#normally i would give all men everywhere body hair but hes a ginger so hes very blond all over

[old-stoneface]

not quite as exploratory as i wanted but heres my carrot design. i kinda hit the nail in one swing so im not gonna do any revision unless i come up w a really good idea

[funtimebunnyblog]

Could you possibly do a scenario for the pillar men and a s/o who’s extremely pale? I can’t go out into the sun for more then 10 minutes without being close to sunburn. I usually feel a little insecure about how my skin in because you can see bright blue veins on my wrists and arms and stuff. It looks freaky to me.

Oh Anon ❤❤❤

Let me assure you that the Pillarmen wouldn't be happy to hear you aren't comfortable in your own skin (no pun intended, of course!). Pale or not, they would be absolutely over the moon for you 🥰🥰🥰 In the meantime, let me show you how much they love you.

Pillarmen with an s/o who is extremely pale and burns in the sun easily...

(Under the cut for length)

Kars:

• Kars was very fair skinned himself; he always had been.

• However, he never had the fear of burning to a crisp in the sunshine (well, not anymore) like any Human.

• Being very knowledgeable on your race, he was very mindful of your fragile needs, specifically your skins needs.

• He was always happy to help you apply some sunscreen on your back if you asked him to or carry some around wherever you both went.

• However, he never actually seen you burn.

• That was, until one day...

• You had left early in the morning, claiming you wanted to get some fresh early Summer air by going for a little jog.

• Kars had some work to do upstairs in his study, bidding you goodbye and losing himself in his piles of paperwork as he scribbled away.

• You had barely been gone an hour, the sounds of your footsteps pulling his attention from his work for the briefest moment but he paid little to no mind to your early return.

• The door to his study creaked open and your voice was next to hit his ears.

• "Kars?" "Hmm, so soon, beloved? How was your--" He turned in his chair to face you, his words suddenly getting caught in his throat. He nearly dropped the handful of papers he was clutching at the sight he was met with.

• There you stood in the doorway, sheepishly tapping your fingers together as you struggled to meet his gaze. You knew very well what he was gawking at.

• "Do you-- uh... know where the Aloe Vera is?" Came the hesitant question.

• Dressed in a joggers tank-top and shorts, every inch of your visible skin was near to an angry red.

• It was as if someone had rubbed you raw with sandpaper from head to toe and just from the way you were standing he could easily tell that you were starting to feel just as raw.

• "Goodness, gracious!" He cried, ruby eyes burning holes into you as he got up from his chair, marching straight up to you. "What on Earth happened?!"

• You frowned, curling in on yourself stiffly, letting out a pathetic laugh. "I... uh... forgot to put on sunscreen before I left..." you explained, the red in your cheeks blooming with more than a burn from the sun. "I didn't realize it would be so hot out today..."

• Kars blinked once, looking you up and down with tight lips.

• He wasn't even touching you and he could feel the heat radiating off your irritated skin.

• Several painful moments later... you were seated in the bathroom, devoid of clothing.

• You were already so sore that getting your clothes off had been nothing but a painful struggle with you whimpering the whole way as the massive Pillarman tried his absolute best to be as ginger with you as possible.

• He had even briefly considered just cutting your clothes off with his brilliant bone blade to spare you the agony.

• Every line of where your clothing began and ended was laid bare, leaving you looking very awkward with the blotches of crimson skin gracing your pale, white body.

• You were quite lucky Kars was blessed with the ability to heal but still, you flinched every time his huge hands graced your raw skin as he worked his magic.

• By the time he was done you were only a little more pink in hue than usual; it was almost like a weak farmers tan.

• He assured you, however, that you would be back to your normal palor in a day at best

• He also made sure to take extra care to apply a generous coat of moisturizer to your skin too.

• "There." He sighed, carding a hand gently through your hair as he planted a kiss on your temple. "Please dear one, I beg of you to try and be more careful next time."

• Ironically, through all the time he had known and loved you, one of his affectionate nicknames for you was his "ray of sunshine".

• He was starting to think that perhaps it was better to reconsider and start calling you his "starlight" from now on...

Esidisi:

• For a man whose domain lied with heat, he was always more than careful to be sure you didn't get burned.

