#dragging himself around like a zombie with the weight of his guilt on his shoulders

[valvarads]

46. sayonara, micchi.

bonus:

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.4)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Yoongi makes his choice, so does Moonbyul.

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: Graphic material, Death, Murder, Dead bodies and dying described in detail, brief suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, DARK THEMES, guilt, blood, a touch of blood kink? drugs, murder/crime themes, guilt, kinda fuck or die vibes? finally fluff at the end, mating marks, 

W/c: 7.1k

A/n: here is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the big d word moment!!! my carpal tunnel is acting up, I will probably not be able to get the next chapter out for a few days or until next week. Chronologically the next chapter continues after part 1. 

(PLEASE READ TAGS FOR CW BEFORE YOU PROCEED)

Previous part — Masterlist

Part 4: If I Have You 

Pulling the trigger is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. 

Geumjae’s body flinches back from the force of the bullet. The ceiling splattering with the spray of his blood. It hits the side of your face too, your white shirt crested with red at the shoulders, dripping down your throat along with the blood from your mating bite. It’s a percussive splatter, noisy as it hits the wall.

People never talk about how blood gets everywhere during a murder. Yoongi is unable to stop his flinch when Geumjae’s brain matter and viscera splatter against him, just a little. 

Yoongi didn't think you'd actually do it. 

He watches you shove the body away from you, hard, what's left of his head, an empty vessel, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. His hands leave you for the last time, but the pain isn't finished. 

Yoongi barely has the forethought to lunge forward, knees scraping, wrestling the gun out of your hand before you can turn it on yourself. The barrel of the gun is hot when Yoongi's hands close around it and yank it away from your own temple. The smell of burning skin joins the metallic scent of murder. Your scent is a mess- it’s barely had a chance to mix with Geumjae’s burning wood-burning bread and wrath, rainstorms, and gunpowder. 

He shouts your name but you don't respond. 

Yoongi yanks the gun from your hands, probably hurting your fingers but panicked when he hurls the gun to the other side of the room and takes your hands in his, wrestling with you and screaming your name until the fight goes out of you. 

You’re hyperventilating when you stop struggling. Both of your wrists pinned above your head in both of Yoongi’s hands, his knees pressing your legs to stillness in a way that could be sexual but isn't- it's the easiest way for him to restrain you- both sprawled on the bloody floor. Yoongi’s crying, tears dripping down his nose, every other drop shines pink from what's on his face.  

“Yoongi please- please just let me go- I don’t want to become a ghost- I don't wanna become a walking corpse.” The way you look breaks his heart, your neck so bruised and bloody, your face swelling too from Geumjae’s hits. The way your eyes hold only darkness and no warmth as you look at him and beg- beg him to let you take your life. Your pupils are so small he can't see them at all. 

“Let me die Yoongi- please just- if you do one thing for me- let do this. let me go."

Yoongi looks at your mating mark and can already see the thin tracery of ink spreading under your skin- inky blackness spreading from your mating bite and up your throat. A piece of someone who’s dead inside of you, shot through with silver to make it stand out more. 

It’s like some silly zombie bite in a bad horror movie but it’s so much more haunting, The veins in your eyes are even starting to discolor. You have maybe a few minutes before the mating bite takes you over completely and you’re mated to someone dead.

Zombie movies were nothing more than fear of this taking root in common culture, everyone fears losing their mate. What else is more terrifying than something that takes your humanity in the way that this has taken yours. This is every person’s worst nightmare- a death sentence.  

‘Ghosts’ are what society has dubbed the women and men who live after losing their partners. Most of the time they live without alpha or a pack- unable to bond to anyone else ever again once their mates are dead. Mating bites are a one-time thing. 

When one-half of a mated pair dies- a person's body has a peculiar way of letting outsiders know how to treat them gently- The mating mark turns black like a brand. A mark to let everyone know that they would never have another person to take care of them- to love them.

But you aren’t alone- you’re not alone because you have Yoongi and he’s right here with his wide palms on you. Hands that where always made to fix things, but you aren’t just some broken toy that needs a bit of glue.  He’s too late, just seconds too late and only inches away. 

He grips both of your forearms in either of his palms hands, pulling you closer. Making you sit up, dragging you into his lap like carrying your weight in his arms will fix this. Anything to hold onto you- to not lose you too soon. 

"Stop- just stop, I've got you- I've got you," Yoongi repeats it more for himself than he does for you.

But there are wounds in your body that can’t be fixed by simple hoping. There is a limit to what one person can take. Despair is one hell of a drug and while Yoongi fights and fights there is no undoing what Geumjae has done to you.

But maybe…

Yoongi dares to hope; “It’s only a half bond if we-“ he falls silent as the idea settles over him like a bucket of cold water. His brain rushing over everything he’s ever learned about mating bites and beta’s; all of the statistics and articles that Namjoon had shoved down his throat when Jungkook had first stopped having seizures. 

The medical mystery that betas were; how they were able to heal unseen hurts and maybe- maybe this was like that. Maybe the solution to this problem lays in Yoongi’s veins, in his mouth. 

His jaw aches at the very suggestion of it.  “I’m a beta- and betas don’t usually mark- because- because they’re stronger than alpha and omega bites.” 

It’s the only truth that makes sense. All of the stories of omegas and alphas going crazy after being bitten by betas, not being able to move from them too far, extreme clinginess- a bond that was too close, too strong, stronger than anything else in their life. You weren’t supposed to bond with someone so deep, the bite almost seemed to do more harm than good. 

But you’re already dying and there isn’t much worse that could happen to you.

You don't have anything to lose but Yoongi does. You shake yourself free from his arms and pull back. Recoiling from what he’s offering to do for you; tether him to you forever when you might not make it. 

You can already feel the mating mark taking hold- It's already starting to cloud your judgment, deep down, the part of you that cares if you survive this is already winking out. The blankness sinking through your every inch, The emptiness. You’d be surprised if you lifted your hand to your chest and found your heart still beating. 

“Yoongi- No- you don’t have to- you’ve already got a pack and don’t- don’t bind yourself to someone like me.”

It’s the same argument that you had before but there’s no force behind it- every stupid excuse you had for him not to love you is moot now that your husband is dead next to you. But you're done; Every breath takes more effort than it should and you feel so heavy. You look down at your lap and feel the lethargy sinking beneath your bones like lead. Hidden hands gripping around your throat cutting off your words.

You feel like you’re choking on something. 

You’ve felt depressed before (how could you not have given what your life was like before Yoongi). And having a mating mark from someone deceased feels like that but worse, like it's turned up by a factor of three. A weird mixture of dizzy, absent, and dissociative. You have never felt less connected to your own body, it feels foreign.

You are nothing but a soul inside a body, craving release. A thread of black that wants to tug you down to where ever Geumjae is now. 

The sinking sadness says to you with gentle hands- this is a fine spot. You can just sit here, It’s okay. You don’t have to move, you can just sit here until you die. As long as no one bothers you and hurts you again, you could just sit here, as long as it was quiet and peaceful. Things don't even have to be good, you don't need good things, you just need it to not hurt anymore. Until the earth reclaims you like it takes abandoned buildings. 

 A sharp pain that goes through your heart, an ache so deep that it speaks to cavernous places, wakes monsters that you didn’t know where there. 

You’ve never really wanted to die before, maybe as a passing thought- but didn’t everyone think that way? it’s so different now- where the thoughts are all consuming, running over your words in your head like oil spreading and staining cloth. 

Die- want to die- want- want- want die- wanna go- wanna be quiet- wanna fall asleep and not wake up- want to- 

But if you decided to lay here and not get up again, Yoongi would stay too.

He would try and get you to move, probably beg and try to get you to live. Even if he never bit you, he’d stay next to you until the end, just to hold your hand so that you didn’t have to be completely alone. You thought dying would feel more lonely,  But maybe it doesn't feel that way because Yoongi’s here. 

His hand closes around yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as he cries. And you think if you want one thing; it's for him to stop crying. Out of all people- Yoongi doesn't deserve the hurt (but maybe you're biased because you love him).

That tips the scale in his favor.

Geumjae’s blood is pooling on the floor. His body gives a twitch, the last remnants of his misfiring nerves as he dies. You feel the painful jerk in your mating bond. Yoongi watches the muscles of your neck twitch. 

Neither you nor Yoongi pays him any mind. 

"You don't have to do this Yoongi." Yoongi’s hand on your cheek- is like a balm to those words, pushing them out of your head. “You can’t take it back. If I die- you could die too.”

“But I want to” he kisses your cheek- and the contact lights a flame down your neck to your touch starved heart. The heat flares to light and the next second your body and your mouth are aching to bite. Your instincts an avalanche around you begging you to complete the bond that’s tearing through you making you shake. He kisses a little closer to your lips, cheeks wet and cool against your skin.

Geumaje and Yoongi were related by blood at all, maybe your instincts can’t tell the difference. 

“I don’t care if it does- I can’t- I’m not going to just let you die” his voice breaks on the last word. Not when it was me who was too slow to save you; He won’t say the words or whisper his guilt into the open air. 

“Please sweetheart- let me.” He kisses your lips. So soft- achingly soft, Your first kiss, you wish it had happened under better circumstances.

You hate that the first kiss you and Yoongi share tastes like blood.

But there would be more- there could be more kisses if Yoongi manages to do what he’s saying he can. The mark on your shoulder is already healing, the blackness stretching to scar treacherously fast. Normal mating bites usually take a day or so to heal, but not yours, it’s already scabbing and sealing in the poision.

If you’re going to try this- if it’s going to work- it has to be now. The bond is advancing, regardless of the fact that Geumjae is barely dead, barely cooling beside the two of you.

It’s barely been 10 minutes since you shot him. And if you listen carefully- you can hear sounds in the rest of the house, maybe someone else from the gang here- about to come upstairs and discover the mess of you three. muffled voices and heavy footsteps grow louder by the second. 

Yoongi is safe but you’re not. “Yoongi,” you say, his name a broken hymn on your mouth. Musical- and Yoongi can’t think of a time when he wouldn’t want to hear it. Hoping for more of this closeness and maybe one day, a love that doesn’t hurt.

You get the feeling that even if you are broken beyond repair, this man could fix you. Wide hands and careful fingers that rub the blood away from your skin, hands made for making things and mending things when they break. And maybe you’re selfish enough to let him bind himself to you- broken as you are.

You press your forehead to his, you have to ask one more time. "Are you sure Yoongi?"

He nods, quick and small, "I'm sure." there isn’t anything in his eyes that makes you doubt him.

"Okay," you say softly, tugging him closer, tilting your chin up to the sky, your skin stings where it stretches around the mating mark. "okay. Come here then."

Your hands tangle in Yoongi’s hair as you guide his mouth to your throat, and his mouth sliding into the space where Geumjae was just minutes ago. He lingers for just half a breath before sinks his teeth over the mating mark, a little deeper- his mouth a little wider. He makes the bite a tiny bit offset.

Your breath hitches, back arching. His hands-on your waist go hard, holding you closer to him, as close as he can get you. Unlike before when Geumjae’s bite was agony, this feels like heroin- like every drug mixing together sending you up and up.

If you looked down and saw your hands were tipped in gold you wouldn’t be surprised. For a second you think you can taste colors, and then the chocolate sea salt of Yoongi settles over your tongue delicious, like ambrosia- fuck it’s so strong, it’s halfway between a headache and a high. You gasp when you feel it, feel Yoongi all over, Goosebumps rising on your arms as he touches you. The smell of ocean breeze and chocolate filling you in a way that Geumjae’s scent didn’t.

Geumjae’s bite was nothing compared to this, a whisper to a symphony. 

This must be what a mating bite feels like when you want it. You cry out. Gripping the lapels of his coat. Yoongi’s heartbeat thunders in your ears, the only thing you can hear, until the beat matches to your own, heartbeats pumping in sync.

Your blood tastes sweet and he wonders what it says about him that he likes the taste. He gulps at it- once- twice- and then a third time just to make sure the mark sticks, maybe he could suck a little bit of Geumjae out of you.

His kisses get feverish, lapping up your blood with wide laves of his tongue, moaning a little. and this time when you kiss- with your blood in his mouth, they get hurried and rushed like he can consume you, each one sweeter than the last. There is one moment of nausea, only one moment where Yoongi sees the black tracery receded and feels it dim. 

Maybe it’s not gone, but at least it's buried.

Yoongi can almost feel you, can almost feel the bond, but not yet. Your scent, it's all cake-sweet now. You kiss him until your jaw aches until your lips feel bruised. Until you know the sounds below actually are people, rushing around trying to find Geumjae. Calling out your names. 

Yoongi is the first to break apart, the room spinning. “Do me” he lifts the edge of his shirt, picking out a spot that he likes, the meat just above his hip. A spot is half-hidden by his shirt and his pants.

Not everyone likes to have their mating marks on their neck (you certainly would have chosen to have yours another place had you been given the chance). And Yoongi stretches out so that you can get your mouth on him, your mouth on the spot he wants to bind your soul to his.

He holds one of your hands in both of his hands so gently as you cup his hip and bite down, even as you begin to make out the noise of gang members coming up the attic stairs. Yoongi bites down a moan, lets you take one gasp of blood into your mouth before your teeth leave his skin.

The high rushes over him and he knows his pupils are mirrors of yours, black and dilated. He just has time to wipe his blood from your mouth and get you as close as he can, before the attic door creaks, the barrel of a gun pushing it open. And the gangsters enter the room with practiced steps.

Yoongi pulls his shirt back down just before they have a chance to see.

You play the part, slumping against him and letting him take the reigns. the people must take it for pain even though you’re shaking not with sobs, but from the feeling of Yoongi’s soul intertwining with yours. Full body shivers and something solidifying between the two of you. 

Together you shake, Yoongi is barely aware of the gangsters clearing the room. 

You feel like you can taste his thoughts, though you can’t actually hear what he's thinking. You can feel the way they tumble like small waves over each other. You feel concern and something else, something that feels an offal lot like love shoot down the fledgling bond as Yoongi’s arms pull you up, firmer against him.

It makes shivers rise on every inch of your skin, the pleasure he feels when he touches you that you're now hyper-aware of. It's what your body has been craving- the completion of the bond.

You both bleed- your blood dripping onto the floor. One part sacrament and sacred love and another part poisonous longing for a man you hated so much more than you ever loved him. This feels strange, it feels wrong, and that you have one part of you reaching out for something that’s not there. And then this- with Yoongi, right and front of you and inside of you. Completely occupying your heart and your mind and your body.

Accept for that one poisoned inch; you might not be completely his, but it's enough now, the bond with yoongi occupying those thoughts you'd had minutes before.

The gangsters don’t touch Geumjae, at least until Moonbyul enters the room, unarmed. Yoongi’s cousin eyes Yoongi from the door. There isn’t enough room in this torture room for the 12 or so gangsters and the three of you, they press against the walls, guns at the ready.

Moonbyul approaches Geumjae’s corpse, turning him over with her foot to see his blankly staring face, turning it towards the heavens instead of hell. For a moment, Yoongi thinks she might actually kick him. She plucks her pink handgun from the floor. Someone passes her a rag and she wipes it free of blood and fingerprints.

Her eyes on Yoongi are hard; a bit of mirth playing on the edge of her mouth as she plays her hand. A queen in a room full of pawns and knights, and the king underfoot. Her hand of aces. 

Betting it all on a simple game of roulette- red or black- will Yoongi challenge her or not. Yoongi doesn't miss the way her finger hovers on the trigger. 

“I suppose this entire situation would be concerning to me- if you hadn’t already named me as Don.” she nudges Geumjae's body again with her foot. "I guess he didn't take it well?"

She lies effortlessly, taking the moment to seize power. So this was what she was waiting for. Yoongi doesn’t challenge her words for fear of what she might do right now, not that he really would anyway. 

Yoongi tips his head forward in difference, “No he didn’t,” 

Moonbyul tucks her gun back into her waistband, and holds out her hand to pull yoongi to his feet. 

Yoongi takes you with him, small and still a little high in his arms. You hide your face in Yoongi’s shoulder, Holding onto him tight. You don’t know if you could take it if they tried to separate you now. 

Yoongi has to swallow to continue, struggling to think before he speaks with so many new sensations shocking his body. He's intimately aware of the way you shift in his arms, arms tightening around you at the very idea of you moving more than an inch away from him right now as you settle onto your own two feet. still a little unsteady. 

“He- he mated her against her will, and then he tried to kill us when I told him I wouldn’t- and- and after-” It’s not a lie- not really, but it still feels that way. Moonbyul doesn't need to do anything more than that to nod to call her men off, and they all relax around the room. 

They instantly fade from engaged concern to understanding. The other heads of household will probably grill Yoongi more. But you’ve both got time to get your story straight. For now, they need to clean up the body.

It helps that threatening the beta is a punishable offense; no one will question Yoongi killing him- especially since they’re brothers. Most of the families tend to think that inner house spats that family's business. Yoongi doesn’t know which of his relatives will inherit the title of head of the Min family, but it won't be Yoongi.

You’re small and silent in Yoongi’s arms, so vulnerable, he keeps you a few paces away from any of the mobsters, bites down a growl whenever any of them come too close to his mate. It’s just the mating bond making it’s self-known. You are his. No one can touch you.

Yoongi has never been a possessive man, but now he is. The mating mark tearing through him and screaming at him to protect, to provide, to nurture, and keep safe. He strokes down your back as his cousin quietly orders the others to clean up the mess and Geumjae’s body. The family has cleanup crews on call for this very reason.

They quietly offer to burn the house down to stage the death but Yoongi doesn’t care. He guesses it belongs to him now or maybe you. It depends on which bond the family will consider more important; the bonds of a half mating or the bond of brotherhood.

“I’ll handle it-“ his cousin has the good grace to offer comfort to Yoongi that way when he gets you into her car. she doesn't say anything about the dents in the side.  

Yoongi doesn’t quite hate her for any of this, but he doesn’t trust her the same way he did before either. She’s gotten what she wanted- the Don position. Plucked it from Yoongi’s hands.

“You haven’t had a chance to call the heads of house and tell them about your decision yet, but after that, you should be free to go” she reads him easily as always, The only other manipulator up to par with Yoongi himself in the gang. She knows that not an inch of Yoongi wants to stay in this house or this city a second longer.

At the idea of leaving you to straighten up in Yoongi’s lap to listen in a little more, you share a look with Yoongi. Your mate, your body sings the eye contact makes you shiver in your seat. Yoongi pulls you closer, stroking up to your arm mistakenly thinking you’re cold. You pull yourself closer to him- but it feels like you can’t get close enough, He makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat.

Yoongi will have to get used to this feeling. Like his soul is walking outside of his body. It feels incredibly vulnerable and intimate- He can feel your panic, how physically you’re being torn apart right now, every few minutes you shake. Yoongi puts your legs over his and holds you close. Watching your face closely for every twinge of pain as the lights of the city flicker over you two.

The meeting with the heads of house is tense, though the usual group of is two short now, standing only at eleven members now that Geumjae is gone and Moonbyul is named Don. You cannot be Don and a head of house at the same time.

It takes every bone in Yoongi’s body to let you be taken into the other room by Moonbyul’s mate to check over your injuries. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. He catches Moonbyul’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything. “Would you look at her bruises for me?”

Later Yoongi will check them himself, again and again until he's sure you're all right. But the sooner you get ice on the nastier bruises the better off you’ll be. Someone should look at your ribs and your head too- he has half a mind to take you to the hospital before you leave the city. He doesn’t know how long it will be before you’re stationary again. He’d stay in the city tonight if you needed to. But he can feel your panic down the bond, The sooner you both get out of here the better.

With Geumjae dead there is no true opposition against his cousin's rule. She stands at the head of the table like she’s meant to be there. And still- the heads of the families talk through the night, kicking the non-proverbial dead horse into the ground. There is little mourning for Geumjae, one granny who cries faintly in the other room while the heads argue. Yoongi supposes he should look more upset, but no one pays attention to him now that he’s made his choice.

No, what they spend most of the time discuss is you. Sat in the other room, able to hear all of this, the men and woman weighing your fate and deciding what to do with you. If Yoongi listens, he can hear Hyejin’s quiet voice. Can feel your discomfort as the ice hits your ribs, maybe broken, definitely badly bruised.

Yoongi flinches every time he feels the pain pulse down the bond. Maybe in time, it will feel less sensitive but right now- Yoongi can feel your hurts just as bad as he can feel his own. A part of him is reaching out into the other room, screaming in his ear to go comfort his mate.  

He has a mate. Yoongi can scarcely believe it.

The gangsters around the table remain blissfully unaware of that fact. Most of the heads are on the same page, and he won’t reveal his mating mark unless he absolutely needs to, he will let that secret stay secret unless necessary. It’s a good bargaining chip. They wouldn’t kill you if they knew it was going to kill him too. But still- it’s hard to hear them argue over your fate when he can’t intervene.

“You know the rules- no divorces and no separations,” one alpha says, he’s older- nearing 60, but Yoongi can’t excuse that cruelty with age. The youngest, the head of the Ahn house does the rebutting for Yoongi, and he bites his tongue.

“But it wouldn’t be a divorce; she’s his widow now and his ex-mate technically.”

“Yes but that’s only a half bond.” There is only one omega head, and the woman snubs her long cigarette out on the table leaving an ashy circle 

“It’s only the alpha bite that matters- or have you forgotten?”

To her credit, the omega doesn't back down. “Chances are she’ll die anyway why are we even talking about her, we should start transitioning already.”

“That’s easy to say- if she’s got nothing left to lose what’s to stop her from going to the police.”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Yoongi volunteers, jumping at the chance to turn the discussion to his favor. They can all go fuck themselves if they ever dare to try and hurt you. “You say she’s as good as dead anyway. So you shouldn't mind if she comes with me.” 

The likelihood of anyone living after their mate dies is in the teens. Yoongi knew that and even then he bonded to you anyway. He can only hope that with his bite coursing through your veins and your body confused that you’ve got better odds than that. Yoongi did what he promised to do, now your odds are both 50/50. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t go to the police.”

Through the bond he can feel your curiosity and a little bit of fear too, you’re listening in. And he does his best to let his calmness comfort you too. Your panic instantly relaxes and he senses you reaching out. If you were next to Yoongi you’d be holding hands, and it kind of feels that way. If you could ever hold hands with someone’s soul.

“You realize that if you make her your responsibility, anything bad that happens will fall on your head as well” their betas might be sacred- but they aren’t free from the rest of the laws of the gang.

“I understand.” The Don lifts her head, regarding Yoongi with a heavy look. “She’s his widow and whether we want to address it now or not, the law says she’s inherited his wealth.”

It's met with immediate opposition, several heads of house start speaking over each other at once,  but Yoongi speaks up again, shouting over them. A beta raising their voice is about as strange as one giving or getting a mating bite, everyone falls silent. “Give it to me or her- I don’t care.”

another few minutes and they’re ready to let you go. they vote on it, and only 3 out of 11 heads vote to have you killed. Moonbyul gives the all clear, “Then you’re free to go.” Yoongi doesn’t even say goodbye, going to you in the other room just as quickly as he can without outright running. The Don’s mate is crouched in front of where you sit. Your body is mostly clean of blood and you’ve been put in other clothes; a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt.

Yoongi can see all the bruises on the side of your face turning purple and Yoongi wants to cup your face and bring it to his, kiss away the pain coloring your skin like watercolors, but can’t do it here. “Do we need to go to the hospital?” 

“Not for her but maybe for you, no ones checked you over yet, have they?”

yoongi grits his teeth, seconds away from snapping at hyejin, he wants her to get away, get as far from you as possible. “i asked if she needed the hospital.” 

Hyejin stands when Yoongi crouches. shaking her head when it becomes clear yoongi isn’t to be argued with right now. “There’s something wrong with her- but I think you know what” her eyes hover on Yoongi’s hip.

 So at least she’s figured it out. She has the good sense to utter the words quietly. Though the people in the other room aren’t concerned with Yoongi anymore, they’ve already launched into discussions about transitioning power and re-defining responsibilities. It seems Moonbyul had a plan on how she wanted the family to run from the beginning.  

He shakes off his annoyance, “Thank you,” he says to the omega, holding out a hand to you, which you take, still not saying anything. Tiredness holding you down to the chair. The same kind of look you’d had when Geumjae had died. The mating mark has been taped over but some of the blackness is still there. Yoongi wonders when it will fade, if it ever does.

“I wish I could say I’ll see you soon but I don’t think I will.” You and Yoongi nod, your hands twined between the two of you. She knows that neither you nor Yoongi has a love for the gang. No one stops you and Yoongi when you leave the house. Immediately hailing a taxi. You stop only at Yoongi’s safe house for a spare 20 minutes, while he packs up a fraction of his belongings in a hurried rush, anything to get out before someone tries to change their mind.

If Geumjae had any hidden loyalists the beta that killed him and his runaway wife would be the first targets. Let alone their reaction if they knew who had really killed Geumjae. The quicker the two of you get away from the city the better.

You end up at the train station, Yoongi breaks the bracelets off of your wrist- the same ones that he saw you wear on you the first night- and the ones that he’s always thought looked like shackles. He yanks at them as hard as he can until they snap; kissing your wrist after each one is off. You throw them over the side of the chain-link fence and into the darkness- to be lost forever you hope. The symbols of all you’ve lost.

When you get on the train, you cuddle close under Yoongi’s jacket and into his warmth. He’s a protective barrier between you and the third seat that thankfully remains empty this late into the night it’s so late it’s nearly early morning. Most of the train is empty besides an elderly couple at the front. Regardless, the two of you sit behind them. Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of the potential threat. Actually flinches when the conductor comes around to stamp your tickets.

You head off into the night- your little box of light in a sea of street lamps and hidden dangers. You almost fall asleep a few times, head bobbing as you catching yourself before it hits his shoulder. After the third time this happens he pulls you in close, tucks your head close to his scent gland, and commands “sleep” in a voice that you cannot disobey.

Eventually, you wake, the car is bright with the midday sun and the car is half full. Yoongi’s eyes are bloodshot as they train on every passenger who comes in and leaves your train car. Yoongi holds your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back in an endless trail. A conductor opens the door of your train car to pass through, bunching a few tickets here and there from the new passengers who have boarded the train.

He passes by where you're bundled and Yoongi flinches so hard it wakes you fully. his shoulder accidentally nudging a bruise on your cheek, He murmurs his apologies, panicked hands fussing over you. He could feel that he hit one of your bruises and the horror of hurting you make him wide-eyed and worried. You catch his hands, pressing the pads of them to your lips. Yoongi's hands shake as they touch you, hours later, he's still high on adrenaline. 

“You need to sleep Yoongi” it’s been a long few days for both of you.

He doesn’t answer with more than a grunt. But you get off the train at the next stop and it’s nearing noon by the time the two of you stumble across the street to a motel, and it’s shitty and smells like cigarettes and the lady at the front desk asks if you need the hourly rate or the daily rate. Though she does give you a discount because Yoongi’s a beta. Eyeing the blood-soaked collar of his jacket and the bloody bandages on your neck.

You should be holed up somewhere safe away from prying eyes to adjust to your new mating bite- not in a hotel where the smells of other people assault your nose. Making you press close to Yoongi because everything smells so new and scary. Like your senses have been turned up and only Yoongi can quell their sensitivity.

you don’t realize that the attendant gave you two beds until you get to the room. you both stare blankly before you cough and separated. the closeness too much now that you’re alone and free from threats. Though it doesn't feel that way. 

you hate it- you don’t want to curl up across the room from Yoongi- you want to be next to him. you almost whimper when he He steps away to the other bed to set down his backpack. You want to cry, your skin feels irritated and itchy without his pressed to yours. You want him to touch you but you can’t stay it. Don’t know how to ask around the thickness in your throat.

He gets a clean shirt from his black backpack and helps you put it on so that you don’t irritate the mating bite. You can’t lift either of your arms much and neither can he but he pushes through the pain for you. He only has 2 or three sets of clothes that he grabbed from the cottage, and it’s all you’ve got.

“We’ll get some more clothes for you tomorrow.” He doesn’t say that you should have grabbed some of your clothes- because you both know you couldn’t handle staying in that house a second more than was necessary. You barely thought to linger long enough to grab your purse, which thankfully had everything you really need in it. 

Somehow he has athletic tape in his bag, and he spends a few minutes changing out your soaked through bandages, bundling up toilet paper, and taping it over your mating bite. Only after yours is taken care of does he let you do the same for his bite on his hip, and the burns on his hands. 

You pull his pants off and then his boxers down just enough so that you can get at it, small from your mouth, the skin around it irritated and pink. You try not to let your eyes hover on the small happy trail that traces from his belly button downwards. The band on his boxers is stained with blood- and you wonder how much it hurt to have it dig into it all day.

You curl up in separate beds, and only when you’re under the covers do you slide off your pants. leaving you only in a large shirt that smells like yoongi.  Yoongi does the same, says “goodnight” and shuts off the light but doesn’t turn away from you, keeping his eyes on you in the darkness. 

You’re silent for a few minutes, but you can tell that neither of you is falling asleep. Your bed feels cold and you wonder if he feels the same, you let the distance hurt for a minute before you give in.  

"Thank fucking god-" He peels back the blanket for you the second you make the move and dash across the cold room. you scoot into his warmth and he lets out a little ‘oof’ when you collide. Letting him pull you closer, put the blanket over your back, and make sure all of your skin is covered.

It’s not enough for Yoongi and he pulls you sideways so that he can get some of his weight on top of you. A growl building in his chest at the thought of anyone walking through the door right now.

He needs to check the lock, make sure that no one can possibly disturb you. Needs to- the instinct filling him so harshly he can’t breathe. He tries to pull away, but your hands tighten on him, and you let out a whine so heartbreaking that instantly has him releasing comforting chocolate, flopping back on top of you nuzzling under your chin, you feel like you’re drowning in it. 

Your love with Yoongi is still too new and raw to be close like this without feeling shy- and yet you can’t resist, your mating bond is like a fresh burn that you can’t stop picking at because it hurts. (Like there’s something dead there that you need to get rid of, you can’t heal around, you need to tear it out so that it feels more like bleeding rather than something that was carved out by hungry heat.) You fiddle with the bandage at your neck before Yoongi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

For a moment, you crave the release that blood might give you- and like he can feel it. Yoongi presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Couldn’t sleep?” Yoongi says. You shake your head. The motel creeks and overhead you can hear someone else moving in an adjacent room. Yoongi gets his head on your pillow and adjusts his hand around your waist so that he’s not hitting the vicious bruise that Geumjae left with one of his kicks.

The last 24 hours have been such a tangle. It feels weird to not move now. Yoongi’s heart is still hammering; you can feel it under your palm. You’re both unwilling to relax and close your eyes even for a second even though you’re both exhausted.

You’re worried if you close your eyes you’re going to see Geumjae's face.

Yoongi left the light in the bathroom on for you. Sensing that the shadows would be too thick with nightmares for you to handle for long. You look at each other in the darkness before Yoongi lets out a shaky little giggle.

“Do you know what I just realized?” he says, the words quieted against the too scratchy bedspread. “We could have gotten a better hotel, we easily have enough money for it now” and that’s true.

If Yoongi’s orders were followed and the gang's accountant really did transfer all of your inherited wealth to your name then- fuck- both of you saw the bank statements. Both of you know how much money Yoongi’s family had amassed- the same wealth that Geumjae had inherited and now you.

“Fuck you’re right,” you say, ducking in so that you don’t have to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Geumjae used to hit you sometimes if you did that- and trained habits die-hard. 

yoongi kisses your brow, slow little pecks that travel down your cheeks, as unhurried as they are sweet. It's strange to be close to him now when it’s all you’ve wanted for the last few months. You never thought you’d get this. It feels like a daydream and a nightmare all at once.

“We could buy a whole house- or three” and even then you’d have more than enough money to live on after. For the rest of your days, comfortable and cozy even if you were foolish with the money. Yoongi still gets his stipend from the gang. No doubt to be greater now that he’s the only beta.

He stops his kisses, mouth hovering on your cheek, “We could do that.” he sounds like he’s barely containing his excitement. 

You’ll both be fine. Neither of you will ever have to worry about money again and it makes you feel sick and happy with something that feels a terrible lot like grief.

Even if you got that- the last 24 hours haven’t been worth it. You’re not entirely out of the woods yet. The mark on your shoulder is scabbing over and inky. But every few hours of closeness that the two of you have- Yoongi think’s he sees the color fade- just a little bit.

You don’t know where the giggle comes from but one moment it comes out of your mouth and you laugh, and Yoongi joins in the sound startling out of his chest. He presses his forehead tight against yours and sighs at the sound. You see the moment clarity falls on him and an idea settles into his mind the second it hits. And dim happiness settles over your bond.

Yoongi lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your bruised knuckles. “Let's buy a house.”

You smile- tired from today but still willing to placate him. “Okay Yoongi, we can do that.”

Now finally, his eyes are starting to droop, every few seconds he tries to keep them open, but you know he's seconds away from sleep. His words slurred when they whisper, his sweet chocolaty breath tickling your cheeks. “Goodnight sweetheart- love you.”

“Love you too,” it’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to each other. It feels like the first of many times you’ll say it. Forever- you and Yoongi will be mated together until you both die. And who cares if that happens tomorrow or months from now. Who cares? Because you have him and that’s all that matters.

Yoongi holds you and knows- that he will love you- as long as he can.

He watches you sleep, waits until your eyes are closed. Until he can make sure you’re safe and warm. A gentle purring fills the hotel room, soft and peaceful. yoongi hears it louder when he presses his ear to your chest. He tries to keep his eyes open, but somewhere around the second hour- they fall closed.

Neither of you dream.

—————

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[thesunicarusfellfor]

The neither route was amazing! If you ever get ideas for it pls continue because i found it really interesting. You are a great writer.

Okay! This route actually made me very happy, but unfortunately, as much as I wanted to write it, I didn't know how exactly to do it? If that makes sense?

Context is HERE- The very end of the story is the Neither route.

TW: Anxiety, mentioned nightmares, mentioned Tubbo threatening Ranboo, guilt

I would also like to say that cuddling is platonic.

Left The Game (Plat!C!Ranboo x GN!Reader x Parental!C!Philza) Headcanon/Fic (Part 3???)

Ranboo Beloved joined the game.

(Y/n) (L/n) joined the game.

Michael Underscore-Beloved joined the game.

You and Ranboo tumbled out of the swirling portal and hit the ground with a hard thud, dirt and sand kicking up around you both upon impact.

Before you could comprehend what happened, a small squeal came from behind you and something slammed into your back, causing a groan to pull itself from your chest.

The monochrome male mumbled from beside you, his face practically buried in the grass which caused his words to be muffled.

His crown had rolled a few feet away, and his bags had opened as well, sending a few of his tools scattering, but everything seemed to be intact?

You slurred a mess of words before spitting out the sand that had gathered up in your mouth, attempting to tell the tall male that you were alive.

At least somewhat.

You both knew that you three had to drag yourselves into Phil's house, but the travel was so exhausting. Sleeping in the dirt sounded so tempting...

A quiet whine sounded from the weight on your back, reminding you that Michael had also come into the server with you.

When Ranboo got up, he picked the zombie piglin up from where he sat on your back, allowing you to get up.

You both, plus Michael who was resting on Ranboo's hip, began to pick up everything that had dropped out of the portal with you.

Once everything was gathered up, you three wandered through the iron doors of Philza's home and looked around curiously.

Two cats, one named Pog and one named Champ, came up to you both, chirping and meowing eagerly before pausing suddenly. They most likely expected Phil...

Michael gave a loud squealing noise at the sight of the cats and squirmed out of Ranboo's hold, running over to pet the cats.

Ranboo set off to find food in the chests, scribbling in his memory book the entire time.

