because Bianchi realizes that his daughter is just as backstabbing as he is.

           Yadiel takes your hand, pulling you down the hallway. It’s eerily quiet as you near the room you once called your own. The door is already open, an open duffel bag sitting on your bed and packed to the brim with clothes.

           “I took the liberty to start packing while you were in there having your chat,” Yadiel says breezily. It’s in moment like these that you can spot the hint of an accent that he tries so hard to hide. “He took longer to call than I thought. What’d you do?”

           You shrug, looking around the room for any valuables you want to keep. The options are rather scarce; you never were allowed to keep too many things. Grabbing a small photo from off your dresser, you toss it on the top of the clothes and zip up the bag.

           “Ready?” You ask, hitching the bag over your shoulder. Yadiel leans against the doorway, watching you with an amused expression. “What?”

           He shakes his head, dark eyes sparkling. You’ve thought it once before, but the thought comes again: he’s unnecessarily handsome. All tanned skin and muscles; it’s almost laughable. He’s capable of getting anything he wants, whether through charm or brutal force, and yet he’s here with you. Packing up your bags and sending you on your way.

           Then you remember what he wants from you: a way to the top. You’re his ticket to ride, and he needs you alive. It’s nothing more than that, of that much you’re sure.

           “You’re sure you want to stay on your own?” He asks too softly. It induces the illusion of him caring about you.

           It reminds you of a snake wrapping its prey in a loving embrace, tightening its hold until its sucked the air out of their lifeless body.

           You shoulder past him, heading for the nearest exit. “I’ll be fine.”

           “Ah, that’s right. I forgot all about your little friend.”

           Hair standing up on end, your heart races as you wonder how he knows about Taehyung. The Italian boy had come to stay with you less two weeks prior, holing up in the dingy apartment you used your savings to rent.

           “What was his name again?” Yadiel catches up to you, a finger tracing a line from your shoulder to your wrist before he takes it in an iron-clad grip. “Jungkook, wasn’t it?”

           Jungkook.

           Your Jungkook.

           “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. Leave him alone.” You pull your wrist in vain, and Yadiel steps closer, looming over you with a dazzling smile that leaves your bones cold. “He isn’t involved in this life.”

           Eyebrows arching, Yadiel’s smile grows as he realizes that he knows something you don’t. “Don’t tell me – you actually bought his lies? How did he explain his injuries? He tripped down a flight of stairs or something?”

           Jungkook was a sweet boy. Too sweet – too good for this world that only offered pain. He offered an escape from the pain, one that was too enticing to pass up. “He’s a boxer,” you reply, although unconvincingly.

           Throwing his head back, Yadiel laughs. The sound is jarring, making you flinch as you automatically search the hallway for curious lackeys come to investigate. Nobody comes, and Yadiel uses his other hand to trace the line of your nose before gently bumping the tip. Your eyes squeeze shut, freezing.

           “You’re an adorable little fool, you know that?” He whispers lovingly. “He’s a street rat for the Dragon Clan. Oddly enough, he had no idea who you were when I asked him.”

           “Leave him alone!” You grind out, pushing and pulling, trying to break free. Your duffel bag has begun to dig into your shoulder, leaving a dull pain in its wake.

           “You know what, I don’t think I will. So – settle down, darling.” He pushes your back against the wall. “Two options: first, I dispose of him. I’d rather not have an outsider polluting you.” He’s too close, dipping down until his face is level with yours. Yadiel’s eyes take their time, languidly looking over your form. “Or, you could recruit him. Word on the street is that he’s formidable, but underpaid. It should be fairly easy to take him.”

           He suddenly straightens, and you gasp for air as if you’d been drowning. Yadiel’s smile is back, entirely serene as he fixes the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

           “Oh, and before you go,” he continues, slipping something out of his pocket. You tense, expecting to see a gun but instead spotting the box from earlier. “Here. For you.”

           You stare up at him then back down at the box containing your mother’s pearl earrings. She wore them nearly every day, insisting that she didn’t need any others. She was like that – minimalistic. You thought she was simply frugal, but after she showed you the savings account she’d set up for you, you realized that she’d been funneling everything dollar she could get into that account for years.

           There was nothing left for herself. Almost as if she’d always known that you’d be the only one to make it out alive.

           Yadiel grows impatient, grabbing your hand and placing the box into your palm. “Think of it as a gift.”

           The earrings sear your palm as if they were a living entity, but you pop open the box anyway to gaze at the familiar pearls. Gaze filling with tears, you look up to offer a strangled thank you, but Yadiel is already gone.

--

           “Not gonna lie, I was totally expecting cold water.”

           You open one eye a bit reluctantly as Namjoon walks into the kitchen, hair dripping onto a plain white t-shirt. It must have been one of Taehyung’s that he left behind, one of his oversized ones that fits a little more snugly on Namjoon.

           “Did you use up all the hot water?” You ask accusingly, stretching before curling in on yourself again as the pain returns tenfold. Namjoon lurches forward, crouching down in front of you before you can wave him off.

           He sets the towel on the table, hands lighting on your sides where you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. “Where does it hurt?”

           You can hardly bring yourself to speak, but when you do, it’s nothing more than a strained whisper. “Ribs.”

           Namjoon leaps to his feet, swinging open the freezer. He lets out a triumphant holler when he produces an ice tray. “You want to ice it now or later?”

           “Give me ten minutes,” you pant, clambering to your feet and waddling toward the bathroom. It’s still steamy in there, and you pray that you don’t somehow slip and fall.

           “You good?” Namjoon trails after you, clearly concerned. “Do you need help?”

           Mustering all the swagger you can manage, (which amounts to approximately two teaspoons, but you ignore that fact), you give Namjoon your best smirk over your shoulder. “Well, since you offered…”

           He doesn’t even flinch, completely oblivious. “Here, I’ll turn on the shower so you don’t have to bend over.” Scooting around you, he fixes the shower curtain and turns on the water. You watch, dumbfounded as he turns around with a smile.

           “Uh…”

           “What else? I hung up another towel…” he looks around, checking everything. “There’s a really old bar of soap in there that you can use, too. Probably good idea to clean out your cuts.”

           “Right.” You stare at each other, Namjoon completely comfortable while you try not to laugh. “Could you, uh, help me with my shoes?”

           “Take a seat.”

           You sit gingerly on the toilet while Namjoon kneels in front of you. He makes quick work of your shoes, even going so far as to peel your socks off as well. When he looks up to make sure you’re alright, you see someone else in his stead.

           Judging from the way Namjoon looks at you, you know he’s seeing someone else, too.

           “Thanks, Namjoon.” You mumble. You both rise, smiling awkwardly at each other before Namjoon heads out. Once he closes the door behind him, you’re left alone with your thoughts.  

           It takes far too long to get rid of the rest of your clothes, but you can’t help but sigh with relief once you’re in the shower. Finally feeling clean despite the ache, you allow yourself a moment to breathe before getting out again. There’s another t-shirt of Taehyung’s out here, a black one. It’s considerably easier to slip on and feels so nice against your skin that you can’t help but smile.

           Heading back out into the apartment, Namjoon perks up from where he sits on the sofa. He was reading a magazine, one that you don’t recognize. “Whatcha reading?”

           He shrugs, glancing at the cover. “Vanity Fair, September 2020.”

           You pause, frowning. “2020?”

           “Yeah.” Namjoon heads over to the kitchen, grabbing the ice and sticking it into a towel. “Here, for your ribs. Lay down for a bit, then we’ll head out.”

           Knowing better than to refuse him, you take the makeshift icepack with a smile and do as you’re told. “That’s odd, I haven’t been here for a while, and I don’t remember bringing any magazines with me.”

           “Did you have a subscription?” Namjoon asks, picking up the magazine again. “Oh, nope. It’s addressed to Taehyung.”

           Lifting up your head, you fix Namjoon with a confused stare. “It’s Tae’s?”

           “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. “See? It says it right here?”

           Sure enough, there’s the name and address for Kim Taehyung. Save for one thing. “That’s not our address.”

           Namjoon looks at it again. “It isn’t? Oh, you’re right.” He tosses the magazine over to you once you motion for it. “Then who’s is it?”

           You stare at the address for longer than necessary. You stare until it’s burned into your mind, until you’re burning with something you’ve never felt this strongly before.

           Heartbreak.

           “Hang on, I need to call Russo. Change of plans.”

           --

           You haven’t stolen a car in a while. It’s that detail, and the fact that unwinding the wire hanger you took from your closet at the apartment still feels as familiar as breathing, that causes you to worry.

           “How often have you done this before?” Namjoon asks, eyeing the street while you work your magic. If he’s worried, it’s because he’s wondering how on earth the two of you would manage to fight someone off in the condition you’re both in.

           “I don’t think it was too often…” you mumble, focusing while you stare at the lock of the car, wiggling the wire down a little further. “Although, I do remember that it was Tae’s idea the first time.”

Awkward silence follows as you swallow heavily. Namjoon eventually breaks it, right as you pop the lock. “Why would he have his name on it? Why not use a fake name?”

The door to the old Taurus squeaks as it opens, and you quickly set to work hotwiring it. “Don’t know,” you all but wheeze. “What if he always intended to get caught?” Your fingers shake while you work, betraying your anger.

“It’s a weird way to self-sabotage, if you ask me,” Namjoon says, watching you with obvious worry. “What were the odds that you’d come back and see the magazine? That you’d even make the connection?”

The car rumbles to life, and you waste no time hopping in. The action has you curling over, and Namjoon appears by your side with a disapproving expression. He holds out a hand, shaking his head and conveying the words easily enough. There’s no way I’m letting you drive after today.

Touché.

You’ve made it halfway around the hood of the car when a screech akin to a siren sounds off. It’s followed by a door slamming, and then a woman, perhaps twenty years your senior, appears outside of a neighboring apartment building.

“Sebastian!” She screams, already red in the face. “Sebastian! They’re taking the car again!”

Namjoon glares at you from his side of the car, standing at his full height. “Again?” He hisses.

“You!” The woman seethes, pointing one chubby finger your way. “I thought the Dragon Clan killed you off years ago!”

You hobble a little quicker even as the woman, who sports some short entirely too short for her and a t-shirt with a large tongue on it, bustles down the sidewalk toward you. “Hi, Mrs. Lang…”

“Stealing!” She shouts. “She’s stealing my car! Get away!”

Gesturing to Namjoon, you both dive in the car and slam the doors shut. “Drive!” You demand, watching in the side mirror as the woman is joined by a burly looking boy you assume is her son. He’s certainly hit puberty in the years you’ve been gone. As Namjoon hits the gas, you can spot the boy’s muscles under his wife beater the entire block until you turn out of view.

Namjoon doesn’t waste time, caught between sternness and laughter. “Again? You mean to tell me that not only are you some freak pro car stealer, but you used to target a middle-aged woman?”

“Taehyung did,” you explain, throwing your hands up in the air. “And besides, he’s probably the one that’s betrayed us, so direct your disappointment toward him, not me.”

Instinctively, you pull out your phone to distract you. There’s a couple of missed calls from everyone, and a handful of texts with varying levels of concern. You only open a couple of them, avoiding the ones from Yoongi as you know full well that he’s probably annoyed.

Jungkook: You’d better not be off doing stupid things without me.

            You snort at the familiarity with which he speaks to you. Of course he knows you’re off doing something stupid. But would he have it any other way? No, probably not. Granted, you know that he’s using humor to cover up his worry. But you couldn’t bring him along for fear of him being in on this betrayal. 

Seokjin: Call me if you need backup. Actually, call me regardless. If Yoongi says one more thing about sleuthing I’ll have no choice but to kill him.

The text manages to bring half a smile to your face as you can only imagine Seokjin’s joy at having to obey Yoongi’s every command. You read the text to Namjoon, who shakes his head in amusement.

“Speaking of which, what are we supposed to tell the others when we get back?” You’ve been gone all day, there’s no way you could show up now without an explanation.

“We’ll maintain the element of surprise for now. I don’t think he was intending to get caught.”

“Yet.”

Your jaw sets as you gaze out the window, and despite the ache in your chest, you feel as if your skin in hardening. Like a living diamond, you force yourself to become cold and unbreakable.

Untouchable.

“Right,” you say, staring at yourself in the sideview mirror. “Yet.”

--

That word, yet, seems to loom over your head as Namjoon parks the stolen car just outside the house. Your ears are buzzing as you look up at the house, noting just how still everything appears.

Like the sitting in the eye of the hurricane, you brace yourself for what might happen once you step out into the storm.

“You’re sure this is a good idea?” Namjoon asks, already unbuckling his seatbelt but waiting for your response before he opens the door. This beat up little Taurus like a bubble of safety, the last place you can speak without worrying about being overheard. From now on, you’ll be dealing in shadows and whispers.

“No, not really.”

There’s a half smile on Namjoon’s face as you both exit the car. “Good. I’d be worried if you were too confident in it.”

You’re tempted to throw something at him, but the thought of that kind of movement sends phantom pain through your ribs and lungs. Instead, you settle for rolling your eyes and trudge up the front steps. The front door seems to vibrate, barely withholding all of the secrets its keeping within the walls of the house.

“Right behind you,” Namjoon says encouragingly.

Mustering as deep a breath as you can bear, you open the door.

It’s like you released the entirety of the ocean on top of your head.

“Keep her name out of your mouth!” Jungkook roars from somewhere within the depths of the house. In an instant your legs are moving, drawing you closer toward the noise.

Seokjin can be heard amidst the din, ushering a low warning. “Back up, Jungkook. The last thing we need today is another murder.”

They’re in the kitchen. And by all, you mean everyone. Scattered throughout the room, Yoongi and Hoseok have taken it upon themselves to stand on either side of the island, blocking Taehyung between them.

Jungkook is shaking with barely restrained fury on the other side of the room, near the table. Jimin stays close to him, ready to intervene should Jungkook decide to try to clear the island to get his hands around Taehyung’s throat.

“You always were too sensitive to take the truth,” Taehyung sneers, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. “Too soft to see that you’re nothing more than a pity case.”

“Let go of me!” Jungkook yells, and you notice that Jimin has a hold on him. He points an accusing finger across the room to Taehyung. “Touch her again, and I’ll-”

Taehyung’s soft laugh feels like ice, lodging itself into your skin. “And you’ll what, Kook? Kill me? How do you plan on explaining that to the capa? She needs me. Wants me.” Taehyung looks Jungkook over with a disapproving eye, as though he were nothing more than spoiled meat. “I don’t expect you to understand what that feels like.”

Hoseok finally sees you standing in the shadow of the doorway, and you notice now that he looks absolutely exhausted. “That’s enough, Taehyung. Go clean yourself up.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re in charge here. None of you are, and it’s driving you mad to live like a pack of dogs waiting for scraps from their master.”

You meet eyes with Namjoon over your shoulder, sharing a silent conversation. He’s trying to tear us all apart. It’s high time you intervene, but before you can speak, Jungkook lunges.

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him in action; you’d forgotten how quickly he can move. He springs into action, clearing the island in one easy move and connecting with Taehyung’s chest in a way that makes your own injury scream out.

“Look at me!” Jungkook furiously yells, pushing Taehyung up against the oven. The knobs dig into his lower back, but he doesn’t let the pain show. “Look at me and tell me that you’d never hurt her!”