• Sometimes he playfully teased you about how very pale you were, often during the times when you were complaining about your palor, but you knew very well he adored you and your skin.

• He often compared you to a work of art; a beautiful statue of white marble. He deemed it fitting, as marble had remarkable and beautiful veins etched into its stone much like you.

• Many a morning you woke up giggling as he trailed soft, warm kisses along your milky skin.

• Once, you came inside after spending the afternoon out in the garden and immediately he noticed a pink tinging the skin on your back and shoulders.

• You hadn't gotten burned badly but it was still a burn no less. You had put on sunscreen but alas, you had forgotten to reapply...

• "Ow!" You jumped a little, you hadn't really realized you had gotten burned until he curiously poked you where it was sore.

• He retracted his hand when you cried out as if you were the one who burned him, tears noticably welling up in his eyes as your genuine pain sunk into his heart.

• "Oh, did that hurt? Oh my beautiful little flame, I'm so sorry." He breathed, he held back from hugging you (as much as he wanted to in that moment) and causing you further pain. "You've burned yourself."

• You really hadn't been exaggerating when you told him that you had the tendency to burn easily.

• Minutes later, you were seated in the kitchen, your top removed, with your Husband the Pillarman lovingly tending to your sunburn.

• You could tell he went the extra mile to diminish a good amount of the heat in his hands as he took care to press cold wet cloths to your irritated skin to draw the heat out of the burn.

• He hummed softly to you as he worked, shushing any and all painful whimpers you happened to make as the cloth graced raw skin.

• You shivered as he removed the previous damp cloth, replacing it with a fresh and freezing cold wet one.

• It was a feeling you could only associate to pouring water sizzling on a hot gridle.

• "Th-Thank you, Esidisi..." you sighed. Your back was feeling much better now but you knew by tomorrow your skin would definitely be peeling.

• "It is my pleasure, my sweet little spark." He crooned, reaching for the bottle of Aloe Vera. He planned to thoroughly slather the area with it.

• Unable to help himself, the corner of his lips tugged into a teasing little smirk. "Well, you always told me you wished you had a bit more colour to your skin. And now you have a lovely pink spot!"

• You rolled your eyes at his words, shooting him the strongest glare you could muster. "Hah."

• Though you intended it to come out as displeased, Esidisi didn't miss the tugging at the corners of your own lips.

Wamuu:

• "What do you mean by this?" The warrior had questioned you, his eyebrows knit together, when you had first told him about your tendency to burn.

• In his eyes, that should have been impossible.

• You weren't a Vampire and Humans could train themselves to harness power straight from the sun itself.

• How and why was it possible for you, a Human, to BURN simply by standing in the sun?!

• You did your very best to explain it to him, telling him about harmful effects of UV rays and how fragile Human skin could be in prolonged exposure to it.

• You even told him proper precautions Humans had to take to prevent this from happening and that you in particular had to take extra precautions.

• Wamuu listened to you intently, nodding his head through your narrative.

• He supposed that it all made sense and you were very pale after all...

• From that moment forward, being a warrior and all, Wamuu made it his sworn duty to protect you from the suns harmful rays damaging your precious skin.

• Everywhere the two of you went, even if there was just a chance of sunshine, he didn't want to risk it and ensured to have sunscreen with him (and more importantly on you) at all times.

• Apart from that, he did his very best to ensure you were well shaded when the sun was particularly powerful that day.

• More often than not you found him standing over you with an umbrella (that he may or may not have took from the Café down the street) or draping something over you to give you some shaded coverage.

• But at times when there was nothing else to cover you, he simply did it himself by letting you (and ONLY you) stand in his shadow for some coverage as he was considerably larger than you afterall.

• "Are you sure it's ok, Wamuu?" You frowned, not at all liking the way he instinctively twitched when you stepped into the cool shade cast by his very person.

• You knew very well how hypersensitive he was when it came down to his shadow and, more importantly, people invading it.

• You could already see him gritting his teeth to fight against his primal instincts.

• "Really, you don't have to--" "I do." He said firmly, stepping to the side so you were now fully shaded. He suppressed a shiver, standing as tall and proud as he could. "For you, my beloved, I must. It is my sworn duty to protect you in any and all ways possible and that includes protecting you from the sun."