You, on the other hand, dug through your bags to find materials you had brought to make three beds. One yellow, one grey and the other (f/c).

Once you placed each of them beside each other, Michael eagerly hopped into the middle one (the yellow one), while Ranboo walked over with plates of steamed carrots and baked potatoes.

"Stressed?" He mumbled softly, watching you stare down at your wrist where the tattoo of a heart with deep grooves in the center rested. The exact place the three hearts tattoos were, "I-I know, it's going to be a little different... But... Maybe it's a good different! ...Please, eat something and then get some sleep. Phil will check on us in the morning, and you know how he can get..."

With a smile, he handed you the plate and a fork before sitting on the floor at the foot of the beds with his own plate. Luckily he had given Michael a golden apple before he had gone to look for food, so the child was quietly drifting off to sleep, "Do... You really think that running was the best option?" You whispered, taking a bite of the vegetables.

"I... What else could we have done?" He frowned, setting his crown beside him before taking a bite of his own food, "We couldn't fight them... and they were definitely not going to let you go so easily. Hell... Tubbo... My own fiance was threatening to kill me because I was talking to you and caring for your burns!" He hissed, tilting his head back with his eyes pinched shut tightly, trying so hard not to cry.

You quickly walked over and moved his plate so it rested on his bed and you wrapped your arms around him tightly. The enderman hybrid eagerly returned the hug, crying into your shoulder so the fabric of your clothes soaked up his tears, "Should... I have just... Accepted their love, and maybe learn to love them back? For everyone's sake?" You whispered, your voice wavering as you tried to keep your composure.

"Absolutely not!" He yanked himself back from your shoulder to give you a glare, "That relationship would not have been healthy whether you loved either of them or not! They would've kept you locked away like a prized possession, and they would've severely hurt anyone who tried to interact with you!"

"I- I know... But..." You glanced down, but Ranboo tilted your head upwards so you were looking at him, but you still avoided eye contact so it didn't make him uncomfortable, "Your... Your relationship..."

Ranboo sighed, "I know. But, I'd rather that he showed me his true colours and I divorced him again for that, rather than him manipulating someone into loving him... and putting everyone else in danger in response. Now. We have a lot to do tomorrow. Finish eating and get some sleep."

The next morning, Philza practically slammed open the iron doors to his own house, looking a tad bit out of breath and a bit frazzled.

Once he saw you, Michael and Ranboo curled up in a small cuddle pile on the three different coloured beds, he gave a loud sigh of relief and adjusted his striped bucket hat.

Thankfully, the father of Minecraft let you three sleep for a little while before waking you and Ranboo up around noon.

First, he gave you both spare elytra's and so you could keep up with his massive black avian wings.

Ranboo's turned into massive black and purple dragon wings, while yours turned into (f/c) (f/a) wings.

Phil showed you both the end realm and his Endlantis, which he gave Ranboo special water protection potions so he could swim through the waters as well.

This man basically treated you three as if you were his own children!

Taught you how to fly.

Taught you how to cook properly.

Everything!

And basically survive with bare minimums.

Once you both got better at flying, a few months later, Philza rEAAALLY wanted to take you to the massive project he called Nether Void.

"Ready, mates?" Philza walked over and ruffled the hair on both your and Ranboo's heads with a soft smile, somehow unbothered by the blistering heat of the hellscape, "Double check your potions, armour durability and food supply."

Ranboo mostly stopped wearing his crown because it had problems staying on when he flew and because it had a lot of memories tied to it, so he didn't want it damaged. He had also stopped wearing his tux, instead, he wore plain black pants and a white ruffled poet shirt with a purple short cape that had a golden trim and gold chains, which was a gift from Philza.

You on the other hand wore something similar but with a(n) (f/c) poet shirt and a(n) (f/c) and gold cape. Your cape was also a gift from the fatherly figure as well, and so was the (f/c) infinity scarf type fabric wrapped around your shoulder over your chest that helped you carry and protect Michael as you flew, "Yep, we're ready to go, Mr. Dadza Minecraft!" You gave him a mock salute with a smile as he laughed.

Ranboo checked on Michael who was nibbling on a golden apple before he helped put the zombie piglin child into your scarf carrier, "Yeah, everyone seems safe!" He chirped softly as he adjusted his cape to spread his wings, shaking them out a bit in the heat of the lava.

"Let's go!" You cheered softly once you made sure Michael was 100% secure and wouldn't fall out somehow, "Food is stocked up and in my bag, as well as Regen and Health pots, and a first aid kit and two extra totems."

Philza gave you a proud father smile and took off first, hovering in the air for a few seconds as he waited for both of you to catch up. Thankfully, he knew very well that you both likely would never be able to catch up to his skill in flying as he had been born with massive feathered wings hundreds of years ago. You and Ranboo had never been into the air until a few months ago. Once you both caught up, he took off and soared through the burning hot nether.

Phil loved telling you both the stories of the lands. The Blaze Empress who lived in the Quartress, the foolish Ender King...

You and Ranboo always listened to his stories with such eagerness, often asking him to retell the stories when you were having a bad day or just wanted to relax.

The elder male actually greatly enjoyed having two children to raise again, even if he didn't have the best track record with sane children.

When he did leave to go to the DreamSMP, he would always promise you both that he would be safe and NEVER left without saying goodbye, even if he was angry or upset with either one of you.

He never wants his last words to someone to be filled with anger or hatred.

Somedays he would go to the SMP, you and Ranboo would not leave the house, just out of fear that he wouldn't come back, or that Tubbo and Tommy would come out instead of Phil.

Both you and Ranboo were plagued by nightmares very often for the first few weeks and woke up in tears in the middle of the night.

As old as Phil was, he had absolutely no problems comforting either of you in the middle of the night, same with Ranboo.

"Here mates..." He whispered softly as he handed you a hot beverage and gave Ranboo a grass block, "You're safe here... I promise. I would have to allow either of them into the server, and that would never happen... Especially now that I know what kind of people my sons are..."

You sighed and put your hand on Ranboo's back as he sobbed into your shoulder, using the fabric of his shirt to dry his tears before they burned his skin, "I know... I know... There's just the overwhelming fear that suddenly I'll wake up and I'll be back in the SMP and-and..." You decided not to finish your sentence, nuzzling into Ranboo's hair to try and keep yourself calm.

"Last I checked... Techno scared them off from the Tundra... But I haven't been in Snowchester or near the Embassy enough to know what Tubbo and Tommy are doing. But Ghostbur said that Tubbo has gone absolutely nuts... And Sam had to steal the nukes so Tubbo wouldn't destroy anything else... He also said Tommy on the other hand hasn't done anything except visit Dream in prison constantly."

Ranboo gave a shaky sigh and glanced over at Michael, most likely extremely happy that he brought his child along so he didn't have to deal with a psychotic Tubbo... Hell, he didn't know what would've happened to his kid if he did leave him. The thought caused him to give a small sob and hide his face again, holding onto you tighter and practically pulling your smaller form into his lap, trying to silently promise you safety and using you to remind him that he wasn't alone.

"We... we can't thank you enough, Phil... Really... You taught us so many life skills, kept us safe and promised us a safe haven... Allowed us to your private server..." You whispered, before feeling the warm cup being taken from your hand before a hand replaced it.

"Honestly... It's the least I can do to protect you both... You two have become two children to me, and, while I haven't been able to raise you from children like Techno, Wil and Tommy..." He didn't continue his sentence, struggling to form sentences, but both you and Ranboo understood and were quick to yank him into your little cuddle pile/hug, the two of you eagerly hugging him.

"Thank you... Dadza..."

[depressedacadamia]

Lightweight

Summary: Will Solace can’t realy hold his alcohol but Nico doesn’t really mind.

A/N: 2 fics in one week? Oh my gods, who is this writer and what have they done with Persephone? Enjoyy yall- I really enjoyed writing this one!  

Read on A03

“Hands off sunshine!” Nico warned as he held the bottle of vodka above his head, his arms outstretched.

“Give meee!” Will cried, his hand sloppily hitting Nico’s arm. The summer air was warm and Nico could feel the thin layer of sweat on his forehead- considering he had to stay in his tiptoes to hold the bottle above Will.

“Will, you didn’t even drink that much! How are you so drunk?”

“You don’t love me! Do you love me?”

“Of course I love you, ya little drunk shithead. You are totally wasted, no matter how many times you will doubt it,” Nico sighed, throwing Will’s arms over his shoulders in a vain attempt to carry him back to Cabin 7.

Will gave one long blink. Then another. “ Where are we going?”

“To your cabin. I’d shadow travel but I've seen a regular person’s reaction to that, I don’t want to see what chaos would come out of shadow travelling a hot drunken mess.”

“Did you just call me a mess?” Will pouted.

“Yes but I called you a hot mess. Focus on that part. It was mostly a compliment.”

“You’re sooo mean to meee. Do you even love me?”

“Yes I love you, stop being so heavy and carry your own legs please.” Nico shifted his back under the weight of his boyfriend's entire body and tried to manage a few steps- they would have been easy if his boyfriend wasn’t so damn fit and if he himself wasn’t slightly inebriated.

“Ni-” Will hiccuped. “-Co!”

“Yes?”

“Do you love me?”

Nico sighed again, slightly frustrated by the constant question. “Yes I love you, ask again and the answer may vary.”

“Phi Phi is so much nicer than you,” Will grumbled, his head leaning into the crook of Nico’s neck. Nico could smell the twinge of alcohol in Will’s breath along with the regular smell of the spearmint gum he would always be chewing.

“Phi Phi?” Nico snorted. “ Who in the name of God is that?”

“Your stepma! Phi Phi! She gave me so many nice flowers last time we visited!” Will paused before giving Nico an innocent look of disapproval. “ Do you not remember Phi Phii?”

Will accidentally dragged out the last ‘ee’ syllable in the word ‘phi phi’ making it sound like he was a 3 year old trying to read for the first time. Nico almost shivered at the mention of his stepmother; the last time he checked, she still had at least 157 variations of dandelions that she could turn him into the second he did anything going against her liking- afterall, she may have been the Goddess of the Spring but she was still the Queen of the Underworld.

“Yes, of course I remember Phi Phi.” He lowered his voice as he muttered the next few words under his breath to prevent them from being heard. “ How could I forget her and her stupid dandelions?”

“Phee Pheeee!”

“What about Phi Phi?”

Will paused for a few seconds. He tilted his head looking at Nico. “ Do you love me?”

Nico, awfully frustrated, decided to not answer the question honestly. “ No, I do not love you right now. Drunk you is a mess whom not only subject hops but also cannot walk coordinately.”

Nico did not think Will would take anything he said seriously but to his horror he was greatly mistaken. Will’s slow and steady breathing quickly became a rapid torrent of quick and unsteady breathing. Nico had thought that he was just mucking about but then he felt warm tears stain his shirt.

Tears streamed down Will’s flushed face, his freckles were almost invisible as the tears continued running down his face like a current. His chest racked with sobs and he pulled away from Nico and collapsed on the ground. He buried his head in his hands and let his heart beat harder with every cry that left his lips.

Nico watched, his mouth dropped. He had no idea what he had done or how to make it better. He reached out, trying to console the drunk and overly emotional Will but instead found himself feeling guilt beyond any he had ever felt before.

“Will?” He whispered. “ Will? You’re drunk. I was just joking, I didn’t mean anything I just said.”

Will's loud sobs started to slowly quieten down but the tears still freely ran across his face. He glanced upwards at Nico, his eyes rimmed red. His bottom lip wobbled and his eyes were wet.

“But.. but you said that you don’t love me…”

“I was joking. I was lying. I do love you. Only you.”

Nico plopped himself beside Will and shuffled himself closer, awkwardly. He tried to wrap one of his arms around Will but he found it to be too short and only barely touched Will’s other shoulder. So instead, he settled for rubbing soothing circles on Will’s back, calming him and forcing him to breathe slower.

“How do I know you are not lying to me now?” Will’s eyes were innocent and once again brimming with tears. “I always worry that you're just lying to me and then one day you’re going to just go poof and stupid me will be all sad.”

Nico thought he could feel his own eyes stinging- was this how Will really felt? Was Nico that bad a boyfriend that Will felt that every word, every kiss, every moment was a lie? Or did Will just consider himself so unloveable that every good thing that ever happened to him was just temporary or fake?

Nico glanced at the blonde eyelashes that were clad together with tears.

What happens inside that gorgeous head of yours, Solace?

“I love you William Andrew Solace. I choose you. You’re my significant other, significant annoyance- whatever you want to call it. And if I ever disappear, you’re sure as hell coming with me.”

Will wrapped his arms tightly and unexpectedly around Nico’s waist- causing Nico to be pushed onto his back while Will snuggled into his abdomen. Nico could feel his t-shirt stick to him due to the tears from Will’s face.

“I love you soooo much,” Will murmured into Nico’s stomach. Nico could feel his breathing hitch at the words. Nico kissed Will- light and innocent. That's what the kiss meant. He could taste the salty tears on Will’s lips and the bitter aftertaste of the vodka on his tongue. The kiss was quick, chaste and it may have not satisfied Will’s desire but it made him feel safe.

And to both of them, that’s all that mattered.

Will awoke the next morning with several life regrets but none as strong as the stupid amount of alcohol he had decided to consume the previous day or night. He could barely remember anything- let alone figure out where in the name of Zeus he was. The cabin seemed dreary but at the same time it was beautiful. It was dark and light and terrifying and beautiful all at the same time.

Wait. What Cabin was this? Whose Cabin was this? He didn’t think there was any Cabin that was so roomy with such a lack of accommodation. He almost felt like he was in a Cabin for a child of the Big Three- He remembered the one time he had taken a glimpse of the Poseidon Cabin and he remembered it to be huge- something he deeply envied Percy for.

It was only until Will noticed the black clad figure kneeling beside him that he realised where exactly he was. Beautifully tousled hair, gorgeous lips and eyes that one could get lost in forever- he only knew one person with features so defining. The question was, what on earth was he doing in Cabin 13?

Cabin 13- His boyfriend's cabin. Immediately, Will scrambled upwards. He looked Nico straight in the eye and tried to recall to what extent he embarrassed himself as a drunken idiot last night.

“How bad was it?”

“Shall I sugar coat it or give it to you straight?”

Will managed to squeak out, “Give it to me straight.”

“You tried to get into my pants and talked about how hot you thought I was.” Nico shrugged nonchalantly.

Will blanched and he immediately wished that had asked for the sugar coated version. He heard Nico laughing and he could feel his nerves both calm down and panic at the same time. Nico’s laugh was calming and beautiful and warm and made him feel all fuzzy like he was under a fluffy blanket. But he worried for what reason Nico was laughing.

“Calm down sunshine. I was joking- you should have known that I wouldn’t have been able to give it to you straight. You just asked dumb questions and cried a bit.”

“I cried?”

“It’s not a big deal.” Nico batted his hand. Will collapsed back onto the bed with an ‘ow’ and groaned something unintelligible about it being ‘too early in the morning for this’.

“It’s actually 1 in the afternoon but to each their own I guess.”

Will wanted to shout WHAT but he did not want to rack his head with an already painful headache so he instead settled for dropping his jaw.

“Close your mouth sunshine unless you plan on using it,” Nico mumbled. Will felt his jaw drop further before he snapped it back and swore internally. He made a mental note to never have a hangover near Nico because he would use it to his advantage.

“So why exactly did I cry yesterday?” Will asked as he sipped from the glass of water that had been placed at the bedside by, he could only assume, Nico. Will noticed that when asked that question, Nico tensed, his hands digging slightly into his jeans.

The corner of Will’s lips tilted upwards. “ What did you say?”

“What makes you think I said anything? Drunk you is a crybaby and you know it,” Nico huffed defensively, refusing to meet Will's eye.

“Yeah but you’re acting guilty.”

“What if I killed some boring skeleton zombie this morning and I’m only now mourning their already dead body?”

“Spare me the dark and frankly dry humour,” Will deadpanned, excited to hear the cause of his outburst yesterday.

Nico mumbled something under his breath, all while looking away from Will.

“What?”

“I said,'' Nico took a deep breath. “That I didn't love you-”

“-What?”

“But it was a joke!”

Will could feel his stomach churning and he couldn't tell if it was from the hangover or the current situation. He managed to resist a gag. “How is that a joke?”

Will’s voice was so hoarse and weak, Nico thought that he was going to break into tears all over again and he knew that if that happened, he would end up with tears flooding his own face.

“It’s because, well, drunk you kept on asking Do you love me and of course I do but drunk you is just so heavy and you kept on asking and so I of course gave a sarcastic quip and you just burst into tears and..”

Will stared at Nico and for a second, Nico was terrified that he had really blown it.He watched as his boyfriend buried his face into his hands and began shaking. His back was shivering and Nico could hear little whimpers.

“Fuck.” Nico had subconsciously let the profanity pass through his lips.

Will, suddenly, threw his head back and his laugh echoed around the empty Cabin 13. Nico felt stuned. Was he laughing in rage? Should he run?

“Will. I am so so sorry. I swear, it was a joke. I love you, I chose you William Andrew Solace. I’ll do it again and again.”

“You,” Will wheezed. “ Idiot! Did you really get so worked up over drunk me being dramatic? I was being hyperbolic!”

Nico tilted his head ever so slightly but his ravenous locks still fell over his eyes however he didn’t seem to mind as he made no effort to move it from his sight.

“So… you aren’t mad?”

“I mean I won’t reject any special treatment if you were thinking of offering as a way of showing your sorrow,” Will teased.

“Shut it.” Nico pouted. “ Do I not get a dramatic love confession? I gave you two.”

Will raised his eyebrow and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “ If I can count correctly, and I can, I only recall one dramatic love confession.”

“You were too drunk to remember the first one.”

Will let out a groan before softly smiling.”I love you. I choose you, Nicolo Di Angelo.”

“Don’t call me Nicolo!”

[nbrook29]

Hey!! 108. “I could do that, but could doesn’t mean would.” for the dialogue prompt? 💞✨

Hi there! 😇

Another anon: 7, 8 😇

Another anon: 120, 127 ✨

Another anon: Okayyy so for the prompts :3) “You are not going without me.” and 8) “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”I already know it will be so good!! Thank YOU

So to sum up:

108. “I could do that, but could doesn’t mean would.” for the dialogue prompt?

7. “I’m not jealous.”

8. “ You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

127. “You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this…”

120. “Your hair is so soft…” -> already done here

* * *

Heaven. He’s in heaven. Every single muscle in his body is completely relaxed, body bathing in the scorching heat of the sun above him as he stretches his calves, toes digging in the sand, joints popping in a satisfying way, and yes, this is something Robbe could get used to.

He can’t believe merely six days ago he was a bundle of nerves. Nail-biting, snapping, whining, zombie-like mess, overly stressed about his finals and revising like a crazy person. It’s short of a miracle, he ponders, that Sander didn’t dump his ass after being barked at for two weeks straight. Instead, he gave him his space, would just kiss the top of his head everytime Robbe snapped at him for breathing too loud and quietly leave the room so Robbe could focus. 

Robbe would then be so overtaken by guilt that he couldn’t focus anyway and he’d walk to the kitchen, head hanging low, biting his lip, afraid that this time Sander finally had enough and went home, only to find him in his kitchen; making them dinner and swaying his butt to his newest playlist oblivious to the torment in Robbe’s conscience.

He’d walk over to him, quietly, slinking across the tiled floor in his socks the last few steps, and he would wrap his arms around his waist, holding on tight, head buried in between his shoulder blades as he’d mouth sorry after sorry into his t-shirt, sealing each one with a kiss. 

And Sander would be so fucking sweet about the whole thing. More understanding that Robbe could have ever asked for. He'd feed him croques or any other delicious food, smoothing out the frown lines between Robbe's eyebrows with his other hand and Robbe's contrite face would soon be all smiles, cuddling up to his side for a ten minute makeout session before going back to his studying with a long-suffering sigh. Not without a pat on the butt for, as Sander claimed, good luck. The cheeky bastard.

He smiles to himself now when he opens one eye to peak at the person lying next to him, but Sander is not there. Confused, he lifts his head with a groan, squinting against the sun. It only takes him a few seconds to locate his boyfriend, zeroing in on his tanned back, muscles shifting as he hits the ball across the net.

Robbe must have nodded off for a while because he remembers everyone chilling on their towels and now half of their squad is in the water while the other half is goofing off pretending to be good at volleyball, HIS other half included. He recognizes Jens, Jana, Moyo, Senne, and Sander of course, but there’s an additional person from outside of their group, playing for Senne and Sander’s team.

Huh.

She’s a long-legged olive skin beauty, tossing her long dark hair left and right, and Robbe snorts when he notices Moyo and Jens on the other side of the net, following her every move, hearts in their eyes. 

Grinning to himself, he starts thinking about the teasing material they’re providing him right now, and he’s about to turn his head to the other side to catch some sun rays on his right cheek as well when his eyes stop at the girl’s fingers as they wrap themselves around Sander’s arm, traveling to his bicep as she inches closer. There’s a private smile on her face, teeth biting coyly on her bottom lip, and Robbe cocks his eyebrow at the scene.

He rests his weight on his elbow, trying to find a position that doesn’t look too obvious as he keeps shooting furtive glances in their direction.

It’s not that he’s jealous or something. It’s just. She’s standing a teeny tiny too close and is a bit too touchy-feely. 

In his humble opinion.

There’s a pause in the game as one of the boys go to retreat the ball from the water and Robbe watches her hand slip sideways, now grazing Sander’s lean abs, and she’s saying something, but they’re too far for him to figure it out. There’s an unpleasant feeling rising in his stomach and he tries to squish it down but to no avail.

Fuck. He IS jealous. In fact, he’d really appreciate it if some random person wasn’t groping his boyfriend, pawing at him like he’s theirs to touch. 

Just as the realization hits, Sander takes a step back, gently pushing the girl’s hand away and saying something back, making her beaming face morph into a sad frown. Before Robbe can drop his gaze and pretend he hadn’t been watching the scene unfold like a hawk, Sander turns around and looks straight at him. Robbe curses under his breath when he sees the smirk growing on his lips when Sander realizes he caught him in the act. He shakes his head with amusement, chuckling a little as he winks and blows him a kiss before turning back to the boys and Jana and quitting the game, leaving the girl looking after him forlornly.

Robbe closes his eyes as the squinting becomes too much just as Sander jogs over to their spot, flopping on the towel next to him with a groan. 

“I think I’ve done enough sports for a whole year,” he complains, stretching his arms and legs like he’d just run a marathon. Robbe scoots closer, Sander’s body blocking the sun and giving his poor eyes a much needed break.

“Did you win?” he mouths the question against his side, tasting the salty skin as he brushes a small kiss on his hip bone as an afterthought, making Sander squirm at the tickling sensation. He lets out a short giggle, fingers finding their way into Robbe long curls, combing through them as he pulls his own body back a little.

“They’re still playing so it’s hard to say.”

“Mkay.”

Sander chuckles at his slurred answer. “You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like that, all rosy cheeks and puffy lips,” he murmurs, leaning down for a quick kiss that pulls an involuntary smile out of Robbe. He traces a delicate finger down his nose, "You're gonna be all freckly tomorrow."

"You love my freckles."

"I do." 

He waits until Sander makes himself comfortable on the sand before swinging his arm over his belly possessively and asking the question that's been on the tip of his tongue.

"So who was that?"

He opens his eyes and regards him from his half-closed lids, groaning internally when he notices the smirk dancing on Sander’s lips as he watches him, expression a little too gleeful for Robbe’s liking.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Robbe huffs in indignance like he hadn’t just been watching the girl touching Sander, grumpy and disturbed.

“I’m not jealous.”

Sander shoots a pointed look at the placement of his arm, eyes sceptical. 

"Pff, whatever," Robbe goes to move it, but Sander is quicker, catching it and pressing it back down, entwining their fingers on his belly in the process.

“Her name’s Leah, she wanted to play with us.”

"Did she make a move on you?" it slips out before Robbe can swallow the words down, and great, now he doesn't sound jealous at all.

Sander seems to be as surprised with the question as Robbe is.

"She did," he replies, turning on his side to look at him, head propped by his hand, "but I told her a have a scorching hot boyfriend who's currently sunbathing his perky butt and being insecure for some reason."

Robbe gets a bit defensive. "I'm not insecure," he mumbles back. "I just don't appreciate it," he waves his hand vaguely trying to find words, "when someone gets too close."

Sander is quiet for a few seconds and just when Robbe starts to regret opening his mouth, he finds himself being dragged across their towels and onto Sander’s chest. He’s not that light though so he essentially ends up with his upper body resting on Sander while his legs are now lying askew on his own towel still. It seems to be good enough for Sander though because he loops his arms around his back, effectively trapping him in case Robbe wanted to get away, eyes crinkling with that smug smile of his.

“You’re jealous of me,” he says it with such fondness in his voice that Robbe does a double take.

“Ugh, you’re enjoying this way too much,” he grunts, pulling back as far as Sander’s hold allows to get rid of the unpleasant twinge in his back.

Sander delicately thumbs at his pouty lower lip, expression still amused.

Robbe glares at him half-heartedly. “Could you stop?”

“I could, but could doesn’t mean would. Let me bask in this unexpected turn of events, babe.”

“Sandeeeeer,” he drags out his name in a whiny voice, first poking at his cheeks and then squeezing his lips with his fingers to put his satisfied smile to rest, but it only makes Sander laugh more. “Don’t be mean to me.”

“Admit you were jealous.”

“Oh my god, okay! I was jealous! She was touching you up and pawing at you with her tanned arms and I hated it, happy now?

Sander squeezes his lips to keep his grin at bay, but a small giggle escapes his mouth anyway.

“You’re the worst.”

“Aww, baby, I promise you’re the only one I want to be pawing at me. And touching me up.”

“Well I hope so.”

Robbe can’t resist giving him a kiss that is a bit too lingering and messy for a sunny noon at the beach, but he feels like staking his claim. Sue him. Sander is all for it, the exhibitionist in him couldn’t care less about random bystanders so when Robbe finally comes up for air he whines and tries to bring him back down, already looking dazed.

Robbe peaks on his left to see if the girl maybe was looking in their direction those few seconds ago, when he hears Sander’s scandalized gasp.

“Was that you claiming your territory?!”

Robbe fires him a smug wink, shutting up his “such a bad boy, mr IJzermans” with another kiss.

[lux-i-fer]

I would choose to be with you (as if the choice were mine to make)

Ao3 link

Synopsis: SPOILERS FOR S5B: Instead of going to Heaven after opening his door in Hell, Dan ends up somewhere he could have never imagined. Or: 5 times Dan tries to appear as a ghost to his friends and family and one time he manages to do a little more.

Rating: G

Notes: Hey guys!! I know I haven't written anything for god knows how long and this probably wasn't what you wanted me to work on, but I guess that's how it goes. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned my zombie John fic, it's just on hold while I find my creative motivation, sorry ;) This fic was inspired by So It Goes (the Marianas Trench version). I should have the other chapters up fairly quickly (like within the week). I'm not having year-long update gaps on a 5+1 fic. This is not betaed because apparently I cannot bring myself to care :)) I'm sorry if this sucks lol

Dan stared at his reflection in Chloe’s bathroom mirror. He had only been in her apartment bathroom once or twice when he’d been alive, and it almost felt like an intrusion to stand here now, watching her do her makeup at the vanity. Next to his haggard self, Chloe looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful. But perhaps it was the life thrumming through her veins that made her skin look especially vibrant and her eyes warm with an inner fire that Dan had learned after his death only the mortal living seemed to possess.

Dan’s eyes had always been dark, even when he was alive. Sometimes his tía used to tell him that God must have sculpted them from the very earth that birthed Adam and welcomed a felled Abel. It was meant to be a complement, but more than once Dan had found himself begging for penance for his flat, discarded ashtray-bottoms for eyes.

Back then, Dan was sure there was a little bit of devil in those eyes. Now, staring at the husk of a body barely clinging to the blunt corners of his soul, Dan knew better. There wasn’t anything behind the two holes bored into his skull. Just as there was nothing behind the equally lifeless face they belonged to.

Dan watched as Chloe drew her hair up into a ponytail. If he took a step to his right, her elbow would brush his shoulder on its way into taming her golden locks. But he stood rooted to the spot, lingering just out of her reach. His visits to Earth always ended like this--with his family moving on with their lives and Dan being forced to play the impassive observer.

It wasn’t like Dan had much of a choice. He still wasn’t quite sure how to control where and when he appeared on Earth. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure if this even was Earth at all. For all he knew Dan was still in Hell. It sure felt like Hell at times. Even if he had gone through the door, his door, the one that kept Charlotte sputtering and coughing all over his jacket and repeatedly cursing his name, Dan felt like he’d never left. If he had truly escaped, he could reach out and zip up the back of Chloe’s dress instead of having to watch her struggle alone with the zipper stuck stubbornly between her shoulder blades.

Dan’s lips curled into something resembling disgust. He felt like such a pervert, staring at his ex-wife getting dressed in the bathroom with her none the wiser. Dan was familiar with this feeling. Since his death, emotions were hard to come by and even harder to identify. Hell’s atrocities, and perhaps life’s as well, had left him hollowed out and numb. Nothing more than a limp corpse, cursed to be reanimated and tugged around through the ether like a piece of garbage caught in the undertow of some vast ocean.

In spite of his disgust, Dan always found himself unable to tear his gaze away from whomever he appeared for. This time was no different.

Chloe finally wrangled the zipper up to the base of her neck where it belonged. With a satisfied huff, she moved on to shuffle through a vanity drawer, pulling out a tube of mascara. Her figure obscured Dan’s in the mirror as she leaned over the sink to brush it onto her lashes, leaving Dan no choice but to watch her careful ministrations.

Yet again, Dan was struck by her beauty. Every flick of her wrist, every deft swipe of her fingers across her skin, smoothing smile lines and stray hairs alike, looked effortless. Even in his final moments, Dan hadn’t felt as light as Chloe looked at that moment.

It was times like these when Dan wished he had fought harder for his life, instead of letting the weight of his grief suffocate and damn him to eternal unrest. He wondered if he had fought, if he had managed to cling to his miserable mortality, would he have gotten this? Would he have moved on from Chloe and from Charlotte? It was obvious that Chloe was getting dressed up for a date or a night out; could Dan have had that? Could he have been happy like Chloe was now, with a new ring on her finger and a smile stashed away for the man who undoubtedly put it there? He supposed he’d never know.

Dan had given up on dreaming of such things long ago in the depths of Hell. The problem with wanting was that sometimes you actually got what you wished for. But as with everything else in Hell, desires had a way of morphing into nightmares. Dan was tired of nightmares. He’d always had them, even when he was still living. Turning to the church like his tía had suggested had never helped. Instead, as a boy Dan had found solace in reading. He had liked the modern classics--McCarthy, Capote, Hemingway--but his favorite had always been Vonnegut.

In Hell, the words of Vonnegut had helped him numb the pain of his eternal torture. He had repeated those coveted words from Slaughterhouse Five so many times that the words might as well be seared onto his tongue.

So it goes.

That was what he told himself. The first time Charlotte appeared in his Hell loop. So it goes. The first time he watched Malcolm kidnap Trixie. So it goes. The first time he found Chloe choking on her own blood under Palmetto Street. So it goes. Every dizzying cycle of guilt and abuse, he forced his response to remain the same. So it goes.

Dan had told himself those words until they became a part of him. Until he could detach himself from his guilt long enough to yank open the door, away from that hell and straight into a new one. If Dan had only known what lurked on the other side of that door, perhaps he would have never opened it. Better the devil he knew, right? At least he could anticipate what was coming in his cell in Hell. Here, adrift through space and time, Dan never knew what to expect. Sometimes that was the worst kind of torture.

In the mirror, Chloe’s reflection put the finishing touches on her makeup. Dan tried to move out of her way as she stepped away from the vanity to examine her work, but he found himself rooted to the spot. Instead of hitting his chest and severing his connection to this plane, Chloe simply slipped right through it. Still, Dan braced for the disappearing act that was sure to follow as it did with every other person who managed to touch him, yet it never came.

Her eyes instantly snapped to his in the mirror. The hope that he saw within their depths was sickening. Even so, every fiber of his being stilled. The room had suddenly become cold as Dan let himself indulge in her foolish hopes. How Chloe knew to look in that specific direction, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to waste time trying to figure it out. Dan tried to force his tongue from where it was cemented to the roof of his mouth. What he would he say, he did not know, but he knew it was important to say something. Anything.

But words did not come. Instead, Chloe’s form began to fuzz over as he had anticipated before, and Dan felt himself being dragged back into the cold ether. For the first time, Dan struggled against the ghastly fingers of shadow. He wanted to stay. Chloe had felt him, she had seen him. He needed to tell her--what? That he missed her? That he had tried to hold on, had tried to cling to life, even if death seemed intent on feasting on his soul? The questions swirled around his head, knocking into long-dead synapses and the spent pieces of himself he had cast aside in the face of his demise. For the first time since his death, Dan felt more than just a hollowed out shell of himself.

Before he could find the power to utter those words, the vision of Chloe and the vanity faded entirely, leaving him staring at the vast black nothing.

[toosicktoocare]

No one asked for this— I just wanted to write how recording statements is actually starting to get to Martin more than he lets on.

Setting: S3 with soft JonMartin.

(Currently taking prompts for The Magnus Archives!)

Tim’s walking toward the door of the archives, though, he isn’t quite sure why because he doesn’t plan on recording a statement. He can’t explain why, but whenever he reads the curved, old, faded letters of a statement, a foul taste coats the back of his tongue. One of the “perks” of this job, he assumes. 

Still, he finds, more often than not, that he’s oddly drawn toward the archives, that, during his aimless wandering throughout the day, he always ends up outside the archives door. Most of the time, he doesn’t open the door, but a few times, he’s found himself in the archives, staring blankly at a statement almost as if in a trance.

He stops before the closed door, hand frozen in the air just before the doorknob. He can hear a voice filtering softly through the small gap at the bottom of the door, and he drops his hand to his side and leans forward, listening closely.

Martin, he concludes almost immediately. He can hear Martin reading through the ending of a statement, his voice slightly darker, almost edging the line of an unknown, furious passion, as if he’s the one who wrote the statement originally. But, when the statement ends, he can hear Martin let out a long, shuddering breath, and then Martin’s stuttering through his final thoughts, his voice barely above a whisper and cracking every few words.

Tim’s muscles twitch with a muted need to open the door, to try and bring comfort to Martin, especially since Martin’s been appearing rather zombie-like over the last few days, paler than normal and almost dazed. But, just as quickly as the feeling flicks across his bones, it disappears because how can he bring comfort when he, himself, is unwillingly to accept comfort?

He breathes through a quiet sigh, his shoulders slumping against the low breath. He may not know how to help Martin, not with the Institute bearing down on him, but he knows who will.

***

Jon’s lost within a statement, his mind wrapped around the cursive words on the paper in front of him, when his phone begins buzzing insistently beside his leg, promptly scaring The Admiral off the couch.

He expects Georgie or Martin. He even begrudgingly expects Elias, but what he doesn’t expect is to see Tim’s name flashing across the screen. He makes a split second, conscious decision to keep the tape recorder on as he answers the phone, heart already taking to a too quick thump against his ribs.

“T-Tim,” he stutters in lieu of greeting, voice echoing the surprise etched across his face.

“Jon.”

Tim’s voice, as it has been for weeks now, is cold, indifferent, and Jon’s heart falters slightly.

“How, um, how are you?” There’s a long sigh on the other line.

“I didn’t call for a friendly chat, Jon.”