You stumble into the room, propelled by your own anger at the events of the past twelve hours. The past few weeks.

The past twenty years.

“You’re nothing but a liar. A two-faced coward!” Jungkook holds fistfuls of Taehyung shirt, the fine silk wrinkled from the outburst.

“You want to talk to me about cowardice?” Taehyung murmurs, eyes roving Jungkook’s face with a level of intimacy that only someone who’s known someone through the darkest moments of their life can. “Talk to me about that night, Kook. The night when you allowed Yadiel to mark her forever.”

Taehyung’s taunting chuckle is cut short as he catches sight of you over Jungkook’s shoulder. The action makes everyone else notice you, except for Jungkook. Like a lion chasing a gazelle, he has his prey in sight and won’t turn away from it easily.

“Capa,” Taehyung whispers, fingers twitching.

And it’s there. There, in the way his eyes shutter, struggling to bring the Taehyung you know back to the surface. The mask, so familiar that you think you could craft it from memory alone, slips onto his face.

It’s as if you can hear a lock audibly turning by the way he shifts into character. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears as a conversation that feels decades old runs laps in your mind.

“I didn’t change, capa. You did.”

Kim Taehyung didn’t change, you realize as your feet propel you forward. All these years, he’s only ever worn a mask.

Your hands are outstretched as if you could pry it from his face, reveal the boy that’s hidden under there all along. A boy whose loyalties never changed.

A boy who was never yours in the first place.

In the single breath you take, you shove past Yoongi and collide into Jungkook, crying out in pain and heartbreak upon impact.

“Wha- wait!” Jungkook cries out as you bring an elbow down hard on his pressure point, staggering him. He raises his arms, not wanting to strike you.

You use his affection to your advantage, stepping in close. It’s all a blur, a matter of milliseconds as your nose grazes along his jaw in time with your heel colliding with the back of his knee.

Jungkook drops heavily to one knee, and before he can get back on his feet, you round on Taehyung.

The Italian regards you with a wary expression, but doesn’t flinch as you throw your arms around him. Practically collapsing against his sturdy form, you bite back a whimper as your chest seizes up with sharp pain.

For once, the pain helps as it makes summoning the tears so much easier.

“I thought you were dead,” you blubber into Taehyung’s neck, pushing aside the way his arms don’t instinctively wrap around you like they used to. The action feels forced, but he plays the part convincingly enough. “They s-said you were dead!”

The room is deathly still, although the air buzzes with tension. Jungkook is still panting, remaining kneeling as if stunned into paralysis. You struggle not to freeze up as Taehyung gently rubs your back, knowing that you’re in full view of everyone in the room.

“What’re you going on about now?” Taehyung murmurs lovingly, slowly pulling you out from the crook of his neck to get a good look at you. “Is everything alright?”

“I can’t stand to have you h-hurt – any of you,” you quickly add, forcing yourself to dive into the well of Taehyung’s eyes. The water there is poison, poison that you’ve been slowly drinking over the course of the years. “He said he killed you and-”

“Who?” Comes a sturdy voice, and you turn to see Seokjin. He’s looking at you while the others stare at Namjoon, trying to garner a response from him. True to his word, Namjoon remains stoic, offering nothing.

You’re looking at Seokjin, but you’re waiting for Taehyung. Waiting for any sort of unspoken cue that it’s alright to share this information, that you can trust them all.

It comes in the form of Taehyung pulling you tighter against him, offering the security of his arms. You return your wide-eyed gaze to him, accidentally flinching as he brushes a tear from your cheek.

“It’s ok, capa,” he whispers, the title nothing more than a mocking crown. For all the world, he looks as if he pities you and your fragile state. “Tell us.”

Us.

“Yadiel’s men. T-they ambushed us on the road, wrecked our car. I thought they were going to kill us, but…”

You look to Namjoon for help, and he picks it up flawlessly. “They were defects, like Ortega. Angry and afraid. Cowards,” he spits out. You quickly look around the room, pleased to see everyone drinking in every word.

Everyone, save for Seokjin. He leans up against the island, his fleeting glance catching your eye. You see the question there, the one that you can’t answer for fear of being found out. You drop his gaze just as quickly as you held it, returning your attention to Namjoon.

“They’re sick, trying to leave with a bang, I suppose,” Namjoon continues. “And they claimed that while we were out, they’d infiltrated the house.”

Yoongi frowns. “So they told you that they’d killed Taehyung?”

Namjoon looks sheepish as he answers, like he just connected the dots. “Well…now that I think about it, they were very obviously bluffing. Said they broke into the house, and, well…”

You groan, covering your face. “The first name out of my mouth was Taehyung.”

It works like magic. Taehyung lets out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, one that you wouldn’t be able to pick up if you hadn’t been pushed up so close against him. He curls into you slightly, the tension in his shoulders disappearing as he grows comfortable.

You’re a hawk, trained to believe you’re a songbird. And now he has you, trapped in the cage of his arms, singing whichever tune he chooses.

“Naturally,” Jungkook hisses, finally rising to his feet.

“They used that against you,” Yoongi says, eying Jungkook to make sure he won’t launch another attack. Jimin edges closer, but you all know that Jungkook won’t make a move that could harm you.

You’re like a human shield for Taehyung.

“Yes,” you admit, looking down. Noticing Taehyung’s arms around you, you edge away, embarrassed by your obvious preference for the dark-haired boy. He lets go reluctantly, not wanting to see you go too far. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Are you alright?” Seokjin asks gingerly. “You were in a car crash. There’s no way you walked away without a scratch.”

The sigh of relief you let out isn’t an act. Leave it to Seokjin to offer you a perfect way out. Glancing at Namjoon, he offers you an imperceptible nod.

“Now that you mention it…” you shake your head, squinting at Seokjin. “But we need to discuss Ortega.”

To your heart’s demise, it’s Jungkook who speaks up. “That can wait. You come first. Go let Seokjin take a look at you.”

It’s hard to look back at Jungkook, but when you do, you see that he’s avoiding your stare. He looks down at your shoes, jaw set while the fire in his eyes has yet to subside. “Jungkook…” you start, regretting the way you’ve made him feel.

But he shakes his head, turning on his heel. You watch him leave, fighting the urge to call out to him and explain it all right this moment.

Soon.

“Go on,” Taehyung quietly urges, an adoring look in his eyes that glows with practiced ease. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

You nod, and the way you grimace as you step toward Seokjin. The two of you make slow progress out of the kitchen, and by the time you get near the doorway Jimin has already left to check on Jungkook. Yoongi and Hoseok remain behind with Taehyung, standing as stoic sentinels. Yoongi reeks of distrust as he eyes Taehyung, but the latter appears not to notice as he watches you with an absolute look in his eyes.

As you pass Namjoon, you hold onto his shoulder for support as you slide past. Just before you let go, you slide your hand down, tapping your finger twice against his shoulder blade.

           He clears his throat twice in return, receiving the message.

Initiate phase two.

--

           It takes an eternity to make it down the hallway to Seokjin’s room. He’s oddly reserved as he closes the door behind you, leading you to the bathroom with a hand to your elbow. And it’s that gentle touch, that welcomed hand, that has you fighting back the tears that threaten to break through to the surface.

           The bathroom door closes behind you. Seokjin holds a hand up to his lips, and you remain silent as he reaches over and turns on the shower, effectively creating a shield in which the both of you can speak freely without being overheard. Then, he comes close, bringing his mouth to your ear.

           “Brava,” the warmth of his breath curves over the shell of your ear, and you find yourself leaning closer. “Tell me, are you intending on keeping up the lie around me, too?”

           You blink, and the weight that lifts off your shoulder upon realizing that someone else knows the truth leaves you lightheaded. “How did you know?”

           Seokjin pulls back now, and he smiles softly at you. “When you live in a web of lies, you can’t help but watch for spiders. And Taehyung…” he shakes his head, “has always looked at you like you were his next meal.”

           A shudder runs through you. “I see.”

           “Why don’t you explain whatever plan it is that you’ve got stored up there,” Seokjin taps your forehead, making you smile softly. “While I check you out. No. While I look at you.” He winces, stepping back. “Just tell me where it hurts.”

           You croak a laugh, placing a hand on your chest. “My ribs. I think I might have bruised them.” Again, you add in your mind.

           Seokjin frowns, and you can’t tell if the pink in his cheeks is from the steam of the shower or embarrassment. “Ok. Take your shirt off.”

           Coughing and immediately regretting it, you shake your head. “No way. You’re not even a real doctor!”

           “Yeah, well, I’m the next best thing, so off it goes.”

           “You just want to see my bra.”

           Eyebrows shooting up, Seokjin fights against a grin. “I’ll have you know that I’ve seen plenty of bras; yours won’t phase me.”

           “Should I feel offended by that? I feel offended.” You fiddle with the hem of your shirt – Taehyung’s old shirt – inching it up little by little. Seokjin, to his credit, keeps his eyes on your face. “How many bras are we talking here?”

           It’s ridiculous, to be sitting here talking about bras and bruised ribs at a time like this. But you cling to this moment. It’s the only escape you have at the moment.

           Seokjin inches closer, fingertips close enough to your exposed midriff that if feels like charged electricity as they hover just above the surface. His eyes drop to his hands, scoffing softly.

           “Not as many as you probably think,” he quietly confesses. “Now hurry, before I lose my nerve.”

           His words make you feel more comfortable, and you take a deep breath and pull the shirt off as quickly as your injury will allow. Seokjin inhales sharply, face turning an impressive shade of red before making quick work of checking your chest. He asks you where it hurts the worst and little more about the nature of the crash.

           In hushed tones, you tell him everything. The meeting with Russo, the crash that you caused, how you stole Mrs. Lang’s car.

           “It was an accident; I didn’t realize it was hers!” You protest when Seokjin rolls his eyes at you.

           “Here, put some of this ointment on,” he instructs, handing you a small container. You do as you’re told, laughing to yourself when he turns away and begins carelessly looking through a cabinet for something you know he doesn’t need.

           Once you’ve finished applying the ointment, you slide your shirt back on. Like some invisible timer has gone off, Seokjin turns around, looking infinitely more comfortable now that you’re fully clothed again.

           “Keep the ointment,” he instructs, coming over and handing you a bottle of painkillers. “And take these, too. It’ll help if you take some after breakfast and again after dinner if you’re in pain.”

           “Thank you.”

           Seokjin opens his mouth as if he plans to say something else, his eyes suddenly serious, but stops when a knock sounds at the door. It’s quickly followed by someone clearing their throat twice.

           “Duty calls,” you say, the words coming out a little choked. Seokjin nods, but his hand flies to your wrist when you move toward the door. “What?”

           When he speaks, you see a piece of him that he’s only shown you once before, while you sobbed in his arms after your father’s murder. His brown eyes are impossibly warm, regarding you with a sense of wonder.

           “Promise me that whatever happens…” the words fade out even as his entire being screams out the worry that he has for you. “…that you’ll stop stealing poor old lady’s cars.”

           Your chest doesn’t hurt so bad when you laugh. “Ok. Whatever you say, Jin.”

           He drops your wrist, turning off the shower as you go to the door. You hesitate, and in that moment he speaks up again. 

His voice is low, but the words come easily. As if he’s been thinking it for a long time and they’re dying to be let out.

           “Next time you cry, I want you to know that I keep a spare key to my room under the vase in the study.”

           Turning, you see that he has his back to you, still facing the shower. “You lock your door at night?”

           “…yes.”

           Suddenly, the fact that he shared the location of his spare key with you seems infinitely more important. It makes the next words you say seem easy. “My door is always open. If you…need anything.”

           Nodding more to yourself than anything, you turn back toward the door, anxious to open it and get out of this stifling heat. The steam from the shower has covered up the mirror, not allowing you a good look at your own face to check that you don’t look as dazed as you feel.

           On second thought, maybe that’s a good thing.

           Namjoon stands outside, one arm around a sullen-looking Jungkook. Jimin sifts through Seokjin’s bookcase, looking up at you with a solemn expression as you exit the bathroom.

           “Hey,” you greet them weakly.

           “How’re you holding up?” Jimin asks, shooting an anxious glance in Jungkook’s direction. “Feeling alright?”

           “Much better, now.” He nods, satisfied with the answer. Jungkook doesn’t say a word on the bed, looking away even as he blushes. No doubt he’s hurt after what you did in the kitchen. Gingerly kneeling in front of where he sits on the bed, you keep a careful distance between the two of you.

           “Jungkook,” you sound small as you say his name, the weight of it threatening to crush you. “I need your help.”

           He slowly looks at you, exhaustion coloring his features. “Nobody asked you to pick a side.”

           His quiet words shoot straight through you, making you wince. “I know, Jungkook.” There’s a million questions rolling around his brain right now, you can see them. Hoping to answer at least one, you slowly reach out a hand until its resting upon his knee. He looks down at it sullenly. “Jungkook, I’ll never ask anything of you again, I swear. Just this one last thing. And then, I swear you’re free to leave.”

           He looks at you as if you’ve struck him. “Leave?” His voice is heavy with emotion; Jungkook always was the worst at hiding his feelings. “How could I ever leave the only home I’ve ever had?”

           “Jungkook, listen to me. I’m not picking a side, and I’m not forcing you to leave. I’m only asking you to do one more favor for me.”

           Swallowing heavily, he nods. “What is it?”

           Has he always looked so young? The way his hair tumbles into his eyes makes him appear as innocent as a child, looking at you with that same reserved devotion he’s only ever kept for you. It makes the knots in your stomach reappear with new enthusiasm, because for the first time, you realize that maybe something isn’t right here.

           You realize that Jungkook deserves so much more than this.

           “We need to pay a visit to an old friend.”

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[badboyfriends]

Bets Against The Void (Whitelist AU)

Well.. I DID IT. This is only chapter 1. I planned on this being a one-shot, but if it was, it would take me so long to finish it. So, chapters it is.

This is crossposted on AO3. I don’t exactly stand with a lot of what it’s doing, but it’s not particularly easy to find fics on Tumblr I feel..and I will never go back to Wattpad. Not again.

@petrichormeraki Whitelist AU fic :)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

They had just left the server to practice for MCC, that was all. Wilbur would be so proud, the two youngest would be sure, if they managed to win one. For Tommy, it would be his first win not aided by his  (Troubled, distrustful, anarchist-)  family, and Tubbo’s first-ever. 

Teams for the next MCC had yet to be announced, but it hadn’t mattered. Tommy had been invited back to every competition since MCC 2, after all- and the competition had already become accommodating to Tubbo, following the..Circumstances, of The Festival. 

The admins hosting the event were concerned, following the events they’d hear of about their server. They hadn’t known much; no one outside their world, really did. But, well..When asked about the status of Wilbur, and if he’d attend- the silence and reaction of the residents of his world were telling.

Barely a handful of players were at the server, practicing. It was calming, for the teenagers. The two had primarily stuck together, as they tended to do after the Pogtopia-Manburg war. The siblings were back together again. And they had each other- they trusted each other, unquestionably. Something more than they could say about anyone else.

By the time they made it back to the world hub, they were already exhausted. The timezone of their server would be late, they were sure. Their arms ached, and legs wobbled with every step. They both felt as if they could fall down, anytime.