Santana:

• Santana was more pale than the average living Pillarman (with Kars coming in as "2nd most pale").

• However, despite the fact that he was now an Ultimate lifeform and could now stand in the sun all he wanted, that surprisingly didn't change about him.

• Needless to say, you both stood out a lot at the beach.

• Still, it was comforting to you to have someone in your life who was just as pale as you were, being insecure about your painfully white skin afterall.

• Santana, attentive and intuitive as always, quickly picked up on your habits of sunscreen and your preparations to go outside in the hot sun.

• If you forgot to slather some on, he would simply walk up with the bottle in hand and do it for you.

• He saved you from getting burned a few times doing this.

• One day, Santana and you were walking hand in hand downtown before he stopped right outside a flower shop.

• "Ooh, they're pretty aren't they?" You said, stopping as well to admire some of the arrangements put out.

• Santana hummed, a small smile gracing his lips. "They are like you."

• You thought that he was simply saying you were pretty but no, his meaning ran much deeper than that.

• Wordlessly, he grabbed your arm, tracing his fingertips softly over the winding blue veins visible under your pale skin before pointing back to the flowers.

• The flowers had veins too; winding little lines that had been lovingly etched into their soft delicate pedals by nature, it was only a part of them that made them more beautiful.

• "You are like them." He continued, his eyes filled with warmth as he turned his gaze back down to your arms. "Delicate. Soft. Beautiful."

• Your cheeks flamed red as you understood, your face burning hotter than any sunburn you had ever received when he pressed his lips to the veins on your wrist.

• For a man of few words, Santana sure knew how to make any insecurity you had about yourself (more importantly your palor) melt away.

• "My flower..." he murmured against your skin.

[vannahfanfics]

I know you've currently got quite the list already, but could i request an X Drake and Jewelry Bonney fic with the prompt "Birthday Cake"? It can be platonic or romantic, as there isn't as much of an age gap between them (Oda says even he isn't really sure of her real age due to her powers), but go with what you're comfortable with. I just like someone as stern but secretly shy as Drake interacting with a woman as rough and boisterous as Bonney, lol.

Here’s your latest request, love! It is definitely the sauciest thing I have ever written and you can jot that down to my headcanon that Bonney is a flirtatious little devil queen. Fufufufu, I hope you enjoy it

Icing on the Cake

Bonney released a loud, contented sigh as she plopped down onto the bar chair, leaning against its wooden back as she propped her booted feet on the small table. She slung her arm lazily over the shoulder and twirled the luscious strands of her bubblegum-pink hair around her finger while flashing a wink at the very uncomfortable waiter. He flushed the color of her hair before whirling on his heel to scurry off to the bar, because the entirety of the staff already knew what “Big Eater” Bonney liked to partake in. This particular bar was one of her favorite haunts, and regardless of where she was or what she was doing, she always made a voyage to this island at a particular time of the year…

This bar, of all the many restaurants Bonney had frequented in her life, simply had the most delectable, delicious, irresistible birthday cake that she had ever tasted!

The bar had been anticipating her arrival, as most of the patrons consisted of her crew, who were already in various states of drunk. Plates and glasses had already begun flying about, and the poor cleaning staff were struggling to maneuver brooms through the writhing, sweaty bodies to sweep away the glass, because the rowdy pirates would surely turn on them once they got a glass shard to the sole of their foot. A large flagon of cream soda was delivered to Bonney’s waiting hand. Normally, of course, she would drown herself in alcohol like the rest of her mates, but the bitter taste of beer went horribly with the sweet birthday cake! No, tonight, Bonney was going to deliver herself to a sugar coma rather than a drunken stupor.