While Jon didn’t expect Tim’s call, he’s not surprised by Tim’s tone, by Tim’s attitude toward him. Still, he can’t keep the wave of muted defeat and guilt that washes over him, and he sinks back against the couch, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“Why did you call then?” Another, longer sigh follows, and he swears he can hear the cogs turning in Tim’s mind.

“It’s Martin.”

Jon bolts forward, body tensing around the two words, and his fingers tighten around his phone. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?” He begins to mentally curse himself for not doing more to keep his staff safe as numerous, grim scenarios cross his mind.

“He’s fine. Well, actually, he’s not. But he’s not hurt or anything.”

Jon struggles to decipher Tim’s words, seeing it as some foreign code he simply doesn’t have the time time crack. He can feel panic lacing the edge of his mind, and it mirrors in his tone. “Get on with it, Tim. What’s wrong with Martin?”

“It’s the statements.” 

Tim pauses, voice quiet on the other line, and Jon presses his phone a little harder to his ear, waiting with bated breath.

“He’s not you, Jon. He can’t just read one then move onto the next one. I think they are really starting to get to him. He doesn’t seem well.”

Each word is heavier than the previous, and Jon can feel the weight against his chest, an unseen pressure pushing past his ribs to his lungs and heart. It’s a cold feeling, and he unconsciously shivers.

“I can’t... You need to talk to him.”

Though Tim doesn’t say it aloud, Jon knows what’s gone unsaid, and he mentally supplies the unspoken conclusion of Tim’s sentence: ‘Because this is your fault.’

“Of course,” he mutters into the phone, already pressing stop on the tape recorder and getting to his feet, determination breaking the pressure in his chest. “Is there...?”

“No. Nothing else.”

Tim goes silent on the other end, but he doesn’t end the call, and Jon takes a moment to pause where he’s been shoving his feet into a pair of boots and just hang onto the notion that Tim’s still there, that maybe he hasn’t given up on him completely.

“Right.” Tim clears his throat. “Bye, Jon.”

The call drops, and Jon pockets his phone with a faltering frown, confused, but, for the first time in a long time, slightly hopeful for Tim sounded just a smidge more normal toward him in those last three words.

***

Jon’s made it to the archives door relatively unseen. Though, he’s aware that Elias knows he’s here without having seen the man, and he did share a silent, mutual nod with Tim when they crossed paths a few moments ago.

On the other side of the closed door, he can hear Martin mumbling through his final thoughts on a statement, picking up on the evident, tired frustration laced within his tone. His stomach twists uncomfortably, and, as he’s been on the other side of this door one too many times, he knocks, rapping his knuckles lightly against the wood.

“Oh, um, c-come in.”

Jon pushes the door open, holding one hand out when Martin jumps to his feet, knocking some papers over in the process.

“Jon!”

“Careful,” Jon says quickly, stepping into the room fully.

“Sorry,” Martin’s voice falls slightly, his cheeks going pink. “Why are you here? Er, well, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. Don’t get me wrong, Jon. I’m happy you’re here... Well, I’m happy to see you, I mean. Just,” Martin pauses, hands tugging at the bottom of his shirt, “what brings you here today? Need more statements?”

Jon takes a moment to drag his eyes from the dark circles casting shadows underneath Martin’s eyes, up to his rumpled hair, looking as if he’s spent far too long raking his fingers through it, and to his eyes, meeting the wide, almost panicked look that makes his heart sink low into his stomach. He’s sure that he’s been on the reverse side of this countless times, and he briefly considers apologizing to Martin for putting him through this so many times.

Without fully working through his thoughts, he spits out the first, coherent word. “Lunch.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Martin steps around the desk, rubs one hand over the back of his neck.

“Lunch,” Jon repeats. He clears his throat. “Would you... Do you want to join me for lunch?”

“Oh. Oh! Um...” Martin’s face flushes a deeper red, and if Jon weren’t completely worried about his health and mental well-being, he would consider smiling.

“Sure! Yeah. Lunch sounds great.”

***

Jon opts for a small diner that’s about a ten minute walk from the Institute. It’s quiet when they slip inside, the lunch rush not quite kicking in yet, and they’re quick to put in their orders when a nice waitress greets them at their table, a corner booth a bit away from wandering ears.

They take to small, mindless chatter at first, with Martin doing the bulk of the talking. He talks about the staff, Elias, a movie he watched the other night, a new convenience store that’s opened close to his flat, but when their food arrives, Jon takes very quick note to Martin picking up and setting down fries without actually eating anything.

“You aren’t eating.”

Martin flushes a soft pink, and he bows his head slightly. “Oh, sorry! I’m not that hungry.” His voice grows soft with the admittance, and Jon frowns, ignoring his burger entirely.

“Are you alright, Martin?”

“What? Of course!” As if to further prove his point, he shoves a fry in his mouth with a forced smile.

Jon considers his options, finally working through the fact that the truth will most likely yield better results. “Tim called,” he says, and Martin raises a brow.

“Have you two made up?”

“Not exactly,” Jon mutters lowly. “He’s worried about you. He thinks the statements are starting to... get to you.”

“Oh, I’m fine!”

Jon can see right through Martin, reading his practiced, light-hearted attitude like an open book. He sighs quietly, finger absently smoothing around the rim of his tea cup.

“Martin, I know how hard this job is. You can... I want you to know that you can talk to me.” He picks his words carefully, not wishing to push Martin under the pressure of compulsion.

And yet, Martin all but deflates across from him, and Jon’s hand twitches with a jolting need to reach out to him.

“I really am trying, Jon. It’s just... Some of the statements... I don’t know how you do it,” Martin admits. “Each one brings this chilly fear that I can’t shake. It follows me home.” He pauses, eyes casting to the table. “I’ve been dreaming about the statements, you know? Nightmares really.” He laughs weakly. “It’s a bit embarrassing, but I’ll wake up screaming. I’m a bit worried my neighbors might file a noise complaint.”

Jon’s hand stops its absent movement, instead falling to the table and curling into a tight fist. His teeth are clenched tightly, and the anger that floods his mind bleeds down to his chest, burning against his heart.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” He can’t help the demanding tone. He only hopes that Martin will know it’s out of pure concern.

“I didn’t want to worry you! You’ve had so much going on. The murder... the kidnapping! The last thing I want to do is whine to you about how some of the statements scare me!”

“You’re...” Jon sucks in a shuddering breath and holds it in his lungs, unsure of what’s the correct thing to say, lost for words as he’s so used to spitting out sentences that were written for him. He knows that he wants to assure Martin that his feelings are completely valid and that his fear is justified. He knows that he wants to run back to the institute and slam Elias into a wall. He knows that he wants-

“-Jon? Are you alright? You’re shaking.”

The breath Jon lets out is long, uneven, but it helps to ease the prickling, hot anger. “You need to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed with the job. I know I’m not there, but I’m still the archivist.”

The label is sour on his tongue, but it’s what he knows needs to be said. “Believe me, Martin, when I tell you that this is not a job you can do alone.” He wishes, in that moment, that it is a job he could do alone, that he could relieve his staff of their duties without any consequences, but he can’t. So, he’s stuck with the next best thing.

“So, you have to let me help you.” Martin’s gone still across from him, mouth agape slightly, and Jon’s just considering that he somehow broke Martin when Martin finally clears his throat.

"Okay.”

Jon’s not sure if it’s a trick of the poor lighting in the diner, but Martin’s pale face looks a bit better, taking to a soft pink color, and unconsciously, Jon reaches out, cupping his rough palm atop Martin’s hand.

“Call me, Martin. Even if it’s in the middle of the night, if you need me, call me. I want to help.”

Jon’s not sure how, but he’s verbalizing what Martin’s been saying to him through looks alone since he first because the archivist. It’s an odd feeling being on the other side, being the one who’s deeply concerned for another. He pulls his hand back when Martin gives it one, tight squeeze.

“I will,” Martin whispers, and Jon smiles, soft, but unabashedly genuine, and the wide, open smile Martin returns momentarily takes Jon away from every single worry.

For just a moment, it’s just Jon and Martin sitting in a small diner, and Jon clings to that.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Onyx tells Mc she’s pregnant. They hosts a party for everyone to announce of Onyx’s pregnancy. How they announce it and how everyone react are up to you!

Written by @evoedbd

“Hey babe. Welcome back. How was your outing with Na-” the cheer fell from Cali’s voice, as heavy and rapidly as a brick dropped from a skyscraper. Her heartbeat picked up, even as the feeling of led seeped into every limb, dragging her consciousness towards what felt like a tar pit. Sticky, dooming, encasing.

“Onyx?” She called, brow furrowing as she tried to reconcile the woman who had walked through the door with the usual upbeat, unstoppable Onyx Wren. This woman appeared ashen, pearlescent white save for the usual shadings of her makeup, and the veins running blue beneath her icy skin. Long, flowing blonde hair hung in clumps, tangled around the streaks of meadow green like weeds attempting to devour the most beautiful flowers. Where life had once shone in oceanic green eyes, now there was a dullness, a glazing that only emphasized emptiness. Worse, shoulders which could bare the weight of the world slumped, chained down along with the woman’s feet. No. Onyx’s feet weren’t chained down, they were dragging, as if the act of taking a stride was too much to comprehend yet the need for familiarity and comfort drove the zombie like body onwards.

“Are you ok?” A questioned filled with trepidation. Already, Cali could see that Onyx Wren was absolutely not alright. She could feel it. Sticky hands of a hoard all dragging at her through the bond, making the world entirely too much.

Internally, she fought a war, crossing a list off silently in her search for solutions. What could have hurt Onyx this badly?

A fight with Nahara? Doubtful. Onyx loved that woman, and Nahara had earned that affection. Her hugs were too perfect, rejuvenating and secure. How Cali imagined sinking into a pool of warmed honey or melted chocolate might feel like.

Dorran? Oh, Cali had so many things she could say about him, respect for the dead be damned. Cali was absolutely convinced, out of everyone who had ever existed or ever would, that he was the most deserving the title of Jerk. Lord Jerkington the Gaslighting abuser, the third. Anybody who could do half of what he had done to Onyx whilst claiming to love her, whilst she trusted her body and soul to his romance… Cali couldn’t conceive a punishment fitting enough his horrendous crimes. Her anger had nowhere to go. No conclusion. Nothing dark and despicable enough to bring justice or pay penance. All she could do was vow never to allow Onyx to suffer that ever again.

Vinca? That was delicate ground too, and not an unrealistic conclusion. Cali’s personal grudges aside, after-all Onyx’s twin had turned Cali into a well of supernatural energy with the potential to unleash hell on Earth, Vinca had played her villainous role well. Cali still could trace the numerous scars across Onyx’s body, from throat to gut, which Vinca had left. Also, Vinca had technically gutted Onyx, though she had been possessed by Nizha at the time. Cali wasn’t too sure she could ever erase that image from behind her closed eyes. Or her nightmares.

“I’m pregnant.” Onyx’s voice was so small, so broken and confused. If Cali hadn’t been watching and listening intently, she might have mistaken those words for a breath. Or the aircon.

“… you’re…” The word fell from Cali’s lips on a shocked breath. Well. Babe had definitely been the wrong pet name to use. Suddenly nothing made sense. Her stomach fell out yet her body seemed ready to float to the ceiling, all whilst her nerves suffered a rapid fire mix of dreadful numbness and prickling tingles flowing across her skin to match the static ringing in her ears and pinging around her head.

“I’m so sorry! Please don’t be mad. I’ll be good! I w-won’t disobey o-o-or mess up.” The panic in Onyx’s voice cut Cali to the bone. Onyx fell to her knees, arms wrapped around her abdomen and torso as her shoulders curled inwards. She trembled, green eyes gazing up at Cali as if she were a terrifying Goddess preparing to render judgement upon a defiler. Cali shuddered. Who would want such worship as what Onyx was offering in the moment? Senseless, all-consuming fear? In that moment, Cali realised she could never be an abuser. There was no power in Onyx’s terror, only revulsion. Revulsion that Onyx felt she had to be subservient like this. That her trust had ever been so broken that her default was to cower like a beaten dog, still lovingly licking its own blood from the master’s knuckles.

“I didn’t mean for this, I swear. I-I ca-”

Cali couldn’t listen anymore.

“Onyx. Hey, hey, hey. Shhh, it’s ok. Breathe with me, sweetheart. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” She cooed, collapsing to her own knees before Onyx. The moment she could reach, Cali gently cupped her hands around Onyx’s elbows, tenderly guiding the smaller woman a little closer.

“Reach for me through the bond, how do I feel?” Imploring words were accompanied by every joyful image Cali could summon at that moment. The mewls of kittens, the softness of a puppy’s fur. Seeing Onyx recognise her, even as a dragon. Flying. Watching Onyx fly, be it with the wings of a dragon or across a tightrope in human form. Freedom, beauty, power. Family.

Cali’s heart picked up a marching sprint, beating so rapidly she was positive someone could visibly see her pulse throbbing in her throat if they spared a glance. Pregnant meant baby, which meant children. Onyx. Baby. Onyx. Baby. Onyx’s baby… each time Cali managed to conceive the sentence her heart skipped another beat, beat faster and faster until she was positive her heart would burst. Onyx was having a baby. An actual baby!

“You’re… you’re not mad? You’re happy? B-”

“Onyx. You’re pregnant! How could I not be excited?” Cali began as she lured Onyx to her feet. The former Envy assassin surrendered herself to Cali’s guidance, relaxing even in her confusion. Cali was incredibly careful, her touch remaining delicate, as if she might taint the innocence within Onyx if she moved a single finger incorrectly. Yet, there was also no fear to Cali’s touch. She knew Onyx, just as she knew her own breath. She offered comfort, unconditional support, even without having uttered the words.

“I’m nervous too.” She confessed, finally lowering herself and Onyx onto the couch.

“I mean there are so many things to think about. Is it safe? I mean, what effects on the baby will your dragon side have? Will you lay an egg? I mean, can your body even handle that in human form? Will you be human form for the birth? Who even is the father?”

“I didn’t cheat! I’d never do that to you. Please, you have to believe me.” Onyx’s frantic tone was matched by frantic hands which desperately clutched at Cali. She clung to Cali’s forearm, both forcing Cali to remain close whilst also preparing to defend herself. Green eyes filled with tears, a mix of panic and guilt, dappled with layers of confusion. Despite all of that, Cali saw sincerity. She felt the truth of those words as if they were her own heartbeat.

“Onyx, babe… you died. You died in my arms and came back as a Dragon. Cheating never even crossed my mind. There are some insane magical circumstances that my medical training doesn’t cover. Even if you had cheated or if something had happened, I wouldn’t be angry. I wouldn’t be him. You love me, I believe it with all my heart. Nothing anybody can say or do will make me love you or this baby any less.”

“I didn’t cheat.” Onyx reiterated; her voice much softer yet no less vehement. Her hands surrendered their grasp on Cali, allowing the Asian woman to weave her fingers through Onyx’s. The warmth of her callused hands was enough to earn a soft sigh, though neither woman could confirm who it was from.

“I believe you. D-did somebody hurt you? Onyx, babe, did somebody force himself on you?” The words burnt Cali’s tongue. Bile threatened to rise in her throat. The thought of someone doing that to Onyx. Without the guise of a relationship to force his will, to satiate perverted desires… Cali couldn’t… she couldn’t even imagine it, until she could. From a mental blank, to images of a broken Onyx. To memories of her screams morphed into something entirely different, fitting a different scenario. It was enough to make Cali tremble with fear, revulsion and a rapidly rising tide of rage.

“Nothing happened. Nobody r-” Onyx hesitated, unable to utter the devastating word flashing in Cali’s worst fears.

“- did that.”

“Thank goodness. Then, do you know how this happened?” The gentle question was delivered after a breath of utter relief. Knowing Onyx was safe from that abuse, safe from one of the most brutal of Earthly horrors mankind had ever weaponized, helped untangle the tension in Cali’s aching chest. Her heart stopped seizing in her chest, resuming its marathon sprint.

“I don’t know. Nahara said something about consequences and the past.”

“Rebirth. That was when she was talking about the bond of deceased Envy and the barer of the bite. The possibility of physical manifesta-“ Cali stopped dead. Her mind leapfrogged over the words, gathering them into a net of logic so obscure yet so plausible it felt as if she’d been punched unconscious and now was waking up. Waking to a world where mortal logic no longer applied, and the furthest dreams could come true.

“Oh fuck… Onyx..?” Cali didn’t know if she spoke, only that Onyx’s face pinched in concern. No, not concern. Fear. The murkiness reclaimed clear beauty, obscuring it for all who wished to bathe. It nearly broke Cali to see Onyx shrink, yet her small voice shattered Cali’s heart into smithereens; sent those shards digging into every vein until Cali’s body throbbed with how wrong it was.

“Please don’t get angry.” Onyx whispered, flinching as if expecting Cali to scream. Cali couldn’t. All she could do was go over the basics of Nahara’s theories. A physical manifestation of the bond between Envy, Deceased and Barer of the bite. An echo of the past. The lost reclaimed as new.

“Mine? Ours? Is this..?” Cali begged, she wasn’t and never would be afraid to admit it. Such a glistening possibility was at her fingertips, and she dared reach, hoping against hope itself that the impossible had become even the improbable. A thousand to one? Hell, even a million to one was more than enough. Cali would take any and all chance. Hers. Theirs. A chance to see how she and Onyx may appear a thousand years down the line, a notch in the human species. Proof they had existed, that their coupling had existed. Cali wasn’t dumb enough to consider a baby proof of love, not alone, but also it was. It would be. No matter whether or not that million to one chance was recognized.

“I- I don’t know. It’s possible, probably. I mean, magic? I need to talk to Nahara to find out more. I… it was overwhelming to hear I actually was pregnant and can’t let the dragon out. I just needed time. Needed to talk to you. It could be a manifestation of our bond, or it is something from the past.”

“Dorran.” The name fell from Cali’s lips like a bullet dropped from a tower into the cooling lakes. Oh, how it longed to be thrown like garbage, just as the darkest parts of Cali longed to throw the actual man into a trash compactor and hear him squeal.

“This could be his baby too.” She voiced her conclusion. Even as the words escaped, she felt no change in her heart. There was… she hated the man, she hated the power he had abused over Onyx, just as she hated the idea of him continuing to. Yet, for the baby? For that possibility? Nothing. No hatred, no resentment. No matter how she searched for it. She couldn’t confess how deeply that shocked her. Emotionally, everyone always hoped that they’d accept their partner’s children as their own, but the actuality of that often defied dreams. It was a rare person who could accept such a thing, even in Cali’s situation. To find herself even potentially one of them was humbling, too much, too quickly. Diversion needed.

“That’s one hell of a choice. A dead man, unknown entity, or a key to the gates of hell.” Cali made the understatement of the century after a quiet hissing whistle through her teeth. Remarkably, her tone remained as light as she intended the delivery to be, as if she was discussing what to order for lunch.

“Please don’t leave me.”

“Le-” Cali couldn’t even finish the word. Her body moved on instinct, launching into Onyx’s space so that she could gather the smaller woman into her arms. Leave? Onyx couldn’t leave! No, her brain quickly caught up and corrected her internal malfunction. Onyx’s voice had been so small, the chirp of a bird compared to the roar of a dragon. Regardless, Cali was determined to provide shelter, to cage the willing Onyx within her loving embrace.

“Onyx, you died, I thought I’d never see you again. That I might never have another moment with you, even as you were reforming. Now, I’ll get to watch a baby Onyx Wren grow up! How could I be angry? I don’t care if this child is Dorran’s. Hell, even the Devil himself could be the father and I wouldn’t care. I want to be with you.”

“Even with a baby? A baby you didn’t plan, who m-might not even be yours.” Onyx’s words were serious, more so than any Cali had ever heard escape her gentle lips. They were warning, they were a siege to push Cali away even as Onyx hoped to keep her close. It was the last offering, the final out. Cali understood. Her answer here would shape her life. This answer couldn’t be about comforting Onyx, no matter her urges. It had to be truthful, no matter the pain, no matter…

“Yes.” It was the easiest answer Cali had ever given in her life.

“Onyx, we aren’t naturally biologically compatible for reproduction.” Cali’s obvious assessment earned a watery snort from Onyx.

“Whenever I daydreamed of having children, they were always yours. I was already committed to being a mother to any pet or child you had, to being with you. I want this baby to be ours, I want that more than anything.” Cali had to pause, to actually breathe and let her words sink in. Her chest hurt from how hard her heart was pounding, for how she longed for Onyx to want the same things.

“I’m here and ready to be whatever you need me to be for you both. If you don’t want me to be there as the other parent, I can be the cool aunt. Or a friend. Or a babysitter. Anything, Onyx.” Cali concluded, laying her offering out for Onyx to pick through. Silence dominated the room, save for Cali’s hurried breathing and the pounding of matching heartbeats. Or two heartbeats. Did baby have a heartbeat yet? How far along was Onyx? She made a mental note to ask.

“If you want to be, you know, their mom, then I’d love that too.” Onyx finally broke the silence with a soft yet sure voice, a shy smile tugging on her lips. Cali couldn’t help it, she leapt to her feet, letting forth an excited cheer. Finally, all her nerves burst forth, erupting in her version of a triumphant roar. This was HER family. Hers. Hers, hers, hers!

“There’s nobody else I’d rather raise a baby with. Nobody has ever supported me like you. I just don’t want to take your life away, or be a burden.” Onyx continued, reaching up to tuck some of her chaotic hair out of her face.

“Onyx, this isn’t about supporting you regardless of my own feelings. You’re not taking my life away; you’re giving me a life to fight for. A family. Onyx, our family! You’re having a baby, Onyx! It’s a BABY Onyx! Baby! Yours. Maybe mine. Maybe ours. I feel… just feel me, Onyx! Baby! You’re having a baby!” Cali tried to remain calm and mature, she truly did, yet the urge to move overcame her senses. She paced back and forth, using her entire body to emphasize her points. Big, sweeping gestures of her arms accompanied her escalating excitement, turning her into a goofy rendition of a car yard inflatable.

“Yeah. A baby. You… Sweetheart, can you sit down? Just watching you is tiring.” Onyx’s request was accompanied by a summery laugh, one which calmed Cali for all but three seconds. Then, it was back to pacing, phone whipped out of the pocket of her jean shorts so that she could begin to compose her list.

“Onyx, BABY! A baby! Our baby! We have to tell the others! I’m sorry but no more training for you! Also, none of the trash Darius calls food. We should probably look into supplements too, so that the baby is as healthy as possible. Should I call a dietitian for a food plan? And materials! Are you going to make your own maternity clothes? I got paid this week so I could totally go get some fabrics if you te-”

“Y-you want to tell the others?” Onyx cut in, alarm flooding her tone. Cali froze for a second, recognizing the way Onyx’s surprised voice dipped. Oh, Cali realized, she was behaving entirely differently to anything Onyx had experienced. To how Dorran had reacted. That was enough to have Cali’s internal beast snarling, hating how the past continued to hurt. Dorran had insisted on secrecy, on punishing Onyx. Increasing her training, increasing his bullying. Afterall, that had been cheaper than birth control, or a medically safe… Cali couldn’t finish the thought.

“Of course! Onyx, you’re pregnant! This is like one of the happiest days of my life! Top five, for sure! I’m trying to think of everything we need so that we can be ready for this baby. Like, we need to look into our insurance. I don’t think my workplace insurance covers sexy mamma’s who can turn into dragons. Or Assassins. Is there supernatural insurance I need to know about? Are there any doctors for, well, non-normal human pregnancies? Are there any magical medical guides for this? And birthing classes. We need to look into those too!”

“We…” The pondering tone Onyx used broke Cali out of her packing, leading her to look up from her phone.

“… Did I say something wrong?”

“No. It’s just sinking in, you know? It’s really nice to hear you say it. It sounds right.” Onyx explained, her face taking on a dreamy grin. She was so beautiful, glistening in the afternoon sun through the skyscraper windows. Even messy, Cali couldn’t think of anything more captivating than Onyx. Not the sirens of legend, not the most handsome of men. She doubted if the entire troupe, who were the most attractive people she knew, walked in naked that she’d be able to take off of Onyx.

“It feels right.” She confessed in a soft tone, unable to raise her voice above a whisper. The light in Onyx’s eyes… Cali had never seen something so pure. Green, like gazing up the sun through the underside of a wave. The gleam in them was more varied than a kaleidoscope of colours; brighter than diamonds. She had to look away, while her brain still had some function. There was so much that needed to happen, too many lists to write. Lists! That was a good place to start. Cali could do lists. She helped with stock intake, so a simple list on her phone would be a piece of cake! Oh, and her mother! She had to text her mother. Maybe there were some spare books…

“So, I’m going to text mom about getting some medical books out of storage. I’m pretty sure we didn’t sell all of them. They might have some more details on pregnancy. We have to come up with a way to justify everything, maybe we should discuss giving her sight. I’d prefer not telling her we’re fighting demons though. She’d absolutely spit if her daughter in-law was caught in that! Especially since you’re carrying her grandchild! I’d never live it down if I let you fight in your condition. It’d be “Cali, why are you making your girlfriend do everything? She’s pregnant! My grandbaby needs to grow!””

“Grandchild?” Onyx interrupted Cali’s exaggerated impression of her mother. Gone was the kaleidoscope, gone were the diamonds. The wave had crashed down, sending Onyx flailing into the wild tides of her worst fears without anything to hold her.

“She won’t hate me? She wouldn’t ever believe this child could be yours without knowing everything. She’ll assume I cheated. She’ll think I broke your trust and you’re just standing by me because you’re, well, you. You’re too good to walk away from somebody as broken as me.”

“Onyx, I love you. You are the most… I can’t put it into words. You are my… My light. You are not broken, Onyx. You are a literal dragon. Fierce, strong and beautiful. I am so in love with you that I cannot picture my life without you. This feels like my child already. You’ve only just told me and already I feel as if my heart will burst. Surely you can feel how much I already love them.” Cali almost pleaded, kneeling before Onyx. The current Envy assassin reached out, laying a single hand over Onyx’s quivering knee. Cali could feel everything, the tidal wave of anxiety and fears striking so hard and fast that she was almost physically knocked over. She countered, her mind parrying and weaving.

Pizza in a secret alleyway shop, the way hot cheese melted in her mouth, or the strings hanging from Onyx’s smiling lips. Little hands reaching, trying to steal pineapple as Onyx laughed. This was happiness. Love. Safe, secure, keeping their baby proceeded against her chest. So small, yet inspiring something so large. She had to protect, she needed to. Protect both the joys of her life.

The simple concept of the future flowed through their bond, a shield for Onyx to seek shelter behind. Cali herself was blown away by the intensity of her emotions for a distant possibility.

“I can.” Onyx breathed; tone full of wonder.

“I don’t know why I keep questioning you. You’re always kind and sweet. “

“People have hurt you, Onyx. I’d rather you question me a thousand times, a million times, than ever feel unsafe with me. I love you, and Mom can see how much more me I am with you in my life.” Cali insisted, fixing Onyx with an encouraging look before continuing.

“We had the talk when I told her I was bi. About if I ended up with a girl. We talked again after she met you, officially that is. I told her as long as I was with you, at least one grandchild would not be biological. If we even had children. She fully supports my choices and will love this baby with all her heart. She’ll probably spoil them rotten no matter what we say. She already loves you too! You’re the favourite daughter. She’s going to be so excited for her grandchild. Be prepared for a LOT of baby onesie- OH, this one’s cute! Onyx look!” Cali tried to remain serious, she truly did. Yet, curiosity had taken hold and her thumb had all but developed a mind of its own. Soon, she found herself glancing down at her phone, only to see a lovely pastel themed website, filled with baby onesies. Upon spotting a bear on the third row, she excitedly turned her phone to Onyx, which earned an actual squeal of delight.

“Oh my god, that looks like a little Ripley onesie!” Onyx cooed excitedly, leaning closer to support the phone. She couldn’t help but internally swoon over the adorable little bear onesie, complete with little pink pads on the feet. The little hood with adorable little ears, and the stomach patch. The tail, which concealed the buttons for easy changing.

“Right? I’m buying it! Ohh, it comes in purple! Should I get a little leopard?” Cali declared, reclaiming her phone and swiftly adding two versions of the bear to the cart. When Onyx didn’t respond, she paused, turning her gaze to the expectant mother.

“Onyx? Are you ok? Don’t you like them?” Cali asked, her voice going quieter. Once more, Onyx looked so small, trembling in the face of everything. Overwhelmed, Cali realized. Onyx was entirely overwhelmed.

“Cali. They’re both adorable. I’m just scared. How can you be sure Joyce will be ok with this?”

“Err, It’s my mom. She’ll just be thrilled to have a grandchild, no matter if they are biological or not.” Cali responded, unable to fully put into words how she knew. It was simple. It was her mom. Her mom who had supported her throughout life. Her interest in extreme sports, every bump, break and bruise. Her mom had been the first signing her casts, and selling the demon contraptions that damaged her daughter. When Cali’s father had walked out, her mom had been there, fighting to support a child emotionally and financially whilst she herself fell apart. Through teenage heartbreaks. When Cali hadn’t gotten a date for prom, it was her mother who had shoehorned her into a suit and driven her there. When Cali had finally come out as bisexual, her mom had been the first one demanding to know what type of girls Cali liked, gossiping about the boys Cali had only ever expressed interest in.

“But what if they come out with wings? Or, you know, not human?”

“Aside from me being worried how you’ll push that out of a hole the size of a lemon?” Cali questioned with a blink.

“Cali!” Onyx squealed in a mix of disbelief and horror. Her hands came up to her face, covering her suddenly flaming cheeks as she let forth an ungodly groan. Cali couldn’t help but be reminded of Ripley, how the bear concealed her muzzle when Onyx flew across the tightrope.

“Oh god, I don’t want to think about what its going to do to my… well, you know.”

“You’ll still be gorgeous, even if things are a bit different. You know, when I picture mom you, you’re always stunning. I can’t help but think our daughter will be scared her boyfriends will run off with her sexy mamma. You’ll turn into the sexiest MILF.” Cali purred, flopping onto the couch beside Onyx once again with what she hoped was a seductive grin. Strands of shaggy brown hair fluttered everywhere, sticking to Cali’s face in the most unflattering of ways. If asked, Cali would absolutely blame her uncooperative hair for her failed delivery, despite her history of appearing more like a vaguely romantic crab than seductive. Somehow, her dorky display calmed Onyx, judging by how tensed shoulders finally relaxed, and the show-stopping smile returned to her lips.

“That’ll be you, Sweetheart.” She purred in return, nuzzling closer. Cali’s phone fell to the couch, forgotten as the Envy assassin wrapped her girlfriend up in her arms. Both sighed. Everything was right with the world again, at least for a few moments.

“Mmmhmmm, agree to disagree. If our baby is born anything but human, then we tell mom the whole entire truth and teach her how to babysit. The troupe can’t always be around when we need naps, so mom will be happy to have a chance to spoil her grandkid rotten. Besides, she raised me, a dragon will be nothing her brooms of vengeance cannot handle.”

“But, what if the troupe hate me? I can’t help you guys like this.”

“You can’t turn into a dragon because you’re pregnant. That means you’re vulnerable, not useless.” Cali pointed out, giving Onyx an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders.

“Nitza will be after me. She’ll want me, and the baby.”

“I’ll die before I let anybody touch my family.” Cali growled; all traces of her humanity lost in a snarl vicious enough to rival any demon. She felt the rage bubbling, thicker than molten lava in the cradle of a volcano. It consumed, burning through her rationality until she couldn’t tell where her own protective rage ended and Onyx’s began. Onyx may be the dragon, yet Cali’s entirely human body produced sounds to rival Onyx’s alternate form. The former Envy assassin reached out, wrapping her own hand around Cali’s clenched fist, wiggling her fingers between Cali’s until the current Envy had to relax her fist. Had to let Onyx in.

“Ripley and I will protect you, we can take craving shifts! It’ll mean I won’t be on the streets with the troupe, but that does’t mean we can’t both help out here more. We can watch Avi, which will be awesome practice for baby. I can keep gear up to scratch, work on the bikes and you can have more time to design. I know your fingers must be itching to do something creative.”

“They are…” Onyx sighed l, seemingly content to have settled Cali’s rage. The blonde tucked her feet up onto the couch, barely pausing to kick her sneakers off before she wiggled her toes in silent satisfaction. Cali couldn’t help but tighten her arm around Onyx, smiling when Onyx responded by leaning into Cali’s shoulder, forehead buried in chaotic hair.

“but the others will be out fighting while I’m stuck here. It feels like hiding away and doing nothing.” Onyx trailed off, tensing. The sun set over beautiful greens when Onyx closed her eyes, the bedazzling piercing through her cheek acting like the moon across the skies of her expressions. For a moment, she trapped the soft, delicate flesh of her lower lip between gleaming teeth, as if gathering the courage to speak.

“I keep hearing Dorran.” The whispered confession had the dragon within Onyx roaring with rage, something which echoed through the bond. Cali shuddered, brows furrowing as spots took over her vision. For that brief moment she could feel it, the war within Onyx. The uncertainty and doubt mixed with rage. The latter, Cali empathized with. It burned just as brightly within her own heart, feeding into a loop of fury that promised to spiral out of control. Cali didn’t let it, she couldn’t.

Soft feathers, like laying on a marshmallow. The warmth of a spa day, the relaxation. Sticky and wet along the side of her head, into her hair. The rasp of an impossibly large tongue. Laughter. Pride. Love. The certainty of a promise.

“Ignore everything he told you.” Cali urged, barely keeping her opinion to herself. Now was not the time for her to rant about how pissed she was at her girlfriend’s ex.

“Onyx, you aren’t hiding away doing nothing. Not only are you holding a literal dragon back, you’re growing a person! Or a dragonling. You are doing the hardest job in the world. You’re creating a little Onyx! You’re nurturing and providing a safe place for baby to grow. You’re growing a life, Onyx, and sustaining them until they can sustain themselves. Even when you sleep, your body will be working. For nine months, you never get a break. That is way more exhausting than fighting demons for an hour. Can you imagine Cal’s face if he snarks at you? You can be like “Bitch, I grew a nerve cluster today, I’m currently working on a kidney.”

“Sweetheart… You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” There was no laughter in Onyx’s voice, despite the glee taking spark in her eyes. Genuine awe was slathered across her face, radiating until Cali could feel the accompanying emotions through the bond. The littler woman untangled herself from her partner, reaching out to take Cali’s hands for a few moments before her cheeks tinged pink. Without a word, Onyx lured Cali closer, placing the mechanic’s hands over her pale abdomen.

“Nup. I’m scared too, and excited. I just know that you’re my everything, and we’ll figure this out together.” Cali’s words were soft, whispered into the stillness they found themselves submerged in. Cali’s hands were burning, her palms prickling with the tingling heat as she processed what she was doing. Caramel and milk, that was the closest things Cali could associate to the swirl of their different skin colours. Her fingers looked so dark compared to Onyx, casting her in an exotic light, or perhaps Onyx in a mystical one. The duet of tones was dreamlike, earning the largest smile as Cali finally processed the meaning of the gesture. She stared, illogically fearing her callused hands might hurt Onyx and the baby. A breath, accompanied by trembling muscles the few moments before Cali surrendered and placed her hands flat against Onyx’s belly. It was unbelievable! Onyx had barely put on any weight, just enough to be barely noticeable, yet suddenly her body felt entirely new. The definition of her stomach was still there, all lithe muscle and sublime softness, yet there was more too. A curve, small enough to be imagination yet large enough for Cali’s hands to trace. To cup. To protect from the world. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill down her swollen cheeks as her smile grew large enough to rival the Cheshire cat.