Tubbo’s arm was looped around Tommy’s, content to be in the presence of his best friend, without the responsibility of the world on either of their shoulders’. Other players had barely batted an eye at the two- it wasn’t uncommon for teenagers or children to server hop by themselves. Nor for someone passing through a world hub to have outlandish and otherworldly scars. For them to both be teenagers, and scarred so heavily- well, that was a different story.

Still, not a soul stopped them as the tall blond led his friend to a nearby empty portal. As they stood still, Tubbo instinctively released his arm from the boy. Tommy kept Tubbo grounded to him as he worked, talking idly to them and inquiring about build plans. As Tubbo talked, Tommy quickly fidgeted with his communication tablet.

The thin, hovering device was pressed against the large obsidian frame of an otherwise normal, unlit portal.  Pressing out of his inventory, which by mandatory was empty, Tommy opened his server list. The individually named servers popped up. 

Some servers were empty, others grayed out and unavailable, no longer tended to. Muscle memory brought him to Dream SMP.  The status of the server was buffering- it’s availability of connection unclear. It wasn’t unusual- not for world hubs filled with tens of thousands of players at any given time.

With their SMP selected, the portal flickered for a moment- sparks of neon green rippling within, before quickly fading. The whooshes and crackling of a portal being lit, before failing, caught Tubbo’s ears.

“Uh...Is- is the portal good? Did it light? Why does it feel like it’s uh- not?” They tilted his head to the side, towards Tommy. The blond paused for a moment, blinking in bewilderment with his brows furrowed. “No- no it’s not lit..Uh.. What the shit? Hold on, Tubbo-” he huffed, pulling his tablet off the obsidian wall with ease to inspect it.

Blue eyes squinted at the screen. At the edge of the selection for Dream SMP, was an error sign, much to Tommy’s slight horror. “Fucking..Shit-” he hissed, pressing the icon. “‘Server closed for maintence’- what the fuck!” The teen spat. That got a few heads turned him, at his shouts. Most continued walking, merely giving him a wary glance.

Tubbo’s mouth dropped, scrambling for words. “Wh- why? I- I mean, I guess it makes sense- the- the server’s been acting up, and stuff- but- with what noticed?” He squawked, fumbling with their own device. Gliding their hand over the graphics, each thing he touched was read aloud to him quietly in his comm systems.

While Tubbo worked on locating his own messages, Tommy already found his. He scoffed indignantly, his hand clenching at the frame of the tablet. “The chat system for the server’s down too! Holy shit, fucking- what? Were no one fucking prepared for if we all get knocked out of the server at once? What the fuck!” Slight panic edged into his angered words as he shouted.

“Guess not,” Tubbo shrugged, pushing his tablet away, already frustrated with it. “Did Dream send out any sort of alert, for this?” Tommy only scoffed. The brunnett was sure he was rolling his eyes, as well. “Yeah, with a three-minute fuckin’ notice!  Just told everyone to figure it out for themselves, while he fixed shit! What a lil bitch!”

Glares were most certainly being sent towards them by now, Tubbo was sure. Gently pressing himself against the visibly upset and angered boy, he looped their arms back together, reassuringly squeezing his hand.. “We should get out of the way. I’m sure other people are waiting, there’s nothing we can do.” The brunett resigned himself to being the level-headed one between them.

“We can’t just fucking stay here, Tubbo! We ain’t got shit to eat, or anything. It’s not exactly like we thought of packing shit for a few hours of practicing!” The boy protested. He had just gotten L’manburg back, finally, a place he and his Tubbo were okay.

After a moment of silence, Tubbo would speak up once more. “I started installing some more, uh..Hack clients-” “TUBBO WHAT THE SHIT!” “Please, I’d really like to not get in major trouble today.” They’d wince, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. The feeling of stares lingered on his back.

“I got a client that should let me into the world last opened on a portal- which, in this case, should be Dream’s server. So we can get on there and- “Call Dream a dick.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t think it’s dangerous, or unstable or anything to be there..I’m sure he and the rest of Dream Team are there.”

Walking back to the portal, guiding Tubbo back with him, Tommy unattached his own device from the frame. “Uh, want me to put yours on the portal? Or do you got it, Big Man?” The blond tilted his head towards the other boy expectantly.

Dipping their head in thought for a moment, Tubbo hummed. “You can do it. It’s all set up- besides I already turned my text-to-speech off, I was getting a headache from the voice.”  They decided, handing off his tablet to Tommy.

Within moments, Tommy had gotten it set up. Rather than having an individual server selected, the “Connect” button had been highlighted as seen as he reached his friend’s serverlist. 

A flurry of colors splashed within the portal, before settling on a distorting purple. Tommy squinted, glancing towards Tubbo. “That..Does not look like Dream’s server color.” Tubbo tilted his head curiously. “Well.. The site did say it could do that- It’s kinda just ripping the IP and plugging it in illigitmently- it’s incapable of displaying the correct resource, basically.” He played with his friend’s sleeve idly.

“..Fucking- alright, sure. Assuming this is safe- are you ready to hop in?” He pushed down any doubts. Really, nothing worse than what the two already lived through could happen. Tubbo grinned, nodding their head. And so, Tommy led the boy into the portal alongside him. Swirling particles filled his vision, as they flurried around the two- and then they were stumbling to the ground.

Tommy’s eyes shot opened- a dull, thudding pain in the back of his head, as he got his footing. Tubbo was doing the same, losing his hold on Tommy to lean against the portal frame to catch himself.  “...Well. Fuck.” Tommy hissed, rubbing his temple as he looked around the room.

The large portal behind them had dropped them into a large, pyramid-shaped room. The floor below them was sandy, greenery and bookshelves pressed against the walls. Tommy’s mouth dropped to the floor as he viewed ahead of him.

“W-What the fuck! What the shit these people- th-there’s just! Diamond armor!  On display - t-they have fucking elytras!  Holy fucking shit! ” He stammered out the words, his brows furrowed together in complete bewilderment.

“What? That’s insane!..This- this sounds like an ocean? Why can I hear water? Are we on an island?” Tubbo warily stepped, testing his footing.

Tommy instinctively reached back to grab his friend’s hand protectively, nodding vigorously. “I think we’re fuckin’ underwater, or some shit! There’s a water column, and- and the walls fuckin’ tilt, and then it’s all water and shit! The ceiling is just the ocean!”

..Descriptions never seemed to be Tommy’s strong suit. Nonetheless, Tubbo nodded along to the words, warily listening. All that could be heard was the crashing water overhead the water-bound structure. The boy shivered with unease at this.

“Are there any players? Did- did us joining get sent through the comm system, do you think?” Tubbo summoned his comm’s back to his hands, but Tommy must’ve already had his out. “Fuckin- i’m still connected to Dream’s. It didn’t give me the option to look at whoever the fuck’s this is. Tommy growled, uneasiness and anxiety gnawing at him.

 And then, there was a flash of light and particles. A man in a..Bee-themed, space/futuristic-Esque suit appears on the other side of the room. Another, far more mundane seeming man, manifested next to him.

The energy in the room shifted to something unfamiliar to the two teens. Tubbo shivered, desperately grasping tighter at Tommy. The blond boy had stood rigid, blue eyes cold and wary as he stared challengingly at the two strangers.

While the helmeted, bee-colored man visibly had plates of enchanted Netherite glittering on him, the human beside him was bare of any protection, defenses, or armor.   The teen didn’t know what to make of either of them.

Pacifyingly holding up a weaponless hand, the helmet man cleared his throat. “We weren’t particularly expecting visitors, or any surprise drop-ins this late to our season.” Their voice wasn’t accusatory, but it certainly edged on the skeptical side

From the yellow-tinted helmet, Tommy could barely make out a faint reflection of light in purple eyes. His throat felt full of vile, the blond boy practically growling as he held he pushed himself in front of Tubbo.

In retaliation, Tubbo gently shouldered the boy before poking out beside him, facing vaguely towards the man who spoke. “I’m sorry for him- this..This is an accident, uh, Sir.” They chuckled anxiously.

The helmeted man- who by now, Tommy had presumed was the admin- tilted his head. “While accidents aren’t necessarily uncommon on a server such as ours- one quite like this, so far into our progress certainly is.” The Southern fellow beside the bee-helmet man spoke up, his expression passive and at ease as he stared over the boys.

“You two don’t look like you’re here to give us issues- don’t you agree, X?” The helme-  X,  apparently- surveyed the two teenagers for a moment more, before nodding. “Good, then.” The human(?) smiled, dipping his head.

Tommy scoffed, glaring at the man.  “Where the fuck are we?” The blond’s eyes flickered between the two adults stood opposite of them. While the man remained unphased, glancing expectantly at X- said player took a step back, tilting their head.

“Well, considering there’s not really a way to  accidentally derp your way into here- I’d expect you’d know.” While X wasn’t unkind, his tone was expectant. Accusatory, maybe. 

Before Tommy could open his mouth to blabber and cover their asses, Tubbo put his arm out in front of the other. “It really was an..An accident- it wasn’t this server we were trying to get into- wherever we are.” He’d chuckle uneasily, shifting their weight. They weren’t sure what to make of their unknown surroundings.

“Our home-server seems to be down.. And- no one told us where to go,  so I said i knew a way we might be able to go back, and uh..It got us here.”  They’d finish, anxiety spiking as he was unable to gauge their reaction.

“Yeah- and we’re not gonna fuckin’ do shit. We don’t even know where the fuck we are. Just- leave us be!  Or send us back, or some shit-” “Alright, alright! Hey, we’re not fighting with you!” X would cut off Tommy, who’s blue eyes shot a cold glare to the slightly frazzled man.

The younger Brit couldn’t help but get amusement from the way the masked man was so visibly startled from his swears. “You two..Don’t particularly look in the condition to just.. stay in the World Hub. Do you have someplace else to go? How long have you been locked out?” 

Beside the apparent Admin, who had not-so-subtly manifested a transparent screen in front of him, the human looked in exasperated amusement at the helmeted fellow. “Forgetting something there, Shashwammy?” The Southern man spoke with fondness.

Before the admin could react, the man turned back towards the accidental intruders. “You’re in the wonderful world of hermits and crafting, my friends! Hermitcraft Seven, to be specific. I’m Joe, of the Hills variety- and this is my pal, Xisumavoid! Though he’ll likely go by just about anything you can think to call him.”

Tommy looked beside him at Tubbo for a moment, his brows pinched together as he quietly scoffed. This is gonna get really tiring if he talks like this all the time. The blond thought absentmindedly.

In the meantime, Tubbo himself was speechless- positively bursting at the seams. “Hermitcraft?! This is Hermitcraft? Oh, oh void I just broke into Hermitcraft-” They babbled for a moment, jittering as he attempted to compose himself. Tommy raised a brow, eyeing them. 

“You say that as if that means fuckin’ anything to me, Tubbo-”

“I. I’m so sorry, uh, Mr. Hills, Mr. Void!” Their voice cracked, as the words ran out of his mouth. “I swear this isn’t something we do on the regular, I’d never want to disrespect anyone, or any server- especially not Hermitcraft!” He’d continue, laughing anxiously. 

“I’m a huge fan of the work done here! Just, everything I’ve seen- uh, and, and heard, about the Hermits! Fu- frick. Uh. Sorry!”  Tubbo finished, practically panting. 

While Joe had seemed appreciative and amused, Tommy couldn’t get a read on Xisuma. Not that he particularly cared what either of them felt; he barely understood the meaning of the words from Tubbo, all that mattered was they weren’t about to belittle the other boy.

“Mr. Void.. That- that might be a new one-” The British admin had quietly chuckled easily, shaking his head. “No, no need for that. I’m Xisuma, or X. I’m glad you appreciate our work, the Hermits around here work non-stop. And we’d be glad to try and help you two, yes?”

“We don’t fuckin’ need help- We stay here, or we don’t. We don’t need pity or some shit. If you’re gonna get all fussy at the fuckin’ idea of us staying in the Worldhub, then just leave us be here, I guess. We don’t need anyone’s help or charity.” Tommy growled, his arms crossed stubbornly. He could hear Tubbo sharply inhale beside him, weakly nudging at his side.

The two inhabitants, Hermits, Tommy mused, seemingly shared a look for a moment. Tommy’s blue eyes were unyielding from them, as Tubbo’s quiet babble of scolding went through deaf ears.

Slowly nodding, the helmeted admin stepped back. “You two don’t have anywhere you could go?” He’d ask, hesitantly. Tommy glanced beside him, at the short, blinded boy. Blue from Ghostbur weakly stained his hands.

No one else outside of Dream SMP had learned about Wilbur’s fate, not yet. That certainly wasn’t a conversation either of them was willing to have yet, with anyone. Dream would be mad. Dream would be furious if word got out on the nature of his server. 

With that thought, Tommy tore his gaze away from his friend. The boy stared as close as he could to the Admin’s eyes, a challenging look in his hardened blue eyes. “Nowhere.”

Xisuma conceded, nodding. “Fine, then.” He agreed, his tone far softer than it had any right to be, from such an imposing figure. Tommy pondered for a moment if the Admin was taller than him. The possibility made Tommy feel all the more disdain towards him.

Tommy tilted his head, watching expectantly. “Well then? Can we just be- be fuckin’ left here, or some shit? We don’t need to be babysat.” “Tommy, please, don’t pick a fight here-” “Yeah, yeah, Tubbo..”

Xisuma winced, nodding. “Sure.. If you want to be left alone, that’s fine. There’s Elytras’ in the room behind us, and rockets in the chest. That’s the only way to get out, besides from the Nether. It should be linked to our Netherhub, so you shouldn’t have too big of a trouble, yeah?”

Tubbo hesitantly nodded, his grip tight around Tommy’s hand. “Alright, then.” Xisuma nodded, glancing towards Joe. Tommy had all but forgotten the man was there, the Southerner having been quietly observing them.  “Joe, you’re free to go, my friend.”

To Tommy’s perspective, Joe certainly seemed to have some reservations. Whether they were about leaving teenagers unattended or leaving strangers in their server, the blond wasn’t sure. Nonetheless, Joe accepted his fate, nodding breezily before enderpearling his way out of the spawn.

Xisuma turned back to the two, one final time. Tommy didn’t miss the way that Xisuma flinched at Tubbo’s large scars, nearly growling when he saw the admin’s reaction.

“You two have been competing in MCC.” That caught Tubbo, off-guard. The brunnett’s brows furrowed together, tilting his head. “Huh? How do you know that-”

“My Hermits have been competing there for a good while. I need to keep track of them all, I haven’t missed the team announcements.” Xisuma explained breezily, something akin to fondness in his tone. “The other Hermits said that they love MCC, and the other participants. And that they trust almost all of them- don’t take advantage of that, alright?”

Quietly scoffing, Tommy looked away. Beside him, Tubbo nodded. “We’ll try- thank you. For letting us stay here, just for now.”

Despite the situation, Tubbo couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy at the idea of being in a Hermitcraft world. He hadn’t been able to hear about, or see anything about their recent achievements in a long while.

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ll add you two to the communication connection. Most of the Hermits have a..Tendency of getting themselves in trouble, quite a bit. Don’t be alarmed if someone spawns, they’re almost never here long enough to be dragged in,” He spoke casually, easily. Tommy wondered for a moment what exactly their definition of trouble was.