A big smile painted her face as she sloppily chugged on the frothy soda, a faint line of fizz decorating her face as she slammed it down and demanded another. Balancing the chair on two legs as she contentedly eased it back and forth, Bonney was relaxed despite the raucous atmosphere. Birthday cake~ Birthday cake~ she chanted blissfully in her mind, swinging her finger about to the tune. Everywhere else she would be slamming her fists and hurling chairs if she didn’t immediately have her food, but this was the rare instance in which patience was well rewarded. Drool began to pool in the corner of her mouth as she imagined it being brandished on a silver platter, an entire tiered strawberry and cream cake being presented to her and her only… Ooh, she could literally taste the creamy buttercream on her tongue already! She clicked her tongue as she reeled her mind back in, lest she truly become irritable at waiting. She didn’t want to hound the kitchen staff at the expense at her delicious cake, after all…

The door to the bar was suddenly slammed open. Everyone in the bar hall, including Bonney, whirled their heads about to stare in awe at whoever dared to trespass on what was temporarily the pirate lass’s domain. Her mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk as she recognized the large, hulk, intimidating form of Marine-turned-pirate X Drake. His sharp blue eyes scanned the disheveled bar scene until they landed on Bonney’s lounging, grinning form.

“My, my. It seems this bar is already taken.” Bonney released a coquettish whimper as his low, rumbling, deep voice graced her pretty little ears; Bonney’s love of men nearly rivaled her love of food, and she would be a fool to deny that the muscled ginger cut a very attractive figure. His eyes were trained on her, waiting for her reaction, and Bonney instantly shifted into coy vixen mode. With a girlish flutter of her eyelashes, she began tracing intricate patterns into the exposed skin of her thigh and shifted her body to give him a healthy view of her assets.

“Nonsense, Drake,” she cooed invitingly. “The more the merrier. Come sit with me a while

Bonney refused to remove her feet from the table as Drake dragged a chair over to sit across from her; after all, her long, shapely legs were one of her best features, and like hell she wasn’t going to have them on full display for her handsome suitor. “Tell me,” she hummed while continuing to paint invisible patterns in her milky smooth skin, “what brings X Drake to this little spot in the sea?” His eye flickered uncomfortably to her swirling finger before darting back up to her.

“What brings Jewelry Bonney to this little spot in the sea?” he countered calmly. She fell back into the chair with an airy laugh; oh, he was playing along, how fun! She tilted her head, exposing her neck to him with every amount of suggestiveness, and eyed him good-humoredly.

“Oh, were you not aware? It’s my birthday, and this little joint happens to have the best birthday cake in all the Grand Line!” His expression remained stony.

“Happy birthday.” She pursed her lips in a disappointed pout, finally bringing her legs down from the table only to plaster her large chest across its surface; the blush crept further up Drake’s thick neck as they nearly spilled out of her flimsy ruffled tank top.

“Oh, Drakey, honey, surely you can manage more feeling than that?” she whined pitifully. “You make me think you don’t care!” The corner of his mouth tugged down into a very painful frown. Bonney was not one to let up the chase. The chair’s legs piercingly scraped the floor as she dragged it closer to him to wrap a dainty little hand around his thick bicep. His ears were burning pink now, and he looked away with a grunt as it blazed over his cheeks.

“What are you doing, woman?”

“Why, I’m just enjoying the company of a sexy man~” she answered unabashedly. “There’s nothing else to do while I wait for my birthday cake, so I might as well have a little fun Ahaha! Could he be shy with women? A weakness I never expected from him, but amusing all the same! “What is it?” she asked with a striking but false change in mood, her eyes growing big and wide and her lips poking out in a sad little pout. “Do you not think I’m pretty?” One of her many talents was crying on command, so it was nothing to will a few sparkling tears into her big brown eyes.

“What? I- no- of course- um,” he began stammering uncontrollably. As his face turned the color of a tomato, Bonney simply couldn’t help but begin chortling; oh, how easy it was to fluster him! “Y-you’re a very striking young lady…” he admitted after repairing the short-circuit in his frazzled brain. Bonney squealed in delight and then all but jumped into his lap, hooking her long legs at either side of the chair while she pressed her lower abdomen against his. Drake’s back slammed into the back of the chair in a pitiful effort to put distance between them, but the wooden structure prevented his escape. Chuckling darkly as her eyes glittered hungrily, she began running her nails lightly up and down his chiseled, exposed pectoral and abdominal muscles.

“Tell me, how do you get muscles like these? Your workout regimen must be brutal,” she tutted in mock sympathy.

“What are you doing?” he growled through clenched teeth. Bonney clicked her tongue and lightly tapped the underside of his chin.