“Oh, names! We need to start thinking about names!” Cali added enthusiastically, blinking away her tears. This was her future, sitting just beneath the palms of her hands. A little Wren growing, expecting them to have the perfect name. Cali began to panic. What name could be enough for their baby? Forget names, what title best fit until they decided? The baby was too clinical. Baby had that familiar quality Cali was looking for, but also couldn’t be the name they used forever.

“But I’m barely even showing yet.” Onyx playfully protested, bringing her hands to rest over Cali’s, holding them to her belly. Love. It was so pure, so overpowering. Cali lost it. Her tears began to trail down her cheeks, accompanied by little sniffles as she looked hopefully up to Onyx. Every hope and dream she had flooded the bond, sweeping them both away on a tide so impossibly sweet that the real world dared not invade. Even through their sniffles and tears, Cali laughed, appraising Onyx on a particularly important fact.

“It’s never too early to start thinking! Trust me, it’ll be the first thing my mother asks.”

[dreamyjoons]

Last Light ⥋ 03

⥋ Alone was how you preferred it. People came with feelings, feelings get you killed - and death in the new world wasn’t permanent. But not everything is avoidable, and Kim Taehyung is no exception.

Genre/warnings: zombie apocalypse!au, angst, injury mention

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: brushing a lil on the filler side but we’re getting there! Thank you all so much for your patience in the wait for this series, it means the world. I’m at a place where i feel i can start posting these again 🥰 i hope you all enjoy!

⥋ Chapter 03: soup

Masterlist

Before you even open your eyes, you feel the pain.

But then other things begin to sink into you, as your body slowly pulls out of the darkness it had been stuck in.

The pain in your ribs echoes out, a constant underlying throb made worse by certain unassuming movements. The rest of your body felt highly sprung, dotted with pockets of ache. Your limbs felt like lead, as if they weren't part of you. You were laying down on something softer than you'd slept on for... well, for too long.

There was movement nearby.

Your eyes fly open, ready to come face to face with a growling nightmare-

Only to be met with one of the prettiest faces you had ever seen, peering from just inches above you.

"Hi-"

"Get away from me!" You scream, scrabbling to sit up.

The stranger takes a step back with his hands in the air, flicking his dark brown hair out of his face. You sit bolt upright, the pain in your ribs so severe that a sob rises from your chest. Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop, shuffling to a sitting position.

"Look, I'm not gonna hurt you-"

"Where am I?" You yell, looking around for your weapon, for items, anything.

You're in a tent, that much is obvious. It's big, a pasty blue that had evidently been weathered through a lot. Dated-looking medical equipment was set up on a rickety camping table surrounded by a few random bags, the raised camping bed you were on was softened by a sleeping bag and blankets. It could have been cosy if you weren’t completely terrified.

But your things weren't here. And he was closer to the door than you were - you would never beat him to it.

"You're safe-"

"Like hell I am!"

He sighs harshly, concern darting across his face. His hands stay raised, and though he stands at a distance, you know he could be on you in an instant. Your eyes latch onto one of the syringe packets that sit neatly in the bag, before hastily looking back at him.

You could probably reach it and open the packet before he could get to you. It's not much of a weapon but it might just bide you enough time-

He follows your line of sight, and when he realises your thought process, his jaw drops.

"I'm just trying to help, you psycho!"

"How do I know that? I woke up in a strange place with a weird dude looming over me with a bunch of medical things next to him! What am I supposed to think?!" Your voice reaches new heights, pricked with pain from how rapidly you're breathing.

"Look, lady, I was trying to help you. But calling this face weird is the last straw-"

"What the fuck is going on?"

Taehyung throws himself into the tent, face a storm as he stares between you. You feel the prickles in your body subside, an inkling of safety trickling into your veins. The man opposite you visibly sags too, relief evident on his features.

"Nice person you bring back for help, Tae. Why don't you bring an axe-wielding madman next time? Oh, how about a plain old zombie too? That'll be fun." He snarks, crossing his arms, lips pulling into an angry pout.

"Stop whining, Jin. You'll get wrinkles."

The man opposite you - Jin - scoffs, but he lets the scowl drop from his face.

"Uh, Taehyung? What happened, where am I?" Your voice cracks, the adrenaline pulsing through you finally fading from your system. You begin to feel heavy, the weight of your aching body threatening to drag you back to the bed.

"You passed out, do you remember?" his voice is low, his intense gaze turning on you. You hold your ground under his heavy look and shrug. A crackle of pain his you at the movement, making you hiss.

"I remember... bits. The undead, pain... milk?" You offer weakly. Jin snorts, dragging your attention back to him.

"Oh, we have you to thank for that? He's been complaining about washing white chunks off his truck for hours now. I thought he'd finally given in and made a move on it-"

"Jin, don't finish that sentence, or I will shoot you." Taeyhyung snaps, curls of his dark hair falling in front of his eyes.

"Can someone just please... tell me what happened to me?" You asked, your voice small.

"Okay, but sit back down. Your body is already under enough stress." Jin's voice is soft, and despite yourself, you follow his instructions. He reaches out to try and help ease you down but thinks again, letting you take care of it. You're somewhat grateful.

"After you passed out I had to carry you back to my truck. It was a couple of hours drive here, then Jin helped me carry you into his tent. He took a quick look at you - just to check if you needed something serious or bitten - and we put you to rest. You've been out for about fifteen hours."

"Fifteen hours?!" You gasp, The action making you groan with pain.

"Your body really needed the time to start healing. By the looks of things, you may have a broken rib, or just some severely bruised some. I wanted to do a proper diagnosis when you were awake and consenting."

You're floored by his words, but the gratitude flows through you.

"Th-thank you."

"No worries. Tae's been keeping an eye on you ever since. He only went to try and sleep about an hour ago."

Casting your eyes back to Taehyung, you could see it, the tiredness. His black jeans and tee were rumpled, his hair at the back of his head poking in obscure angles. His eyes were a little puffy and barely focused, despite their intensity. Guilt settles in your gut as you look at him.

"You were watching over me?" You ask voice quiet.

He looks away from you, hiding his face from your gaze. Instead he faces Jin, shoulders held squarely as he addresses him.

"You have everything you need to treat her injuries?"

"Yes, there's only so much I can do." Jin sighs, a gentle nod offered. Taehyung then turns to you, forehead creased.

"Are you happy to be here alone with Jin whilst he looks you over?" His voice is harsh, but you understand the kindness below it.

You revel in his words. If he was happy to trust him, and assuming so did Namjoon, then you shouldn't need to worry. At least, you hoped so. Taehyung had not let you down so far.

"I'll be okay." You say, offering him a small smile.

"I'm gonna sleep." He turns, lifting the flap of the tent and stepping out.

"Thank you... Taehyung." You call out, voice dry. He falters in his step a little, only turning half back, frown visible even from his side. He nods his head stiffly before he continues to walk away.

You watch his shadow retreat, eyes lingering on the tent lining. It was a weird feeling, having someone looking out for you. You hadn't met a considerate person in so long, it was uncomfortably foreign. Even if that ‘considerate’ person was as prickly as Taehyung.

"Now that square is gone, you can tell me all about what happened to you. Spare no detail! and if you're comfortable, I’d like to take a proper look at your ribs.”

The next thirty minutes fly by. Your memories trickle back in as you talked Jin's ear off about how you met Namjoon and Taehyung, right up to the minute where you passed out in the grass. Jin doesn't interrupt, merely adding small sounds to encourage you to keep going. It was strange - you hadn't talked that much in months. Many many months.

All the while he proded at your ribs, delicate warm fingertips pressing into the bruised skin. You found yourself holding your breath when it was particularly agonizing, but he was as gentle as he could be and for that you were thankful. Once he was happy he moved onto the cuts on your face, carefully moving to clean the wounds. He even had to stitch one - with your full permission, of course.

As you finish talking, Jin moved to sit on the rickety table, big eyes taking you in. You smile awkwardly, embarrassment seeping under your skin.

"You've been through a lot."

"Could say that, yeah."

"Well it sounds like you were going to survive, even if you hadn't found our Tae. That much I know."

You let his kind words fill your chest. There was something so warming about him, something that made you feel completely at ease in his presence. It damn near choked you, remembering what humanity could be.

"Thanks, Jin."

"So, would you like my diagnosis?" You nod at his words, bracing yourself.

"Luckily for you, I don't think it's broken. I think you've seriously bruised two ribs to the near-point of breakage but unfortunately, without proper x-ray equipment, I can't say for sure."

"What should I do?"

"There's not a lot to do with rib injuries. Just a lot of careful movements, sleeping upright and if I can find anything cold, cool compresses. We just have to let you get better with time."

"Oh... oh. Well, thanks Doc."

"Ah, I'm not actually a full doctor. I was in my final year of medical school when all of this... happened." he sighs, gesturing around the tent.

"Well, you know much more than I do. So thank you." You smile softly.

His smile beams across his face, fingers idly fiddling with the hem of his tatty tee. You feel a yawn coming, and you can do nothing to stifle it as you're consumed by the rush of tiredness it brings. The intake of breath hurts and you groan, but Jin rushes forward and takes you by the shoulder.

"Don't fight it. It's better if you roll with it. And don't hold back coughs either."

"Aye aye." you mutter dumbly, letting him guide you back into a reclined sitting position. He laughs, his hands gently patting your shoulder as he steps back.

"Now it's best if you stay as upright as possible, but you should sleep. Want me to stick around?"

"I'll be okay - wait, this is your tent!" You try to sit up, remembering Taehyung’s words. He darts back forward and eases you back down, a pout forming on his lips.

"You don't have a tent and you need to sleep. I can sit in Tae and Jimin's for now."

"Jimin?" You ask.

"One of our group. He's been out on a run with two others... they should have been back a week ago." He avoids your pitiful eyes, lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes zone out at the tent door. The hurt you knew he was feeling was something you could never forget.

"Oh... I'm sorry, Jin." What else could you say?

"I'm hopeful... you have to be, right? Namjoon's gone to search for them, been out since yesterday morning. With any luck they'll be here any minute now."

You can't find the words to ease the agony on his face. You know that feeling all too well. It's why you don't stay with groups any more. You couldn't be in the position they were in ever again - your heart wouldn't be able to take it.

"Anyway, enough of that. Get some sleep, let your body heal. If I can find anything to put on for a cold compress are you happy for me to do it when you're asleep?”

You nod, sleep already pulling at your edges. He smiles at you before moving to the open medical bag and rooting through.

"Take these if you wake up, okay? Should help with the pain. Sleep well."

"Thank you, Jin. I'm sorry... about when I woke up." You wince a little, but it disappears quickly as you sag against the bed.

"Don't be silly - as long as you don't stab my face in the future we'll be fine." He offers with a wink, before slipping out of the tent. You slip into a dreamless sleep before he had even pulled the zip completely shut.

----

The sky was dark when you finally awoke.

You must have slept solidly for at least another seven hours, given how dark it was. Your body was stiff from how you had been half laying/half sitting, your mouth dry.

You scoop up the painkillers and water, haphazardly popping them in your mouth and swallowing. You grit at the pain, but make yourself finish the bottle. A now-lukewarm roll of damp bandages slips from under your shirt, the spot it slips from somewhat refreshingly cold. A small smile slides onto your face despite the ache.

In more time than you want to admit, you shuffle to the edge of the camp bed and struggle to your feet. You slowly shuffle to unzip the tent, side-stepping through the gap to finally take in your surroundings.

The cold night air fills your lungs, the rustle of trees surrounding you. The sky was impossibly black, stars dotted so brightly all you could do was stare in awe.

"Nothing quite like it is there?"

You spin to find the source of the voice. Jin sits in a camping chair just ahead of the tents, steaming cup in his hand as he beams at you.

Shuffling close, you realise Taehyung is sat on the chair next to him. He watches you approach, eyes examining you, paying particular attention to your ribs as if he could see the injury inside.his eyes then slip to your face, tracing along the cuts that freckle you, a frown crossing his face. You stop before them, a cautious smile on your face.

"I forget the sky can look like that." You offer, letting your eyes drift up again.

With the lack of light pollution, the galaxy seemed endless, stretching far above you. It wasn't often that you could stop what you were doing and look up, but when you do you seemed to find a piece of yourself. No matter how tumultuous the day was, the night was constant.

"Do you want something hot to eat? We've not got much in the way of excitement but it's better than nothing." Jin offers, and you snap your eyes away from the sky to look between the two men, both their attention firmly on you.

You finally breathe deeply enough to catch a whiff of something good. Really good. It smelled savoury, soupy and thick - better than the horrid prunes that you knew lay waiting in your backpack somewhere.

"Oh, no I couldn't. It's your food."

"As your doctor, I'm prescribing you a hot meal." Jin raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you.

"I have some food in my bag, I can trade for it." You offer, the prospect of hot food making your mouth water.

"Don't worry about it. It'd be a crime to not share my skills with anyone who can appreciate them." Jin smiles, moving to dish you out something from the bubbling pot on the tiny stove in front of him.

"Are you sure-"

"Just take the food, Y/N." Taehyung snaps. You turn to him, eyebrows furrowed as you stare down at him. He rips his dark eyes from you and staunchly avoids Jin's angry gaze.

“You what?” you mumble, annoyance bubbling under your skin.

"I'm going to bed." He grumbles, getting to his feet and stalking off into the tent behind him.

"Rude." Jin yells, gesturing for you to sit in the now empty chair. "Whatever. Y/N, slowly use the arms to lever yourself down."

Once you were seated, Jin holds out a tin canteen to you, the smoke visibly rolling out into the night. You let out a squawk as you take the food from him, grin growing on your face.

“Thank you.” You sigh, letting the Taehyung-sourced irritation leave you as the warmth from the canteen flows into your fingers.

"I haven't eaten a hot meal in... a long long time." You finish abruptly, silencing yourself by putting a spoonful of food in your mouth.

A loud guttural moan falls from your lips before you can stop it, your eyes growing wide at the noise as you look over to Jin. He laughs, and you can hear Taehyung clear his throat awkwardly in the tent behind you.

"Sorry." You murmur, mouth full of food.

"No no, I appreciate the positive feedback." Jin laughs. "So did Tae, apparently."

"So... uh, how long have you guys been camped here?" You ask swiftly, burying yourself in the food to hide the heat that bursts across your face. Jin’s grin still beams, but mercifully he takes the bait.

"We've been here... I don't know, it's hard to keep track any more. Probably a month?"

"And you feel safe here?" You ask, slowing down how fast you shovel food into your mouth. It was like a stew, thick and homely, and it made you want to cry. You wouldn’t, but damn was the motivation strong.

"Safe enough. Namjooon’s got a few defences lined up, and we're a strong team. It’s as good as it's gonna get."

You nod, spooning another bite in your mouth as you cast your eyes around you. Trees about fifty feet away circle the area which was probably once a small camping ground. A small dirt track leads to where they're camped; four tents in a semi-circle with Taehyung's truck sitting just off from the track.

Their set-up was good. No doubt they’d planned it to be that way. Jin mentioned some security measures Namjoon had set up and you couldn’t help the flush of jealousy that you felt. The reliance upon other people…

And the rest of their group. You were going to meet them eventually, right? The thought made you falter. The three you had met so far had been okay. But what about the rest of their group? You’d be deathly outnumbered.

"What about you? Do you have anywhere that you're heading?" Jin asks, sipping his cooling cup.

"Oh, I... no. I don't have a plan. Just... surviving." You shrug, but your voice is almost lost.

"I get that. It's not like you can have much of a five-year plan nowadays. Day to day is hard enough." Jin smiles sadly, letting his eyes drift over to the tent behind you.

"No. But don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon." You sigh, regretfully spooning up the last of your food.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll be on my way as soon as I can."

"Why? I thought you were here to stay!" Jin chokes, sitting closer to you.

"I don't want to step on your toes. And I don't know of being with a group is such a good idea, for me. I do better alone." You tried to put strength in your voice, to find some semblance of resolve. But all you felt was fear and uncertainty. It creeps up whenever it can.

"Well... I'm sorry to hear that. It would've been nice to have some decent company." He sighs, propping his head on his hand as he looks at you.

"You'll survive, I'm sure." you laugh, despite the sadness that pits in your stomach.

A part of you wants to stay. Of course, this was a taste of something you'd not had in a while. People, a sense of community, hot food. It was enough to melt your brain.

But people meant feelings, ties. Those hold you down, get you killed. And though there's not much to live for, you weren't going to hurt others after you turn.

"Well, at least stay with us until you're fully healed. That's an order."

Jin pouts at you, forehead creased. You can't help but laugh, warmth at the sensation flooding you. You could probably indulge his request. For a little while, at least. And the prospect of getting to heal and not worry each second of the day… it was an overwhelming relief.

"I can't disobey a direct order, can I? But Jin... thank you.”

"No worries. Besides, it'll be nice to have someone aside from these assholes to talk to."

"Ah, yeah, the rest of your group." You look over your shoulder, eyeing the tent as if you can see Taehyung.

In some deep recess of your mind, maybe you thought that Taehyung would soften up to you. He did haul your unconscious body into his truck and keep watch over you. But his distrust for you was obvious, and it left a sour taste in your mouth.

"Pay him no mind. He just doesn't want to lose anyone. It's hard in this world to get attached to people." Jin’s voice is low, his head cocked to the side. You turn to him and chew the inside of your cheek, processing his words.

"Trust me, I know. But I'm not the enemy here." you sigh, moving awkwardly to hand back the canteen.

"I know. He's not a total ass, but he definitely has his moments." Jin jumps up out of the chair when he sees you struggling and takes the canteen from your hands. You flash him a grateful smile and sit back in the chair.

How long had it been since you had just… sat and existed?

“Is there anything I can do to earn my keep?”

“Like what? You’re injured.” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you feel a slight tinge of embarrassment flush through you.

“Nothing strenuous, then. But do you want me to keep watch or something?” You ask, head slightly stooped as you wait for his response.

You couldn’t let your guard down. As soon as you get comfortable and stop looking over your shoulder for a minute, you’ll be out on your own again. Vulnerable and easy prey. Besides, you couldn’t just accept their hospitality and do nothing. Everything had a price in this new world. And you’d rather pay your way than anyone else’s.

“Ah, that’s kind of you. But it’s okay. I’m going to wait up for the others.” His drop is subtle, but it’s there. He blinks heavily as he looks out into the night, the treetops swaying lightly in the breeze.

You breathe in the night air, the sound of the wind rustling against the side of the tents. For the first time in a long time, you soak it in. you had barely realised your eyes had closed before they were fluttering open again.

“I’d better keep you company then.” You smile, turning your eyes back to him.

“That would be nice.” Jin’s quiet voice cracked, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t think it’ll be many hours until daylight. Hopefully.”

So there you sat. The hours dwindled as Jin talked. Occasionally you’d manage to eek in an answer or offer a counterpoint, but it was nice to be just talked at. From seeing the way you’d clam up, he avoided questions about your past and for that you were grateful. And you were careful to not probe about his group. He choked up each time you came close, the worry practically dripping from him.

The conversational tapdance stretched until the early glimmer of morning, a comfortable avoidance between you both. The night sky was just giving way to light, the glint of the stars disappearing as the faint hues of days begin to bleed in.

“... And that’s how I met Namjoon.”

“Wow. How has he managed to survive this long?” You laugh, wincing as the reverberations send pain shooting through your ribs.

“Oh, careful. Sorry, I shouldn’t be this funny. It’s causing you pain.”

“I don’t know about that.” you laugh, moving your hand to settle on your ribs.

“I can’t help being an incredible entertainer-”

“That’s definitely not it!” You cry out, but a smile slips onto your face. It felt good to laugh again - even if it was at your own expense.

“I think the pain’s getting to your head-”

He’s cut off by a rattling, causing him to pounce from the camping chair. You whip your head around searching for the source of the noise, only to find a tin can rattling like a bell. It was suspended in the air by a makeshift stand, with three other cans hanging beside it. Each had a string that lay flat to the ground and ran out of sight - but the ringing can was pulled taught.

The ringing suddenly drops off, and with the silence comes the dread that slides down your spine. You could piece together well enough what was happening but the confusion still cut through your senses.

“Perimeter!”

Taehyung throws himself out of the tent, shotgun clutched tightly in his hands. He looked like he hadn't slept at all, with dark bags under his eyes and the crumpled clothes of a restless night. His eyes skirt over you and Jin, before settling on the cans.

“Undead?”

“Not sure.” Jin dives into the doorway of a nearby tent and stumbles out with an axe nestled tightly in his palms.

You struggle to your feet, your heart lodged in your throat.

You weren’t prepared for the undead. One they could handle. But with if there was more? A whole horde of them? You barely had the strength to stand yourself up, let alone fight for your life once more.

Taehyung and Jin were already moving forwards, heading to the dirt track. You realise you were stood stiff, watching them approach possible danger. If there was a storm coming, you were going to have to weather it alone. You needed to find a way to protect yourself, most importantly your hockey stick.

You had barely taken a step when a beam of light flashed through the trees, a faint rumble of an engine following it. Then another set of headlights tightly behind. Your stomach flips. What scenario were you about to be thrown into? You were an outsider, you had to be prepared. It may not be the undead pulling up in trucks but uncertainty certainly rolled with them.

Taehyung sags, letting the shotgun drop to hang loosely by his side. He staggers on the spot before bolting forward, powering towards where they ascend the gravel path. The vehicles drew closer and closer, each foot closer increasing the nausea that threatened to consume you.

“Tae wait-“ Jin yells, eyes wide as he watches the vehicles approach. He seems to recognise them as he gasps, a quiver forming on his chin.

“It’s them!”

[angelic-kisses13]

(Pirate Henry x Voodoo Witch Reader) Antillia- Chapter 2

Authors Note: Chapter 2 for Antillia my Pirate Henry and Voodoo Witch Reader story! Special kudos to @eastwesthomeisbest​ for making the amazing and breathtaking cover!! Love it so much Darling! 

Warnings: Blood, swearing, angst, witch spells

Antiilia 

She was outside, the lake rippling in the breeze, the sound of animals and birds chirping throughout the sky calming her senses. It was another fine day, dawn just settling in and she was making her way towards the lake, her washing in her hands. She had just settled down along the bank and was placing the clothes into the water, when the world around her went silent. 

Her hands stilled and her body stiffened, glancing around her it seemed as if the darkness had engulfed her, snuffing out all life. She had just a moment's notice before the lake in front of her began to swirl. She leaned forward, her hair falling around her face as she peered down, images manifesting through the black ink of the water. 

She watched as the events unfolded, a flesh of skin carved from a man's knee, the black swirls creating a map, the lost language jumping out at her. Her breath caught in her throat. The visage of a man with penetrating blue eyes and a whiskery chin came into view, a triumphant spark in his eyes. He had found the map, and her skin prickled at the sight. He was one step closer to finding Antillia and getting the treasure. 

She was thrown out of the vision, her body slamming back into the soil as she caught her breath, her skin and dress clinging to her body from sweat. She hadn’t had a vision that intense in years. Mistress Nairobi needed her to see this and feel it. She quickly gathered her linens and made for her little hut, she had to pack and hurry to Mother Nairobi’s side. This wasn’t just a vision, it was a summons. 

It took her three days to get to Mistress Nairobi’s and by that time, she had several more visions each showing more detail into the map and its origins. Her body was drained and her mind was exhausted from hosting Nairobi’s presence. People often forget the possession aspect of the Voudon religion. 

Up in the distance she could make out the Coven’s sanctuary, an old cave hidden in the depths of a cliff. There was only one way into the cavern and the person had to climb three hundred feet using vines and footholes, one misstep and the person would plummet to their deaths. Her body ached at the thought, but she was more than ready to figure out why she had been summoned over the matter.

By the time the sun was in the middle of the sky, she had finally arrived at the cliff, the thick vines tangling together over the jagged rocks, giving the cliff face more of a reassuring air than it actually was. She could feel the magic thrumming through her, the ground practically vibrating at having her magic sync up with it. 

A laugh bubbled up, the magic making her delirious. She forgot how revitalizing the sanctuary was, she couldn’t remember why she left in the first place. 

She glanced down at her dress, the skirt a hindrance to her upcoming climb. She swiftly pulled a dagger from her thigh and began cutting away at the material, before long she had an effective skirt, ending above her knees and just brushing her upper thighs. Nodding her head at her new wardrobe, she sheathed her dagger back into the thigh holster. She reached up and pulled on a few vines, testing the strength to make sure it would hold her weight. 

Once she was satisfied she tied one of the vines around her in a makeshift harness, and wrapped a few more around her wrists, ensuring that if she were to slip she would still be able to stay attached to the wall to some degree.  She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, hyping herself up for what was to come. 

She reached her hand up and chanted,

“Secundum aspectum. Secundum aspectum. Venite ad me iam per hanc lucis. Psychica tamquam corde meo fac hoc et aperta leporem iam non est.” 

She observed the hidden hexes engraved in the stone, highlighting her path through the vines. She only had five minutes before the spell ended and it would take her nearly twenty to climb all the way to the lip of the cave. Hopefully, she would make it before the hexes became invisible again. She grabbed a hold of the rock and began her ascent. 

Her hands made quick work, her lips moving as you chanted the pattern through her mind, left, up, left, left, right, down, up, right, left. Over and over she climbed higher and higher, she was about three minutes into the spell when a loose rock came tumbling from beneath her foot. Her eyes widened as her body slipped and her knee came into contact with one of the hexes. A hiss left her mouth, ice rain through her veins, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Her fingers clawed at the limestone, her fingernails cracking beneath the pressure, blood trickling from the wounds. 

Gasps escaped her mouth, pain racing throughout her body, these hexes weren’t the worst ones, but by the gods were they a bitch to handle. She could feel the magic draining from her. She chanced a glance down and her breath shuddered. Black ink was crawling through her veins from the hex on her knee. It wouldn’t be long before she lost her limb. 

She peered up at the mouth of the cave, a whimper falling from her lips. Just a few more feet, she can do this. She looked around her, seeing a few vines off to her right; she stretched her hand out and yanked them, realizing that they were still attached to the rock she pulled her dagger out and bagan cutting away. Her movements were weak and sloppy but it got the work done. Her hands were shaking as she pulled the vines towards her, she pushed her body back from the rock, the vines around her waist acting as a sling to keep her upright. She wound the vine around her upper thigh and below her knee, cutting the ink off so that it couldn’t go any further. She breathed a sigh of relief as some of the pain diminished. 

Her fingers grabbed hold of the rock again and she continued on her way. She was more cautious with her hand and feet placements. The spell was gone and she was left to maneuver on her own now. Fifteen minutes later and her hands finally came to the lip of the cave and her heart soared with joy. She would be safe now, someone would help her. 

She pulled herself up and over the lip, her body collapsing onto the ground. Dirt crunched beneath footsteps, shadows danced along the walls in the dim candlelight. She could feel hands smoothing down her hair and running along her injured leg, whispers surrounded her and she finally relaxed as the flow of magic engulfed her. 

“Relax, Daughter, you’ll be okay soon.” Her vision was fading, white fog showing up behind her closed eyes. 

“Easy, just another vision, its the last one, Daughter.” 

Terror rolled through her veins, screams of pain and horror echoed around her, making her lose her balance. Destruction and anger was everywhere, vengeance and greed making up the world, destroying it. Leaving it to wither away beneath her. 

She could see the men fighting, defending themselves from the black masses that were pillaging the village. Children and wives ran for their lives, blood and fear filled the air, making her choke, smothering her in its bleakness. She fell to her knees as smoke billowed around her, hiding her form from sight, protecting her from the ransackers. She had just enough time to lock eyes with wide and petrified blue ones before she was shot forward in time. 

An island in the middle of the ocean, hidden from sailors and wondering souls alike. The ocean was different, the water a murky unwelcoming blue, almost black in nature. The smell of salt and sulfur hung in the air, thick, weighing everything down around it. Rocks and boulders stacked on top of one another, creating arches and hidden coves. Waves slammed against the shore and rock, crevices filling with foam and salt. Seagulls squawked overhead, the sun beating down. Four men were hiking the island, a box dragging behind them, bumping against the rocky terrain. 

The scene jumped forward, the four men were in a cave, water dripping from the spikes in the ceiling. Mumbled words were shared between the men but she wasn’t able to make them out. She was able to make out the box being filled with rocks and the four men wrapping chains around it, locking whatever the contents were inside. Sealing it from prying eyes. 

She watched as the four men tossed the chest into the water, watched as it sunk to the bottom, the black sea water hiding it in its depths. The men fell to their knees, despair and pain etched into their features. Twisting their expressions into grotesque versions of themselves. 

Her stomach rolled at the image, the men didn’t even appear human anymore. They were almost zombie-like in their movements and mannerisms. She watched as they grabbed at various body parts. She walked closer, black swirls and words marking their skin. She peered closer to a man clutching his knee and she paled when she realized that it had the same markings from her previous visions. 

It was the map, but she couldn’t figure out why the men and the chest were so important. Her attention was pulled away when one of the men spoke, 

“We have to ensure no-one finds the chest or the island. We need to protect this map. If anyone finds it, hell will be released.” Her chest throbbed at the words, her skin clamming up and her hands shaking. 

The vision jumped once more, she was in front of the man who had skinned part of the map. He was hunched over a desk, his head in his hands, mumbling to himself, trying to decipher the words. 

She peered over his shoulder at the map, the words weren’t decipherable but that just meant she wasn’t ready to learn the map's secrets. She was supposed to focus on something else. She looked around her, trying to decipher what it was. The man's form in front of her shifted and she could see pain and guilt clouding his eyes. 

Her heart clenched and she reached a hand out to touch his cheek, to soothe away his pain. He wasn’t meant to look like that, even though she had never seen or met him she knew he was meant to smile and glow and lead. He was not meant to wallow and despair. 

She heard a noise behind her and she jumped when a man came waltzing into the room, a bottle of rum in his hands and two glasses perched precariously between his fingers. 

“Cavill, let's take a break and drink. Celebrate our latest catch, we managed to gain five new members and two new bounties.” The man - Cavill - had sat up his lips pulling into a tired smirk. 

“How far are we from Dahomey?” Her breath caught at the question. They were heading here? Why? When? Were they already on their way, or has this vision yet to come? Her questions went unanswered and before she could think to listen more to the conversation she was sucked back into the present. 

A bright light burned her eyes, she winced and covered them with a hand, she could feel her magic reaching out, trying to caress someone that wasn’t there. She had never had this feeling before, the feeling of being empty...missing something she never knew she was missing. 

“Mistress…” There was a hushing from above her, gentle hands rubbing her temples. 

“You have seen the past, it is now in your hands to help Captain Cavill in retrieving the map and the chest. Your destiny is written for you, Daughter, you must make your choice.”

Taglist: @agniavateira​ @cavillanche​ @cavillunraveled​ @dancingwendigo​ @dreamwritesimagines​ @ficsandcatsandficsandcats​ @hlkwrites​ @hnryycvll​ @honeychicanawrites​ @iloveyouyen​ @johnmotherfuckingshelby​ @ladyreapermc​ @laketaj24​ @littlefreya​ @ly--canthrope​ @mary-ann84​ @mrsaugustwalker​ @ohvalleyofplentyyy​ @omgkatinka​ @sciapod​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @supersweetstache​ @thethirstyarchive​ @the-winter-witcher​ @thegreattodd​ @titty-teetee​ @tumblnewby @viking-raider​ @wednesdaybraids​ @white-wolf-of-rivia​ @witcherwrites​

[almondharry]

you look so good: four

you look so good — [10.1k]

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” His eyes did not part from the novel cracked open in front of him. His nose wiggled when he found a particular line amusing. An awkward beat passed and Genevieve was at a loss of words. “Have you become a statue? Do I need to unfreeze you?”

She should’ve gone anywhere, but here.

Part Four: The Markov Theorem

The Markov Theorem

November 3, 2016

“You’re staring.” Genevieve noticed without looking up. A pen pressed tightly to paper, runny swirls of leaky blue ink stained the page.

Her neck was stiff, like age old wood, bent like an archer’s bow. The only time she blinked was to copy a specific formula needed from her textbook—situated strategically to her right. Her iced coffee had condensation lined around the plastic to-go cup, the beads came together to pool in a ring on the library table. She was running late and skipped on grabbing a napkin. It was full to the brim, not a sip had been taken. Time slipped through her fingers like playground sand. The answers were due at the beginning of her next lab, t minus twenty minutes. The clicking of calculator keys was the loudest sound in the room, apart from the coughing radiator.

He looked on in slight terror, but mostly amusement, at the rate her pen skimmed over her notepad. He found it a bit odd that she preferred to use grid lined paper than regular. He remembers her starting at the top left corner of the page, he had turned around for a minute to plug the thick cord of his laptop charger into an outlet, and when he turned back she was already past the middle.

Futile attempts were made to decode the numbers and letters scribbled in her path. The page resembled a bowl of alphabet soup, letters and numbers swimming together. He gave up all too soon when he felt the beginnings of a headache. The only thing he took away is that she looped her two’s.

Her penmanship captured an urgency. The once pin straight numbers became more and more italicized, as if they sprinted to chase a bus that slowly drove away. His line of sight started from the tip of her pen to the escaped wiry strands of hair from her ponytail, and lastly, to the hold her teeth had on her bottom lip. A skittish frenzy bounced in her eyes behind the square frames. An impression of a mad scientist, he thought. They rest on the apple of her cheeks and slide down the bridge of her nose at a sloth’s pace.

“Crazy,” he said after observing her for another second. He shook his head, a ghost of a smile quirked at the end of his lips. “Absolutely insane.”

“A bit looney,” she hummed. Her lips pursed and they both knew it was a poor effort to hide a grin.

“Little obsessive.”

“Quite dull.”

“Completely mad.”

“Oh, most definitely mad,” Genevieve settled. Her pen paused its dance and her hand reached to push her frames up to finally look across. He was already staring at her, his grin widened to a size that can span out acres worth of empty land.

It was something they did, a harmless game of bickering adjectives that goes back and forth between them like an intense ping pong match. It was a childish way of name calling and poking fun. Their legs were a comfortably tangled mess, hidden by the smooth wooden desk, but his knee would knock against her shin every once in a while.

Genevieve sighed, “Now, are we done discussing your outstanding qualities or—”

“—Remarkably clumsy,” He added on abruptly. Genevieve knew he preferred to get the last word in.

She paused. “—Oh, you’ve still got a few then.”

“No,” he laughed through his nose, the corner of his lips twitched like he knew something she didn’t. His eyes squinted and gleamed like a reflection does in a fresh puddle after rain.

“Then?”

“There’s…” Genevieve heard blinds being tampered with across the room, soon something is sliding against a metal rod. A flash of yellow is thrown at them like a bucket of splattered paint. His pupils slowly dilated to accommodate the sudden change of lighting, and Genevive decided then that she would want to see that happen once more. Tiny dust particles floated up and waltzed together as their skin warms. His index finger gestures towards his face. “You’ve… nevermind.”

He dismissed with a quick wave when her brows curled inwards in soft curves.

Genevieve gave him a look, wary and doubting.

Their table was pressed up against a wall. It had a bookshelf that once was seeded at ground level, but now has branched out and up the ceiling, only stopping once the plaster slopes into a curved, dome-like ceiling.

He busied himself by trailing the tips of his digits over worn out spines. Genevieve watched his lips part to gently mouth words. He silently recited a title of interest to himself under his breath. His pointer finger curled into a pirate’s hook and attaches itself to pull a hardcover from its slumber.

He kept a list of unread books he planned to read, she pondered if this one would make it.

There was a way—a careful cradle, a light touch— that came so easily to him when he held a book between his fingers. It was as natural as sunlight and brought a distinct warmth to her bones. He regarded every page with a keen consideration, a dip sat between his brows from his concentrated frown. But it was after some flipping that the pad of his finger hovered over a particular sentence. Genevieve wondered if the same arrangement of words were to be on her skin, would he touch her with the same tenderness.