“Someone will be here to check on you, soon. Don’t get yourselves hurt, please. We’re happy to help here.” He continued, glancing between the two. Tubbo fidgetted, nodding numbly, as he could practically hear Tommy roll his eyes beside him.

Quiet mechanical whirring buzzed as holographic, shimmering bee-like wings expanded behind him.  “Good, then.” Xisuma dipped his head, before familiar red-and-white rockets appeared in his hands.

Before Tommy could lung to cover Tubbo’s ears, Xisuma had already taken off. White particles were left behind him, but the expected boom never came, merely a small pop and smoke. The sight of them, nonetheless, couldn’t help but leave a bitter taste in Tommy’s mouth.

While Tubbo was visibly startled, cringing and nearly tumbling over, he didn’t feel his chest constricting the way it usually would, typically. They’d both consider it a win, for now. Tubbo fell over into Tommy’s arm, as his best friend pulled him into a side hug.

They both slid down against the wall. The conversation alone had taken out all remaining energy they had left in them. Tommy’s gaze surveyed his friend for a moment. “So,” He said pointedly, Tubbo lifting his head to face him.

“What the fuck was that, and what the hell is Hermitcraft?”

[makeste]

BnHA Vol. 29 Cover Reaction Post: Emergency Can't-Wait-Till-Tomorrow Edition

so thanks to reddit, which has a spoiler-free post dedicated to the volume 29 cover leak, I was able to check out the cover image without being spoiled for anything in tomorrow’s chapter. now, I knew chapter 285 was going to be in this volume, so I was expecting something Bakugou-centric from the get-go. I was not, however, expecting Horikoshi to launch a fucking grenade of feels at me without warning! but that’s just how the man rolls I guess.

anyway, the cover isn’t a spoiler for anyone who’s read up to chapter 285, but I’ll put the image and the rest of this post under a cut just in case.

rarely have I witnessed such a casually devastating flex of one man’s ability to annihilate an entire fandom with feels. simply brutal. set phasers to ‘curled up in a fetal position’

I cannot believe he chose this scene. this scene, again. I didn’t sign up to have my weaknesses so viciously exploited like this. oh wait but actually I did

imagine taking a dozen years to figure out that your best friend literally just wanted to help you and make sure that you were okay because he loves you, and that in response you were all “IS THIS THE ULTIMATE AFFRONT TO MY HONOR?” and spent the next decade wanting to kick his ass. smdh

and now imagine that the dumbass who did all of that is also your favorite character, like seriously he is your favorite SO MUCH, and his relationship with that other kid is also your favorite ever. so what does that say about you. congratulations, you stan the world’s most emotionally dense person!!

but also imagine how proud you would be of said emotionally dense dumbass for finally figuring it out though. jfkdk I need to hug him, STAND ASIDE

there is just. so much regret in this one image that it’s just insane to me?? look at his face??? just imagine how much he must be berating himself. “why couldn’t you have just accepted it when it really mattered. why did you have to go and ruin everything. he just wanted to help you.” ffff

and that’s ten years they can never get back. ten years of pain he caused. ten years he can never undo. look at him. he’s not four anymore. Deku is still a child in this image, but Katsuki is sixteen going on seventeen here. all grown up. because he can’t turn things back no matter what. he can’t undo it. the child Katsuki never accepted Deku’s hand. and now the almost-grown Katsuki wants to more than anything, but it’s too late. he can still take the almost-grown Deku’s hand! but this child Deku’s hand, it’s forever out of reach to him. this child Deku will grow up lonely and sad and hurting because of the person who should have been his friend. and Katsuki cannot take that back, and I cannot get over this, this is fully destroying me right now. jesus.

but there is also hope there! because there is growth! there is maturity! there is acceptance! he knows what he’s done. he’s trying to change. he’s trying to be a better person. and he’s trying to be a better person for Deku’s sake. flkdslkhl I am really out here letting myself be murdered by some cover artwork because I can’t stop being dramatic about it. wouldn’t choose any other way to go

no amount of words can begin to express the array of feels that I have over the fact that “Bakugou Katsuki: Rising” -- his moment of becoming a true hero, his moment of ascendance where we catch a glimpse of that person he is going to be someday -- is now forever linked to this image of him looking with regret at Deku’s hand. the two of them are just so... intertwined. Horikoshi never gave us that “you’re my image of saving” moment with Kacchan like he did with Deku and his image of victory, but it’s there all the same, isn’t it

basically what I’m trying to say here is that yet again, Deku is at the core of it. just like he’s at the core of every other fucking thing Katsuki ever does. this is my all-time dynamic folks. this here is what it’s all about. STEP ONE: “BAKUGOU KATSUKI: RISING.” STEP TWO: [PUTS DEKU ON THE COVER]. STEP THREE: PROFIT/UGLY CRYING

I’m almost mad that there wasn’t a scene like this in the actual manga now. I need Bones to make sure this makes it into the anime somehow. maybe in one of the opening or ending themes. but they gotta do it. make it happen

notice that for these really dramatic moments, Horikoshi is clearly aware that the grenade gauntlets are too ridiculous, and so he’s gotten rid of the one on Katsuki’s left hand for no reason. yeah that’s right, I see you there. just do it permanently you coward

and he’s not wearing the mask either for that matter. Horikoshi you clearly understand aesthetics then, so why?! such a fucking troll

Deku’s lil four-year-old cheek is so chubby... gotta pinch it. it’s a primal urge. wittle cheeks

he also needs a hug. fuck. it’ll be okay baby Deku. you’ve just gotta wait TEN WHOLE YEARS and then All Might will show up and it’ll all be good. nothing to worry about but all of your bones being broken and the League of Villains trying to murder you and all of your friends. :’) why did I start reading this manga again

anyway so this is ROUGH. I AM SWEPT UP IN IT. I AM DESPAIRING lmao. oh man. but it’s like... it’s a deep sorrow, but it’s also a good, cathartic sorrow as well. powerful, soul-cleansing feels. that’s the good stuff right there

anyway so I’m in ruins, but it’s nice. Crust gives this cover two thumbs up. bless

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Five - Consolation

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, grief, the aftermath of that death...all that Jazz! Plus a lil moment I’ve been fucking itching to include.

Chibs's breath was stuck in the middle of his throat, jutting thickly the more he thought about Opie cradling Donna's sallow cheeks as she bled out onto the gravel.

It'd cut deep, this one.

So many bodies he had bared witness to over the years. So many lives lost and souls snatched and whatever else right before his undaunted eyes--but nothing really hurt as much as that.

Because he knew what it was like. How it maimed a man. How it felt like his world was hurtling toward the chasms of hell during the moments after arriving at the scene and seeing his wife there. Dead.

Cold and dead and lonely. And completely gone.

Guilt resided, too. It was true tangible remorse for the simple proficiency of; that should've been me.

It happened with Diane--it happened to Chibs's wife, the mother of his kid, and the one true light in his life right after Isla. And it should've been him.

It was brutal, the way it happened tonight. It was fierce and heartless and Chibs knew in a flash that those bullets struck the wrong skull.

He couldn't bear the reverberation anymore, the gutturals from Piney's son who'd just lost his wife for no good reason during a drive-by in their quaint little town. The town that'd swelled wickedly with corruption these last few weeks.

Stahl was at the scene before he left. Looking pensive, actually. She looked guilty.

Chibs's basic instinct had landed the blame at her door--put the blood on her hands--but he kept his mouth shut for fear of what'd happen next. He didn't think that SAMCRO could handle this.

Because this wasn't a product of Mayan or Niner rivalry. He wasn't stupid--he knew that his President had something to do with this.

This was cultivated from the seeds sown by June Stahl, the pips planted so very deeply into the mind of Clay Morrow which forced him to believe that Opie Winston was a rat.

And he wasn't. He'd never sell his club out--no matter the damage, the pain inflicted upon him--and he'd never dream of pinning the fault on his brothers.

But he had to look a little bit closer to home if he wanted those answers. If he wanted to know just who sniped Donna--a completely innocent woman caught in the most ferocious of crossfires--he had to turn to someone that he knew was culpable of such activity.

Chibs's heart ached. It impaired him so very deeply that the only thing he could visualize on the ride back to Jax's house was her face.

Her face that dripped blood. Saturated crimson plagued his thoughts and forced his stomach to churn vociferously. He felt sick now.

He felt sick because Opie had lost his wife, Piney had lost a crucial member of his small family, and her kids had lost their mother. The woman that had worked so tirelessly to provide a life for them, to love and care for them unconditionally no matter what.

Opie was strong, he knew that--but he didn't know if he was strong enough to handle this. This crippling weight, this hurt and the idea of what could've been done differently.

Because so much could've happened to prevent this.

His tongue had become inoculated with bile, acrimonious ire for whoever the fuck was to blame for such unnecessary brutality--and, really, Chibs knew that he didn't have to look much further than Isla's favorite blue-eyed heathen this time.

And that broke his heart because of the pedestal she held that man upon. The pedestal she'd always held him atop, so fucking highly, too.

She knew that he was bad--an inherently bad human being--but he was just Tig. Her buddy. Clay's right hand that, really, he'd always count on. No matter what. And he'd always deliver the king's request, too.

Tig was the one that Isla called when her car broke down on the freeway and she needed to get home in time for Gemma's dinner.

The one she turned to for cheering up because he always knew how to crack a smile and get through to her.

The one that she strangely respected the most. Nobody really recognized what it was about that man that had Isla overjoyed when in his presence, she just was. And that was part of his charm.

But her father was anxious, now. Worried that she would take this news--if it came to light--badly. Because it was going to break her heart, regardless.

It was how she would handle it, which was the true hardship.

"Christ." Chibs's voice struggled to materialize, gesturing to his daughter passed out on Jax's couch. "How long's she been sleepin'?"

Mascara and eyeliner and whatever the fuck else she'd painted onto her face had started to melt away, trails of black and grey faintly running her cheeks.

"'Bout an hour." Gemma responded, sniffling back the putrid emotion she'd so obviously let flood the moments leading up to their arrival.

Jax's stomach was doing backflips at the thought of Isla crying herself to sleep in his living room--after everything that he'd put her through, too.

He feared that this was going to be the tip of the iceberg. That this was going to pulverize her sanity and compromise everything she had sought to fight off these last few days.

And he couldn't help but harbor those same suspicions as her father, either. Jax wanted to keep his mouth shut until he was certain that this was an inside job, but he was teetering toward that conclusion regardless.

It was the only viable explanation.

He, too, worried about what this would do to her. That finding out Tig was the potential culprit and reason why Opie's children were officially motherless.

"How's Ope?" She continued, already knowing the answer but asking anyway. Jax's head shook. "Oh."

"Not good, ma. But he's home now."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Yeah--I followed him back to make sure he got there in one piece. He wanted to leave the second the fuckin' ATF stormed in."

"Oh." Gem repeated herself, running her fingers through Isla's hair as she rested in her lap. "What about Clay? Where'd he get to?"

Chibs took a seat at one of the wooden chairs that'd been positioned around the coffee table, and Jax sank into the couch opposite the girls.

It was pitiful. Darkness enveloped them as Isla slept, innocently resting as the world shattered around her.

She wasn't oblivious to the happenings. She hadn't slept through it all, but she was done. Isla had been distant for days, had been fretting over the unimaginable and Gemma was worried that she was going to make herself sick if she continued the way that she was.

So she twisted her fingers and nails through the flowing waves of golden blonde, and soothed her the same way that she always did.

The same way that she found comfort as a kid.

He sighed. Exhausted. "Dunno. Last I saw he was with Tig."

"Aye." The Scot agreed with a nod, too. Hating the thought of Trager being responsible for something like this.

But it was merely a suspicion that Chibs hoped and prayed would get debunked sooner or later.

"Did he say anything?"

"Nah. He talked a little to Unser--seems to think it was a hit on Ope gone wrong--so, I guess they're gonna be lookin' into the Niners."

"Aye." Chibs spoke again, gesturing to Isla. "Did she say much when we left?"

"Not really--she just busied herself and cleaned up with Wendy. Seems like they're getting along now."

Jax smiled a bit, happy that his best friend and the mother of his child were starting to accept the presence of one another in Abel's life.

Truly, that's all he really wanted. That and his mother finally being able to turn the other cheek, and quit castigating his kid's mom.

"Did Clay leave before you?" Gemma asked, antsy. She was itching to get home, itching to see and comfort her husband because she knew that he was going to be fretting over this.

"I told you, the last I saw, he was with Tig. Dunno if he left after us, or if he's still there."

She looked away, smoothing her thumb over Isla's cheek.

"He'll be home soon--I should take off."

"Not on your own." Jax upheld, simply terrified of what could've happened to his mother had she left alone.

As far as Jax wanted her to know, this was bad blood between clubs. This was a hit put out on an innocent bystander because they knew it'd jolt SAMCRO--and it did.

It shook them to the very fucking core, jutting them repeatedly--mere moments away from crumbling and completely disintegrating into Harley Davidson dust.

And he really didn't want to admit that this was the work of his step-father and Alexander Trager. But he feared that was the only viable explanation.

"I'll--eh--I'll take her back." Chibs offered, getting up to ghost a hand over Isla's blushed cheek. "I was gonna take her home with me tonight, but I think she's better off stayin' put."

Jax agreed with a nod, smiling weakly at his mother. Though, she knew it was a coverup. A not-so-brilliant facade and attempt at showing that he was okay during this barbarous time.

"I don't wanna wake her." She mused, pushing strands of hair from her face. "She looks so damn peaceful."

Gemma hadn't a cozy moment with Isla for a while--not since she was recovering from a broken heart four summers ago.

The last time that she turned to Gemma--the same way she would as a child--for that motherly comfort.

"I know." The older man crouched to the ground, tracing faintly along her arm. Isla grumbled, slowly rousing. "C'mon petal, it's gettin' late."

He kept a hand against her, running this thumb over the freckled skin softly. Diane's crucifix caught his eye as she shifted, impairing him that little bit more tonight.

"What time is it?" She asked roughly, feeling a sting in her throat. Isla lifted herself off of Gemma's lap, rubbing at her eyes. "Is it late?"

"It's about one o'clock."

"Shit." Her hiss was sharp, galled that she'd been allowed to rest for so long whilst there was a literal wildfire sweeping its way through the club. "Ope--oh my god--Opie. Is he okay?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Jax was about to say before he even opened his mouth, and so tears ensued. Crystalline hues weeped and watered, and he was unsettled.

Unsettled because she was so strong in the face of such tragedy, rarely shedding any tears before an audience.

Unsettled because, up until the Kohn incident, Jax hadn't seen her cry since she was shot in the knee after three Mayans decidedly stormed the T M lot and strived to gun down each and every person on the premises.

He never forgave himself for that, actually. Because those bullets--though completely un-fatal and leaving a simple mark that, really, Isla referred to as her battle scars--should've been for him.

"He went home. To be with the kids." Jax cleared his throat, kneeling in front of her when Chibs got to his feet and gestured for Gemma. "He's--uh--he's in a bad way."

"Understandably." She mumbled. "Any ideas on who did this?"

Your favorite son.

"No. Clay thinks it might've been the Niners--shits been off since they decided to pull their fucking guns on us after the warehouse was raided."

"That was their rationale?"

"I guess so." He added. "It'd make sense. We lost their guns, so we lost a life--"

"But Donna." Isla argued, sitting upright. "Donna was innocent."