“Oh, lighten up, honey; it’s just a bit of fun, like I said. What, do you not enjoy a strapping young fox like me on your lap? You want a little younger? Or a little older?” she asked tauntingly, using her Devil Fruit powers to alter her appearance in accordance to her questions. Drake had his head tilted back and eyes trained on the ceiling. Ah, his resistance was so much more satisfying than him drooling at her feet! His large hands suddenly jumped up to wrap firmly around her upper arms.

“This is not my idea of fun.” His tense growl was in direct opposite to the sneaking glance he shot at her cleavage. Bonney cooed like a dove, leaning forward to very purposefully press them against the X-mark tattooed to his chest. Her hand swept up to his head, knocking off his flared hat to begin teasing his styled golden-orange hair. “You are playing a dangerous game,” he warned with a pointed look, but this time made no effort to cease her ministrations. Bonney bit down on her tongue, giving a pleased wriggle on his lap as he began to relinquish himself to her teasing clutches.

“I love dangerous games,” she breathed against his face, eyelashes fluttering like innocent butterflies. His fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arm as he wrestled with his own pride and self-control; she was having such a way with him so easily, so of course the poor thing was resisting it. A vein was bulging in his forehead from how hard he was trying to curb Bonney’s temptations. Slowly, very slowly, his hands loosened and slid down her slim arms to settle at the curved juncture of her waist and hips. “Atta boy, Drakey,” she applauded, awarding him with another sensual fidget on her throne.

“I don’t know who’s the dangerous one here, me or you,” he laughed dryly. The man was finally beginning to enjoy himself, judging from the deprecating leer he was wearing. Bonney snickered as she traced the X-shaped scar decorating his prominent chin.

“Definitely me.” Her brown eyes flickered to the door of the kitchen as it was thrust open, and finally, finally, her birthday cake was ready. It was a massive specimen, made of four spongey tiers laden with buckets of thick white icing with gobs of bright pink icing painting the edges. It was covered in round rainbow sprinkles which were raining down onto the wooden floor as the three cooks hobbled towards the table, burdened by its massive weight. Bonney clapped her hands together with a trill of glee and whirled around so that her back was now resting against Drake’s broad chest.

“Are you really going to eat all that?” he asked with obvious concern. Bonney tutted and reached behind her to pat his cheek.

“Oh, honey, you really do know nothing about me. We’ll have to amend that,” she sighed deeply in play hurt. Her expression didn’t convey that in the slightest, however; her starving eyes were like glittering smoky quartz as she licked her lips, beholding the ginormous birthday cake as it was slid onto the table, ripe for her taking. Bonney was not one for propriety; she wasn’t going to take this baby a slice at a time. No sooner had the head chef handed her a large fork did she stab into the bottom tier of the cake, revealing the rich strawberry cake concealed beneath the curtain of white. She heard Drake choke as she shoveled a huge mass of the cake into her mouth. Instantaneously, she was delivered to the realm of sugary bliss. The strawberry cake was just the perfect texture and burst in sweet-tart sambas across her tongue, while the saccharine creamy icing waltzed in slower but no less powerful tunes in conjunction. With a small groan of pleasure, she melted against the very confused and confusingly aroused man seated beneath her petite frame. After the sweet fog cleared from her mind, she grinned devilishly and looked up at Drake, making quite a show of licking excess icing from the corner of her mouth.

“How cruel. You’re going to make me sit here and watch while I get nothing?” The way his deep bass voice rumbled against her back was so nice to Bonney. Coyly, she pressed a finger to her lips as feigned mulling the prospect over. Of course, there was no way in hell she was going to sacrifice even one sliver of her birthday cake to him, at least not yet… But, there was a way she could spin the situation further into her favor.

“Oh, what to do? You have been so generous in keeping me entertained, so perhaps I can let you have just a little taste,” she reasoned as she rolled her gaze around thoughtfully before landing on his face once more. Eyes trained on the smug and amused X Drake, she dipped a finger in the thick icing before smearing it all over her slightly puckered lips. His eyebrows shot up to the roots of his hair, and Bonney laughed delightedly while kicking the floor with the soles of her boots at the return of his bashfulness. He gulped and stared hard at the sweet icing decorating her soft and oh so very kissable lips. “What is it, Drakey?” she asked while twisting to the side to lounge against his thick arm, which was draped over the edge of the table. “You’d better hurry before I change my mind,” she said while teasingly flicking the top of her bottom lip with the very tip of her tongue.