That’s when something shifted for Genevieve, a twig snaps. The air, once crisp, goes stale and dormant. The tip of her tongue stung and she tasted copper behind her clenched teeth.

She doesn’t know how to define this variable. It’s part mixture of guilt and shame that pricks her spine. Her brain feels like a ball of yarn, tangled. She tried to unravel the string in hopes to understand where this is coming from. How could she reach such an irrational conclusion? She looked across the table one last time, to remind herself that the statistical probability remains zero.

She pressed her lips together and stood up from her seat, it’s wooden legs screech against the floor. “I’ve got to go.”

She tucked her notebook, pen, and calculator in her bag. She almost lost the grip on the calculator slider. Her hands, shifty and restless, trembled from wound up nerves. The strap of her bag sunk into her shoulder. She hadn’t taken more than three steps away from the table before another set of wooden legs sounded.

“Wait,” he called out.

Genevieve glanced to her wrist, the second hand slowly crawling towards the twelfth digit.

“Yeah?” She turned around, eyes still on her wrist watch, an inquisitive pinch between brows.“Gotta be quick or else I’ll be late”

“You’re…” His strides made up for the lost distance. She was hyper aware of the heat his body brings forth. “Come here.”

It was a gravitational pull, she neared him like waves hit the shore. With half a step, she is the closest to him she will ever get. Genevieve inhaled a strong scent of pine needles. It mixed with lingering whiskey and mouthwash. She takes whatever she can with him.

“Hold still,” he instructed tentatively.

Her head angled up, a strain knotted at the back of her neck. But all sense of unease evaporates when he raised his hand and cupped her jaw. A careful cradle, a light touch.

Genevieve doesn’t move—she can’t move. Her arms and legs were dead weight. The neurons attached to her face where his skin meets hers are flamed. Everything was in overdrive, her heightened awareness only furthered this torture. She watched his gaze zeroed in on her parted lips. A focused and determined stare locked on to the bottom half of her profile.

His thumb, previously settled on her cheek, teetered towards the corner of her mouth. The tension was like pulling both ends of an elastic band. The rubber stretched at a snail’s pace. The tension grew, the band thinned.

Tiny ridges in the skin of his thumb were felt as he pressed it down on her bottom lip. He gradually dragged it from one corner to the center, each second felt like an hour. Her lip wobbled with the pressure.

“There,” he said easily.

The elastic snapped.

He removed his hand from her. The pad of his thumb is coloured a deep blue like he had given his fingerprint for a passport. Genevieve’s eyes widened and her fingers immediately touch her mouth, trying to press the feeling there forever. Her lip, caged behind teeth, tasted bitter like a potent chemical—residual ink. “All good.”

Good. Good. Good.

He stepped back and her lungs take in a breath through her nose. It was much easier to breathe when he stood in his respective bubble and didn’t steal her oxygen. Or sanity.

The reality was, if he asked for either, she would present it on a golden platter.

***

November 8, 2019

The fourth floor of the library was something else really. In the corner, a girl sobbed as she clutched the grade of her failed midterm. Another girl stared off into space for more than twenty minutes, going through an existential crisis of some sorts. A boy opened his textbook to do a question then shut it promptly two minutes later, only to open his laptop to change his major. It was a help centre for math related inquiries. Computers lined in two neat rows and a couple circular tables were occupied with graduate students tutoring students with appointments and the occasional walk-ins.

A student slowly dragged their feet on the carpet walking towards the front desk. Their eyes glazed over in a zombie like fashion; the coffee mug in hand and eye bags were this season’s hottest look.

“Hi.” Genevieve smiled. “What can I do for you?”

The first year girl wore a hoodie a size too big for her. “I need to book a study room for my group. Is there any available?”

“One minute.” Genevieve spun, the wheels on the chair pulled towards the administrative computer. Trained fingers typed their login and password, before a scheduled calendar popped up. “How many people are you looking for? And would you like a tutor with you?”

The girl mentally counted the people in her head. “I think there are four of us, and a tutor won’t be needed.”

Genevieve scrolled through the previous bookings with her mouse. Different colours blocked out specific periods until a vacancy popped up. “The next open slot is in fifteen minutes. Floor twelve, room nine. It’s available for two hours, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, that will be just fine.”

For a second, the sound of keyboard typing filled the hole in the conversation. “Can I get a student ID number?”

The girl presented her university issued card. Genevieve copied the numbers before finishing the booking. “That’s it, you’re good to go.”

The girl mumbled her thanks and dragged her feet towards the elevator.

Between the diner and her lectures, Genevieve had found herself at the library more often than she’d like to admit. This eventually lead her to pick up a part time position as the front desk help.

People would either come up to schedule bookings for study groups, tutors, or a computer. Professors of the mathematical science’s department held their office hours in certain rooms, so maintaining a strict schedule was key to avoid overlap. Dr. Bida, a professor she had done research with during her first year, always smiled brightly and waved whenever he passed by. The pay was great, the tasks were minimal, and it gave her the opportunity to do her course readings when it was particularly dead.

“Zayn, what the fuck are you talking about?” The faint voice travelled from a distance away. Genevieve’s ears perk up from the familiarity. “I’m completely lost.”

“Okay, how about one way ANOVA? You must have done that by now at this point of the semester.” Genevieve knew it compared the means between groups and determines whether any of those means are statistically significantly different from each other. Specifically, it tested the null hypothesis: where µ is the group mean and k is the number of groups. “Does that ring any bells?”

“Maybe, I don’t know?”

“Please tell me you know what the acronym stands for at least.”

“Nope. Nothing. I’m blank.”

“Really?”

“I’m dead serious.” Angie’s words held no comic relief. “When I told you I needed help with this course, I really meant it.”

“And you tell me this a day before your assignment is due.”

“Sorry! I got the dates mixed up, honest mistake.” Angie’s voice squeaked as she neared the end of her sentence. The voices became clearer and clearer as they stepped from behind the wall. “Why did you ask to meet here anyway? We could’ve done this at yours.”

“No we need—” Zayn didn’t get to finish his train of thought. His words cut abruptly like a slice of sponge cake under a steak knife. “—Gen? Is that you?”

Genevieve’s neck snapped up at the mention of her name, her eyes owlish. She was guilty of listening in on their back and forth, but wasn’t sure if their friendship had reached a point where she could freely insert herself into the conversation, so she had kept her head down to her books.

“Gen! I didn’t know you worked here!” Angie exclaimed marching over to the desk, Zayn in tow. Genevieve smiled, a genuine one, not the one she had in her back pocket for the sake of customer service. “Holy shit, this must be a great job!”

“You’ll find me here more than anywhere.” Angie played with the free pens and sticky notepads that advertised the university’s logo. She almost tipped over the brochures about managing mental health with a full course load. “What brings you guys here?”

Zayn hissed in pain. “Don’t ask—” but it was too late.

The back of Angie’s palm hit her forehead.

“A horrendous tragedy,” she moaned with her eyes shut. Faux grief made her lips tremble. Though sadness transformed her face, a bitter scowl soon tugged at the end of her lips. “You know apparently I have a thirty percent assignment due tomorrow? Like a whole thirty percent. And I found out yesterday.”

“Ouch,” Genevieve sympathized.

“It’s your fault for not going to the lectures and sleeping in.”

“Zayn, who’s side are you on?” Angie challenged. He dodged her attempts at giving him a twisting pinch to the ribs. “Anyway, Z here has taken the course before so he’s being a sweetheart and lending his brain. Well, whatever is left of it anyway.”

“Angie, I’m helping you. If you don’t tone down your quips, I might as well put in the wrong answers on purpose and poof! That thirty percent of your grade will amount to a zero.”

Angie narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t try me.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Angie faced Genevieve and motioned a limp hand towards Zayn. She resembled a bored weatherman with a greenscreen behind.

“Ignore her, Gen. Can we get a computer?”

“‘Course,” Genevieve laughed. “Do you need a tutor with you?”

“That would be a dream,” Angie added as she pulled her hair into a ponytail with the band wrapped around her wrist. “The more the merrier, you know! There’s strength in numbers.”

Zayn leaned his weight on the slab of counter in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s only an assignment, you’re not going off to war.”

“With the amount of torture I am enduring, I might as well.”

Zayn and Angie’s conversation went back and forth like a tennis match. Genevieve’s fingers robotically put in her login and password because the monitor had gone to sleep. Genevieve examined the calendar that popped up on her screen momentarily, her lips puckered in concentration. “You’re good for a computer, but I’m afraid the next tutor isn’t available for four hours.”

“Shit.” Angie rubbed her temple to ease her climbing stress.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a lack of availability between tutors and students. Genevieve scanned the page in front of her once more to find any possible way to squeeze them in. Usually when an appointment was a no show, it was possible. But when the screen showed no cancelations, there was not much to do. “What course is it anyway?”

“It’s an intro course to stats.”

“Oh, I might know a few things about it here and there.” Genevieve clicked the x on her window and met Angie’s pleading gaze. The desperation in her eyes disappeared with her next words. “I’m here to help if you need it!”

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I had to take it first year, it was very straightforward.”

“Speak for yourself, I went to one lecture and felt like the prof had taken a baseball bat to my face.”

“I’m guessing you need the computer for the SPSS software?” Genevieve recalled they had one assignment in that course. The tricky software was already installed on campus computers, but cost a fortune if purchased individually. It made sense as to why they didn’t do it on their laptops.

Zayn piped up. “Yeah, there’s like a tonne of raw data to analyze. It’s gonna take a while.”

Genevieve nodded, already clearing her station. “Ah, well, I’m not doing much right now, I can take a look.”

“You’re an absolute angel, godsend!” Angie would’ve jumped over the desk to crush her in a hug if Genevieve hadn’t rolled back her chair to step around the table. She turned a small sign towards the middle of the desk. Ring bell for help.

Genevieve brushed off her thanks. “Oh I’m far from, just doing what I can. It’s no problem, really.”

Genevieve was making sure that her textbooks were shut and put away along with her expensive calculator when Angie started again. “This is what we need in our life! More selflessness! Everyone is so greedy now days, don’t you think? So noble of you. In fact, I’m gonna write your name down for the nobel prize for math!”

“That’s not how it works, Angie, but sure knock yourself out.” Zayn chewed his gum so slowly that his jaw flexed with each bite. “I think it’s not even called that. Right, Gen?”

“It’s called the Field's medal. It’s like the nobel prize, but it’s awarded every four years.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to. Same thing.” Angie shrugged and threw an arm over Genevieve’s shoulder when she was close enough.

Genevieve lead the duo to the assigned computer, their row was thankfully empty. The room was shared with two other students seated further away; with their headphones on, they seemed oblivious to the world. Angie logged into her account and Zayn took it from there. He sandwiched himself between Angie on his left and Genevieve on the right.

The chairs in the lab weren’t as comfy as the one Genevieve was previously seated on. Without a cushion, it was just hard blue plastic which made your behind sore.

Zayn double clicked the software icon. His screen filled with horizontal and vertical cells similar to excel. He split the screen, on one side there was SPSS and on the other there were instructions. He copy pasted the raw data assigned by the professor, numbers in the squares from A1 to G93 rolled in like a lottery machine.

“Okay let's sort this out,” he sighed under his breath. It was the most redundant part of the assignment. The variables needed to correspond correctly or else your analysis would not be fruitful.

Genevieve frowned, confusion pressed her brows together. People had different ways of doing things, and of course, there is no harm in that. But the more she observed Zayn’s cursor, she realized his approach was inefficient and clumsy. “Are you doing it manually?”

“Isn’t this the only way?”

“Nope, I can just plug in a few formulas to set the parameters and the software will pick up how we want it organized.”

“You’re kidding,” Zayn deadpanned. He turned to Genevieve with his mouth parted and eyes popped. “Last time, I hand sifted through pages and pages of data.”

“All 900 points?” Zayn nodded enthusiastically at Genevieve’s raised brow. “That must have taken hours. Here, let me show you.”

It went on like that. Zayn mainly lead the direction; Genevieve added in her two cents and supervised. Angie was busy picking her peeling gel nailpolish. There was a solid fifteen minutes where she put in effort, but her clicks ended up deleting two rows. Then a mutual agreement was reached that Angie fingers would remain far away from the mouse or keyboard. She was free to voice her concerns from a distance.

Genevieve sneaked a few glances at the front desk, but there was no one in dire need of help.

“Fucking hell,” Angie seethed in a hushed whisper. The way she jumped off her seat suggested someone lit a round of firecrackers under her chair. She darted to grab her bag and hold it in front of her face. Behind her disguise, her face twitched with fear and she slouched to make herself smaller. “What on God’s green Earth is she doing here?”

“Who?” Zayn said without peeling his eyes from the screen, used to her dramatics. Angie scampered underneath the empty space of their desk. It was remarkable how quickly she could get her body to fold into a fetal position. From her cramped place on the floor, Angie still had Zayn and Genevieve’s view.

“Don’t look now, but it’s Rebecca by the front.” As if it was a staged cue, their necks snapped towards the red head exiting off the elevator, in sync. She carried a binder with papers and a textbook topped it off. Rebecca had a phone pressed to the side of her ear as she spoke into the receiver. Angie’s advice was lost in thin air which resulted in her face contorting into a snarl. “I said don’t look, great, you’ve both made it painfully obvious now. Wonderful.”

“Who’s Rebecca?” Genevieve whispered as low she could.

“Angie’s ex.” Zayn informed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Zayn finally noticed Angie’s ridiculous hiding spot and a look of second hand embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “Get out from behind there, Angie, you look like a loon.”

“Is she gone?” Angie inquired.

“No.”

“Then I’m not coming out.”

“Great.” Zayn had learned how to pick and choose his battles with Angie. This was a time to let her be.

Genevieve felt like she had heard the thirty second trailer of the topic. It was difficult to string the beginning, middle, and end of the saga that seemed to be Angie’s relationship. “What happened between you guys?”

“She broke my heart, smashed it and then threw a party like nothing else happened. I caught her in bed with a first year and she said they were cuddling. Cuddling! Can you believe that?” Angie scoffed. She had taken a bite out of a chewy bar that she swiped from her bag. The plastic crinkled loudly in her fist. “I’d rather be left at the altar, it would’ve been less painful. The smugness of the first year didn’t help matters, went around campus gloating. Menace.”

“She fucked Angie over real bad. She had commitment issues and shit.”

“She didn’t fuck me over, Zayn. I’m plenty fine, can’t you see? I’m lovely, I’m—”

“—Hiding pathetically under a desk?”

“—great. Splendid, even. Perfectly intact.”

Zayn eyes were like a bowling ball going full speed down an empty ally. The mouse double clicked under his index finger as his attention diverted back to the task at hand. “Save your breath, you’re sounding more and more like Harry.”

“Why are you comparing me to him, have you gone mad? He was ten times worse than me.”

“I’m saying both of you are like kicked puppies. Moping and basking in your misery every second of the day. So what you lost someone, people come and go! That’s life!”

Angie scoffed again. Her competitive streak was bold and prominent and very visible. “Give me some credit, I’m much better at coping than Harry. He’s a complete mess, makes me look like an angel.”

“What do you mean?” Genevieve prompted, leaning forward. She chewed on the corner of her mouth. The skin was soon to be raw and agitated.

“When we first met Harry, he was a wreck. He doesn’t talk about it much but we assume he went through a nasty breakup of some sorts.”

Genevieve didn’t have experience with what hot flashes felt like, but she was sure this was it. The room was suddenly a couple degrees colder, but her skin was flaming hot. The warmth was most intense over her face, neck and chest. The tips of her fingers felt like she held onto ice cubes for a moment too long.

Genevieve ran her tongue over the dry cracks in her bottom lip. “Oh.”

Angie bit off another piece of her bar, a few crumbs falling from her mouth. If Genevieve was in a decent state of mind, the mind numbing hours of training videos would’ve reminded her to enforce the no food policy in the building. Instead, her tongue sat heavy in her mouth.

“He sulked for at least a year before getting over whoever it was, he won’t give us a name. I tried prying it out of him when he was sloshed, but he’s a stubborn little knob.”

The steady percussion of Genevieve’s heart raised in tempo. A dagger twisted in her gut which explained the sharp pain in her abdomen. The four walls of the room took gradual steps towards her. The space became limited, suffocating, and the oxygen was being slowly sucked away.

“But the difference between you and Harry is that he got over it! Whereas you, on the other hand, can’t get past the first stage of grief.”

“Stop talking, you sound more and more like my therapist. And I’m not paying you, so don’t get any ideas.” Angie narrowed her eyes at Zayn, then peered up at Genevieve with a sorry gaze. “If I got a dime for everytime Zayn psychoanalyzed me, I’d pay off my tuition and get a fancy bungalow in The Bahamas. Maybe even a minifridge. He thinks he’s the next Freud, don’t you?”

Zayn laughed. “Do you see what you’re doing? Deflecting the actual problem.”

“Oh come off it! Less talking and more doing my assignment, chop, chop! It won’t finish itself, you know?”

“While I’m here slaving away, would you like to tack on any more insults, Your Highness?”

“Now that you mention it….”

Gen exhaled in hopes to loosen the winding nerves in her shoulders and chest. Her eyes focused on the digital clock at the bottom right hand corner of the monitor. “You guys good with this? I’m gonna run to the loo then head home since my shift ends in five.”

“Thanks so much for doing this, Gen. Absolute lifesaver,” Angie dropped her teasing in a second. A soft smile spoke of her gratitude with great conviction.

“No worries, text me if you need any more help.” Genevieve stood up from her chair. The sudden movement made her head dizzy. Her legs were as stable as jelly.

“Hope that won’t be necessary, but go ahead and feed your number just in case, you know? Zayn isn’t the brightest bulb at times.”

“I’m not the brightest bulb? Are you listening to yourself? You haven’t touched the keyboard once!” Zayn snapped his eyes over to Genevive as she handed back Angie’s phone. An exasperated rage glossed his features. His hair pointed a million different directions from the countless times he ran his fingers through it. “Gen, get out while you can or else you won’t get another chance.”

“You guys are too much,” Genevieve chuckled shaking her head. “I’ll see you around.”

Genevieve’s bladder wasn’t the reason behind her brisk steps towards the toilets. She needed to splash her face with ice cold water to balance out her temperature. It was overwhelming, to say the least. All the information thrown at her needed time to come down to a simmer, currently, it was bubbling at an all time high and slipping over the edge.

Her fingers pressed to the polymer of the salmon coloured sink. The skin under her nails turned paper white from the pressure of her weight. Her breaths were laboured, so she shut her eyes tightly and steadied all the possibilities her mind was running to.

A flush sounds loudly. The high pitched noise dwindles when the tank is refilling. A lock turned and out comes the click click click of tall heels.

“Genny? Is that you?”

“Hannah?” Migraine Morton wore a tight leather skirt that did wonders for her legs, which of course were covered in fake tan. She waved her manicured hands under the sink, the sensors blinked a blue light and water rushed out of the tap. “How are you?”

“It’s been forever, you’ve changed so much! And look at those cheekbones, you look straight off the runway.” She ripped paper towels from the dispenser. The colour becoming a dark brown as it soaked the water off of her. “It’s the Keto Diet, isn’t it? It’s been working for so many of my girlfriends, but I can’t get even keep five pounds off. Anyway, how’s everything?”

The way she tilted her head assumed that they were lifelong friends who spoke everyday. That wasn’t the case whatsoever. The most Hannah knew about Genevieve was from a boy that once connected them. They probably qualified as acquaintances rather than friends on facebook. But Hannah had a knack for befriending anything with a living pulse—fucking too, if you listened to the gossip on campus.

“Yeah, it’s been going well! Lectures, the diner, bouncing back everywhere.”

“It’s… it’s good to keep yourself busy, you know.” Hannah’s tone transformed into that of a sympathetic one. It probably came from a good place. But when her brows crumpled together, Genevieve wanted the ground to swallow her whole.“I know how hard it must be after...”

“I’m actually doing alright.” Genevieve smiled, an on command customer service grin.

“It’s just when I heard, I thought you would be absolutely devastated! I mean, who wouldn’t be right?” Hannah twirled a stupid blond lock of hair around her pointer finger. “Both of you were always joined at the hip”

“People learn to let go. It’s only natural.”

Hannah’s face morphed into one thought provoking one, as if Genevieve’s words were a part of some philosophical theory.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right!” By her face, you would assume that clouds had parted and a beam of light shone down. This revelation was probably the first and last of the century for her. “Do you remember Amanda Wang? From first year sociology? How we were inseparable? Well she literally disappeared off the Earth and I haven’t heard from her. Just between us though, she was a bit of a pretentious bitch.” Hannah smacked her glossy lips. The shine seemed sticky and too bubblegum. “Of course, there’s no comparison to be made between our situation, you knew him for years.”

“Yeah,” Genevieve answered weakly.

“Shit I’m sorry!” Her eyes widened as she registered what she said, palms coming up in defence. Her brain had a tendency to lag a couple steps behind. It was always a few seconds too late. “I’m not making things any better. That probably sounded really daft.”

“It’s all good.”

Hannah threw away her used paper towel. She hiked her purse in the crook of her elbow. “Keep hanging in there girlie, it gets better!”

“Don’t I know it!”

She reached forward and squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, Genny! You’re still the jokester as ever! I’ve got to run off to my next lecture, but it was nice seeing you! Don’t be a stranger, we should meet up again! Text me!”

“See you, Hannah!” Genevieve grinned, fake and compulsory.

She wiggled her fingers, like a main character of some cheesy 2000’s movie, and clicked off.

Genevieve’s palms held her face as she tried her utmost best to not scream from frustration. There was one thing clear as day, she had to get away from the library. All the Harry talk, all the Hannah talk, was only depleting the count of her brain cells. She needed them to finish her untouched module. There were fifty questions. At one glance, she knew they would suck her soul.

Genevieve grabbed her coat and bag from her desk. The person who was assigned the next shift was signing on the computer to punch in their hours. She waved a quick goodbye and pressed the button to the elevator.

Her car returned from the shop. After a hefty oil change and the addition of four winter tires, it was safe to drive. Her seats were frozen so she turned on her engine and blasted the heat. In turn, the radio automatically switched on to the station set as the number one setting.

Liam: —That was Strangers you just heard by The Bell. I’ve been listening to them quite a bit, they’re bound to play stadiums soon, you can take my word. Now it is time for my personal favourite segment of the show. Usually it’s you guys listening in, but I’d thought we better switch it up! This is Listen Liam! Where you tell me what’s going on in your life and maybe I can offer an ear. You’re on the air.

Caller: Liam! I am in a bit of a pickle.

Liam: I’m all ears, go on!

Caller: I think my friend has a drinking problem. She went so overboard last night that she started chewing her bare foot thinking it was a piece of meat! She’s vegan! How is that even possible?!

Liam: [Laughs] Now, that has got to be the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. We all have a friend that’s like that. I’ve got Niall. Blonde, loud, talks a lot. You heard of him?

Caller: I think he was in one of my lectures.

Liam: Great! As soon as I think something is going iffy with one of my friends I just compare them to Niall. If they’re worse than him, I’m rushing to the closest rehab. If not, all is well!

Caller: That actually puts so much into perspective. Thanks Liam!

Liam: Always here for help! Thank you for your call. Our next song is very fitting, Here is Drunk in Love by the Legend herself.

Genevieve didn’t know she was in the parking lot of Liam’s radio station until she put her gear in park. If she couldn’t get peace in the library, the next resort was the couch generously offered to her on numerous occasions. Liam was only found here at wee hours in the night since he did night radio. Today was one of those odd days his show was on during the day—the same time she needed a place to study. It all seemed destined.

The architecture building was all points and sharp edges. The drop in quality design amplified as soon as she hit the basement. No longer was there fancy glass and shiny mirrors. The tiles on the floors were unevenly aligned and she didn’t want to analyze the yellow mold dripping down the side of one wall. She passed a custodian’s quarters, and in the corner was a door with a makeshift sign announcing the station’s territory.

Liam leaned against the wall beside the shut door. One of his foot was over the other. His phone glued to the side of his face. “Yes, yeah that apartment is no longer available.”

His eyes snapped up at the sound of her shoes against the floor. He grinned. Genevieve gave an excited wave as she walked further down the hallway and his eyes brightened.

“No, unfortunately,” he continued to mumble into the receiver.

When she got close enough, she could hear an angry accent blaring through his phone. Liam rolled his eyes and spoke into the receiver once more. “I’m sorry, there’s not much I can do.”

He pointed towards the door beside him, motioning to go inside. His phone call was probably going to take him a minute to sort out. Hopefully, he had queued up a couple songs to avoid a dead line.

Genevieve walked into the humble space, the door shut gently behind her by Liam.

There were two parts to the room. On the right side was a booth, the cramped size meant it was most likely used as a supply closet. All the equipment was squished in there. A computer sat on an ikea table and a foldable picnic chair did little to compliment it. It was a mess of wires and stray headphones lay lifelessly.

Adjacent to it was the second half of the room. A worn out rug was cut up on the floor to fit the small space. Then there was the infamous pissed on couch. The quality implied it was from the goodwill down the block. It’s ancient floral pattern proved it was previously owned by someone in their 60’s. On one end of the couch, a head of dark chestnut hair rested against the arm.

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

Now looking at the sight in front of her, the possibilities were endless.

When Genevieve was twelve, she was sure she had lived through the worst day of her life. It was in Mrs. Webster’s afternoon math class. She hadn’t been keeping up with doing her homework. And Mrs. Webster picked on her to answer a simple multiplication question scratched on the board. She blurted out the first number that came to mind— two.

The whole class hollered with laugher and she sunk down in her assigned chair with red cheeks. Sixty-eight multiplied by nine was never, ever, two. If only she had made an educated guess and gave a number that wasn’t a single digit, she wouldn’t have seemed like a complete loser.

That night she went home and reviewed the chart of times table and made sure it was burned in the back of her eyelids.

The multiplication table, the public humiliation, and the sight in front of her was ingrained deeply in a part of her brain she would never voluntarily revisit.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” His eyes did not part from the novel cracked open in front of him. His nose wiggled when he found a particular line amusing. An awkward beat passed and Genevieve was at a loss of words. “Have you become a statue? Do I need to unfreeze you?”

He laid horizontally on the couch. The length of his legs —spread out across the cushions— shrunk the size of the furniture, making it seem smaller than it actually was. He propped his head on a folded arm, a makeshift pillow.

“You’re here.” Their disagreement from before was still a fresh wound. The alcohol aided her bravery last time, but now without its push, Genevieve wondered if he took those words to heart. She didn’t know where they stood. “Yet again.”

“I am.” He closed the book after folding a dog ear at the top right hand corner. His neck craned to look towards where she stood. “Hello to you, too.”

Genevieve clutched the strap of her bag. She noticed there was no resentment in his voice. “How… what are you doing here?”

“Liza’s show just finished up, I’m usually here for it. The million dollar question is, what made you decide to grace us with your presence on this fine Tuesday?”

She blinked quickly as panic flushed up her neck. She had to be tactical about her response. Admitting to needing a study space was the cheese at the end of a mouse trap. She didn’t want to trap herself in a room with Harry for God knows how long. Her day had gone through enough loops and twists and Genevieve wanted to get off the rollercoaster. She had to get out of here. “I came to drop off something for Liam, but I’ll get going.”

Genevieve turned around to grip the doorknob, but before she could twist it, Harry spoke up. “What is it?”

“Hm?” She asked looking over her shoulder. He sat upright, the book of his interest was now face down on his lap. He wore a simple black shirt, a red flannel was unbuttoned over it.

“The thing you were here to drop off.”

“Yeah, oh, I um, already gave it to him.”

“That still doesn’t answer the question.”

“It was a...” she mulled through an imaginary list of objects to fit this scenario.

When she took a minute too long, a knowing smile quirked his lips. “Lying isn’t a good look on you.”

She scoffed. “I’m not lying, Harry.”

“Yes you are and it’s written all over your face.” He pointed it out like a simple observation as if saying the sky is blue, birds fly, and Genevieve lies. “You do that thing when one part of your mouth is higher than the other and you avoid eye contact.”

The swinging door almost knocked her out from the sudden force. She dodged it just in time. It was a hair’s length distance away from breaking her nose. Her eyes widened in shock. Harry mouthed karma.

“Shit, Gen.” Liam stumbled in. “Why are you standing so close to the door? You alright?”

“Was actually leaving.”

Liam’s brows creased. “Rubbish, you just got here. You’re definitely staying for longer. I was thinking of popping to that pretzel shop right beside to get myself something to chew on. Which one do you want?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Liam looked over Genevieve’s shoulder. “Harry?”

“Anything, as long as it’s not super sweet.”

“You got it.” Liam nodded and gave a gleaming smile his way. “And you—” Liam turned to Genevieve with a pointed finger, it didn’t hold much authority “—Better not be gone until I’ve come back or else I’ll be very cross. I mean it, don’t even think about it.”

Genevieve huffed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “What am I even supposed to do here in the meantime? Queue up songs for you? I’ll play the Highschool Musical soundtrack for your listeners and soon there won’t be any left.”

“I’ve already got that taken care of. Don’t you have a mountain worth of coursework? Get a start on that.”

Genevieve felt like she was reaching into a magician's black hat and pulling out a rabbit. But in her case there were no furry animals, only poorly threaded excuses. “I… I don’t have my calculator or any pens or—”

Liam shuffled into the booth. His back curved as he bent over the desk. A cylinder container was situated at the corner beside the workplace lamp. It was sparsely filled with a couple highlighters, paperclips, and a single pen.

He plucked the utensil quickly before handing it to Genevieve. “Here, use this. I think I may have my finance calculator in my bag. It should have the same functions.”

The pace of everything slows down as the cheap plastic rolled between her thumb and forefinger. It was a classic blue BIC pen, the type offices bought in bulk to save money.

There is a reason why Genevieve only used black inked pens. Every time she saw blue on paper, she felt his thumb on her lip. It was too distracting, like a herd of bees buzzing collectively around her in threatening circles. Multiple stingers pierced nostalgia deep into her arms, legs, shoulders, lips. Her skin broke and red painful bumps erupted. Her chest tightened and her throat clamped shut.

“Gen, Gen? You alright?” Liam squeezed her forearm and Genevieve woke from her trance.

“Hm?”

“You became really pale.”

She cleared her throat to delay her response. “Um… I—can’t. I don’t use blue pens. It’s just…” She knew she sounded delirious. Though her left hand was fisted, the slight tremor was not well hidden.

Liam’s inquisitive look wasn’t judgemental or contemptuous and for that she was thankful.

What differentiated Liam from others is that he understood without needing to know the details. He didn’t ask questions because he knew if Genevieve wanted to share, she would at her own time. Most often times, her lips were the zig zag teeth of zippers—tightly fastened—but he remained on the sidelines, patient. With one look he appraised her and knew this stemmed deep.

“I’ve got another,” Harry interrupted, making Genevieve’s neck turn towards him. She forgot for a moment that he was in the room. He waved a pencil in the air. The pink eraser on the end was salmon coloured and the tip was a bit rounded. It wasn’t a pen, but it would have to do.

“That settles it,” Liam concluded with a clap. “You’re staying.” There was no room to rebuttal. He grabbed his wallet and cell phone and pulled the door open. Liam was gone, only leaving a gust of wind in his departure.

Genevieve rubbed her palm over her face.

“I don’t bite, you know?” His tone was steady. “Being in a room with me isn’t as dreadful as you’re making it out to be.”

“Oh, it’s worse,” Genevieve mumbled under her breath, but it was drowned out by Harry’s backpack hitting the floor. The spot on the couch beside him was now vacant.

“We need to set boundaries.” It’s ironic for her to say this as she walked over to empty space he set aside for her.

The only other place left to sit was the floor, she didn’t need to add back problems to her list of already growing concerns. This list had Harry’s name at the very top in red ink; underlined, and multiple exclamation marks surrounded it. If it was anytime to acknowledge it, this was it, when he was an arms length away on the opposite side of the couch.

“What do you mean?”

“Like we need some parameters. Some sort of rules to abide by if you’re just gonna end up popping up everywhere.”

He laughed, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back like Genevieve was on stage behind a microphone at stand up night. It took a minute for his chuckles to dwindle down. Harry’s brows almost met his hairline when Genevieve’s face remained stoic. “Oh wait… you’re serious.”

“I’ll go first.” Genevieve distracted herself by pulling out her notebook and flipping to the last page she worked on. She picked up the pencil he dropped beside his thigh. It was easier to get her thoughts in order when she didn’t make eye contact with him.“We can’t let anyone know about how we know each other. I haven’t… haven’t told Liam, Meena or Niall about any of it and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“It’s not something to hide.”

“For me, it is.” Genevieve breathed out a sigh. Her back hit the cushion and she folded her legs underneath herself. “And from what I’m hearing from Angie and Zayn, they don’t know much either.”

“It just never came up so I didn’t bother.” Harry shrugged cracking the novel open to his marked page. “Alright, I'll give you that, only if you agree not to be so...”

His sentence was a loose piece of thread, floating freely. He purposefully let it dangle between them.

“Go on.” Genevieve tilted her head. “Finish your sentence.”

His face contorted as he tried to find the right word. A tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

“...Tense.”

Genevieve threw the pencil at Harry. The gesture is so natural that it startled her. It bounced off the side of his forehead with a clunk. His fingers rushed to apply pressure on the sore spot. His pink lips pouted.

“Jesus, woman,” he groaned. He pretended as if Genevieve had chucked it at full force, when in reality it was a lousy throw, she had noodle arms. “I gave you that to use, not to assault me with.”

“I’m not tense.” Her jaw hung open in disbelief.

“Then it shouldn’t be a chore to agree to it.” Harry countered.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “It shouldn’t.”

The radio switched tracks, Liam’s queued up a song sounded softly in the silence. An acoustic guitar strummed in the background as Genevieve started a problem and Harry went back to his book.

He spread out his legs in front of him, his back moulded against the couch in a way that would leave him to complain about an ache in a couple of hours. Genevieve refrained from pointing it out.

Two songs finished and a pre-recorded ad played. The brief thirty seconds advertised the fundraiser a student group put together to raise funds for Angie Wu’s family. The next song started, an upbeat tempo and rhythm.

“Never thought I'd see the day you’d say no to pretzels.”

She didn’t realize she was nodding with the music until she stopped and turned her head towards him. She raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Those were your favourite.”

“Yeah, I’m just not hungry.”

“You were so crazy about them. I took one bag from the pantry and you bit my head off. How was I supposed to know it was yours?”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered down towards the cover in his hand. “Never thought I’d see you read something by Toni Morrison.”

“It was on the list.”

“You still have it? I thought it was lost.”

“I do, the bloody thing never ends. Just when you think you’ve gone through a big chunk, you flip the page and there’s more.” He peered over the top of the book at her. “I’ve went to the library enough times, they know my name without checking my card.”

Genevieve dotted an equal sign and then a row of numbers. She collected like terms and simplified the problem. “I tried looking for it everywhere in the flat. Spent two weeks.”

“Should’ve checked the car.” His voice was low, almost lost in with the music, but she heard it. A sad smile played on the ends of his lips as he flipped the page.

Genevieve noticed his adam’s apple rise and fall. There is a distant look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Harry’s lashes fluttered quickly, to blink away the memories playing in his mind. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Most of them are confusing as shit, don’t make sense. Feels like reading in circles, but so far I’ve liked four of them.”

“Yeah? How many have you gone through?”

Harry’s forehead scrunched in thought as he mentally counts the different titles, using his digits to keep track if needed. His lips—puckered in concentration— were red and bitten, yet appear feather soft.