"We know that, love, but Laroy was probably under the impression that Ope was the one behind the wheel." Her father spoke over Jax, heeding his uncertainty. "It wasn't meant to be her."

Chibs had to blow his theory out of the water, firstly.

"A life is a life. To them, so long as they've got one of ours--someone close to us--they've succeeded with somethin'--"

"All they've succeeded with is leaving two kids without a fucking mother." Isla spat, throwing away the small blanket that Gemma had draped over her as she stood up. "And you've gotta stop being so fucking insensitive."

Jax stumbled backwards, watching her storm out of the room in her pretty little summer dress. He couldn't surmise whether following behind or leaving the woman to simmer alone, was the best idea.

It was a touchy subject, the loss of a parent. It was prickly and raw and it never ceased to strike Isla's heart. Because she understood.

She understood how much it hurt. The uncertainty of it all. Not knowing what to do next. How life changes more than what anyone ever prepares you for and, really, how nothing is ever the same again.

Isla knew it all too well. She'd been there, done that, and refused to go back. But with Chibs's life, his line of work, she was never granted that security.

And it wasn't particularly the security that she wanted, more so the knowledge of what--god forbid anything--would happen to her father. Because that's what bothered her the most about Diane.

She never knew anything about her mother's passing.

Jax got a pretty tight grip on the concept, too. But it was different with Isla--it was something she never quite grasped.

"A life is a life," Gemma mocked the insensitivity from the baffled Scotsman, shaking her head. "That wasn't just any life, Chibs. That was Opie's woman, the mother of his children, and one of Isla's oldest friends--she was family. She wasn't just a life."

His lips twitched before he exhaled sharply, knowing that she was right.

Knowing that his response was much too unsympathetic and heartless and, really, he was an idiot to forget how upset she got whenever something that pertained to the death of her mother was brought up.

"Your kid is grieving. She's grieving for Ope, for Piney, for Kenny and Ellie--for herself because this--" she gestured to nothing in particular, but he understood, "--is something she knows all too well, ain't it? Diane?"

"I know." Tersely, he responded. He pulled a hand through his hair. "I fuckin' know how she feels, but I didn't think she'd storm out when I said it!"

"Well, she's always been unpredictable."

"I know." His riposte was braided with anger, pure fury.

"Then why'd you say it?" Gemma jabbed. "Isla has been about six thousand miles away from us these last few days, and you thought that saying such a stupid thing wouldn't tip her over the edge?"

She was defensive of the blonde--always had been.

And Jax was sick of it.

Sick of the back-and-forth between the two. Sick of that holier than thou bullshit from Gemma--pretending that she wasn't thinking the same fucking thing--and sick of the way Chibs cared more to argue than to go after his daughter.

"Make sure Wendy stays if you two leave--I'm going."

"Where?" Chibs demanded.

But Jax just glared at him, stuffed his hands in both pockets, and walked straight out of the house.

It was cooler, now. The breeze had hit him square in the face the second he stepped over the threshold, and it was nice. To feel a little breeze that'd inevitably take the edge off of the lament sizzling away inside of him, was nice.

It was short lived, though. The second he realized that he couldn't see Isla--that she was completely out of sight--dragged him straight back down to earth, and the panic had set in.

He trusted her, of course he knew that she wasn't going to do anything stupid because she valued her life too much, and she wanted to do great things. So many great things.

But Jax also knew her too well. Well enough to know that the first place she would've thought about storming toward was the Clubhouse--the place that she'd find Tig.

And under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have rushed to get to her before she had a chance to get to T M. But the possibility of walking in and discerning Trager's inconsolable fury--his resentment and self-loathing--was much too great a risk for Jax to take.

He had to intercept.

He had to save her before she got the chance to set foot onto the property.

But, realistically, Jax was more than aware that Isla was probably already halfway there by now, and weaving through the unusual bustle of traffic in his small town just wasn't worth it.

"Shit." He growled, hopping onto his bike regardless. Saving a sliver of hope that he'd find her tonight.

He wasn't exactly optimistic, though. Because she'd already stormed four blocks.

Isla wrapped her cardigan tightly around her body--feeling the cold a bit more than what Jax had earlier--and hastily made her way downtown.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't fear the short walk toward the garage, but it was chilling. The thought of Donna's killer roaming freely, parading around that neighborhood, was daunting.

But she wasn't scared.

Or, at least, Isla wasn't scared until she heeded the red and blue flashing lights right in the middle of the intersection. The apparent murder scene.

Her heart sank, actually. The organ dropped to her stomach, pulsating slowly--barely--at the sight of Charming PD, CSI, and her. The group scattered, conversing, and speculating.

It was horrible. Sick.

She'd seen this before. She'd seen deaths and murders, and whatever came during the moments following. But she hasn't felt this way before.

The incapacitating throb. The discomfort and grief for such a horrendous--albeit freak--accident. And she wasn't stupid. She was as cognizant as her father and as empathetic as Jax, and she knew just as well as those two that this was not a purposeful attack.

Whether it was a consequence of Mayan or Niner misconduct, it was a wrongful onslaught that was about to cull an entire family. An entire charter.

If it hadn't already, that was.

She choked around the swell in her throat, padding along the sidewalk. She took her time, but she wasn't slow by any means. She had a place to be, and a specific person that she had to see--to talk to because she didn't know how to cope with this.

And it wasn't exactly her place to mourn for Donna. She hadn't been involved with her for some five years and she felt bad about the pair unable to rekindle their friendship. She felt bad about grieving the loss of Opie's wife--about taking the focus away from him.

But it hurt. It hurt so much--it sliced deeply, through flesh and tendon and bone--and she knew that Tig wouldn't judge her for this inveterate sorrow. He wouldn't see her as selfish or stupid for wanting to project her sincerities, her emotions.

Her heels clicked across the yard and she smiled a little bit when she passed Juice and Tig's bikes beside one another, letting her know that she wasn't going to be alone in there.

She was scared now, though. Because she hadn't talked about this yet. Hadn't talked about how she felt and how she was going to approach Opie the next time she saw him.

"Juice?" Isla squeaked from the doorway, waiting for him to turn around and run to her, or something. But he didn't move, didn't lift his head.

It was dreary inside. The lights had been dimmed, the men surrounding the tables and bar were downtrodden, and Isla felt as though she'd just walked through the gates of hell.

The vibrancy and boisterous nature of SAMCRO had come to a complete standstill, and she was actually yearning for the sleaze that usually enveloped the space.

Her sigh was defeated, forlorn. She sniffed as her nose ran, making her way to the bathroom to go and clean herself up--because she knew that she looked dreadful, and didn't want anybody to really see her that way.

"Is anyone in here?" She asked softly against the locked door, knowing that the answer was yes and that Tig was the occupant--but she persisted, anyway.

The mellifluous rhythm bled through the oak, jolting him still as blood poured from the gash in his head, and shattered glass surrounded his frame and the sink.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, glaring monotonously at himself in front of the mirror. Glaring at the fucking monster that was about to welcome Isla into open arms, comforting her because he knew that she'd need it.

"Yeah," He opened up, smiling down at her. "But I'm done, if you wanna--"

"What happened to you?" She put a hand against his chest, pushing him back into the room. Her brow furrowed when he didn't respond. "Tiggy?"

His entire body winced at Isla's soft touch. At the way her pink nails traced over the patch of skin on his chest, uncovered by his shirt--the shirt he was going to burn after tonight.

She gently gripped at his chin, turning his face to the right to get a better look at the incision on his left. Her eyes filled again, lips turned downward.

"Let me clean you up."

"You don't gotta--"

"I do." Isla cut him off, blinking away her tears. "If it doesn't get treated, it might get infected."

Like father, like daughter--always the first person to tend to an injury. She was so loving, so benevolent. Nothing like him, he thought.

Tig watched her maneuver around the tiny bathroom, admiring her desire to patch him up. To care for him and help make him feel better.

Not much would've helped at that moment, but she was trying her best.

"How'd you get over here?" He asked, leaning against the sink.

"I walked--"

"You walked?" Pissed, Tig spat. "Jesus fuck, Isla, you can't walk these parts alone, anymore."

She looked up at him from the spot she was crouched at, sifting through a small first-aid kit in the cabinet. "Who said I was alone?"

"Were you?" His eyes narrowed. She got to her feet, putting the small plastic box beside him, looking his face over a few times.

Her head shook. "Nope. Never alone with these thoughts."

Tig couldn't not chuckle at her response, but he was still worried about her. He didn't worry often--he was too selfish for that--but anything to do with his favorite blonde saw him panic like a madman.

"And the voices, too." She mused, breaking out into a genuine smile the first time all evening. "They always keep me real good company."

"Yeah?" Isla's head bobbed, cupping his chin again. "Me too--me 'n you don't seem to be too different after all, baby."

"Never said that we weren't." She poked her tongue out a little bit, surveying the damage. "Never said that we were the same, either."

"We're not the same." He confirmed, curling his hand around her wrist as she held an alcohol pad above his cut. "We are not the same, Isla."

Her head tilted, trying to discern what he meant. But she couldn't, and it caused an uncomfortable shiver to flicker down her spine.

"This might hurt." She whispered in an attempt to dissipate the small tension, gently running her thumb over his chin.

The other was--alongside her pointer finger--tapping the small antiseptic against the wound. She frowned the more he winced, though Tig's smile and hold on her wrist was still present.

"I like the pain."

"I know you do, Tiger." Isla joked. But she couldn't help wondering how the fuck he managed to do this to himself tonight.

Why he would do this to himself tonight.

"I don't wanna have to stitch your pretty face up," she pursed her lips and got him to hold the cotton in place.

"You think I got a pretty face?"

"The prettiest." Her retort was instantaneous, missing that usual glint of something resembling a joke.

She was serious--she wasn't engaging in that usual banter with him today. She was too run down for it, actually.

"Gonna have to give you a couple of butterfly stitches, if that's okay?" Isla looked up at him, holding out the small bandages with a smile. "It won't hurt. And they'll probably dissolve in, like, a week or so."

"Go for it. I love when you play nurse."

She lightly whacked at his chest, laughing as she got him to sit on the closed toilet lid to get a better reach. He wasn't tall, but neither was she. Isla needed him to lower his height if she wanted to successfully repair him.

The comfort, the aid and assistance had him forgetting about tonight--had her forgetting the real reason for her impromptu arrival to the clubhouse--but not forgetting about the newfound misery that encircled SAMCRO.

"You alright?" He asked when she hadn't made a movement, when her eyes seemed to focus on the shelves above the tank of the toilet. "I can do it myself, if you don't wanna--"

"I wanna." The smile she produced was fake--uncomfortable as tears rolled down perfectly blushed cheeks.

It broke his heart. Everything she was doing and saying--and even feeling because her pain was palpable--was breaking his heart and Tig felt like hell for doing this.

"I'm sorry," she stuck the first stitch to his forehead carefully, getting him to rip off the back of the second because her fingers were too shaky to get a solid grip.

"Don't be." He handed it to her. "It's been a tough night."

Her laugh was humorless, dull. "You can say that again, Tiggy."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She sent him an apologetic look, but he got it.

Isla trusted him with her life--for some reason--but she found it hard to open up sometimes. In regards to something this serious, she struggled to get a solid handle on her emotions and how to express them.

He understood her, though. Understood her well enough, her mannerisms and thought processes, and he just wondered if she felt like divulging her pain tonight.

She didn't, though. And Tig didn't particularly mind that. He didn't want to feel that twisted pang of regret, the vehement churn of his stomach whenever she said Donna's name--which she was yet to do, and she probably wouldn't at this point, either.

"I just wanna cry." She stated plainly, not even reluctantly anymore.

Like Gemma, he hadn't seen her cry for a long time. And it wasn't a nice visual, actually.

But he was supportive, and just wanted her to do anything that'd make her feel somewhat better--so he encouraged it.

Isla put everything down, gave his face the once over for the last time, and set herself on the tile with her back to the door.

"You wanna cry? Do it, baby. If it'll help, just do it." He assured, getting to the ground beside her. "I know you don't like doin' it in front of me, but I won't tell anyone, if that's what you want."

"You make me seem like a battle ax." Isla quipped, sniffling. "I don't care if anyone sees me cry--everyone knows that I do. It's just..."

"Showing vulnerability ain't a nice thought. I know."

God. She hated how well he understood her. How he knew what she was going to fucking say. All the time.

Tig wound an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Instinctively, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I get it." He stated mindlessly, pushing tousled blonde strands from her forehead. "But y'know you can always trust me, kid. I'll never tell anyone that you feel emotions--"

"I'm literally the most emotional person you all know." Isla protested weakly, hoping he didn't mind the feeling of her tears bleeding through his shirt.

He didn't.

"I just don't really like crying. It's not a true testament to my character--I'm supposed to be the happy one around these parts. The sickeningly optimistic Irish girl--"

"You can still be a crier, too."

"I know." She finally wrapped her arms around his middle as they sat together. "But people just don't take girls seriously when they cry. And I don't want my position here to be compromised, I guess. I don't want my dad, or Gemma, or Clay to think I can't handle being around the club anymore--because I can. And I always will."

"They wouldn't think different of you for that." He promised, rubbing circles over her shoulder the more he felt the navy cotton dampen. "This is a real tough thing, Isla, nobody is gonna chastise you for shedding a tear. They'd probably think different of you if you didn't cry."

"You think?"

He nodded.

"Crying shows that you got empathy and a heart. We all know your heart is bigger than..." Thick eyebrows crumpled together before he let out a little chuckle. "Bigger than Clay's ego. It's huge, your heart."

"Well, it's gotta be. If I wanna love all of you--warts 'n all--my heart has gotta be huge."

"Exactly," he drew out his response, earning a laugh and something reminiscent of an optimistic smile from her.

Trager never saw himself as the kind of man to make a girl smile or laugh after a little pep talk--after or before incredible sex, perhaps, but never as a result of his unusually comforting nature.

But he just had that effect on Isla--something she wasn't able to extrapolate verbally. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to comprehend, either.

"You've just gotta try not to make yourself too vulnerable, that's all, 'cuz people will get used to coddling you. And I know that's now what you want."

"That's what I mean." She frowned, pulling herself away a bit. "I don't wanna be seen as inferior for being able to cry about the things that you, or Gem, or dad, are able to keep a poker face over. I'm just...I'm just thin-skinned sometimes, and I'm yet to be desensitized to this stuff, I guess."

"You're not thin-skinned for crying tonight." He scolded, knowing that she didn't want to elucidate her thoughts about the happening, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Desensitization don't mean shit when you've lost someone you care about--it's always gonna hurt, sweetheart. Always. And there ain't nothing you can do to stop that."

He was the one with misty eyes, now. He was the one trying to bite back tears, trying to conceal the spread of his sadness--the uncomfortable soreness in his chest. In his heart that wasn't anywhere near as big and full as hers.

"You're never gonna grow immune to grief--I promise you'll always feel that. Whether you show it--how you show it--is another thing, though."

"You feel it?"

"Tonight?"

"In general."

She couldn't seem to recall the last time that she saw him cry--if she'd ever seen it, actually. Aside from this moment, of course.

Tears fell to the apples of his cheeks and she, without any reluctance, used the pad of her thumb to brush them away.