“You are a seductress,” he snarled huskily at her in a blend of frustration and hilarity. Bonney arched her back into him as his face descended quickly over hers, hungry lips devouring hers in an instant. Bonney’s hand played with his now-mussed tufts of ginger hair as his tongue greedily licked every trace of icing from her lips. Of course he didn’t stop there; as Bonney laughed lightly, it dove into her mouth to tangle heatedly with her own, and she found the flavor of him mixing with the sweet taste of the icing to be simply immaculate. Happy birthday to me~

Bonney had ventured to this little hole-in-the-wall, backwater island for some simple birthday fun, but landing a big, tough, manly playmate for the night was definitely the icing on the cake…  

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to perusemy Tableof Contents!

Tag List: @searchfortheonepiece

[my-creative-hell]

Shootout (Mafia au)

“It had been two months since Grave had been kicked out of her home for whatever bullshit reason she couldn’t currently remember as she sits inside an abandoned store, since nobody would bother her there and she could sit and exist alone in peace. It was the middle of winter, the cold air that was getting into the shop biting into Grave’s exposed skin, the shorts and oversized t-shirt she was wearing doing nothing to curb the freezing world around her.

“Oh yeah sure mum, kick me out for a fucking accident and then call me an ungrateful child. Thanks, love you.” Grave mutters to herself as she sits on the cold floor, trying to ignore the chill settling into her skin, the hunger seeping into her stomach, the food she had eaten a week ago long gone now, and the lack of sleep pulling her body down and making it feel weighted and slow. After a few more agonising minutes on the ground, Grave perks up slightly when she can hear something in the distant, sounding like shots from a gun.

Grave panics immediately, searching the store, though she knew there weren’t any good places to hide, opting to tuck herself behind the somewhat decrepit serving counter as she shots get closer, footsteps able to be heard outside the shop now. Grave manages to keep her breathing even, though her heart was thumping loudly and wildly inside her chest as someone enters.

The first person to enter the shop is a shorter looking ginger woman wearing all black. She enters the shop slowly, though her movements manage to look calculated. A scar stretches over her nose across her face, which wore what looked to be a permanent scowl, perfected with very cold and hard green eyes that look around her as she leans against the wall inside the door of the shop, her gun drawn and waiting for something, or someone.

Grave risks a small peek from behind her hiding place, her panic rising more than she thought possible when she spots the woman in the store with her. As she ducks back down, a taller man enters the building, almost immediately being shot point blank by the woman, his head barely remaining intact as he falls to the floor, though the woman looks unphased.

Grave flinches as the loud noise rings out, making her ears hurt and ring as she puts her hands over them. Some more shots ring out from outside the store, a couple of the bullets finding their way inside as the woman fires back, managing to knock a couple of them down swiftly with impeccable aim. Grave panics more, her breathing becoming hard to control now, getting louder as she clamps her hand over her mouth in an effort to stifle the noise she was making, hoping for the best.

Whoever the woman was fighting only seemed to have a couple of men left, who both enter the store as the woman ducks behind one of the other counters. The men seem to shoot into the store at random, clearly not knowing the whereabouts of the woman, who manages to shoot one of them dead on the spot. Grave curls into a ball behind the counter as the store seems to shrink around her, feeling so much smaller as the feeling of danger only grows with each passing second.

The final man seems to hear her, or sense her presence, as he fires a single shot in her direction, allowing the woman to come out from behind him, using a well placed gut shot to send him to the floor, harshly pressing her steel tipped boots into him.

“What the fuck do you want with us, huh?” Her voice is low and gravely as she speaks, harsh venom behind her words as she practically spits in his face.

Tears spill form Grave’s eyes as the new wound in her shoulder begins to scream in pain as she tries to block out the noises around her by thinking of a dumb song in her head, not that it works well for her.

“Fuck it.” The woman huffs as the man bellow her refuses to answer, swiftly and mercilessly shooting him through the head to make sure he couldn’t return to wherever he had been from, a threatening frown upon her face.

This scares Grave even more. Her breathing comes out hard, all ability to control it now gone as Grave starts to lose a lot of blood from her new wound, beginning to feel like she could pass out soon. The woman seems to hear her breathing now, her head snapping up from the dead man below her as she assumes its someone she managed to leave behind from the fight.