“Not many, maybe nine?” His ring and middle finger scratched at his hairline, light bounced off the metal bands wrapped around his digits. His posture softened as a blush rose up his neck. “‘I'm a slow reader,” he admitted, his tone timid and bashful.

Genevieve’s eyes rolled involuntarily, a breathy laugh danced through her lips. “Oh, I know.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that you take two years to read a take out menu, always have.”

“It’s called browsing the options and specials.”

“Yet you order the same every time? Do explain.” Playful offence is threaded between them. It was starting to resemble the easy conversations they once shared over a cereal breakfast, lazy Sundays, in passing here and there. The smallest things they had taken for granted became a bitter recollection.

His throat grumbled in defeat. “Be nice.”

There were days where Genevieve wanted to put a halt to whatever distance they had carved from each other. Harry felt oceans away, but it would be cruel to put all the burden on him. Genevieve wasn’t standing there with warm welcoming arms either, she was rather stone cold.

They were dropped beads of a broken necklace, scattered on a tiled floor. The thread that joined them had snapped. There had been occurrences where Genevieve’s thumb hovered over his contact name, the number so old that she wasn’t sure if it still worked. She almost sent him a text, left a voicemail. She missed her friend, that wasn’t in question, but she couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. He was to blame.

But there they were. Harry was still Harry. And Genevieve was Genny. Sure, his shoulders were slightly broader, his hair a bit shorter, and his posture more crooked. It was also okay that they weren’t the same. There was an awkward space that separated them, one that didn’t exist before because Harry would have had his arm thrown over her shoulders and her head would comfortably align with his chest.

“Is it—” Genevieve gulped loudly, hesitant as nerves circled her belly like sharks do the ocean. She twisted her sleeves in her palm before starting once more. She didn’t know if her request was intrusive or disrespectful in any way. She hoped it wasn’t. “Is it okay if I maybe take a look at it?”

Harry had found the list, so it belonged to him. Much like how Genevieve protected some photographs and a lighter with her life. It would be reasonable if his answer wasn’t what she was pulling for. He had ownership and the right to say no.

A pause followed, it made her sure that she was twisting knobs on locked doors. Harry’s face remained impassive. Had she not said it loud enough? Her limbs felt heavy and heat began to crawl up Genevieve’s face as she realized rejection wasn’t a reality far away, but it was rather staring her in the face.

Genevieve deflated when he nodded eagerly.

“‘Course, yeah. I’ll bring it around sometime.”

The door swung open and Liam came in clutching far too much than he could balance. A bag hung from between his chest and chin, there were three more in his hand. The paper wrinkled loudly as he moved. He shut the door behind him with the heel of his foot.

Genevieve shot a confused look at his small buffet.

“They just increased the student discount for these! Can you believe?”

***

November 15, 2019

Genevieve was a match burning at both ends. Sometimes it would be too much of a chore to step in the shower or brush her teeth. The smallest tasks that once would come so naturally now demanded significant energy. Sure, she could blame it to her course load, and juggling jobs at Flo’s and the student help desk. But she knew self care was pushed to the back burner way before any of that started—three years ago precisely.

Today, she opened the shared document on her computer.

A long needle injected into her spine; the pinch was sharp. Stress shot through every nerve ending when the cursor scrolled down the screen.

Group assignments did more harm than good, if only professors understood that. The assignment was to be done between four random people in her course. The groups were preselected and Genevieve didn’t know a single face. The dropbox to hand in the report closed at midnight. Currently, the fifteen page report only came up to three pages.

She tried to get hold of her remaining group members, but the group chat was only a string of messages from her end. The shower she planned to take was now an unaffordable luxury. She cracked her knuckles and began pulling the dead weight of three people.

Her phone buzzed, disrupting the quiet in her flat. She was so caught up in editing the null hypothesis she didn’t check the caller ID and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Genevieve?”

“Mum, hi,” Genevieve breathed out and the rush of air created static on the line.

“Are you in the middle of something? You sound busy.”

Genevieve skimmed over a research paper she wanted to reference. Her mouse copy pasted the citation. “Just doing an assignment last minute. I could throw up from the stress.”

“Baby, you need to take it easier, that is no way to live, no matter what deadline you’re under,” she scolded with gentle concern. Like always, it went through Genevieve’s ear and came out the other. “Anyway, I called because Sarah—the nice lady down the street—has started a donation drive for Syrian Refugees. I’m giving her your old clothes, is that alright?”

“The ones in boxes up in the attic?”

“Yes, if you need them I can—”

“No, give them away. I can’t remember the last time I wore them, it’s better they get some use out of them.” Genevieve selected two lines on the document. The words highlighted a sky blue, then she hit backspace.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Plus, it would clear up some space up there anyway.”

“Don’t go too intense with your cleaning, you get a bit kooky.” Genevieve giggled and pressed the phone between her shoulder and cheek. She continued her work on the laptop.

“There’s no harm in having a clean, tidy space!” Label makers and organizing bins got Margaret White more excited than any man. Spring cleaning happened quarterly at their residence. The attic was full of abandoned scrapbooks, VCR cassettes, old furniture, and her broken bicycle that had a neon pink basket. “While I was up there, I did find something.”

Genevieve smiled. “Did you cry to my elementary school pictures? Again?”

“Oh hush!” Genevieve pictured her crossed brows. Waterworks were in ample supply when taking a trip down memory lane with her mother, it was like forgetting to shut the water tap off. Genevieve found it amusing to poke fun at her for. “You still have a box of his stuff. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

The pause was deafening. The clicking of Genevieve’s fingers on the keyboard came to a definite halt. Her laptop screen became muddled as it went out of focus. She felt the back of her eyes sting as she recalled the specific box. She smelled August.

“Gen?”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Genevieve clutched the receiver with a sudden desperation. There was apparent sniffling on her end of the line. Genevieve cleared her throat and tried to disguise it as a cough. “Mum I just...”

“I can post it to you. There are a lot of pictures.”

“Can you, please?” Genevieve choked back a sob.

“Of course.”

Genevieve clamped her eyes shut and breathed deep through her nostrils. She assumed she owed her mother an explanation for the sudden onslaught of emotions. “I’m not crazy, it’s just this course, this assignment, is really putting a stress on me.”

“I know, Darling,” she said, but didn’t sound convinced in the slightest.

Genevieve swallowed sour bile. “It’s not… it’s not because of him, I swear.”

“Didn’t think it was.”

“Really?” Genevieve’s word squeaked.

“Genevieve, baby,” her mother began. Margaret pursed her lips and it built a bustling silence. Words were tricky in sensitive situations like these. If not cherry picked with care and caution, they can ruin relationships—even of blood—with a snap. “He left, he was a great boy, but he left. And a part of me tells me you’re not coping.”

“I am. I promise I am.”

Genevieve covered the mouthpiece on her to muffle any whimpers. She rolled her lips tightly.

Margaret sighed. “I just worry about you, is all.”

“No reason to be, I’m doing much better.”

Blue sky. Birds fly. Genevieve lies.

“Alright.” There was shuffling on the other side of the line. “I’ll ring you another time. Take care of yourself, please.”

“Will do, love you.”

“Love you, too.”

When the call ended, Genevieve bowed her head in shame. Her phone clattered on her wooden desk, then laid dead. The squares aligned in even rows on her keyboard were black. The font of each letter was simple, and the colour of winter. The U,G,S,A,T keys were dotted with small puddles of tears.

***

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[gwoongi]

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (3)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 5114

“This won’t be forever, Y/N,” he said, with such a sincere and genuine voice that you felt your stomach knot and churn, a lump forming in your throat. Suddenly you need another drink of water. “You won’t be sad forever.”

warnings: graphic content, death references, gore, swearing, dark themes

a/n: some people really might dislike the flashback additions i add, but they’re pretty much there to add context to the situation + to also develop the characters more, without me adding unnecessary dialogue or details which will slow each scene. omg also a note, (potential writer bias here), but y/n is a very . troubled character, and so she really isn’t this “strong unaffected leader”, she has some issues + i hope the story reflects these issues respectfully ((bc i worked rlly hard))

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05. scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare

5 WEEKS LATER.

At nobody’s surprise, the car ran out of gas around three days after Oklahoma. Since leaving the car on the side of the road in the middle of Oklahoma, it had been just Taehyung and yourself, walking the open road, deprived of water and a place to sleep. It was impossible to tell where you were now, walking like biters yourselves, staggering across the dusty roads.

Waking to the sound of refreshing birdsong, you squinted in the tawny sunlight. Rolling your head to your shoulder, your gaze landed on Taehyung crouched before you, the back of his hand pressed against your forehead worriedly, a frown etched to his lips.

You yawned, and he moved away his hand. “You’ve got a fever.”

A shaky laugh left your lips. “Ain’t that funny.”

His boots shifted on the gravel of the floor inside the multi storey car-park, your back leaned against the graffiti covered wall. A halo above your head in yellow spray-paint, Taehyung figured you looked pretty despite looking as you’d expect in an apocalypse. Though, he didn’t bet that he looked any better.

“Tired?” he asked, cocking his head to look at you as he zipped up his backpack.

“My legs hurt,” you admitted quietly, voice hoarse. “Thirsty.”

“Me too,” Taehyung muttered, stroking hairs away from your damp forehead. “We’ll find somewhere to stay, I promise, and I’ll find us something to drink. Just...don’t close your eyes, okay? Try and stay awake for me, okay?”

Keeping your eyes open as he helped lift you off the floor felt like the most impossible thing in an impossible world. “I’m gonna die from dehydration. Isn’t that hilarious?”

He grunted, supporting your weight. “We can’t afford to think like that.”

“‘m gonna die on you,” you continued, attempting to walk without his help. “I’m the leader and I’ve led you to death.”

“Don’t think like that,” Taehyung replied, out of breath slightly as he carried himself and your weight down a short flight of stairs. Despite being your companion crossing the country, he wasn’t sure if he was comfortable enough calling you a friend, yet. There was a tension, an unspoken thing between the two of you - a refusal to get to know each other, but an urge to know everything at once. Taehyung never asked questions, feeling he wasn’t close enough to get the answers. Still, same as before, he needed you to survive, and you needed him, now more than ever. “You can’t let it guilt you. Stop talking, it’s gonna wear you out. Just stay quiet and keep walking, okay? I’m right here.”

“I’m the worst leader.”

“Nu-huh. You’re the best leader, okay? You’ve got us so far. Don’t give up now, come on.”

Heaving himself forwards through the closed iron door, a flood of light made you grimace with a loud hiss, bringing your sleeve to cover your eyes as Taehyung carried you across the length of the car-park. Occasionally he would stumble, jumping you back up straight with an arm around his shoulders, your legs giving away and dragging like a doll across the concrete.

“Hey, hey, stay awake, okay?” Taehyung said, his voice more frantic now, as he crouched his head to look at your face closer. The sweat had opened up your pores, and your dark circles were even more prominent as a feature of your face. He didn’t mind. “Eyes on me, Y/N. Can you hear me?”

An incoherent grumble was good enough and he cursed softly, walking quicker across the park, his breaths laboured and a line of sweat building up at his hairline, his fringe sticking like mixture to a bowl to his forehead. Each step was followed with a breathless, “please,”, his fingers tightening on your skin, his heart physically hurting at the thought of letting you down...just a bit further, now. Just a little bit further-

Losing his steps, stumbling over his own feet as you hung limp by his side, Taehyung let you fall to the ground with a soft exhale of breath, your hair spilling out like a halo around your head. The sun was hot on his skin as he bent over you, checking for a pulse, relieved when he found it. By now, you were unresponsive.

He was panicked- his hands trembled as he cradled your face in his hands, calling you back to him, searching for a response in your face. Never before had he felt so afraid at the thought of being alone in this world, alone without a companion- without a possible friend. Without you.

“Stop right there!”

Hands still cradling your face, Taehyung looked up immediately, his eyes squinting in the midday sunlight. In a few seconds, they focused on a dark silhouette standing on top of a barricaded storage container, painted a navy blue with the words, “WILL SHOOT ON SIGHT!” sprayed on. Clearly he hadn’t noticed that. He was mostly thankful they hadn’t shot on sight. The figure did not move, standing still with their gun pointed in his direction. Without looking, too, Taehyung could sense about three other bandits pointing guns at him, masks pulled up over their faces, caps covering eyes.

“Please-”

“Are you infected?” the same voice called, gruff and loud. A shooter nearby shot down an approaching biter, slow in movement but regardless, still a threat.

“What? No, we-”

“Is she bit?” the voice repeated, pointing the gun at your body laying on the floor, sweat pooling by your arms. Taehyung looked down at you worriedly and then looked back up.

“No!” he was confident.

The figure lowered their gun for a moment. “Is she dead?”

“No,” Taehyung replied without a second of breath. “No! We’ve been walking for days and we ran out of water. She’s dehydrated.”

A second shooter scurried across the top of the container. “The girl’s down. Not a threat.”

“Anybody who’s not us is a threat.”

The second shooter frowned behind the mask. “Give them the water. They ain’t a threat to us yet. You’d want them to do the same.”

Although he seemed irritated, the first figure lowered his gun and pushed past the female shooter, hopping down from the container onto the floor. The girl remained indifferent, glancing at Taehyung in the middle of the street. Wordless, she waved her hand and the containers swiftly shifted, as if on cue, revealing a gate into a cluttered road, decorated with newspapers and large crates with, “NORTHGATE” engraved on them. Taehyung let out a sigh of immense relief, shifting to collect you in his arms, and without objection, moved towards the gates.

NEW YORK CITY, DECEMBER, 3 YEARS AGO. 2 WEEKS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK.

“What a way to spend Christmas.”

Taehyung had never spent a Christmas away from his family. Of course, with his sister being a second year student at NYU, she was breezing through her second Christmas away with ease. To the corner of her dorm room, a Christmas tree shedding bristles stood at an angle, with ugly decorations and a sponge at the top acting as the star- “Christmas on a budget,” she said when he mentioned it, and he laughed. In a room further down the hall, her roommates finished wrapping their gifts to give out in three days time, and Taehyung, amongst the sound of carols, focused his attention on the thickening pile of snow on the windowpane outside, the frost glued to the glass in web decorations.

“Tell me about it,” Taehyung replied animatedly, turning his attention to his sister who sat down on the circle carpet in front of him. She wore a bright green jumper decorated in gingham and flashing bulbs sewn into the wool, and plain black leggings with fluffy red and white socks. On her hair, a set of reindeer ears finished her look, meanwhile Taehyung settled with a similar jumper and bare feet, numbed by the fire.

His sister’s dorm sufficed as home. For now, at least.

“I can’t believe we can’t make it home this year,” she continued, dunking a Custard Cream into her hot chocolate. “You think they’re okay back home?”

“We can’t afford to think any different,” Taehyung replied, trying to remain optimistic. But with upper-New York in quarantine, and evacuations running almost daily, he was finding it harder to hang onto hope. “We’ll catch a flight when the airlines are back open. Knowing Dad, he’s probably taken them all to Grandma’s place. For comfort, and safety, while the raids finish. Did you hear about the riots in Detroit the other day?”

She nodded. “Scary stuff. I did some research before the internet shut down in the dorms, and it doesn’t look as extreme in Korea. I mean, the President was assassinated and there’s currently no stable Government, but, aside from that, everything seemed to be in working order. Daegu was fine, at least. I didn’t look anywhere else.”

At that, Mandy, a second roommate, stepped out from the thin corridor. “I heard England was the same. Brits executed their prime-minister a few nights ago. There was articles about them wanting to have Tom Hiddleston as the leader of the UK, which, to be honest, sounds pretty good. I’d go visit.”

Laughing, his sister thought nothing of it. She turned to Taehyung with a gentle gaze, not enough to cause panic, but enough to send a message without words.

“Did your friends leave campus already?” Mandy asked Taehyung, switching on the kettle. The TV fizzled to a static and she frowned, “great. Looks like the power’s cutting out too. Is it this bad in the Halls?”

“We still have internet. And, a few left campus. I think Zac is still in the dorms, though. He hasn’t left in a couple of days. He said he wasn’t feeling well. Figures he got sick from walking past the quarantine zone. I didn’t wanna take chances so I haven’t been there in a couple days.”

“Maybe you should stay here for the night,” Mandy offered kindly, sipping her freshly brewed tea. “I mean, until the storm has thawed. If Zac is sick, we don’t want you to catch it. We can drop by on the way to the student store in the morning and get your things. I don’t think the airlines are gonna reopen anytime soon, and subways were closed months ago, and I don’t think we’ll catch a ride on the bus in this weather. We’ll have to hole up in here until the military says it’s safe to leave.”

Taehyung accepted, taking a blanket from Mandy after she hurried to their storage closet to fish one out, with pillows spare for the couch, a new makeshift bed in front of the roaring fire.

“We’ll be together if anything bad happens,” his sister said, in a whisper, minutes before mandatory curfew at 9pm. “Promise?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung replied, his hand gripping her own. “I promise...”

PRESENT DAY. [x]

At the sound of bed sheets rustling, Taehyung jolted awake. Unable to differentiate the past and the present, Taehyung opened his eyes expecting to see the fireplace, and the Christmas tree, and his sister on the circle rug. Instead, he noticed an unfamiliar room, drowned in a desert-beige, the light peeping in from a rectangular barred window.

He dragged the chair he had fallen asleep on closer to the army bed you were lying on, the noise as grating as the sound of chalk on a blackboard. Checking for injuries, his hands smoothed away strands of hair from your face, the trembling anxiety faded but still present if he really concentrated.

With a groan, you tried to sit up, but his hands came to your shoulders and settled you back on the canvas sheets. “Where are we?”

“How are you feeling?” he asked, avoiding the question.

You pondered the question- “stiff. But I’m okay. What is this place?”

Taehyung looked over his shoulder at the empty room. “You were passed out on the road when they found us. We were headed for their camp and they stopped me for questioning. They let us in, gave you water, let you rest.”

“Oh,” your voice said, scratchy. By the headboard of the small, iron bed, Taehyung reached for a glass of warming water, handing it to you quickly. “Thankyou.” You swallowed half the water. “Are we staying here?”

Taehyung looked hesitant, taking a sip from the almost empty cup and setting it back down on the table. “I don’t know if we can trust these people. At the very least, we’ll stay for the night. They could give us some supplies to leave. I’m already running low on ammo, and we have nothing left to eat. I don’t think we have any other choice but to stay.”

You knew that there was no other way. Despite his efforts to keep you down, you shuffled back up off the bed, your back leaning with a heavy thud against the drywall. Taehyung pushed back on his chair, his hands knitted together anxiously as he watched you grimace, and scratch your throat absentmindedly.

“How long have we been here?” you asked.

“Not long,” Taehyung said quietly, looking the window to see the falling sunlight change angles. “It’s been a couple hours.”

“Are they at least nice? Does the camp look secure?”

Taehyung opened his mouth, but paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s not a camp. It’s more like, a street. A small little community of really angry people. I didn’t get to look around much, but I overheard one of the shooters saying that there was another small group of survivors outside near the farm. But, from what I heard, I think we got lucky being let inside.”

Having nothing of value to say in reply, you simply stayed quiet. Picking the skin around your nails, Taehyung shuffled back on the chair and pulled it to the wall with the window, standing on the plastic and peeking outside. The window was on the ground, meaning you weren’t, and he gulped at the sight of jeep wheels driving past, and black boots, similar to the military. It reminded him of New York, and the night before the bombing of the quarantine near NYU. He cringed and moved away, placing the chair back near the bed and hovering nearby, debating whether to sit or stand.

“You talk in your sleep, too,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze as it fluttered up from beneath his overgrown fringe. He offered a lopsided smile, curious yet nervous all at once.

“Yeah? Must have picked it up from you.” Instead of the chair, he sat on the bed. “Did I say anything funny?”

“No. Most of it was mumbles,” you replied, smiling up at him.

Taehyung laughed through his nose, his face downcast and fingers twiddling in his lap. “Ah, pity. I wish we still had cameras, you could have filmed it for fun.”

“I wish I still had my camera, so I could look back on my life before now,” you answered, after a short delay of silence. “Remind myself of people’s faces. Manipulate myself into thinking this is all a dream.”

Without really thinking, Taehyung reached to grip your hand. These days, he hasn’t really thought at all. You looked up at him, comforted at the way his hand felt on your own, smoothing circles into the skin of your knuckles, exploring the lines on your palm, fingering each separation. Oh, how beautiful it was, to find comfort in the presence of someone you barely knew, but trusted entirely.

“This won’t be forever, Y/N,” he said, with such a sincere and genuine voice that you felt your stomach knot and churn, a lump forming in your throat. Suddenly you need another drink of water. “You won’t be sad forever.”

Before you could reply, the door swung open, and his hands moved from your own back to his lap. He rose, too, reaching for the back of his jeans, gripping the pistol tucked inside.

The same female shooter from the container entered, her rifle swung over her shoulder, skin sweaty and tanned from the camo tank-top she wore underneath her black jacket, discarded somewhere. Taehyung remembered the details.

“She’s awake, then.”

“Yeah,” you replied bluntly, polite enough to suffice as gratefulness. “Thank you. For letting us in.”

The woman sighed, her shoulders sagging in the movement. “Well, no need to thank me yet. It’s still being cleared with the boss. Rules are rules. Feeling better, at least?”

You nodded slightly, staring at Taehyung as he chose to speak for you. “Can we leave this room, yet? It’s stuffy, and I think she’d like to walk for a while, isn’t that right, Y/N?”

He stared at you, sending messages without words. You nodded again, “please.”

Rolling her shoulders, the woman stepped to the side, leaving space for you to both walk out. “Don’t make yourself too at home, but you’re free to look around. Inside this building is restricted to outsiders, but the outside near the farm is free. There’s another group of survivors nearby- they’re cranky and hostile, but, they had children. We never refuse kids.”

Already, you were learning little things about this place. To be truthful, you didn’t even know what to call where you were- were they captors? Saviours? Enemies? You hesitated to jump to conclusions, instead moving to follow Taehyung out of the confined room with a curt nod and no words. The woman didn’t seem to mind; she slammed the door shut behind her and pointed her gun in the direction of a raised shutter, leading out to the luscious-looking farmland out back. She didn’t follow. She took off in a different direction, signalling to her group with words neither you or Taehyung could understand.

“I have a really bad feeling about this place,” you admitted in a low voice, sticking to Taehyung’s side like glue. The faint smell of sweat and grime that would have repelled you now comforted you instead, and without wanting to come across as unnecessarily clingy, you gently held onto the back of his shirt, letting him lead you out into the scorching sunlight.

“Hopefully,” he began, setting off towards the red and white barn pushed towards the corner of the premises, “we won’t be here long. As soon as we’re clear to leave, we will.”

Realistically, Taehyung knew what happened to newcomers who joined groups where everything felt perfect. Nothing was ever truly perfect, he thought, especially so in a post-apocalyptic world where dead people were coming to life to eat people. Taehyung had seen the movies, bought the T-shirt, played the game- he knew what happened. However, he hoped humanity had changed. He was willing to give this place a chance. If he wanted to survive another night, he’d have to.

The barn was ordinary looking, painted a brick red with white outlines, the picture-perfect barn that every farm had on TV. Surrounding the barn, a field of dead crops created a barren landscape that everybody felt familiar with, the weather not being right to grow crops. Approaching the barn, Taehyung paused when he noticed a young child running out, chased playfully by a Saint Bernard whose pants were louder than birdsong.

It had been a long time since he had seen a child. Or a dog.

He headed towards the barn, smiling affectionately when the little boy looked over with curiosity, his eyes widening in surprise and fright and he yelped in alarm, running back inside the barn. Taehyung hesitated, making you stiffen behind him as the dog growled in your direction, only halting when a man came out of the barn with the child cowering behind his leg. He didn’t look old enough to be a father, but a lot had happened since the outbreak. The man smiled nonetheless, his smile being nothing but warm and inviting.

“Hey, look, it’s the newbies.”

“Newbies?” you mocked without thinking. Although Taehyung gave you a look of mild disappointment, the man did not deter, in-fact he laughed and placed his hands on his hips.

“It’s good to see new faces,” he said earnestly. “They don’t bring in new people often. Welcome.”

“I’m Taehyung. This is Y/N, we won’t be here long,” Taehyung promised, stretching out a hand and shaking the man’s. The man laughed shortly, constantly smiling. His energy was like a breath of fresh air, almost enough to convince you that everything was normal.

“Namjoon. This here is Daniel. Not mine, of course. There’s a couple others in the back of the barn,” the man- Namjoon- replied. “I wouldn’t place your money on getting out of this place so easily. We’ve been here for a few weeks now. We planned to stay for three nights until Jenny’s fever levelled out. They took her in for testing. Said she’s in care, but we haven’t seen her since then.”

Taehyung moved to greet Daniel, crouching to his level. Meanwhile you stared blankly at Namjoon, an expression of doubt and question on your features. He noticed, but didn’t comment.

“They won’t let you visit?” you repeated. “Why?”

Namjoon shrugged, nodding for you to follow him into the barn. “Apparently their main building is off-limits to outsiders. A lot of them in here think she’s dead already. But, it’s nice to keep holding onto hope.”

Without approaching too closely, you made note of the six people in Namjoon’s group, not including himself and Daniel, who was still outside with Taehyung, giggling innocently. What they lacked in looks they made up for in numbers- you hadn’t seen a group look so wrecked in such pristine conditions. Namjoon had turned away, taking a seat on a bale of hay, stroking the Saint Bernard behind his ears lovingly.

“What is this place?” you asked, inching towards the dog whose tag read Leo.

“They don’t really tell us anything since we’re outsiders,” Namjoon began, occasionally looking up to make sure you were listening. He did that a lot. “But, a lot of their crates say Northgate. Nate says it’s a military name, but we obviously can’t prove that from in here, can we?”

“Is it...safe?”

Namjoon hesitated. “I don’t know. The barn is secure. I don’t know much about the actual camp. We mostly stick to ourselves and do whatever they ask. We’re in their territory, after-all. It started out good; they had enough food to go around, we joined them for dinner in their halls and there used to be pigs out in the fields. And then, it changed. They reduced our food supply and gave us small jobs to help out. We’re doing it for Jenny, mostly, otherwise we would have tried to leave. One of our group members, David, left a few days ago.”

“They let him go?” you gasped, trying not to sound too unconvinced that he made it away. But, as expected, Namjoon nodded, thinking purely of the situation. You wondered if it was an act, a coping mechanism. The look of life and hope in his eyes made you feel somehow guilty.

“They asked us if we wanted to leave a few days after the food began running out. David was the only one to pick up and head out.”

Why didn’t you leave?

In reply, however, you said nothing. Nothing seemed like the right thing to say in that moment. Seeing someone so hopeful for the world to change made you feel at ease, almost comfortable in the new and unfamiliar setting. After petting Leo, you stood, turning around to head back towards the entrance to the barn. Daniel hurried past you on your way out, a smile on his face, hair now tied into a bobble above his forehead. Taehyung stood alone, now, outside, watching Daniel leave with a smile.

“Making friends?” you asked, referencing Daniel.

Taehyung nodded with a hum. “I love kids.”

Meeting by his side, you stood in silence, both looking out towards the giant building you walked out of. It looked bigger on the outside- a giant bricked building, with modern windows and a slightly falling apart roof, but intimidating in size and length. It seemed never-ending.

“Taehyung,” you started, your voice quiet so that Namjoon or anybody else wouldn’t hear, “I really don’t like this place. I don’t think we should stay.”

He looked over at you with a frown. “You heard what he said. They’ve been here weeks and still haven’t left.”

“I don’t like that,” you insisted, shaking your head. “I’ve seen thousands of movies like this one, Taehyung. I’m telling you- this is exactly what happened in Season 4 of the The Walking Dead. They get to the safe place and then suddenly find out that the people they’re staying with are cannibals-”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“No,” you reasoned, looking at his face, “I’m being realistic, as usual. Look, it’s your call. If you wanna stay...we will. I’m just putting it out there. Something doesn’t feel right about this place.”

Even though he sighed, Taehyung said nothing; instead, he nodded, patting your shoulder comfortingly. He continued to stare out towards the building, and his mouth dropped to a circle when he noticed two groupies heading in your direction, accompanied by a larger, more plump woman. He pointed it out silently, nudging your shoulder, and as you looked up, you recognised the same woman from earlier, and a shooter that Taehyung seemed to recognise as he jolted in discomfort by your side.

“I see you’ve found the barn!” a voice nobody recognised called from across the lot. The larger woman came into view, the sun bouncing off her skin, a natural highlight made from sweat and grease blinding you as she got closer. “Hi, I’m Rose. You must be the two newcomers everybody’s talking about.”

She looked at you specifically, “it’s good to hear you’re back on your feet. I heard from Snowdon here that you were passed out when you arrived. How do you feel?”

You squirmed. “I’m okay. I was just thirsty. I appreciate the water.”

“You know what,” Rose started, her voice elevated in pitch as she turned to address Snowdon, the female member you barely knew, “I think we should run some tests on this young lady. Make sure that nothing is wrong. Just for safety precautions, of course.”

“No, oh no,” you replied, perhaps a bit too quickly for everybody looked at you with alarm. Rose raised her eyebrows subtly, and Snowdon paused in movement entirely, “I’m fine. Really. I don’t think you need to take any tests. I feel great.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Rose said in reply. She looked silently at the two members behind her and they turned without further word. “I just wanted to let you know that you’re perfectly welcome to stay here for as long as you need. Unfortunately, we can’t let you leave just yet, at least not until we know it’s safe to reopen the gates. Until then, you’re welcome to stay in the barn with the others. Dinner is usually at around sundown, sometimes it’s earlier depending on the weather.”

Taehyung, now slightly uncomfortable, nodded stiffly. “We won’t be of any trouble. As soon as it’s clear, we’d like to head out. We’re with a group, but we got separated. We’re on our way to them, now. We can’t be late.”

Rose smiled, her face like plastic. She reminded you of a robot. “I do hope it’s doable.”

The sound of Rose’s voice must have alerted the others further in the barn, as the sound of footsteps made you look away from the woman and back towards the entrance, where several people you only saw from a distance came out, tanned and burnt, parched and weak. Daniel bounded forward with childlike interest, meanwhile a woman who looked like his mother, or something similar, tumbled after him.

“Excuse me,” the woman said meekly, her voice quiet in comparison to Rose’s challenging authority. “I was wondering if Jenny was alright? We haven’t heard from her in weeks. Is she okay? Is it possible to see her?”

“Where’s Mommy?” Daniel asked, innocent and oblivious to the world. Rose continued to smile.

“I can arrange you to see her,” she suggested. “Only two of you, though. The others do not take so kindly to strangers. I can allow you and the little one access to see her.” She reached for a walkie-talkie burrowed in her pockets, “Nevis, please come out to the barn. The little one and his friend request to see the patient in Room 16. Show them the way.”

At that, Namjoon came out, shielding the sun from his eyes. “She’s okay?”

“Barely,” Rose nodded. She seemed to not care for Namjoon, and turned back to Taehyung suddenly: “forgive me for seeming so...brash, but I must ask if you have any weapons. It’s against the rules.”

You fought all urge to give away Taehyung’s pistol tucked in the back of his jeans. If she knew that there was a weapon there, she didn’t show it. Taehyung shook his head and folded his arms.

“Nothing,” he lied smoothly. “We ran out of ammo before we got here, and when Y/N fell, I couldn’t carry everything. I dropped most of the stuff along the way. The guards took the bat and the rifle. I have nothing else.”

Rose hummed quietly. “Very well.” Nevis joined her side, the same man as before. He had removed his mask, revealing a gruesome scar across his cheek, a hollowness under his cheekbones. He remained emotionless as Rose showed him Daniel and the woman, and without question, he led them towards the building.

Watching as Rose followed, the group left behind at the barn remained quiet in return. The group went back inside, and Namjoon joined by your side as the shutter to the building closed with privacy, separating the barn and the rest of the camp entirely. It seemed to be quieter, then, without the whir of machinery and occasional scream, which you guessed was either from outside the camp or the cannibalistic lair you were putting money on existing.

“I know you have a gun at the back of your jeans,” Namjoon said simply, looking at neither you or Taehyung but straight ahead. “Let’s hope nobody finds it.”

Taehyung gulped. “Yeah.”

Namjoon looked over then, and it felt weird not seeing a smile on his face. For the first time since you had met him, he looked serious.

“I won’t say anything,” he said honestly. “And if it’s any consolation- I don’t trust them either. I just do and say what I have to to make it easier to stay.”

NEXT CHAPTER.

[theflashdriver]

Cold Crisis

Crisis city had frozen; they'd been here for twelve hours yet the sight still surprised her. In place of lava moats frozen rivers ran through the city, no longer did it rain soot but snowdrifts blew throughout the streets and sent shivers through her partner's core. While her flames protected her from the cold, cowling her body in their natural warmth, that chill concerned Blaze. Silver was already getting sick. They hadn't been here a day, they hadn't begun searching out the calamity's cause, yet he'd started to sniffle. His face had reddened, shivers quaked through his body, and yet, of course, he'd refused to turn back so soon. Well, it wasn't as though they could anyway; they needed a chaos emerald for that. The emeralds could be anywhere on the planet, beneath snow or deep within frozen rivers, that search could take months. And that was ignoring their greater task, to find the cause of this disaster and prevent it.

Even through his sickened stupor, he'd been shouting about how they had to save the future no matter what. Anyone else would think sickness had driven him delusional, and perhaps it had a little, but in truth, it was amplifying his natural disposition. They'd brought a rucksack of food, books and blankets but hadn't prepared for this climate. It'd taken the worst of her frowning and more than a little pushing to have him lay still while she sought out supplies.

That rucksack refilled with alternate goods, she stood at the door of their makeshift abode. They'd chosen a small bungalow that seemed cosy enough to hold warmth, despite the sapping cold of the outside world. It'd been picked specifically due to its for sale sign, poking out just over the snow. Naturally, they didn't want to stumble across bodies preserved in the cold, nor disturb the memories of a long lost family, thus making it an obvious choice.

She pushed open the door, kicking it closed behind her, and quickly made for their bedroom. Thankfully she found him swaddled in bed just as she'd left him, however, terrifyingly, what had started as a pink glow across his cheeks had deepened to red and spread all across his face. Even double covered with duvets he was losing heat. Rather than greet her arrival she heard a low groan reverberate through those sheets, roughly sounding like her name.

Blaze dropped her rucksack, immediately approaching. His breath was no longer visible in the air, punctuated by wheezing; the cold was deep set in his system. She pulled off her right glove and pressed a hand to his exposed muzzle. Despite its redness, his face was cold, his skin felt more akin to porcelain.

Worry was growing, "Silver, can you hear me?"

His eyes briefly opened, thoroughly dulled of focus, and a small smile graced his lips. "Y-You're so warm…" As they closed again she felt him nuzzle deeper into her palm, cold lips pressing against her fingers. She felt them part as he mumbled, "P-Please d-don't go again, I need you…"

Embarrassment flared but it was miniscule next to her worry. He was barely shivering but clearly not for lack of cold. His body had been weakened by the chill, every so often a jitter would run across his body rather than the more consistent and regular shivers she'd seen prior. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving. I found everything we'll need, we can hold up here until you're acclimatised."

As she pulled back she felt him lean into her, groaning out her name as she drifted beyond reach. If he could complain then he couldn't be too bad, she opened her rucksack and drew forth candles of different shapes and sizes. She couldn't start a proper fire indoors; if she did smoke would overwhelm them, so this was her compromise. She started by making a hearth, stationing ten candles atop a bedside cabinet and setting them alight with a point of her finger. Next Blaze lit candles in all four corners of the room, totalling close to fifty, in an attempt to heat the room as a whole. The scent of different lavender strains was a little overwhelming but she was sure he'd prefer it to the cold.