And he got it, now. The idea of showing vulnerability being a fucking liability. Because the pity washing over her soft, beautiful features made him feel fragile.

"All the time. All the fuckin' time."

"It really never goes away?"

"No." Tig sniffed harshly, forcing a smile. "But you learn to cope. You learn that it ain't the end of the world and that life just goes on after death."

"Profound." She chuckled once again. "That's some deep, deep shit, Tigger. Almost made me forget about how much I wanna hysterically break down."

"Do it. That'll make me feel better about my injury."

"Your self-inflicted injury." Isla stated knowingly, but she didn't clarify just what she meant.

Because it could've been an array of things, but he liked to think that she was just referring to his little forehead aperture.

"I like it. It makes you look badass." Isla held a hand out to Tig when he pulled himself upward, and she wanted to follow suit.

"Does it make me look hot, too?"

"Absolutely." Again, it wasn't laced in a tease. It was honest, and the small smile she produced was sincere. "Be careful with it, though. Try not to get it wet or anything, because it'll dissolve too soon--"

"I've had them before, y'know?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Isla rolled her eyes. "You're a super scary, malicious, calculating guy when you've gotta be. But I know that you're accident prone."

He curled his eyebrow upward. "Scary?"

"Totally. I've seen you hold a gun to a guy's head." A chill impaired her, frightening her. "Shits terrifying, Tig. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"You couldn't even if you tried."

"You think?" Her qualm was unexpected, almost challenging him as she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. "I think I could."

What's she playing at? She was sobbing two minutes ago.

Oh, I get it. This is her facade--actin' all care free, and shit.

Tig followed behind--every step--as she clicked along the wooden floor of the clubhouse.

"You couldn't. Trust me." He stated lowly, reaching for her hand when she stuttered a little.

Isla noticed her father next time Juice, drinking at the bar with their backs to the duo. She didn't want to see him, right now.

Talking to Chibs would've ignited whatever fucking fire inside of her that'd started to blaze out of control earlier tonight, and she'd worked hard to contain this inferno.

"What you can do, though, is turn your pretty little ass back around, and go get some rest in the dorm. It's been a long night."

She didn't refute, she didn't try to get out of it because she didn't want to. Isla couldn't bear the thought of waltzing past her father, talking to him about her tiny outburst, and resuming as normal.

Because she couldn't do that. Not tonight, anyway.

"Tig?"

"Uh huh." He responded, his eyes glued to the back of Juice's cut as he slammed yet another shot back.

Probably wondering what the fuck had gone down tonight.

"Can you stay with me?" Her retort forced his focus to land on her, and the defenselessness--sheer exposure--in her attitude.

It wasn't the simple fact of wanting to be alone.

She couldn't be alone. Not anymore.

Ringed fingers squeezed her hand reassuringly, guiding her into the back room, holding her close. Because that's what she really, truly wanted.

"'Course I can. Anything for you, Isla."

[cosmiccandydreamer]

Stability Chapter 14

*****The ending to Stability is here! Stay tuned for the ending in the finale coming "Tranquility" WARNING THIS CHAPTER DEALS WITH CHILD LOSS. Sorry if it's a spoiler, but I wanted to warn y'all. *******

"Wake the fuck up, you piece of shit!" Otis was jerked awake by the loud sound of Wydell screaming in his face and kicking the foundation under him. He adjusted his eyes and found to his horror and he was tied to a chair. They were back at the house in Ruggsville. Looking to his side, he saw his sister and Spaulding in the same situation. Wydell backed away from him, taking a massive swig from his whisky bottle before slamming it back down on the table.

The trio was tried on chairs and shown other pictures of the victims that they had recovered. This was a small amount that you could not shove in the trunk of your car as evidence. Wydell was in a drunken haze and rage. Vengeance had overtaken him; the idea that he was the hand of God sent here to cleanse the earth has consumed him. He held up a picture in front of Baby's face asking her if she remembers the girl in the picture; he then turns to show Otis, "not so attractive after we pulled her out of your little torture shack.” Otis laughed darkly " I tried that bitch to my bed for a month, busted her wide open.”

Wydell spits on the ground next to him in disgust. "Well, he's a little memento for your time together" " that bitch was mine," Baby spat out, "stupid whore" Wydell suddenly grabbed the staple gun he had placed on the floor next to the table and, to Otis and Spalding's horror, stapled it to Baby's stomach. The men exchanged looks of anger, panic, and worry. The love for their daughter and sister and the fact they were helpless to her pain was torture in itself. "Which one did you say you busted open again? This one, right?!" Wydell then grabbed the second photo stapling it to Otis's chest. The sharp pain shot thru him, and he grew angrier.

"Alright, alright, now that I got everyone's attention, I have one more picture to show y'all, and now I'ma need y'all to make sure you take a good look, and I mean a good look…" he took another swig off his whiskey and reached down to grab another picture. "Now I've been looking for this little lady, and now I hear she goes by the name Kitty driftwood, which is a dumbass name if you ask me, but her government name is ( y/n y/last name )."

He held up a picture of you taken at the hotel as you were loading up the car. Otis froze in his seat, and his palms become sweaty and hot. He swallowed as his throat became tight; you looked scared in the picture.. lost and alone. He did this to you, and he made you go on without him; he thought it was the right thing to do now, he's not sure. "Ringing any bells for all of you? Hmm"? Wydell asked, holding your picture in front of Baby and Spaulding. "I've never seen that bitch before," Baby spat. "I don't know who she is.” " What about you, Otis? She seems to be going by your last name.. any idea about why that would be?" Otis silently cursed you for being so casual with his last name. He was glad you didn't use your real name, but any association with them was problematic. "She might have been some Stockholm syndrome bitch who got away, I don't fucking know," Otis replied, trying to steady in his voice.. "you expect me to remember every whore that comes thru the door," he scoffed. Wydell chuckled. "I would expect you to remember your wife, Otis" Otis straightened himself a bit more, looking at Wydell in the eyes but not responding. His heart was racing now.. how much did he know about you.. "now see, at first, I thought she was just some poor soul that got turned around and was lucky enough to escape your freak show. That was until my men started to see her more and more with you clowns. And one of the men overhead her introduced herself as Kitty driftwood. I did some digging, and that's not who she is at all. She's the only survivor of the San Diego massacre. You may not remember it's been a long time, but she seems to have started a life of some sort out here after the death of her family." Wydell shifted through the pictures clicking his tongue. Otis knew about your past; he got curious one day and dug into your public records years ago. He wanted to see if anyone besides your father would come looking for you if you were to join the family. He realized you didn't remember everything that had happened back then and didn't want to bring up those memories for you.

"Why are you telling us all this?" Spalding asked, "what you do with her? What are you going to do with us? Stop playing these games, goddammit!". "I'm so glad you asked," Wydell replied, taking another drink. "so when I got word of a girl matching this description, I had my men trail her; I met up with them close to the Mexican border and decided to go check out if this was the same Lil lady. Now I expected her to be a shit ball bag of ugly in person, if I’m honest. I mean running around you all one can only expect," he chuckled " So you can imagine my surprise when I pulled over her car and saw she was a pretty little thing," he whistles " I thought about taking her out of the car and doing a little strip search myself." Otis felt his face get hot; he was becoming angrier than he's ever been. He twisted his hands in the bound rope on the chair; his breathing became more erratic. "Oh, you don't like that, huh? The idea of someone taking your woman and just having their way with her? Ironic isn't it, so I pull up, and we have a little chat. I ask her to get out of the vehicle". Baby looked over at her and saw his eyes had become dilated with rage. "You better not of hurt my sister," she said, her own eyes stinging with the tears that started to fall, "you son of a bitch".

"Now see what I did here," Wydell said, pulling up the chair closer to Baby while she whined and tried to look away from him. Otis just stared at him, his rage building and building.. he wasn't one to get anxious, but this was causing him extreme anxiety. "I prayed, I asked God to tell me what to do next because when I saw her beautiful (y/e/c) with sadness and fear, I felt I had a choice to make, Well I decided to give her a chance to come to the righteous side of glory with God. so I asked her to step out of the car, she did slowly with her arms up as I asked. She looked warm in the face and asked if she was alright; she said she was fine, just the heat was getting to her and her baby.” “Baby? Is she with a child? Oh my god, OTIS!” Baby yelled, looking over at her brother and father. “Otis, did you hear? You’re going to be a daddy!” a giant smile appeared on her face despite the situation they were in. A child, what a miracle. Otis was quiet, and his expression blank; a baby? No wonder she was so sick, no wonder she looks so worried and so scared. He finally spoke with a calm and collected tone, “where are she and my child?”. He looked at Wydell in the eyes and waited for an answer.

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it before answering, blowing smoke in their faces.” when I saw she was with child, I knew it was your Otis, I saw it in her eyes when she looked at the picture I held up of you. This means this was a 50/50 chance of being a miracle baby, a child of God, or a spawn of the devil. I decided to give Mrs. driftwood a chance to renounce her sinful ways with your freak show; tell me everything I want to know, and I would provide safe passage for her and her unborn child.

"I'm not going to ask you again where she is." Otis said his patients running thin "where the hell is my wife and my child?"

"I'm the one telling the story here, so I'm going to need you to be patient," Wydell said. "She stood there in the blistering heat next to her car, her hands up in the air. I told her to relax, put him down by her side, and we're just going to have a chat. I couldn't get over how beautiful she was. I had it in my right mind to take her then in there just like you had taken all those innocent women at your disposal."

Otis flinched in his chair, attempting to reach towards the sheriff. "I swear to satan if you touched her"

"Or what?" Wydell laughed, "You're not in the position to make any threats but calm down. I didn't feed my devilish temptations." He took another drag of the cigarette. "No, what I did was I told her that at this very moment, the compound where your merry band of freaks was hiding was being raided and that there was no way out of this. I knew who she was. I knew what she'd been through, and I told her that she doesn't want a life where she's just running cooperate with us, and we'll see what we can do for her. The moment I looked into her eyes, I knew she was not going to give you freaks up. She shook her head. I don't know what you're talking about and bit her lower lip. I decided at that moment that I was going to leave it up to God. I asked her to turn around and put her hands on the car. She did, then I pulled my knife." He pulled out a giant hunting knife and laid it on the table. The trio didn't speak collectively, waiting for the following words out of his mouth. All three of them were frozen in fear. They all loved you and felt powerless in the situation for themselves and what possibly may come next. "See, I walked up to her, and I said that this seed you're carrying now if it's the spawn of the devil you know I can't allow that to pollute this world any further, but this could also be one of God's children who am I to make that decision? And she looked back at me and asked what I mean, And so I got my knife, And I showed it to her, and I said, you know whatever happens next is up to God, and I stabbed her in the stomach. " As soon as those words left his mouth, Baby started to scream, "liar, you didn't lie you wouldn't stab a pregnant woman, lies you're just trying to break us, Otis doesn’t listen he's lying" Spalding spat a bunch of insults at the sheriff. Otis remained catatonic in his rage. He was so angry that he couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He could barely breathe.

The sheriff then pulled out a photo and said, "now I'm not saying I killed her, and I'm not saying it killed the baby. All I'm saying is I used my hand to be an instrument of God, and if God wanted the baby to survive, then that means it was a child of God. If it passed away well, then it was the spawn of Satan; either way, that is what happened" He slowly slid a photo of you on the ground clenching your bleeding stomach. "You should have seen the surprise on her face when I put out the Polaroid and snapped the photo of her." Baby cried and screamed; giant tears were falling from her beautiful blue eyes, Spalding still angry, throwing insults at the sheriff. Otis finally looked up, and in the most profound, most demonic voice anyone had ever heard, he quietly said, "I will watch you die. I will tear your soul apart.” Wydell stood up and grabbed a large nail from the table. “Don’t know how you’re gonna do that with your hands nailed down!” suddenly, he slammed the nails into his hands, nailing him to the table. He screamed in horror and agony at what had just taken place. Baby looked over to her brother, feeling helpless to his pain, when suddenly she felt her ties being loosened and she was free, “ you’re free to go, Babygirl, now run along run!!!!”. Wydell screamed in her face laughing; she took off toward the door; she didn’t need to be told twice.

As she ran towards what she thought was freedom, he started to pour gasoline all over the house, engulfing the once wonderful home that you all shared. As the flames lifted around them, the two men struggled to get free. The sheriff went after her, shooting into the air and taunting her as he chased her. One of the bullets hitting her in the leg and causing her to fall, but just as he thought he would have her meet her maker, tiny appeared, saving the day by breaking his neck. If it weren’t for this gentle giant, everyone would have perished in the fire. He was able to save everyone. Unfortunately, he chose not to come with the trio.

Otis took off towards the highway. He knew in his heart that you weren't dead. He would have felt it. Your connection was too strong but still, in the back of his mind, what if you weren't what he would do? He knew that he would set the world on fire that much would be for sure, but he could not fathom a reality with you, not by his side. He drove fast and faster towards your designated meet point. Nothing could stop him now except for the mountain of the police officers blocking the highway entrance. He looked over at the trio, and with a collective nod, they raced toward the police guns blazing. They had come this far, and nothing would stop them. Nothing would keep Otis from you; he pictured your face in his mind as he drove, the smell of your shampoo when he buried his face in your hair, the sound of your laugh. He had to try and get to you. There was a rain of gunfire that engulfed the vehicle. They didn't get far. Eventually, they all were stopped from the blood loss and the bullet holes they were taken to the hospital. He had failed you again.

Otis is right, though. You survived the encounter; what the sheriff didn't know was the ritual, The ritual that you all had done every Halloween, the ritual that you sacrificed souls so you could live on and become immortal through luck. This meant that if you were faced with a situation such as this, the universe would conspire to assist you all. Unfortunately, you were not pregnant during your last ritual. As you clenched your bleeding stomach, you pulled yourself into the vehicle. You were able to pull yourself into the vehicle and speed off as soon as you saw Wydell in the distance. You drove and drove until eventually, your vision got blurry, and you passed out. Somehow your car has come to a stop and ended up in a small town just on the Mexican border. A sweet couple pulled you out of the car and patched you up. The idea that you lost your child destroyed you and broke your heart. The blood loss was too much, and you miscarried. Pulling yourself together, you searched through your items, found one of your fake IDs, and headed toward Mexico, not before stopping into Brownsville to check and see if a particular person was still here.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Twenty ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1650

Warnings: None

A/n Hi! Sorry, I know I’m a day late -- I have family in town so I’m soaking up all the time with them that I can. This one is short (and a lil fluffy/angsty), and this chapter and the next are kind of a rest before we hit the next act of this story! Sooo gear up! I’m excited!!! 

I shut the door behind Orophin and Lavandil.

Cosima flops onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. “That was awful.”

I make a noise of general agreement. I hadn’t expected my brothers to take the news happily, but I didn’t think Rumil would completely shut me out. I have no doubts that he will eventually come around, but his reaction is still distressing.

Cosima raises up on her forearms, looking at me in concern. “Are you okay?”

I nod, making my way towards her bed. “It may take some time, but I know my brothers. All will be well.”

She scoots from the middle to the far side of her bed and pats the space next to her. I accept the invitation, lying on my back at her side. Vaguely, I notice that her bed is much larger and comfier than mine. I turn to tease her about it, try and cheer us both up, but she’s fiddling with her fingers. I guess neither of us is feeling particularly lighthearted at the moment.

“What is it?”

She sighs, staring up at the ceiling rather than at me. I nudge her arm gently, trying to prompt an answer.

She bites her lip. “You’ve said that you can make your own choices, and I get that, but I’ve got to ask—are you sure? You don’t have to stay with me just because you said you wanted to. I know what you’re sacrificing, and you don’t have to—”

I cut her off, kissing her forcefully. She sucks in a breath and I use that to my advantage, drawing her deeper into the kiss. She recovers from her shock quickly though, and slides a hand up my chest in that way I adore and is slowly becoming familiar. I pull away but keep a firm hold on the side of her face. “Please push these thoughts from your mind. Whatever the future holds, I am in it with you. And a future without you? I don’t want it. It would be different, had I never met you, but the Valar blessed me. They brought an impossible woman into my life. And I have no intention of letting her go.”

The sadness in her eyes breaks, replaced with a look of tenderness that I work hard to memorize. I let the hand on the side of her face slide to rest on her hip.

She places a kiss on my jaw, taking her time to respond, aware that she has my complete attention. “If I had to wake up in a different world with no memories, I am immensely glad you were there. Being with you is worth all that I’ve left behind. Even if I did remember it, I would choose you.”

I exhale slowly, basking in her words. I’ve never been vulnerable with someone before — bearing my heart and hoping they don’t crush it — and every time I open my mouth to confess something to Cosima, there’s the fear that she will shut me down, that she won’t return my feelings. But her words just now, as well as her actions from the past few days, help allay my fears.

“It’s getting late,” she breathes, face mere inches from mine. “You could stay the night?”

My hand on her hip tenses. No, I remind myself. I should go back to my room. But the words that come out of my mouth are not what I told myself to say. “I would not be intruding?”

“No,” Cosima smiles, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I would very much like it if you stayed.”

We are both adults. If she wants me to stay and I want me to stay, then there’s no reason to leave. “Then stay, I shall,” I murmur, dropping my lips to press against hers.

She kisses me languidly for a while before her lips shift into a grin. I pull back with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re the one who has to get up and blow out the candles,” she declares, her tone full of mirth. “That’s really the only reason I asked you to stay.”

I snort, but push myself off the bed, headed for the first candle I see. “I knew it couldn’t be because you love me. That’s too easy.”

“And pull the curtains,” she adds, lifting the duvet so she can crawl underneath it. I watch her slide her eyes shut, smile still spread over her face as she tries not to laugh.

Cosima and I have slept in each other’s company before, and we will do so again for the three weeks of our journey to Lothlórien. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is completely different. It will be the two of us alone, in a bedroom, when we have acknowledged our feelings for each other.

But despite the nerves and the gravity of the situation, it feels completely natural to spend the night with Cosima. I long for her presence during the day, and the night is no different.

And with precious little time together, shouldn’t I seize on every moment?

I blow out the candle nearest to me. It darkens the shadows in the room. I extinguish the remaining candles, close the curtains, and then return to the bed. Cosima has thrown the covers back on what I suppose is my side, making it easy for me to climb in next to her. After the slightest moment of hesitation, I do so. I reach for her, wrap my arms around her and cross them over her stomach, then pull her against my chest. It reminds me of a variation on what I did our very first day of training, an action that caused me no small amount of distress. But now it seems there is no limit to the ways I can hold her, and I plan to explore them all.

Cosima chuckles, evidently pleased with this development. “You remembered the human way.”

“I am capable of adapting,” I respond, dropping my face into her neck.

Her laugh turns into a sigh when I begin a trail of kisses there. “I have a question.”

I hum, continuing my pattern. “Yes, my love?”

She pauses to beam at the phrase. When she speaks, the smile is still in her voice. “Rumil asked if we had bonded yet, and then when you said no, he said there’s still ‘time’. What did he mean by that?”

My lips freeze against her neck. I sigh, shifting to lie on my side and pressing on her shoulder so she’ll turn to face me. I figured we would need to have this conversation at some point, but I hadn’t counted on now. And it’s not the potential for awkwardness that makes me wish I could keep my mouth shut — no, we could get past that — it’s the fear that, once she knows there’s still technically a step we have to take in order for my soul to perish once hers leaves me, that she will end this.

But it is not right to withhold information from her so, with another deep breath, I explain. “He was talking about the bonding of the fæs — in the literal sense. But I love you, I am committed to you, and nothing can change that, so Rumil’s whole notion of ‘time’ doesn’t really apply here.”

Her eyes narrow as she zeroes in on exactly what I’m careening around. “Say there’s some wiggle room.”

“There’s not.”

“But if there were,” she presses, obviously not interested in letting this go.

I sigh. “Traditionally, elves have used sex as a way to facilitate the spiritual bonding of the fæs. That’s what constitutes an elven wedding — that’s what represents and solidifies the commitment. Since we have not had sex, Rumil thinks our fæs are not bonded, so there is time to break the commitment between us without it affecting me.”

She sits up, opening her mouth to comment.

I hurry to sit up as well and cut off her words before she can take this idea and run with it. “But our situation is different. The whole concept of the fæs bonding is not a blanket statement that covers every relationship — there is a lot of choice involved, we are not without agency. And I have chosen.”

She smiles somewhat sadly, letting her fingers drum over my knee. “I wish I was an easier choice.”

I catch her hand in mine. “I quite like where my choices have led me.”

She leans against me, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “I love you.” She shifts, lying down and tugging on my arm to pull me with her. “Let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

I stretch out behind her, then twist the strands of her hair through my fingers. She’s silent, and I worry that, despite my efforts to reassure her, she’s still sad. I know she can’t help it, but I wish that we could leave all this struggle and moroseness behind. In my view, the future is set, my path is clear. Struggling over what that means will not halt the end, nor change it, so we shouldn’t waste time worrying over it. We should prepare how we can and then enjoy our lives together.

Cosima tucks her head into my neck and tangles one of her legs through mine. The action — so unexpected yet so natural — gives me hope that, soon, she and I can fall into a life together. Maybe Lothlórien is the key. Maybe once she can clearly see what our future looks like — a home, friendships, family, meals together at the end of a long day, exploring Lothlórien’s extensive forests and blue-green lakes, festivals, sunrises, all the wonderful things about my home, our home, she can allow herself to be happy.

And I will do everything I can to help her get there.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always so appreciated! Also, I think I made EVERYONE sad with that last chapter, I’m so sorry. But I LOVE that we all collectively love Rumil and want him to be happy forever, right? Soooo, c’mon, hit me with some happy Rumil headcannons <3

|next chapter|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande 

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist @that-cute-stranger

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff @sleepyamygdala @thranduilseyebrows

*Strikethrough means Tumblr won’t let me tag you :(*

[green-socks]

Hungry Eyes chapter 1

Pairing: Benny Miller x OFC (Dirty Dancing AU)

Summary: Dirty Dancing but here Benny is in the role of Baby and the dance instructor is a female OC. Benny goes to the resort with Will’s family (because who wouldn’t want cool uncle Benny to join their summer vacation?), and ends up falling for a dance instructor working on the resort. This first part is Benny and the dance instructor’s first meeting, basically the “I carried a watermelon” scene if you will.

Words: 1,818

Warnings: Alcohol/drinking, some curse words. Something else? Let me know!

Notes: This is one of those “I want to see it so I have to write it” situations. I have never ever written fiction before and this is scary as fuck, but I have this story in my head and now I’m trying to put it into words. I’m posting this part of the story now because I can, but I’m also working on a prologue of sorts.

This idea came to me in a dream (which was probably inspired by this headcanon ) and I told @the-purity-pen about it and she told me to write it. Without your encouragement I never would have even tried this fun thing and I’ll love you forever for it <3

And of course I’ll be eternally grateful to @astroboots for the beta and giving me that final push! Thank you for letting me ramble to you about this and being so lovely <3

Prologue

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

The night was warm, only the sounds of crickets and the slight rustle of wind keeping Benny company on his walk. Most people on the resort, like his brother and his family, had already retired to their cabins and rooms for the night. It was quiet, calm.

Despite what many people thought, Benny enjoyed the quiet. Needed it, in fact. He was always energetic around people, giving them all of himself. And he didn’t have to fake that energy, but sometimes even he needed to wind down and enjoy some peace and quiet. These walks, this whole vacation, was his time to relax and just be.

Benny was walking along a path near where the hiking trails begin when he heard the quiet thumping of bass through the night air. The further he walked along the path the louder the music got.

Through the bushes and trees Benny could see a house a little further up the hill. There seemed to be a party going on there, judging by the noise and music coming through its open windows. Benny wondered who were partying there and if the house even belonged to the resort or if it was a private property.

He continued walking, thinking he’d just walk past the house and continue further into the woods, when he saw a woman on the bottom of the stairs leading to the house. She was carrying a big box in her arms, clearly struggling under the weight of it.

“Hey! Do you need help with that?” Benny hollered to the woman.

She let out a breath. “Sure, thanks,” she answered, while handing Benny the box and starting to climb up the stairs. “Hope it isn’t too heavy!”

“Nah, doesn’t weigh a thing. We goin’ to the party house over there?” Benny asked, nodding his head in the direction of it.

“You’re technically not supposed to be here, you know. It’s off limits to resort guests.”

“I can keep a secret”, Benny grinned. 

“What’s your name?” she asked him. “Benny.” “Nice to meet you Benny. My name’s Lily,” she added, pointing to the name tag still on her work shirt.

“Anyway, some of us who work on the resort live in this house for the summer, and sometimes we throw parties. But they’re strictly for a limited group of people, and we could get into a lot of trouble if our employees or other resort guests found out, so you better keep your mouth shut,” she warned sternly.

“I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

They continued up the stairs and Benny heard the telltale clinking of bottles from the box even through the loudening music.

“Wait, you’re all of age, right? Cause this is a lot of booze”, Benny asked, suddenly slightly worried about assisting these partiers.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry, we have a strict no minors policy!” Lily answered.

With that they reached the top of the stairs and Lily held open the door for him into the house.

Benny wasn’t fully prepared to the sight that greeted him.

Sure, he had seen his share of parties, especially with his boys, but these people were wild.

There were no more than twenty people in the room, but they were all dancing like no tomorrow. Benny doubted they even needed all the booze he was carrying to let loose like that.

He watched in awe the mass of bodies moving to the beat, everyone shaking, grinding, jumping, twisting, and twirling around without a care in the world.

“Who are these people?” He asked incredulously, eyes wide.

Lily laughed at his shock. “We’re the entertainment team! Most of us are dancers or come from a theater background. Now come on!” she said and led him deeper into the house.

Benny suddenly felt like some silly delivery boy, even though he was probably older than most of them, when he maneuvered around the dancing people, trying to watch his step. Some of them spared him curious glances before getting lost in the music again.

“I imagine you don’t dance like this during the day when you’re doing dance classes on the resort?” Benny joked, still trying to get his bearings.

“Oh hell no, this is just for our own entertainment here,” Lily laughed again.

Suddenly two more people burst through the door, arm in arm, and everyone cheered happily in greeting. 

A man and a woman, who Benny recognized as the lead dance instructors on the resort, joined the party, immediately grabbing drinks and making their way through the dancefloor.

Benny noticed how they seemed to greet everyone individually by dancing with them; how they took eye contact and often physical contact with everyone and danced with them for a while before moving on, each one with a slightly different way. It was like they were speaking to one another, all these bodies communicating through movement alone.

He was mesmerized looking at them both, the attractive couple that were clearly the life of the party. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who seemed to move so easily, so freely, the joy and love she was feeling visible in her every movement.

Benny couldn’t believe this was the same woman who had taught a dance class to his nieces earlier that same day. Sure, he had noticed her even then, how could he not; she was very pretty.

But the woman he was seeing now was sexy, confident, nothing like Benny had seen before.

“Those are my friends Patrick and Jolene, they helped me get this job!” Lily shouted in his ear over the music.

“They seem to have great chemistry,” Benny remarked, his gaze still focusing mostly on Jolene.

“Yeah, it’s because they know each other so well. People always think they’re together --“ Benny certainly thought their very physical and intimate way of dancing would mean that “-- but they’re just best friends from a long time”, Lily chatted casually, oblivious to Benny’s thoughts.

Benny found his heart beating a little faster with this information, not that he really knew what to do with it.

His mouth was getting dry and he was breathing a little quicker. For fuck’s sake, he was getting a little turned on from watching her. Get it together man, he thought to himself.

Benny tried not to stare too hungrily; he didn’t want to be that creepy guy at the party that no one even knew.

The longer he watched these people dancing their hearts out the more he found himself slightly bopping along the beat, wishing he had a beer in hand, or maybe that he knew how to dance like they did.

______________

Jolene was enjoying herself, finally letting off steam after a hard day’s work. Few things on this earth made her happier than dancing, especially dancing with her best friend Patrick on these summer nights they got to spend together.

As she spun around in Patrick’s strong arms, she noticed the tall stranger standing near the back of the room next to Lily. Who the heck was this guy and where did he come from?

Jo tapped Patrick on the shoulder to let him know she was going to get something to drink and made her way through the crowd towards Lily and the stranger.

“Hey, Lil. Who’s your friend here?”

“Oh, this is Benny. He came with me.” Lily answered happily.

“Yeah, I, uh, helped her carry the box up here”, the guy, Benny, supplied shyly in a deep voice, pointing at the box in question.

Jo gave Lily a stern look. She really should’ve known better than to bring customers up here. These parties were kept a secret for a good reason, since they could all lose their jobs if the resort managers found out, but especially her and Patrick, because they were responsible for their team. And they were already on thin ice as it were, because, in Jo’s humble opinion, the managers were a bunch of jerks.

Lily just shrugged and Jo sighed deeply before turning to look at the man next to her, who, for some reason, was avoiding her gaze.

“Well, Benny, would you like to dance?” Jo thought she could size the guy up a little better if she could get him alone with her. She had to look after her team after all. Besides, he looked a little lonely, bopping along the music shyly. Maybe she could teach him a few things.

Benny looked a little startled, as he answered “Oh, I don’t know how to dance”.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you,” Jo said, pulling him on the dancefloor.

“C’mon, just follow my lead. Do this. And try to feel the rhythm.” Jo started showing him how to move to the beat, swaying from side to side.

“Good, now loosen your hips a little more,” Jo instructed, putting her hands on his hips and directing his movements.

Jo had to hand it to the guy; he was learning surprisingly quickly, and it was refreshing to see a man who was willing to try and learn dancing even if it was a bit awkward at first. His movements were a little stunted, but he clearly had a good ear for the rhythm. He was even smiling and laughing a little at his own awkwardness, but Jo could see he was also enjoying himself.

“Okay, now let’s try this. Follow my lead again,” Jo said, putting her hands on his broad shoulders. He was so tall she had to reach pretty far, but they managed it anyway. Jo stepped closer and started grinding against him, showing him how to move by using her own body to guide him.

Slowly Benny was easing into it, even putting his arms on her waist.

“Okay, you’re getting the hang of it now!” Jo smiled at him proudly and he grinned back.

_______________

Benny was actually enjoying himself. He was dancing with a gorgeous woman and he wasn’t making a complete and total fool of himself. He considered that a victory at this point.

He just knew Santi would be laughing his ass off if he could see Benny now. Will probably would tease him too.