The feline was about to turn back and check on him when she felt a set of arms enclose around her shoulders, with them a duvet had engulfed her. Her breath hitched as his cold muzzle buried against her nape, "You said you wouldn't go…" Couldn't he wait, even for a moment? At least he was strong enough to stand? Blaze felt herself blush, undoubtedly warming further as his frame leant into hers. With this action, he'd offset the worst of her fears, yet simultaneously shocked her. "I need you..."

Blaze pushed her gloveless hand through his back quills, unintentionally pushing him further against her nape. "I'm going to cook us some dinner, then I'll come warm you up. I promise."

"I'm not hungry," He grumbled into her fur, leaning into her with all his weight. "I just… I need you Blaze. Please, I…"

A sigh escaped her lips; she couldn't refuse him, especially not now. Blaze turned in his grasp, wrapping her arms around him. His head went from buried in her nape to pressed against her forehead, she heard him coo and whine as her left hand traced further down his back and stroked warmth into his fur. Despite the gentle effort, Blaze forced a stern look across her brown, attempting to obscure embarrassment. Sick or not, did he have to speak in such an embarrassing way? She'd been trying to fight the butterflies in her stomach, ever since they'd reunited her view of her partner had been edging from platonic to... not so platonic. Perhaps it was age or longing had strengthened her want to be beside him. Regardless, even taking his hand brought such thoughts to mind; now he was wrapped around her, pleading her to stay close. It was more than a little too much. As she nuzzled her forehead to his guilt swelled, while more of the light had returned to his eyes much of it was still lost to the cold. She had to push him away; there would be time for this later. He had to eat, that way he'd warm and regain control. No longer some heat-seeking zombie.

"A-Alright, let's get you back to bed. Even if you're not hungry I am. I'll join you when I'm done." Her words worked, as she uncoiled from Silver his arms slipped from her shoulders. He unleashed a groan, turned, stumbled a few steps and fell into bed. Soon he'd dragged himself up to the pillow and buried his head in it, wisps of steam escaping his form. Even in his sickly form, he cared more about her comfort than his.

It wasn't so much a lie as an omission of truth, of course, she was hungry but she wouldn't be getting into bed until he'd properly eaten. Finally content with his state Blaze found time to shuffle off her shoes, remove her remaining glove and undo her ponytail. They'd stored much of their belongings in an old chest of drawers; food consisted of mostly canned goods (they'd be eating a lot of chunky soup) and dried foods. If they'd known the climate in advance they could probably have brought something more substantial, filled a container with ice and snow to hold meats. At least they wouldn't dehydrate this time, melting snow to make water was as basic as survival got. Bringing bottled water was a waste but, again, they couldn't have known that. At least she could put it to use now. She drew out a spoon, two bottles of water and a cloth, setting them atop the drawers, before finally retrieving a sizable can of soup (beef with chunky carrots, potatoes and mushrooms).

She pulled the tab from the can, setting the metal seal upside down atop the drawer, and gripped the tin with both hands. Heat rolled across her shoulders, coiling around her arms before quickly manifesting at her palms. Crackling orange flames burned away paper labelling and began to blacken the tin, soon the scent of beef broth was made to mingle with lavender for a… less than palatable effect. Still, given his position, he'd surely avoid the food regardless of how appetising it was. She cast a glance back to him; he'd been awfully quiet.

Silver had curled up in the upmost right corner of the bed, face and hands warming against her makeshift hearth. They were smaller but cloudy puffs still escaped his mouth, it meant he wasn't freezing but he was properly shivering now. Cyan light from his shaking hands mingled with flickering candlelight, creating a bizarre pattern on the ceiling where the two fought for space. On her next outing she planned to target clothes, another layer of fur would do him some good, but for now, a warm hand and a piping hot meal would have to…

A stronger scent caught Blaze's nose, fighting past the mixed lavender. Smoke, had a candle caught the walls? She checked to all four corners of the room, double glancing to his quills to be sure they hadn't been set alight. There were no flames but the putrid scent was only getting stron-

Eyes dropped to the can just in time for a boil-like bubble to burst. Black flakes had risen to the soup's surface, its once beige gravy complexion tainted to a gelatinous brown. As was so common with her cooking, the moment she looked away the meal decided to ruin itself. Blaze waved the flames from her palms, still peering at the over-boiled substance. She drew up the spoon and hesitantly plunged it in; fortunately, it wasn't as thick as it appeared. Eyes closed, she braced and pushed the spoonful into her mouth. It wasn't… no, it was, it was bad. Her nose crinkled as she swallowed, it wasn't horrendous but much of the flavour was quickly overpowered by an aftertaste of charcoal. If she tried again she could probably do better, but then that'd be a waste. It wasn't burned beyond edibility… right? She cast him another glance, shivering and steamy breath had already ceased. He couldn't wait, much longer and he'd get seriously sick.

Blaze approached his bedside, bringing the goods she'd collected. Hazy yellow orbs caught amber, "I told you I wasn't hungry…"

Her face formed into a stern glower, again preparing for the embarrassing task at hand. "Sit up, lean against the headboard."

He didn't refuse her but as he went to sit the covers slipped from him, exposing his frame to the cold. A shiver cut through him, eyes clamped shut, but before a moment could pass she'd pulled them around his shoulders. Blaze quickly lowered herself, sitting close beside him and trying to radiate just a little more heat.

"I'm sorry Blaze." Silver's eyes hadn't reopened; brows were knit and mouth drew into a weak grimace. His voice was weak, "I-I'm being a burden, I got too cold and felt too needy. If you were here alone you'd have done so much more already. Instead of looking after me you could be sear-

The spoon was forced past his lips, teeth gently chattered against metal. "If I wanted some apology I'd have made that clear. We're going to get through this, compared to all we've endured this cold is nothing. Besides, we're supposed to look after each other." Satisfied he'd swallowed she pulled the spoon from his mouth. "Sorry it's so overdone, I've not quite got the hang of it yet."

Eyelids finally reopened, he'd (undeniably) forced a small smile. "What're you talking about, it's great."

She rolled her eyes, "Lie to me again and I will want an apology."

Blaze felt a gentle kick from beneath the covers; he was fighting to keep the smile on his face. "I'm not lying, it's so warm, it's wonderful. Th-Thank you Blaze."

"You're delusional, your tongue's so cold that you can't taste how horrible it is. You should be eating, not talking." A spoonful was raised to mask her blush, this time he took it willingly. When it came to her pyrokinesis he'd always been more than supportive, even when it was poorly controlled, but hearing him praise and long for it was too much. Undoubtedly his words were a mix, true words spawned of a mind deluded by cold, but they still stoked the butterflies in her chest. Removing the spoon she managed a more genuine response, "But… thank you, Silver."

"But… all I did was thank you, what're you thanking me for?"

An answer didn't pass her lips; instead, she took another spoonful for herself. The taste was no better but she could handle it, a few more spoonfuls each and the can was emptied. Her effort had succeeded, healthy, steamy, breaths snuck past his lips. She set it aside, dropping the spoon inside, and picked up the bottle.

She took a sip before raising it to his mouth, "I know you're still cold, but you need to drink. You can still dehydrate."

There was a moment's hesitation but soon he took a long sip, content with his effort Blaze set the remainder to an alternate use. Blazed drew out the cloth and drenched it before setting her hand alight, warming it until steam became visible. Snuffling the flames, having boiled off enough that when it cooled it wouldn't freeze, she folded it twice and began to dab across his face; pushing the warmth back into him. As she did he sank back down the bed, quills splaying against the pillows and eyes closing. Guilt was waning as he recovered; she allowed herself a small smile as he nuzzled into her touch. He was like putty in her hands, every warm stroke prompting a reaction as she gradually heated his face, but soon the task was complete. Her smile faded as she folded the compress twice, setting it to top his forehead, but as she went to clamber over him and into bed she felt fingers catch and interlock with hers.

Glancing back she found he'd reached beyond the covers. "Y-You don't have to do this if you don't want to you know, I'll be fine." Despite his stutter, he, curiously, wasn't shivering, even with his right side exposed to the room. Her efforts were clearly working. "You've already done so much and..."

"Of course I want to." Those words had, admittedly, slipped from her throat a little too quickly for her liking. Biting back that thought she went on to explain herself, "This is no different from those first times, back when we were kids in a burning city. Huddling to keep each other safe, now we'll huddle to keep you warm. It'll only get colder as it gets later and besides, I'd do far more than this to keep you healthy." A thought did dawn on her as she spoke, "Are you ok with doing this?"

"I am, I just… wanted to be sure you were. Its been a while and…" Blaze felt him squeeze her hand; using what energy he could muster. "A-As long as you're ok, I'm ok."

As their grip released she watched a small smile spread across his lips, his once rigid form now noticeably more relaxed. She gently crawled over him, peeling back the far edge of the covers and slipping beneath them. Now, how was she going to approach this? She hadn't really considered it. She could bury her head against his chest fur, but then wouldn't that be his warmest part? Should she wrap her arms around him, would he warp his around her? Regardless, Blaze knew she had to get closer.

However, as she went to do so, Blaze recalled why she'd so often lay against his chest. His quills were sprawled across the pillow; she couldn't really approach any other position. "Silver, turn towards me."

There was a small groan, closely followed by the dragging upheaval of his head as he slowly faced her. Immediately her arm coiled around his back and pulled him closer, lest his quills catch on the candles, but as their eyes met she couldn't help but feel a tension. A hint of glazed confusion lingered in those orbs, he clearly hadn't fully recovered, but the whole of their focus was upon her. While they'd remembered each a few months prior contact had been rather limited. Perhaps that was intentional, brought on by these brewing feelings… but then perhaps that's why he thought she was uncomfortable. When had she last held him like this? She'd let her feelings prevent it; her royal position and its public gaze had led her to shirk such contact. But here, there were no eyes upon them. There was no murmuring crowd, only him pleading her to hold her. At the sight of his blushing face, cast in the warm candlelight, Blaze couldn't help but draw closer.

The compress was beginning to slip; she gently pressed her forehead to his in an attempt to hold it still. She heard him coo at the contact, head gently rolling against hers. Blaze pressed her right hand between his spines, feeling the cold skin beneath thick fur. She still had a lot of work to do. Well, she wasn't tired yet anyway. The feline's fingertips began to brush through her fur, tracing heat from the base of his spine all the way up to the scruff of his chest fur. As she did Blaze felt him reach behind her, a hand pressed between her shoulder blades and completed the embrace.

"We'll make it through this like we always have. Through thick and thin, through hot and cold, there's no one in the world I'd rather be with." Lost in the embrace, she'd almost missed those words as they tumbled from his lips.

She felt his legs brush against hers, eyes almost rolled at his delusion. "Silver, we're the only ones still alive here."

There was a pause; she felt his fingers shift a little against her back. "Well… it's still true, even if it means less here. I'll say it again when we're back." Speaking absolutes, not if they got back or stating some other caveat, only that they would and he'd say it again.

This close it was hard to see, but it looked as though the light had fully returned to his eyes. Her efforts had finally succeeded; her warmth had overcome the world's cold. With that thought, a gentle purr started to ebb from her throat. If others were here she'd be fighting to quash it but here, now, they had the privacy of an empty house, let alone an empty world. Time travel gifted them all the time they'd need, she could spend months yet return to her kingdom, not a moment after leaving. Confidence could bloom at its own pace.

Blaze reached to him with her left hand, gently grasping his free hand. His fingers locked with hers, her thumb topped his, and the grasp was pushed into his chest. As its soft fur pressed against the back of her hand, Blaze's tail coiled around his waist. Their steamy breaths were combining; his body had fully aligned with hers.

"In that case, I'll just say this now and I'll repeat it when we return." Blaze's right hand came to toy with his scruff, continuing to heat his soft fur. Purring rumbled to a fever pitch, her forehead pressed against his. "There's no one I'd rather be here with."

His only response was to nuzzle his head against hers and to pull her even closer, comforting mind and body in exchange for her warmth. Soon whispered nothings would fade into yawns. Though he tried to fight it Silver would fall asleep long before she did, fully succumbing to her gentle touch. Blaze watched him for a while; making sure his sleep was peaceful, before closing her eyes. The last souls on a long-dead world drifted into a comfortable sleep, more grateful for the other's touch than tired words could truly convey.

[monomas-a-smug-bih]

Apocalyptic Chaos VII: Sacrifices

Part 7

..:::::..

Everyone went silent, horrified gazes burning into the pale boy’s bloodied arm. He huffed.

“I already told you... there’s nothing-“ I watched Jirou shove passed Kirishima, the pained look in his eyes made my mind swirl. My brain just couldn’t keep up.

This, this was really happening?

Jirou’s voice cut through my jumbled thoughts.

“SHUT UP!” She kneeled down and picked up the cloth I’d dropped to the ground. The blonde boy winced as she hastily wiped the rest of the blood away.

“H-he barely got you Kaminari, see?! So get up already so we can go!” The unusually solemn boy looked her in the eyes, giving a sympathetic smile.

“Come on, Jirou. You’re beyond cool enough to have read comic books before, a-and according to those-“

“Don’t be stupid you idiot! Those aren’t real- This isn’t-“ she paused, seeming to recognize how bad his arm had really gotten, how pale his face had gone. “This isn’t...” It was so quiet I heard the desperate squeak of her leather jacket for every unsure move she made. Her crooked purple bangs swishing as she looked up from the ground and snapped out of her daze. Everyone’s silence was soon invaded by hammering steps up the stairs, they were coming. The golden haired boy wiped Jirou’s bangs from her eyes.

“I can’t let you guys stay here Kyouka... according to- I- this isn’t going to end well...”

Izuku’s hush voice cut in, “Kaminari...”

I watched her grit her teeth, her hand gripping firmly to his shaky wrist and ripping it from her forehead.

“You can’t expect us to just- we can’t just leave you here!” She looked to me, then to the others behind us, desperately looking for someone to back her up, someone to say everything would be fine, but...

Soon enough I could hear the few that’d reached our floor, stomping and whaling madly. I looked over my shoulder, spotting Bakugou’s hard ruby eyes, he gulped and stared into the frantic girl with a dark look on his face. Jirou met his gaze and stood up, she looked to be trying to stop herself from lunging at him out of frustration.

“You’ve- you all gotta be kidding me!?”

“J-Jirou don’t, it’s not-“ Kaminari coughed harshly, standing up halfway incredibly unsteadily. My heart pumped vigorously, my throat going dry. My thoughts swarming with ‘is this really happening?’s and ‘what do we do?’s and more panicked questions that wouldn’t be answered in time. I could hear the blood pump in my ears, up until the moans and banging outside seemed to grow overbearingly louder and louder and-

My heart couldn’t take this. I watched Kaminari pull Jirou into an exhausted hug, watching her trembling form latch onto his taller one...

“Promise me you’ll get out of here...” Jirou’s protests faded into struggling mumbles. I watched Kaminari pet her chopped indigo hair. “P-Please Jirou, please just get out of here...” he pulled away, looking her deep in the eyes before walking backwards to shift his weight onto a dusty nightstand. He held his stomach, groaning but letting out a helpless chuckle. He looked up with his drained golden eyes. “You guys too... it won’t be long now, this is really starting to hurt like a-“ his voice cut off into a groan, he winced and tried to catch his breath. I didn’t want to decide whether he was referring to the zombies outside or himself... I frowned, speechless.

I couldn’t believe this was all really happening.

Obviously nobody could, Bakugou looked as distant as ever, packing up and heaving his bag onto his shaky shoulders.

Kirishima’s hand came up from his pocket and glinted against the sun, the metal of a small gun shining in the light pouring from the window. He handed it to Kaminari, who sent a sad smile. Kirishima smiled back, pulling him into a manly hug once he handed it off. Everyone’s goodbye’s were interrupted, the door suddenly leaning in, creaking and about to fly from it’s rusted hinges. I hastily opened up the window, looking down into the far down dead streets below. I panicked and scanned the area. Bittersweet relief shocked through my system. A staircase. A super rusty and skinny metal staircase hooked out of the apartment looking part of the building beside ours. If we could just make it over-

I tried to organize my scrambled thoughts among the gun shots. Kaminari shouted at us to go, doing his best to fend off whatever was about to break through the door. Everyone looked to me, standing with my head halfway out of our only escape. I had to think, fast.

I spotted a piece below the window that stuck out slightly. The worn down white trim that wrapped around the walls below each row of windows. It only stuck maybe five or six centimetres out, not even, but if it was your only chance...

“Kirishima!” He came to my side. I needed reassurance. “Do you think we could go along there and get to that staircase?” He shook his head and readied himself, already climbing out of the window.

“It’s our only shot!” I turned away from him, looking for something to do in the mean time.

“That crazy motherfucker...” Bakugou swore under his breath, taking his eyes off of Kirishima to look back to Kaminari with a subtly admiring yet pitying look on his features. Him and Izuku hurried out the window next, I tried to avoid eye-contact at all costs.

..:::::..

I readied myself to go too, but...

Jirou stood frozen like a statue, her form small compared to the persistent teen in front of her. His lightning bolt bangs stuck to his hot face, his frail looking form had retreated to holding the cracking door back with all of his might. I knew it’d burst open, and we’d be drowning in merciless monsters within seconds. I panicked, meeting Denki’s desperate honey eyes one last time. They practically screamed at me to do something, anything, to save her. Jirou’s legs shook, her body stiff. I shouted.

“We have to go!” She didn’t budge, she didn’t even blink. I reached out to her, only to have her yank away from me. I grabbed her arm again, not even waiting for a reaction. I concentrated, my quirk activating at the sudden contact. I turned away and missed a creamy white light flash across her glassy eyes. I dragged her to the window, the hungry cries and fists pummelling the door starting to drive me nuts. I lifted myself to step out of the window, finding the tiny space of footing and got ready to flatten myself against the beige wall. I watched Denki shut his tired eyes and sigh in relief peacefully. I felt terrible leaving him like this, sick even. I swallowed my emotions and begged myself to keep a level head. I can’t think about him right now... not now. I tried to ignore the guilt swirling in my stomach as I helped the emotionally-muted girl through the window.

We’d made it to the end of the line.

The corner of the building, where the small space for my feet ended, cut off by the humongous drop from the ledge into the streets below. The breeze taunted and terrified me, whipping across my cheeks and running through my hair. Practically screaming how close I was to being swallowed up by the empty streets of Musutafu. The staircase was way further away then it looked. Fear replaced my remorse, I felt a nervous sweat coming on. But a messy head of ash blonde hair in the corner of my eye surprised me. He must’ve stayed behind, because Kirishima nor Izuku were anywhere in sight. I looked over carefully to the blank expression on Jirou’s face beside me, wondering how she would handle this, not having any emotions to worry her at the moment. I looked back to Bakugou, my throat felt tight, my eyes watered at the merciless breeze, my breath picked up immensely. I froze, my vision feeling like it’d been clouded and faded to nothing. I felt fear, nothing but fear. The unpleasant feeling running all the way to my shaky fingertips pressed desperately against the chalky feeling wall. A familiar loud voice interrupted my thoughts.

“HEY! THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

I blinked, the fear clouding my senses suddenly flying away with the afternoon breeze. Then all of the sudden I remembered who’d been standing on the skinny rusted steps across the huge gap ahead. Bakugou gripped the railing and leaned forward, the wind swishing through his crazy hair and his crimson eyes sharp against the washed out building.

“HURRY UP AND GET YOU’RE ASSES DOWN HERE!” I felt a random smile climb to my face, staring at him determined, shuffling just a little bit further to the edge. I bent my knees shakily but carefully, doing my best to assess how far I was from him, calculating my jump. I exhaled, trying to swallow my fears. He hung on to the railing cautiously.

I took a hopeful leap.

I reached for the railing, my legs desperately flailing for some footing midair. The railing came closer and closer, I prepared to latch on, it’s now or never. My feet scraped hastily against the side of the thing, my hand grappling onto the rusty metal for dear life. Then my heart stopped, I heard the metal railing let out a terrible sound, bending towards me like it’d throw me off. My body started to fall back. I lost my grip and panicked, but the moment the grainy rusted texture had left my desperate fingers, I felt something new replace it.

I only dangled for a second until I was yanked up. Bakugou pulled me up and I got over the railing. I sighed in relief, squeezing his hand and sending him a grateful grin. That was close. He looked at me and rose a brow, shaking me off and crossing his arms.

“Man y/n, do you really have to suck at everything?!”

Jeez, it’s not like he had to wait there.

But I was sure glad he did.

“Thanks Bakugou.” He rolled his ruby eyes and let his arms flop to his sides. I followed his perplexed gaze, looking up at the purple-haired girl, her leather jacket swaying in the breeze. She was still flat to the side of the hotel.

“The fuck is up with her?”

“It’s my fault, gimme a sec...” Her blank hollow stare was starting to get to me. Her dark eyes looking like a pair of marbles. I concentrated, squeezing my eyes shut. If I want this to work, I have to think of what I want her to feel, I have to think of...

-when I was in the Sports Festival, an intense competition that mattered a lot to me. I’d felt extremely competitive and determined, excited even.

When I opened my eyes, they were blank and took on a creamy glow, like there was a couple of weak flash lights in my head. I ignored Bakugou’s intrigued expression and looked up to Jirou. I need to make her feel like she can make this jump. Confidence, I thought.

Jirou shuffled closer, bending her knees and launching herself off the wall fearlessly. She made it, my eyes fluttered and the glow was gone. I grabbed Jirou’s hand and ran down the creaky steps, Bakugou lead the way.

..:::::..

We met up with Kirishima and Izuku. Bakugou yelled at them for waiting, even though he’d waited for us on the stairs.

I felt what should’ve been Jirou’s tears roll down my cheeks, since I’d grabbed her hand and stolen her emotions like I did. Reminding me of how we’d left Kaminari. Her ocean of sadness and waves of shock and frustration washed over me as we jogged. Jirou’s feelings of longing slowly sinking into me made turning around and running back to Kaminari all too tempting. It made me feel terrible, but I didn’t have a choice. Refusing to come with us would’ve put everyone in danger, and we couldn’t leave her there. She might resent me for it, but that’s not what he would’ve wanted. Kirishima came to a stop at a safe enough distance from the hotel, but Bakugou yanked at him to keep going, steering us in the direction of the drugstore where our car was parked. I tried my best not to look back at Jirou as we ran.

We went in, the bell hanging from the door crying out as Bakugou slammed it shut. His face creased with angry devastation hiding under his ash blonde locks. Everyone huffed and puffed, then went silent, making the room feel uneasy. I squeezed Jirou’s hand, a little hesitant to loosen my grip and let her feel again after we... after that. I had to do it. To keep the rest of us safe. She didn’t give me a choice! It was the right thing to do, I tried to convince myself, eventually letting go and shakily watching her wide and cloudy dark eyes flash blue then to her natural dark orbs. She looked at her fingerless gloved hands, flexing her fingers, then up at me with a worried yet confused expression. She backed away from me, into a wall. Sliding down and letting her head sink into her arms laying across her knees. It felt like someone had pierced a hole in my heart, it ached. I tried to ignore the pins and needles running up and down my tired calves and ankles and wiped my face, looking behind me. Kirishima was sitting on the floor by the counter, Izuku and Bakugou were still standing. The only difference between them being Bakugou was hiding his face in the space of a corner, his elbows by his head leaning against the wall. Izuku just looked distant and regretful. I looked around a little lost, eventually sinking down onto the floor leaning against the wall beside the door. I couldn’t believe this was happening. We’d found friends, only to have one of them taken away from us immediately. I pressed my hands to my forehead.

What kind of sick game is this?

..:::::..

Everyone stayed silent for a bit, until Izuku spoke up.

“We... should probably gather our things and move. It’s already gotten a little darker out...” he kept his eyes on the dirt speckled white floor. I heard the others shuffle up to their feet, then glanced to the side, Jirou didn’t move. I reluctantly walked over, keeping a careful distance from her. I crouched down a little, keeping a soft, hush voice.

“Jirou? H-how are you holding up?” I asked honestly, expecting her to either mope or whimper at me. But then again she didn’t look like that type of girl, I knew she was stronger than that. So the possibility she lashed out at me didn’t seem so crazy either. I watched her heave her head from her arms, eventually standing up. I straightened up too, trying to meet her hurt eyes. I watched her shoulders and jaw tense, her fists curling up with her eyes squeezed shut. I watched her one shoulder raise up slightly. And then-

Everything happened so fast. And when it did, it left an empty feeling in my stomach, a stinging and sore sensation on my burning cheek.

My head was whipped to the side, my body weight had retreated to the counter behind me, I gripped it tightly. The curled fist she’d used to hit me was hung up by her side defensively, ready to strike again. Her breath was heavy. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding all this time, daring to bring my eyes to Jirou’s blazing and anger-filled obsidian one’s. I heard who I’d guessed was Kirishima walk towards us.

“Jirou please-“

“How could you do that to me!?” Here it comes. I feared this would happen. She stomped up to me, shoving me back out of frustration. The pain and resentment in her voice showed through its cracks when she’d raised it even louder. “HOW COULD YOU MESS WITH ME LIKE THAT!” She took an aggressive step forward.

“I-I didn’t know what else to do...” I gave her the best reason I could, I couldn’t bring him up at a time like this. That’d only make matters worse. I looked at her empathetically, keeping my mouth shut. Let her snap at you, she deserves that at least. She grabbed handfuls of my t-shirt, bringing me closer to scream her heart out.

“You should’ve left me there...” She swallowed a whimper. “That was my choice to make! NOT YOURS! You made me leave him there you-“ her voice grew shaky and high, her death grip on my tee shirt loosened. “-you...” she stared into the ground in frustration. Looking at her like this made my heart ache, Kaminari must’ve really been important to her. Her weak grip slipped off and hung at her sides, her indigo bangs trying to shield her vulnerable state. I felt my eyes burn a little, pushing me to cry more, but I didn’t. Jirou didn’t make any more moves, her deadly demeanour vanished and was replaced with a broken-hearted looking girl. I gulped, leaning forward reluctantly and pushing her head into my shoulder lightly. She didn’t refuse, shaky arms soon clawing at my back as I tried to comfort her with a hug. I heard her let out a restrained sob, she cried into my shoulder. She squeezed me desperately, whimpering and pressing her forehead further in retaliation.

“D-dammit Denki...” it came out as a sad whisper, but I heard it. I gulped down my emotions for Jirou, trying to be strong for her. My eyes narrowed, burning into the cheap white flooring. The others watched in silence, we all held a moment in our hearts for Denki Kaminari... the energetic, stupidly blunt and humorous boy that Jirou, Kirishima, and Bakugou had all grown incredibly close to.

..:::::..

Eventually, we gathered supplies and retreated to the car. I was planning on asking where Jirou and Kirishima had come from, but left them alone to mourn instead. I’d tried to do the same with Bakugou, but I couldn’t help but feel his red eyes burning into the back of my skull. Finally, I leaned off of the hood of the car and turned to him expectantly. I met his blood red eyes, only to find him heading over after a second or two of glaring at me. He suddenly grabbed my wrist, ripping my arm away from hiding at my side.

“Hey!-“

“Aren’t you fucking forgetting something?”

I blinked, then glanced down, finding the arm of my restrained wrist looking just as bad as before. It still held a rainbow of reds, and yellows blooming from the swollen and sloppy stitches along my forearm. I hadn’t really forgotten, I’d just tried not to think about it as much as I could.

“No, not really.” I said casually.

He sent a glare my way, sharp mean eyes questioning me. I tried to shake him off, only to have his grip and tighten and his eyes narrow. “It’s the least of our problems right now,” I looked to the side with only my eyes. “it’s fine.”

I heard a growl rumble in his chest.

“Ugh. You’re worse than a fucking toddler...” I rose a brow, he started dragging me away from the car. “Sit.” He said sternly. I sat down leaned against the wall of the drugstore, a little confused. Bakugou was handling what had happened surprisingly well. Then again I don’t really know how else he would react to something like this.

I sat awkwardly, my arm flipped up and lengthy wound out in the open. I hated how vulnerable it made me feel. I looked up to Bakugou, who’d been digging through his bag. He pulled out a small tube of something, flicking the cap open. I waved my hands up in front of me, feeling a little protective.

“I-It’s okay, I can do that myself...“

“Tch. Just shut up.”

I sighed, it’s not like he had much else to do, I thought. So I didn’t refuse a second time. He put his empty hand out and looked me in the eye like I was some frightened disobedient kid. I narrowed my eyes and laid the back of my wrist into his hand reluctantly. The weird jelly substance felt extremely cold against my hot swollen skin, making me tense a bit. He looked up to my e/c orbs, then back to my injury.

“Jus’ stay fuckin’ still..” He mumbled. I huffed, trying my best. Surprisingly careful fingers spread the stuff from the tube across my burning raw feeling forearm, I’d guessed this was one way to get my mind off of things. I relaxed and eased into the wall behind me. My eyes read the shiny tube rolled onto the ground,

Petroleum Jelly

Bakugou picked it up to hide it away in his backpack, reaching inside for something else. I watched Bakugou groan at his backpack frustrated. He swore under his breath.

“Oi, Deku!” The moss-green haired boy had been looking at the dented locker door he’d kept from the school, probably thinking of what he could do with it. Izuku Midoriya whipped his head up in fear.

“Uh, y-yeah Kacchan?”

“Get over here.”

Izuku walked over, he seemed troubled. Bakugou rose my arm up a little, looking to the freckled boy.

“The fuck should I do with this?” Izuku examined my forearm, he sent me a sympathetic look and then grabbed his chin to focus.

“Hm... W-we should probably wrap it up with something. Actually... Now that I think of it...” He slid his backpack off of his shoulders, reaching inside. He took out a petite half torn up box. It’s white color faded and more on the beige-er side. A roll of gauze tumbled out onto Izuku’s scarred hand. “Here, this should help.” Bakugou glared unreasonably at the gentle boy, swiping it from his hand and looking back to me.

“Tch... Whatever, nerd.” He lifted my arm and wrapped it up. I felt more protected now that it was covered, regaining some of my confidence. I felt less vulnerable now that I had one less thing to worry about too. I looked over his shoulder, finding the emerald-eyed boy sending me an oddly curious smile as he rose a brow at the blonde. He handed Bakugou some sports tape he’d found too to finish it off.

I looked at my arm, it felt much cooler and secure now. My gaze shifted to the irritated eyes in front of me.

“Thank you.” I said. He looked away, filled his cheeks with air and blew out forcibly.

“Whatever, ‘s not my fault your so damn hopeless. Learn to take care of yourself will you?” His harsh bluntness brought a smile to my face. I’m the hopeless one? You can’t even accept a simple thank you.

I glanced over his shoulder, a pretty fiery sunset stretching out across the horizon. He stood up, I followed suit. The display of beautiful oranges and pinks and purples still grabbing my attention. I stared into the sunset, thinking about all that happened today. All we’d gone through. Bakugou walked away toward the car, Kirishima meeting up with him halfway. Izuku sat nearby with his supplies spread across the ground. Jirou was no where to be seen, but couldn’t have gone far. I looked back to the setting sun.

No matter this cruel world had left to throw at us, we’d fight on. We’d do it for Kaminari and whoever else we might lose along the way. I knew we’d move on and pull through. When though it didn’t seem like it right now, I knew we could do this.

..:::::..

——

Writing this hurt me :,(

NEXT

[arawnprydain-blog]

The Black Cauldron

After years of searching, Arawn finds what he has been looking for. 

@mateodeavalor

Trigger Warnings! Blood, violence, cutting palms, the undead/zombies kinda. 

ARAWN

Navigating around the wall had taken more time than Arawn had been anticipating. Both due to how ridiculously massive it was, seemingly without any entry, and because of those pesky fallen angels thinking they had any business in his endeavors.

He was ready to begin breaking apart the wall with nothing but his bare hands and whatever magic he could spare that wasn’t being used to send the glorified crows away. But, finally, they had found the gate.

Inside was...well, he did not quite see what they had been trying to keep out. The City itself was ugly, looking as if someone a broken apart what it once was only to put it back together again under the hand of a panicked child, looking over their shoulder as their parent turned the knob of the door about to be witness to the havoc that had gone one whilst they were away.

There was no order. There was no reason.

It just was.

And he did not have the time nor the will to think about it. He would have damned the City, but it was already damned and everyone that roamed it was of the same status. Arawn had read thoroughly on the City of Dis, due to it being where the artifact he was looking for was said to be lost. Or hidden.

Up until recently there had been nothing cementing the fact that it was here. Nowhere had it been written that what he needed was located in this piss poor excuse of eternal suffering, but that was because he had been looking in the wrong place. Among the living.

With Mateo’s help, albeit the boy had no idea at the time what he was doing, Arawn had been able to find someone to tell him what he wanted to hear. That it was here, seated in a building that did not belong among the City both in looks and in function.

He had known the twisted and gnarled city filled with the souls of those with the darkest secrets occupied would pose a challenge, but he had not expected this. His body was exhausted, but his brain would not let it rest. Arawn did not care how much his feet hurt, how spent he was from the fights against the vulture like Furies and angels that followed in the hopes of picking off scraps.

He wanted what he had come here for, and now that he was this close there was nothing that was going to stop him. Not even himself.

The winding paths of the city were dizzying, and annoying. Each time they passed the same noisy pub the harder his molars would grind against one another, the deeper his nails would dig into the palms of his skin.

Time had only been an issue for him up top. Time here was...well it was nothing. There was no time here. This was eternity. It was always and never. He could spend forever searching, walking, listening to the boy beside him breath. Time should not have been the issue and yet it felt as though it was the only thing keeping him away making it his greatest enemy. But he had a firm hold on his temper today. He could not slip up yet. Not now. Not until it was done.

Then he could do whatever his heart desired.

His eyes cut over to where Mateo was walking, and he smiled, knowing what the first thing he would do was going to be.

“Mateo,” he called, bringing the boy’s attention back to him, “stay close. We can’t get separated now, we’re too close. I can’t have you getting distracted again and wandering off who knows where.”

 MATEO

Mateo was so tired. Tired in a way he had never felt before, in a way that words could not describe. He was past the point of exhaustion, past the point of being so tired he was awake all over again. He was so tired it physically hurt him to be awake. His eyes had blurred over and no matter how many times he tried to clean his glasses against least dirty portion of his shirt, inside the sleeve, he couldn’t see straight.

The overwhelming feeling of the City of Dis wasn’t doing him any favors, either. Due to his state he couldn’t put a cap on himself, so he saw everything. All the pain, the tournament, all the regret and guilt. Even the happiness, the pride some of these souls had taken in the terrible things they had done. It made him want to vomit, passing by the souls that were discussing their reasons for being here, passing by the souls who talked about their lives on the other plane. All the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, the flesh of his arms had turned to goose flesh.

He didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to go home. And not just Swynlake, he wanted to go home home. Where his mother was, where his sister was, where his house was, where the streets he knew were. Not these winding stair cases or curving paths that had his head swimming with nothing but confusion.

That feeling of being lost had not left him since they had started up that mountain, the voice of someone he once knew whispering in his ear to look, look, look. He didn’t want to look anymore. He didn’t want to do anything anymore but lay down and go to sleep. Wake up, Mateo, it had said, as if he would close his eyes only to open them and find that this was all over.

That wasn’t going to happen though. He didn’t want it to happen, really. That was just his weaknesses creeping in, just like during lessons when he would break down trying to get a spell to work and Arawn would keep him from giving up. Sometimes it would take hours to finally produce the outcome he was looking for, but he would get it in the end, exhausted and sleep deprived, but a step closer to sorcerer nonetheless.

Instead of thinking about how tired he was he thought about the goal, and how he might even get to go home should they find what they were looking for. If it really did what Arawn said it did then it could help Avalor, right? With its help he could convince Arawn to help him get the crown back to Elena and the country back to the people.

“Sorry,” Mateo mumbled when Arawn called out to him. He edged himself closer to his master until he felt his arm brush against the other. He slapped his hands against his cheeks, trying to wake himself up. “What’re we looking for again?”

 ARAWN

“Something that doesn’t belong.”

That could have been a number of things. He had told this to the soul, but Mateo’s grip had slipped, and the soul had retreated back behind the Gates. It had not been a total loss, but it had been frustrating.

“Although, with this awful infrastructure, that could be a number of these buildings. “ Arawn scoffed, gesturing to the modern nightclub that had a soul screaming outside of it attached to an ancient building that did not even have glass in the windows.

“That was the only description I’ve come across of where it might be.”

 MATEO

“Huh,” he said, eyebrows rising and falling because, well, that sucked. Being so close and yet so far was an awful feeling, like feeling water slipping through the cracks of your fingers. “Well...should we...ask for directions?”

He eyed the guy who seemed to have stopped screaming his head off, watching as he stumbled backwards and then ungracefully fell forwards to faceplant into the road under him. Mateo winced, pinching an eye closed while his shoulder came up as if to shield him from the sight of the pain that bloomed and then seeped out, forgotten. Mateo could empathize with the falling part, perhaps not so much the drunk out of his mind part. Although, if they stayed here much longer he might have to start.

“Never mind,” he shook his head. “Stupid suggestion, I know, I know.”

 ARAWN

“Stupid indeed,” he sighed in agreement. “No one here is going to help us. They’re all the low lives and bottom dwellers that once roamed the Earth, now forced to roam here for all eternity. Although, I would argue they got the better end of the deal in comparison to those that are dwelling at the bottom of that marsh.”

He chuckled, licking at the irony of it on that stuck to the backs of his teeth.

“See, Mateo? Even those that planned the afterlife are flawed.”

He pressed forwards, ignoring the way the road below him disintegrated behind him as he went, as if the weight he pressed into it had broken the last of its will to hang on, so it just no longer did.

Arawn forced them to search several buildings, shoving off unwanted advances as he went throughout the rooms. Some of the souls here had no shame and while he had no qualms with any of them, he did care about people like that anymore. He was no longer in the business of playing chess with the sheep, he had won already. That was why he was here. He had killed the Queen and the Checkmate was only inevitable now, the King seemed to only be moving back and forth just out of his reach.

 It was seemingly nowhere to be found.

They made their way to the outskirts of the city, having to turn away from the drop offs that were becoming increasingly more common as they went. He pressed forwards, taking it as a sign that they were close. That this place had caught on to his game, trying to hang on for a little while longer, as if the cavalry was coming to save it from him.

But it was much too late for that now. Arawn would turn over every brick and rotting soul this place had before he fell to this poor man’s labyrinth.

 MATEO

Unlike Arawn, Mateo was beginning to lose hope.

Every building they went into, every soul they come into contact with, every time he almost went toppling off the edge of a sudden cliff knocked him down a peg or ten. Normally, you know, Mateo was the optimistic one. Mateo was the one trying to keep everyone’s heads up and push them all on to the next day because if they could make it to the next day then they could make it to the one after that, too. Here, though, he felt like he was dragging his feet. He felt like he was willing to take any excuse to give up.

Mateo didn’t say anything though. He followed willingly after Arawn at every dead end, at every empty room, turning away from every lost soul looking to them to be found. It was mind numbing, seeing failure after failure only to have to return back to the streets in order to move on to the next one. It was another reason he admired his master; the man never gave up. Just look at what he had done for Mateo, anyone else would have left him to fend for himself but Arawn hadn’t given up on him. Not in training, and not here, when he could have easily left Mateo behind several times over, he had chosen to tug him along, pull him out of his own miseries because he didn’t give up. Mateo could only wish to be that kind of person.

The outer area of the city was much more desolate, void of souls as they were all in the heart of the city trying to find pleasure at the bottom of a bottle or...ugh, he didn’t even want to think about where else the souls that had been sentenced here were looking.

After edging around a sidewalk that looked like it was under construction, minus the usual warning signs and cones that were put out to keep people from getting hurt, it was just out there for anyone to fall off of, they came across a row of apartment buildings.

And a cottage.

“What about that?” he asked, for what felt like the 200th time, and pointed towards the little building.

 ARAWN

Arawn gave the cottage a once over before nodding in agreement that they would look it over.

Like he had said, if it came down to it, he would search through every square inch of this city in order to find it.

As they got closer the white rune written on the front door became clearer. It was a warning sigil and protection spell, warding off any unwanted house guests. Arawn rolled his eyes, looking it over. It was rudimentary and old. Old enough to not be of use to anyone anymore. It should have been out of date, long forgotten, but when he reached out to grab onto the shield as if it were as thin as gossamer it turned out to still be as strong as steel.

“Damn it,” he hissed, pounding at the shielding for good measure. The lack of rational time laws here was once again proving to be his enemy. “I can’t read that rune, it’s too old for anyone alive to know! And it’s not of anything I’ve ever seen before.”

Anger gripped him tightly, running hot blood through his veins because if there was someone protecting this place then surely there was something of use inside.

 MATEO

“That’s because it’s in Meruvian,” Mateo said, stepping up. “It’s-, or well it used to be, the language of those who lived where Avalor is today. I can’t really speak it but my grandfather taught me to read it because a lot of the older texts were in it.”

He smiled at Arawn, and then turned back to the rune. Mateo bent down on his knee, swinging the backpack off one shoulder so it was sitting in front of him. He rifled around in it until he had a piece of chalk in one hand, a part of the list Arawn had told him to pack, and his Tamborita in the other.

“I got it,” he reassured, unsure if he meant it more for Arawn or for himself. Doubt swam up from below the surface like it always did, and he let it. He let it sit there and watch so it could see that he could do this, too.

He got to work, his head looking up and then down as he went from reading over the rune to drawing his own counter to it. The chalk against the brick walkway made drawing awkward and the sounds it made was grating against his ears. Not once did he look up at Arawn for encouragement or for guidance because he didn’t need it, he was here to show him why Mateo was worthy of being here at all. Finally, after triple checking, he stood up and took a step back.

Mateo took in a deep breath, and then slammed his hand against the Tamborita as he repeated the words of Meruvian to the best of his abilities. A fan of bright orange shot out from the drum wand, surrounding the rune that lay against the ground. It spun round and round for a moment until seeping into the rune itself, making the white lines shine orange instead. The shield melted, the steel turning the same molten orange until it corroded away into nothing. The rune burned bright for a second longer before fading out, too, its job done.

He blinked, and then reached out. Where their hands had once been stepped, pushed back by the spell, it now was just empty air. Mateo huffed in disbelief, then turned to Arawn.

 ARAWN

Oh, this was rich, wasn’t it?

He sat back and watched as the boy got to work with how to decipher the rune, arms crossed and expression void of anything.

When the boy stood, using his silly oversized wand and speaking in a tongue Arawn did not recognize, he did not expect it to work. But he could see the determination having built up inside the idiot, watched as his magic rose to the surface and shot out of him like it had been waiting to do just that. Like after all these years it was finally being given the opportunity it deserved.

And maybe it was beautiful.

But only because it brought upon the destruction of what stood in his way.

Arawn stepped forwards when Mateo looked back at him, stepping on the rune he had worked on, smudging the chalk as he went to move over where the shield had fallen into nothing.

“Let’s go, then,” he snipped. “No need to stand here admiring yourself.”

The door was almost falling off the hinges when Arawn shoved it open.

Without the shield encasing the small building anymore its magic was unmistakable to feel. It was not a pleasant feeling either, not that it bothered him, but who ever took residence here had made sure to burn any welcome mat that should have been on the front step.

He did not look to the cupboards, at the dusty vials and jars that sat on the shelves or the mutilated souls that moaned at the light that was being let in. Arawn tore the cobwebs from their places, flicked them off his hands with a shake of his wrists, and kept moving until he was shouldering open the door at the back.

It gave way after three hearty shoves, sending him stumbling into an empty room where he caught himself on his palms against the concrete flooring.

As his skin touched the concrete, tearing at the impact, he felt it.

The thrumming.

Like a drum of war calling to him.

Arawn pressed closer until his ear was against the cold surface.

It matched his heart beat.

“Mateo!”

 MATEO

Mateo scooped up his backpack, getting it back on his shoulders. Right, he thought, he shouldn’t be expecting praise for performing something literally anyone could do. He was behind, he didn’t deserve compliments for achieving the simplest of tasks. He followed after Arawn into the cottage, immediately covering his nose with his hoodie when they entered. The place smelled as awful as it looked. Probably worse, actually, because gosh it was terrible. A chill went up his spin as the magic stretched its wings, mangled by the darkness that had been kept in place here after all these years.

It didn’t feel as though it had been trying to keep them out it was almost like...almost like that rune had been trying to keep something inside. And he had woken it up.

Arawn yelling his name made him jump a good few inches in the air. He clutched his chest for a moment before taking off towards the back, catching himself on the doorway as he peered inside to see his master on his hands and knees, face pressed to the ground.

“Arawn?” he asked, stepping through and crouching by him. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened-?”

 ARAWN

“Yes, yes! I’m fine!” Arawn pushed himself up when Mateo appeared beside him. He rolled his wrist, the other hand grabbing at the straps of the boy’s bag. “Give me my things, quickly! Quickly, now!”

It was here. Just below their feet. He needed to bring it to him, let it breath, let it see who had come to save it from this improper burial.

 MATEO

“Oh! Is it-?” he started to ask, but couldn’t get the words out as Arawn grabbed onto his bag. He gently pushed away his master’s hands so he could scootch back and unzip the main pocket. Mateo pulled out all the supplies and ingredients Arawn had told him to pack from the skull, which Mateo still didn’t feel comfortable touching so he had wrapped it up in a pillowcase, to the mini chalkboard to the other ingredients that varied from emotions to flower to things he hadn’t thought were even possible.

He laid it all out for Arawn, careful to not break or bust anything even though his hands were shaking because this was it! If Arawn was right this is what they came here for.

“Is that…,” he let out a breath and set his hands against his thighs as he leaned back on his heels to look up at Arawn, “I mean, is that everything?”

 ARAWN

“Yes, thank you,” he said, looking over the array around him. The majority of it he would not need.

Not yet.

“Step back.”

He grabbed the dagger and didn’t hesitate to slice open his palm. The pain was almost nonexistent. With his other hand he used the blood that rose to the surface to begin to draw. The rune he had dreamed of, had spent years thinking of, was finally here.

Arawn did not need to use his blood for it, the chalk would have worked.

He stood, squeezing his finger inwards so no blood droplets would ruin his work, and stepped out from the rune.

Welsh fell from his lips easily as he walked around to where the ingredients were set out and grabbed hold of the vial filled with want, torn from the chest of a boy two years ago who had been thinking of doing something unforgivable because his ambition had gotten the best of him.

The boy had been weak though, and hadn’t gone through with it. Came back to Arawn crying about how much he loved his brother, how he couldn’t go through with it, that the deal they had struck was over, he couldn’t give Arawn what he wanted.

Instead he had given his own, the want to live, the want to survive. Arawn had pressed a blade between his ribs and put the vial under the stream as he coaxed the desperate feeling into the glass, letting it spill over like a tap.

Here it was now, and he threw it down into the middle of the rune, and he spoke into the ceiling until the sound of his voice didn’t fit the room anymore.

Below his feet the thrumming got faster, building a pace, getting louder as he called out for it to meet him at the surface.

The floor shook which in turn moved the cottage they stood in. The wood squeaked and then began to splinter. The roof gave in a few places, the metal pots and pans that lined the walls in the main room hit the ground first. Then the crashing of glass followed, sloshing of disease ridden water touched the ground.

It was almost like an Earthquake was taking place and he was elated, but he couldn’t let it show.

He stepped backwards as the room broke apart, the ground splitting open as it pushed through to greet who had let it free.

The Black Cauldron rose from its grave.

Breaking the rune he had drawn, knocking over the ingredients so the rolled to meet his feet or over parts of the room. The building was gone, fallen over to reveal to the Underworld what had been hidden there all along.

“Mateo,” he said, beckoning the boy forwards, “collect everything back up.”

 MATEO

As the world began to shake Mateo took refuge, not too far away so he could dart out to help if needed, but also not to close because he wasn’t entirely? Sure? What the heck was happening? So he watched on as Arawn conjured what they had come here for from the ground they stood on. It was awesome, honestly, seeing the raw magic coming through to find it hidden below the surface.

He wondered why something like this had been buried, if it could help so many? Who was selfish enough to keep it hidden all this time?

Mateo stepped to it when he was called, not even getting a second to admire the enormous cauldron for what it was. It looked really old, like older than ancient old. Almost as if it had been there at the beginning of time itself, old. He glanced up at it as he scrambled to pick up everything, he had set out earlier. His arms were full when he approached Arawn.

“You did it!” he said, smiling brightly. “You found it!”

 ARAWN

“Yes.” Arawn looked on to the content in the boy’s arms. He started with the dry ingredients first, the chai, cemetery dirt, and Frankincense. Then he moved onto the grief, dropping it into the Cauldron.

Grief is not a negative emotion, but a powerful piece in the life of a mourner. It comes with sadness, anger, denial, guilt… But the end result of grief can be acceptance, appreciation, and intention. The duality makes it hard to work with, but essential to the process.

Another vial contained the last words of a young girl, caught back from the wind by the his nails and shoved into the empty vial. They echoed against the Cauldron’s walls.

Help! She screamed. Help!

He plucked the yew from the stem, letting it fall lazily against the air into the dark abyss.

Arawn unwrapped the skull from the cloth it was wrapped in and examined it for a moment longer. He dropped it in after that, knowing this would be his last need of it. No clunk came from it as it fell inside.

Then he turned to Mateo, now empty handed.

He held out the dagger.

“Cut your palm, Mateo,” he said, waving the boy forwards, “and cast your blood into the Cauldron.”

 MATEO

One by one the ingredients went in, and he wasn’t really paying attention until the cries for help sounded out because they sounded terrified and sad and... familiar. But he didn’t have time to contemplate that, to think too hard on whose voice was ringing in his ears and why he had their name on the tip of his tongue.

Mateo took the dagger from Arawn but held it like it was a foreign object to him because it was. Blood magic was...well he didn’t know what to think of it anymore. All his life he had been taught that it was wrong, dark, led sorcerers and Mundus alike down a path that they couldn’t come back from, and he’d had no reason to doubt these tales because they had come from Alacazar, from the books his grandfather had given him to study.

Now, though, he had been taught that not everything was as black and white as the world wanted it to be. It wasn’t as easy as everyone thought it was to label something as good or bad, and it wasn’t right to do so either.

And, even after all of that, he trusted Arawn. He trusted the man who had taught him, who had been willing to teach him. Who was patient and tough loving and pushed Mateo out of his comfort zone. Who didn’t take no for an answer and made him worker harder than he ever had in his life. Who had given him something he couldn’t repay and who had taken him with him on this journey to find something that would change the world.  

“Why me?” he asked, but stepped up to the Cauldron, raising his other hand.

 ARAWN

Always one to question, wasn’t he?

Arawn held himself back because this had to be done willingly. It couldn’t be taken or forced. Mateo had to do this himself.

“I’m giving you the honor, Mateo,” he said, softly, encouraging him. “We must do this together.”

 MATEO

Mateo turned back to the Cauldron, not willing to argue with that explanation, readjusting his grip on the dagger’s handle.

“Okay,” he breathed. Mateo glanced down into the deep dark nothingness of the Cauldron before shutting his eyes tightly as he prepared for the pain. He dragged the dagger across his palm and let his hand hang in the air while blood dripped down into opening.

After a moment he stepped back, pulling his palm into his chest as he dropped the dagger, letting it clamber to the ground.

 ARAWN

The boy’s blood dropped in and Arawn looked over the edge as he stepped away.

It was done.

He had done it.

“At last,” he whispered into the opening, watching as a soft green light appeared as the blood touched down against the other ingredients.

He whispered the spell in Welsh as if it were a prayer. Arawn slapped his hands down against the rim, digging his fingers down and letting the magic flow threw him into the Cauldron, letting it take whatever it needed.

And he laughed, loud and victorious. Blood oozed from the Cauldron, dripping down the sides and pooling on the concrete underneath, crawling over the cracks in the ground as it painted the floor crimson. The claws of the Cauldron came to life, scratching at the ground and digging up the stone to clutch.

Green mist grew and grew until it spilled out from over the edge of the Cauldron, spreading out in an unstoppable wave as it sought out the world around it.

“Rise!”

Arawn threw his hands up, leaning back, as pure magic shot out from the Cauldron. A beam of nothing but power, so strong he almost choked from the proximity of it. But it needed to be strong enough to break through to the surface above, to soak into the Earth and the bones and flesh of those that lay beneath it so that they could wake up and claw their way to the surface once more to claim what was his now.

They too, moved. Kicked back to the surface where he belonged. The scenery change was violent, back in the forest where trees were being uprooted to make way for their scene as the Earth opened up to invite them back from their journey. Unknown to him it had taken over a month to do this. It had felt like forever, it had felt like nothing.

He watched on in awe, his chest heaving as he took in what he had done. What he had accomplished. After years and years and years of dreaming of this moment it was finally a reality and he could never have imagined the power that was emanating through him. All his work, all his patience, it had all been for something.

His greatest triumph.

The magic stopped, but the green mist continued to spill from the Cauldron. His ears rang in the silence and he stepped back, the scratch of the sole of his shoe against the concrete louder than anything he’d ever heard in his life.

That it until the metal of his dagger took his place. Arawn glanced down, only just able to see it through the green fog. He smiled wickedly as he bent to pick it up, and then turned to face the boy.

Now that his work was down, he could reward himself for his patience.

 MATEO

Mateo watched on, a little confused. He wat knocked back on his ass when the broke free to the surface, dirt and parts of the roof of the cottage they once stood in piling on top of him to he was just about buried alive. Which was ironic, considering they were no longer in the Underworld, but back again in the overworld.

Then the rumbling of something came from the depths of the Cauldron and he turned away, shielding his eyes against the magic that shot up as Arawn yelled out.

The silence that followed was suffocating, and when he looked up he still held onto his confusion, not quite willing to let it go because if he did then something bad would happen. Mateo coughed, his lungs trying to reject the dust and dirt particles he was breathing in. He dug himself out, blinking as the moon lit the scene because wow. The moon.

“Arawn?” he asked, standing up as his master turned to him. Earth fell from his shoulders, dust collected in his hair and in the fabric of his hoodie. He had already been disgusting from the Underworld, but now he looked worse than before covered from head to toe in mud and debris and blood. His stomach dropped when he saw the look on the man’s face. Instinctively he took a step back, but was trapped one again by the pile of rubble he had just crawled out of, still clutching his bleeding palm close to his chest.

“What...what did you do?”

 ARAWN

He laughed, opening his arms up and looking up at the sky. The true sky, the sky of his New World. Oh it felt good to be free. Arawn rolled his neck, letting his head move around as his shoulder moved back to stretch. He looked back up to the boy, pointing the dagger at him as he spoke.

“Do you know how hard this was?” Arawn shook his head. “Having to put up with you almost every day? Teaching you things everyone else learned in primary? With your constant whining and incessant babbling? Do you know?”

He took a step closer, his voice raising. “No one knew! All this time, all this bloody time, necromancers too scared to so much as put their hair into a spell for fear of the addiction trying to put an end to me and where are they now!”

A few kilometers away from where he stood, soon to bow down to him as he either allowed them to live or crushed their skulls under the heel of his boot. The insufferable cowards the lot of them were.

“Not even you! You!” Arawn laughed again, jaw slack as his mouth opened and his lungs filled happily. He stepped forwards again, holding the dagger more steadily now. “Who was so close to me, who should have known with all the clues I gave you. You who was so willing to believe in anything I told you. God, you are so desperate, and irritating I can’t believe I managed to keep you so humble up until the very end!

“Killing you is going to be so satisfying,” he sighed, then beckoned the boy forwards, to step up to face his fate. “Come here, now. Let’s make this as simple as possible. You’re not getting out of here alive, surely you know that now, boy.”

 MATEO

Mateo felt as though Arawn had already stabbed him. Cut him in all the right spots over the past few months were he wouldn’t notice, where it would sting but not enough to really hurt. And now he was bleeding out, the biggest wound right at the middle but everything combined meant that there was no saving him.

“Wha-?” he started, shaking his head as Arawn started to talk, to ridicule him. Showing Mateo the trust he had given him and crumbling up into a little ball, chewing it up, and spitting it out onto the ground for Mateo to see.

He didn’t know what he had done. He didn’t know what was going on, but it wasn’t good. Now that Mateo could see, that Arawn, the real Arawn Prydain, was standing in front of him he needed to get out of here.

Naomi had been right, all this time, and he had been too stupid to admit it.

Mateo froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. The implications of the dagger digging into him was too strong of a hold and it wouldn’t let go. Not until he caught sight of his Tamborita sitting just across the way. Mateo clenched his jaw, and dove for it, slidding on his side and reaching for it. He had to wiggle himself forwards until he had a hold on it but when it was finally in his hands he turned back to Arawn.

“Talact!” he shouted, the first spell coming to mind, clapping his hand against the Tamborita as he aimed right for Arawn.

 ARAWN

The audacity of this boy. He blocked the spell using the dagger, watching it fall to the ground to disappear beneath the fog, useless. Much like the boy himself. His picked his eyes up slowly until they reached Mateo’s face.

“After all I did for you?” His voice turned cold. “This is how you repay me?”

He lunged forwards then, getting his foot on the boy’s chest and pressing his full wait into it, hoping to feel the floor underneath.

“You dare wield what I’ve given you against me!” Arawn was outraged and finally, after months of being patient, let himself feel it. Let it run white hot through his veins until there was nothing but the anger. It fueled him, became him.

“You would be nothing without me! Nothing! I think I’ve earned a little respect from you, boy.”

 MATEO

He let out a gurtle sound when Arawn’s foot came down on his chest, his sternum feeling like it was going to give under the pressure. He struggled to get a breath into his lungs, straining his neck up to keep out of the fumes from the neon green fog.

“What did you do?” he managed, looking up at the Cauldron in horror. “What-? What did you make me do?”

It was surreal, almost, being here. In the Underworld with someone he thought he knew only to find out it was a complete facade. Nothing he had said was real at this point, it was all just a bunch of lies in order to get Mateo here for something. But what? What had his blood done?

He felt like he was already dead, under the guillotine. The blade was right there, in Arawn’s grip, ready to come down with the swift killing blow.

 ARAWN

He couldn’t stop the laughter. Once it had come out it didn’t seem to want to stop. It was just too good. To wonderful. There was nothing that could stop him. Nothing at all, not even the cockroach under his shoe.

“What I told you,” he said, crouching down so that his knee was pinning Mateo to the floor and for extra incentive he pressed the dagger under his chin, letting it knick the soft skin there. “I’m going to change the world for the better. The people up there,” he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “They don’t know what they want. It’s only war after war, conversation after conversation, and for what? To repeat everything all over again because no one is listening! But they’ll be listening now!”

Arawn grinned, looking up at the sky, imagine the wonderful chaos that was ensuing by the sounds of screams that he surely wasn’t imagining in the distance. “Soon only my voice will fill their heads and then the world will finally be at peace.”

 MATEO

The sudden pain at his throat was jarring. It was real and it shot through him like a lightning bolt, like he was only just now realizing the effects of his mistakes. They didn’t just affect him, did they? Just because he was going to die down here didn’t mean that everyone else, Naomi, Gabriel, Isa, Elena, they were all going to be at the mercy of Arawn now because of what Mateo had done. What he had chosen to do.

Mateo was trying to breath and think and focus on trying to piece together what was going on but he couldn’t. Adrenaline could only do so much for one person and right now it wasn’t letting him think to clearly. All it could do was give him the push he needed to get out from under this lunatic he had put his faith into and get out of here.

He clutched the drum wand in his hand. Mateo had to get out of here. He had to go find his friends and he had to figure out a way to fix this mess. He wasn’t strong enough to beat Arawn on his own but...but maybe if he got out of here and told everyone what was going on they could help, they would be enough to stop him.

When Arawn looked up, distracted, Mateo brought the Tamborita up, pointing it squarely at Arawn’s chest.

“Vetzi,” he said and watched as the yellow fan shot Arawn off of him.

Mateo scrambled to his feet and ran. He didn’t know where he was going but as long as it was away from there.

 ARAWN

When Arawn awoke, having been knocked out from Mateo’s little spell, it was only a few minutes later.

His army had heard him in his time of need and had come to help him.

Undead creatures surrounded him. He could see their soul strings were unattached, they were nothing but empty corpses. Just the physical bodies reanimated for him and him alone. They helped him to his feet, they walked him to a chair to sit down. Where the chair had come from, he did not know, but he suspected it was brought by one of the many undead subjects.

If they had done this with only him thinking about what he wanted then there would be no way for anyone to escape him. Mateo would be dealt with soon in fact-.

“Find him,” he told them. “Find anyone who dares to challenge me and bring them into the light. Go forth, and don’t let anyone stand in your way.”

A few moved, grunting their understanding. The others stayed, awaiting further orders as they looked at him expectedly.

Arawn grinned.

Victory was his at last.

[transvros]

The Silence Sings Volumes

one-shot coco fic tw: death, hallucinations, guilt, disturbing imagery ernesto de la cruz and hector rivera

 Silence would have been a welcome companion on this journey.  Ernesto had hoped that carrying out the final steps of this dark deed would have been filled with silence- something that would be utterly foreign to him given his profession of noise and music. But it was not silent. The sounds were all much too loud, instead. The heaving of his breath could very well have been just as loud as the ringing of a bell, and the thudding of his feet against the dirt pounded like great big drums in the night. And of course, the noise that racketed off of the skidding, dragging body he was pulling against the ground was not at all any quieter... Especially when that body belonged to someone who was once a friend. Ernesto paused, standing up straight to stretch his spine as his eyes peered around thoughtfully to assure the promise of isolation was still covering his tracks. He reached a hand up to wipe the sweat from his brow, before glancing at Héctor's unmoving form from over his shoulder. For a moment, something in his gut tightened- like a snake coiling into itself over and over until all that remained was a stack of colored rope in the midst of an unsuspecting walkway. Waiting to strike at any moment and constrict him until he could not breathe. Ernesto took a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly and once more reaching to wipe the sweat off his brow. It was unclear whether or not he was sweating from the heavy lifting or if the sweat came from his skin because of the crime he had committed, trying to drown him for a sin that he knew he would be condemned for one day.  No, he could not be swayed by things like remorse. He had no reason to feel bad for what he’d done- he had to seize his moment and Héctor had placed himself in between him and the moment that he needed to take hold of. His amigo had become an obstacle, and he had needed to jump that hurdle before he stagnated and withered into nothing. Héctor’s words were like magic, and Ernesto was the magician. He had to weave those lyrics for the unsuspecting crowd and bring himself up to the fame that he so righteously deserved. He was the voice of the group- the face, the social king next to a hermit-ed wordsmith that cared more about going home than he did the cause they set out here for in the first place.   Ernesto took another breath, letting the air fill his lungs and trying to keep his head on a single thought. You have done nothing wrong, Ernesto. The thought is a comfort to him. A mal tiempo, buena cara. He straightened his face out, unfurrowed his brow and put on a brave face. This would all be over soon- Héctor knew very little people in all honesty. He had some friends, but his wife was his life. And nobody had to know that he was gone- it wouldn’t matter one bit when he became famous. These words in this notebook, and this guitar... it was all his now. His words to be strung along by his guitar.   Just as he was starting to feel better about the whole situation, Ernesto felt his face fall once more when he heard something in the distance. The fear of being caught shot through him like an arrow, and he felt Héctor’s corpse leave his tired hands as it dropped to the dirt. Ernesto’s eyes went wide as he swung his head around, frantically searching for the source of the sound, but was utterly addled when there was nothing around that could have made any sound. He stilled his breath, holding it in like cigarette smoke as he listened for the sound again. For a moment, all he could hear was the howling of the nighttime winds and the hushed sound of his own pounding heart. But as a moment ticked by...and then another... the sound came back. It wasn’t the shuffling of feet or the shouts of someone who had seen the task he was about to complete- but it was something far, far more menacing. The sound of a guitar... soft...unassuming against the moonlight. Ernesto breathed out, squinting his eyes against the fog- ... Wait a tick. Had there always been fog? If there hadn’t, there certainly was now. He couldn’t see who was playing a guitar- he couldn’t even see the guitar. But he recognized that tune- one that he wished that he didn’t. It was a song that Héctor had been working on for so long- one that he apparently had been writing for that family of his. Recuérdame, his pride and joy. Why would that song be playing- and who would be playing it??  Ernesto took a step, and felt that his legs were suddenly quite heavy. Like he had something attached to them, or as if someone was trying to pull him back down to the ground right next to the body he was planning to bury. He shook the thought, and took another step forward. As he continued moving forward, the fog started to move against his sides and clear forward. But as soon as it had just enough for him to see where the sound was coming from, Ernesto wished that he hadn’t fought against the weights attached to his feet.  It was Héctor. The idea of it was crazy- completely impossible, but it was unmistakable. The form of his former best friend was standing, guitar in his hands and fingers plucking at the strings in a calculated motion. He took a step back, widened eyes gazing in terror at the man before him. In a swift attempt to rid himself of the vision, Ernesto glanced back at the body of Héctor lying limp on the ground behind him, but when he swung back around to see if the living version was still playing eerily before him, he found that it was now much closer. Ernesto shouted in surprise, and nearly fell backwards, just barely catching his balance enough to remain steadied.  “Héctor- how- dios mio, how are you-” Ernesto spoke frantically, feeling as if his voice had up and abandoned him, leaving ice in his throat in it’s place. “Where did you come from?!”  There was no response. His mouth did not open to reply- there was no shout of accusation nor movment to suggest hostility or revenge. Instead, after a second of nothing changing, the hand that held the end of the end of the guitar held it out slowly. He lifted his head slightly, so that his eyes would meet Ernesto’s and he simply dropped the instrument on the ground haphazardly. Ernesto glanced at the guitar, now flat against the ground, before he raised his eyes to meet Héctor’s, and found that keeping the gaze was too difficult. The expression of betrayal, those eyes that swam with the disdain of a broken friend reminded Ernesto of his disloyalty. The feeling was so heavy against his shoulders that they began to ache.  “Please, Héctor... Mi amigo-” The two worded phrase was met with a twitch- a clenching of a fist at Héctor’s side. “- Please, do not hurt me. I am-” Ernesto paused, taking another step back, his hands raising to clutch against his own chest like a fearful child. “Lo siento, Héctor, I’ve made a mistake!” His voice broke, any semblance of calmness lost as his pitch changed to one of horror. This was a punishment- a karma that he was not prepared to face. But Héctor said nothing. He just stared, hatred burning in his face and fist now clenched at his side. The hand that dropped the guitar moved back to his side, and he stood stiffly, coldly watching Ernesto as he trembled and fretted over what to do.   Ernesto hesitated, awaiting some kind of reply- but nothing would break the quiet. He kept switching between holding his breath and heaving, getting everything out of his lungs only to bring all the fog back in. The silence was killing him- Héctor wouldn’t say a word- he wouldn’t even move. It was making him paranoid- it was making him angry... it was making him feel GUILTY. Ernesto sucked a breath in through his teeth.  “What do you want from me, Héctor, please-! Just tell me what you want! Lo siento, lo siento, fue un accidente!!” Ernesto exclaimed desperately, falling down onto his knees, desperately digging his nails into the dirt. He felt suddenly very weak... even though Héctor hadn’t touched him at all it was as if somebody had punched him over and over in his gut. “It was on an impulse, I thought it was the right thing to do! I wanted to live in the day- seize my moment! I was blinded by fame, por amor de Dios, tenga compasión!” He shook, visibly quaking on the ground as his eyes remained widened and on the ground, avoiding that piercing stare at it had already rendered him nigh useless on the floor.   “Stand up.” The voice was so sudden, cutting into the noiseless panic Ernesto had paralyzed himself in. When Héctor said it, he had brought his eyes up to look at him dumbly, unsure if he had actually heard him right. “Stand up.” Héctor repeated, his voice unchanging. Ernesto scrambled to his feet, the fear of his impending comeuppance leaving him completely obedient. Héctor gently lifted his hands up in front of him, slow and zombie-like. Ernesto was confused when he put his hands against his chest- and then shoved him backwards lightly. He blinked at him, the alarm still clear along with the confusion. Héctor shoved him again, and Ernesto figured he’d just do what he thought was wanted of him. He turned around, and started to walk. Every few steps, he would feel a light shove forward.   When Ernesto realized where they were going, his face paled, and he nearly stopped walking, but another cold shove coaxed him to keep moving. “Héctor-” He started, but shut his mouth tight when the sound of his voice was met with a much harder shove forward. After what felt like- and honestly what could have been- an eternity, Ernesto found himself staring downwards at a big hole in the ground. He knew why it was here- for he had been the one that dug it earlier that night. He glanced over his shoulder at Héctor and found that the look of loathing was stronger now. It was as if he was attempting to land a knife directly in between Ernesto’s shoulder blades using nothing but his eyes. He didn’t have to say anything- he knew why Héctor had brought him here. It was only more evident when the man he had killed’s arm raised to point at the hole with purpose. No words had to meet Ernesto’s ears for him to understand the message;                                          This was no accident.    It was not an act of impulse- something done on a whim in the blinding light of stardom. This... was a calculated decision. He had picked the poison. He had readied his lies. He had dug his grave. There was nothing Ernesto could say to pretend that this was not something he had fully been preparing for. He hung his head downward, and felt the hot sting of regret crawling along his spine. Ernesto couldn’t find anything to say- there was nothing but a soundless tension. What else could there be? He had breached his faith- he had broken his trust- he had killed his best friend. He had KILLED his BEST FRIEND. The thought shattered the walls he built around himself and shot him hard in his brain and stomach. He felt the realization springing some kind of leak- and Ernesto found that tears were welling in the corners of his eyes. Finally, he found that his lips were not sewed shut enough for him to open them. “I-” Before he could utter another syllable, Ernesto shrieked as Héctor’s hands were on his back once again and he was propelled forward with a rough shove. He stumbled forward, hands going out in some kind of desperate attempt to balance himself- but his feet left from under him as he collided face first with the grave that he had created. He pushed himself up by his palms, and sputtered, coughing out dirt and drool before he turned rapidly in his place.   His heart dropped as he found himself gaping, jaw dropped upwards at the form of Héctor glaring downwards at him with a shovel in his hand. “Héctor, por favor, don’t leave me here-” But his words didn’t mean anything to the ex-friend. Héctor glanced at him once more, and then dug the shovel hard against the ground to start burying the man that had poisoned him.  Ernesto gasped sharply as suddenly, the noises and fog and vision around him were gone. He found that he was standing above the grave he made for Héctor, and the body on the ground was entirely still. He looked around, panting and wheezing to himself in the dark. It was all some twisted nightmare. He placed a hand on his chest and applied a little pressure, trying to get himself to calm down and ease his rapidfire heartbeats. Once he was calm, he picked up Héctor’s body and peered down into the grave- which now seemed quite endless. The taste of dirt was still heavy on his tongue... but his mind had been made up the moment he had dripped poison onto Héctor’s tongue. He could not turn back now- no matter what the consequence would be one day. As clear as the sound of bells ringing in his ears, leftover from his haste... he knew what he had to do.   And it was silent to him when Héctor’s body hit the bottom of the darkness.