Benny grinned at the thought. But hey, they weren’t here and he was having fun so who cares, he thought.

Although he had to admit, he was still a little shocked at the fact that this amazing dancer was dancing with him and even looking like she wasn’t completely hating it.

He was still a little dazed when the song ended and Jolene patted his arm, told him “See you around” and bounced her way to the middle of the crowd again.

“Yeah, uh, see ya,” Benny muttered after her, standing awkwardly on the edge of the dancefloor.

Deciding he had probably already overstayed his welcome Benny readjusted his hat on his head and quietly headed out to the warm night air again.

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

Chapter 2

Notes: If you read this far I don’t even know how to react. Thank you?If you like Benny and/or Dirty Dancing we can probably bond over that

[secret-time-is-here]

An Error's Journey

Chapter 35

Previous - First - Next

He almost forgot how rewarding it felt to destroy things, the pattern of peacefully killing off the monsters and letting the world’s Frisk suffer in eternity of being pulled apart by the void as he destroyed everything else. The quick deaths of monsters still hurt his soul, but the human’s screams always lightened his mood. Once the world was empty-aside from himself and the human, he could let his guard down and get to the roots of the problems, pulling up his screens and slowly sending program after program to eat away at the world as he disintegrated the larger pieces. It could nearly be described as lifting a weight off his shoulders, although what that weight is, Error could never figure out.

Ink was slow to show up this time, and seemingly watched from afar for a while, Error keeping a hidden window on the other to watch his back. Still, as the world was slowly finished Ink watched on, not intervening. Sadly, he finished off the last major building, and his programs quickly ate away at the ruble. He knew he would regret it later, but silently, he sat down next to Ink. Relaxing in silence and watching as the void slowly ate everything until it was just the small island of grass they sat on left. It almost looked like the save screen…

“I don’t get it.” Ink suddenly spoke

“Get what?”

“I mean, it’s been a while since you destroyed anything… and creating just seemed to make my ribcage feel heavier...”

“Still not understandin’?”

“It’s weird. I don’t get it… do you have a similar feeling? I’d guess it’d be your soul for you… like your soul is being crushed when there’s a lot of universes and like it’s being pulled apart when there’s not a lot in the multiverse?”

“Yeah, I just learned ta ignore it for the most part… destroying today actually lightened the load ta say.” Error shrugged, “Wanna ditch this place so my programs can get the last of it?”

“Sure.” Ink smiled, a tired look on his face, and suddenly Error noticed the bags under his eyes and how pale his bones looked. “...and uh, could you destroy another? Ribs still feeling a lil’ crushed.”

“Wow, never thought I’d hear that one from the glorious creator.” Error rolled his eyes with a teasing smile, but begrudgingly open a portal to a glitched-out world that been needing to be taken care of.

Again, the same routine-except Ink stuck to the shadows as Error killed off the monsters, and the creator only showed himself again when the human had been wrapped up and trapped. “Gimme a moment, gotta destroy these bigger buildings.” The other nodded, and surprisingly, joined in. His paint a great way to compress the buildings for him to destroy with his blasters. After a good amount of work, they sat down on the side of the demolished road, watching as the programs ate away at everything once more.

“Thanks, Error. For both today and yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah, Reaps and I usually have a good handful of trouble at the coffee shops we visit, so we’ve been hopping around a lot.” Ink spoke softly, seeming as sorrowful as he could. Error tried not to let the anger get the best of him.

“What?” He practically snarled.

“Reaper and I usually aren’t allowed in coffee shops- Death well, because he’s death, and places don’t wanna deal with me so...”

“Fuck them. Ccino’s a cool guy, plus he’s always changing up his menu, so I doubt ya will grow bored.” Error relaxed back into the grass, “I knew even Omega has its prejudices but fuck-I didn’t think they’d go as far as to deny you service. Surprised Death didn’t complain about it ta me.”

“Well, from what I know, you have been pulling away a bit… and ya got enough on your plate apparently.” Ink shrugged, “‘Course he didn’t give details, but he did say you’re taking care of a lot of people, gonna guess ‘the boys’ are included in that.”

“Pft-heheh, yeah, they’re a bunch a’ idiots, but they’re my idiots... Shit-” Error jumped up, pulling up a few screens.

“What?”

“Forgot to visit the Chara’s-” And according to the calendar he had for the place, he hasn’t visited in months.

“You take care of the Chara’s-?”

“Yeah, if ya wanna keep talking, I recommend ya follow me.” Error rushed, opening a portal to Ccino’s world, Ink hopping up and walking through with him. He’d go to Omega, but he’d rather Ink not know about him being Lapse yet.

He had thought about it ages ago, close to after he grew close to them-but never had the gold available to do it. With the funky way time passed in the Charas dimension, with it being connected to the antivoid, he tried to visit at least weekly, but with everything going on it slipped his mind easier than he would like to admit.

They didn’t need anything fancy, but getting a phone would be good-he could spend some time tweaking with the code while he visited so it’d actually work cross-universe and then give it to Intent or Dest. He was quick to pull Ink along to the first store that caught his eye and avoided Ink’s stare as he pulled out his heavy bag of gold and bought a phone. He didn’t even bother to let Ink question anything as he pulled him along to a general store and bought more than enough chocolate.

Finally, he pulled Ink into an alley, and opened up a portal to the Chara’s, letting Ink jump through before him.

Stepping through after that rush was like a breath of fresh air, the open expanse of white so underwhelming compared to that of the bustling street they had just been on. His mind clouded with an unnatural calm, and he had to remind himself to shake off the feeling. He was living healthy again, not going back to the antivoid.

The door of the house boomed open, and before he could even get out an apology he was covered in little humans. Intent and Dest ran out after them.

“Error! Where in God's name have you been?!” Intent waved through the sea of bouncing little kids, “EY! Brats! Inside! I gotta interrogate Gramps.”

“No matter how many times you explain it-I still don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout when ya say ‘God’s name’.” Error joked, doing his best to relax as the little ones crawled off of him. He could practically feel Ink’s confused stare-thankfully Intent had yet to notice him. They were far too busy glaring at him-ushering the children back inside with Dest.

With all the little ones back inside, that’s when the yelling started.

“Puncle- what. The. FUCK!” Intent screamed, “IT’S BEEN MONTHS!”

“Yeah, I know now.” Error pulled out the phone he had bought, quickly opening up a panel to change its code, “Moon’s been fretting over me, worried I’d go back to the Antivoid… and this place is connected to the Antivoid so… it doesn’t excuse anything-” Error pulled the bags of chocolate out of his inventory, “And the chocolate doesn’t either,” With the re-coding finished, he handed the phone off to Intent, “And same with the phone, but I’m hoping it’ll be a good apology and a way for ya to contact me next time I forget to visit.”

“...you...” Intent looked at the phone and then back up to Error, “...You’re a fucking idiot, Error.”

“I know. ‘S why I fit so well with ya lot.” Intent cracked a smile.

“Alright, but you gotta bring us some of Ccino’s scones to fully be pardoned.” They smiled slyly, crossing their arms.

“Pft, I’ll do ya one better-I’ll make ya a batch a’ them now.” Error turned to Ink, “Sorry ‘bout all that.”

“Wait-” Intent finally noticed Ink, “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LET HIM IN HERE?!”

“Here we go again...” Error rolled his eyes, and Ink had to stifle his laughter.

-----

With the final stitch done, he tied off the knot, looking back at his work. He had to burrow himself away in his room to get most of it done-didn’t want any of the gang to see him making it, but now, Dream’s new outfit was complete. It mixed and matched a lot of the old qualities he had, but also gave a new palette of color and some new additions.

Firstly, the number one thing Dream hated was his full body suit-always difficult to get on and just a pain if it fell during battle-since it had no sleeves. So, they switched it out for a black turtleneck and black tights separately, pulling the teal from his most recent outfit to stripe the edges and sides much like the stereotypically shorts most Sans’ have. Over his turtle neck was a thick fawn-colored nearly corset-like vest, something to protect his soul and help with any injuries. The complicated dark brown lacing was easy once you learned it, a win for Dream, and an effective way to keep himself safe from all the knives the gang used with how tough the leather was. Over that was a peanut brown overcoat that was held in place with a wide belt. The belt was made with a similar leather to his vest, decorated with the tassels of his scarf, and finished with the buckle of his old belt. To finish off the new outfit, he also had calf-high leather combat boots.

The vest had been the most irritating to do, considering how tough the leather was, but at last, he had finished putting it together, setting in the top of the box he had put the rest of Dream’s outfit in-aside from the boots, which he had specially made elsewhere and were placed in their own box. He carefully topped the box off and then wrapped a ribbon around it. It would be a difficult walk with both boxes down to Dream’s office, but he has a feeling it’ll be worth it to see Dream’s gratitude.

After all, he has to get close to his teammate.

He was quickly let in by the secretary and agreed not to warn Dream. Leaving it a surprise. He even saw Ink along the way to the office, the other seeming to be doing much better with more worlds destroyed. His bones were not as pale, the bags under his eyes disappearing. The other asked to join in with the surprise, he too was excited for Dream to get a proper wardrobe change.

Ink knocked on the door for him, and Dream’s voice called out: “Come in.”

“Hiya bud!” Ink skipped into the office, blocking Dream’s few.

“Ink...? What are you planning?” Dream slowly set his pen down from his paperwork

“Me-? Planning-?! Pftt-hahaha, you’re silly Sunny!” Dream’s blush dusted his cheekbones, and he pouted slightly.

“Ink, I really do love you, but you have far too many tells when you are planning something.” Dream sighed, setting aside the papers he had in front of him. “If you are going to steal me away from work you might as well do it now.”

“Well… I’m not stealing you-” Ink hopped up on the desk, sitting in the cleared spot, “But Eldeem sure is!”

“Eldeem?” Ink moved his body out of the way, showing Lapse standing with both boxes in his hands awkwardly. “Lapse! Oh… El-Dee-M.” Dream rolled his eyes, “Very clever Inky.” Ink leaned and kissed the top of Dream’s skull, coloring the other’s cheeks with even more gold.

Dream got up from his seat and took the boxes from Lapse’s hands.

“Hope you like them, the vest was annoying to sew together.” Error chuckled as Dream’s eyes seemed to glow when he opened the first box with all the clothes, taking them out one by one and taking the time to admire each and every single one.

“...I love it.” Dream uttered after a time.

“Yeah, they look amazing, Lapse!” Ink cheered, “I’ll have to give ya a call whenever I want a new outfit.” The artist winked, and Lapse rolled his eyes with a smile-Ink’s expression broke a moment, but then he seemed to ignore whatever revelation he had.

“I will be right back-” Dream excused himself, stepping into the adjacent bathroom to change.

Silence carried on as the sound of rustling increased from the other room.

“So… you and Dream are close?” Lapse eventually questioned, to which Ink shrugged.

“Platonically, yeah. Dream keeps most everyone at a distance, so I try to remind him I’m always here.” Ink sighed, a lost look in his eyes as he stared into the distance, “...Death and I talked over it a lot, so he’s okay with Dream joining us-but with how much Sunny works himself. I don’t think he’ll ever stop and actually live until there’s peace in the multiverse… and as a survivor-you can guess when that’s gonna happen, heh...” Ink chuckled awkwardly.

“Alright- does it look good?” Dream stepped out of the bathroom, slightly taller now from his boots.

“Ya look badass, Goldy.” Ink smiled, whistling low.

“...I will excuse your language for once-and just this once.” Dream spoke sternly but smiled anyhow. “Lapse?“

“Gotta agree with Ink, you look ready for battle. The darker colors make ya look old and wise.”

“Good, maybe for a change Ink won’t be calling me babyface.” Dream huffed, glaring at Ink. Although Error couldn’t deny that when the positive pouted, he did look to have a prominent babyface.

“Well, I am older.”

“By maybe a few centuries!” Dream stomped his foot like Papyrus would, “I am still centuries-old, Ink! 500 years!”

“Not as old as I am~” Ink sang cheekily, a Cheshire grin plastered on his skull.

Error couldn’t help but laugh at their antics, oh how he wished he wasn’t undercover right now. He could easily out win both of them.

-----

“Error…?” A deep charming voice called from the doorway of his room, “When did you return?”

“Not too long ago ‘Mare, well, at least to me...” Error shrugged, “What’s up?”

“Ru...” Nightmare spoke softly, worry dripping from his tone. “You’re hiding something. Your soul is heavy with guilt.”

Error sighed and Nightmare walked over, avoiding the strewn materials leftover from making Dream’s outfit. “We’re a team, right? Just as you told me?”

“...yeah,” He choked out. Nightmare sat down next to him, and Error stared down at the ground.

“That means you don’t have to deal with this- you don’t have to keep everything to yourself.”

“...You’re not going to be happy.”

“Oh? Really?” Nightmare’s tone turned playful, “What is so terrible? Hmm?”

“It has to do with Dream.”

The tension nearly felt crushing at that moment. The silence was louder than any of the voices in the Antivoid. He felt Nightmare grab for his hand, and he clutched the other’s in return. Nightmare’s hand was shaking. He could see Nightmare begin to stare at the ground as well.

“...ah.” Nightmare finally composed himself, “I see...” the other held on stronger, “Well… hehe, you weren’t wrong when you said I wasn’t going to be happy.”

Error only hummed in response.

Nightmare took a deep breath, and the shaking seemed to lessen. “What… Why...” Nightmare took another few deep breaths, and his shaking stilled, his hand wound tight around Error’s, “...What about Dream?”

“Core gave me three windows.” Error reminded, “One of a sketchy world… probably Ink.” Error confessed, “Another of a figure cloaked in black… Death.” Error finally turned to look at Nightmare, “And between those a tree on a hill, with a dryad under it. Yet with those three windows, there was four people to find.”

Nightmare seemed to choke on his air.

“...Remember the other day, when I blacked out? You were teaching me your scone recipe?”

“Y-... yeah.” Nightmare’s words were shaky, and his hand mirrored them.

“I saw you and Dream in a brief memory… Sitting under the tree.” Error watched as Nightmare’s whole form seemed to crumble, “Why’d you hide it?”

“...It’s pretty obvious I’m not proud of my past.” Nightmare seemed to give up trying to stay strong, and let his despair show,

“...he’s long gone now, though; and I have rebuilt my life the way it was meant to be, with new friends and dare I say you as well.”

Nightmare sighed, “She is not me… I was never meant to be her… I get we were supposed to be opposites-but why opposites in everything?”

“I’m not mad about you not coming out to me. You have every right to keep that to yourself. Why’d you hide being from the same AU as Dream?” Error asked, waiting patiently.

“...I know it was important. I just… I couldn’t. It hurts to think about anything from back then… even nearly 500 years later Dream can’t bear to use ‘he’ when referring to me.”

Error let go of Nightmare’s hand, pulling the other close into a hug instead. The other silently sobbing in his hold.

“‘S okay, Moon. I got ya...” He spoke as softly as he could, cradling the other impossibly close.

“Don’t let go… please… don’t be mad...”

“I’m won’t ‘Mare. Don’t worry, I’ll always be here… promise.”

-

All characters belong to their respected owners

If you're a lil confused, Night's ftm trans :) (Yes this was planned, and if you look back Dream's only ever used they for NM, or called him by name. I do plan for more reveals like this ;) )