“Someone in here?” She calls out, though her voice is loud and harsh, more of a demand to reveal themselves rather than a question. Grave’s heart sinks in her chest, believing she would surely die today. Her mind is slowly starting to slip in and out as blood continues to pour out of her wound at an alarming rate, making her sure she would pass out soon. She doesn’t say anything to alert the woman, though she does give up on containing her breathing and making it normal. The woman starts to move towards the noise, her gun out and ready in case she would have to shoot, her boots clicking against the floor, making her footsteps loud and noticeable to Grave as she approaches.

Grave whimpers a bit as she hears the woman approaching; sure she was about to pass out. The woman hears the whimper, frowning more in confusion as she rounds the corner, her gun raised and ready in case she needed it. A soft thump noise is heard as Grave falls to the ground, unconscious, passing out from the blood loss and fear, making the woman lower the gun as she rubs a hand over her face.

“Well shit…” She mutters to herself as she makes a decision on the fly, holstering the gun and kneeling down to the teen, carefully lifting her up and escorting her to a nearby safe house using the back allies in the area.

 When Grave wakes up after a while, she finds herself alone in a room, tucked into a bed with a bandage wrapped tightly around her shoulder, holding her wound shut and keeping the blood inside of her as she looks around the room and at her own wound.

“Oh… cool. That’s… that’s good.” Grave comments, still feeling sleepy, not entirely processing what was currently going on around her as she closes her eyes for a moment, though they snap open again a few seconds later. “Wait what the fuck-” She mutters as her brain starts to catch up, noises coming from downstairs, sounds of footsteps and a voice, and though Grave couldn’t tell what was being said, the voice definitely belonged to that woman from the store.

Grave gets out of her bed, making it up again due to her manners, opening the door to the room to peek downstairs. The woman’s footsteps are clearer now that the door is open, and form the sound of them getting louder, it seemed like she was going to be coming back upstairs.

Grave immediately shits the door silently, diving under the bed to hide from the woman, panicking as she comes up the stairs. The woman reaches the top of the stairs, opening the door to the room Grave was in and stopping in her tracks. She drops what she had been holding in her hands, which Grave could now see was a blanket, mobbing out of the room to check the rest of the upstairs for the teen.

“Fuckin hell, you injure em then you lose em, for fucks sake…” She mutters, her voice still sounding harsh as she quietly wanders around to check if the teen was anywhere else upstairs, as she hadn’t heard her go downstairs. Grave feels much less afraid, but still debated whether she should come out of hiding or not as the woman comes back into the room after checking the rest of the upstairs.

“Couldn’t have gone out of the window, for sure, not with that fuckin wound…” The woman mutters as she paces out of the room, apparently deciding to check downstairs as well, in case Grave had managed to sneak down there without her knowing.

Grave gently bumps her head on the bottom of the bed, a small noise of pain coming from her, though its almost inaudible in her effort to stay quiet. The woman is downstairs, audibly pacing as she looks around for Grave, checking everywhere in the house, and even stepping outside for a minute to check before coming back inside and upstairs, where she picks up the blanket in the room Grave is in, placing it gently on the bed. She has a final quicker look around the upstairs before going downstairs again, sounding frustrated.

After hearing all of this, Grave decides screw it, coming out form under the bed and going downstairs, where the woman can be seen standing in the kitchen, looking angry, her head snapping up when she hears Grave, making Grave very nervous.

“Um… hi?” She tries, the woman huffing, running her hands through her hair.

“Fuckin hell, kid… where the fuck were ya?” The woman questions, as she sounds annoyed and slightly harsher.

“U-Under the bed.” Grave says as she looks down at her feet, frowning. The woman’s frown deepens as she looks at Grave.

“While we’re talking about the bed, why don’t you go and get back in it, you look cold as ice.” She comments bluntly, turning away to do something as she speaks.

“Yes ma’am.” Grave mutters, heading upstairs into the room and getting back into the bed as instructed, listening to the woman downstairs and the noises that were being made before she can hear her coming back upstairs. The woman pushes the door open, entering the room with a hot bowl of soup and some toast for Grave, who was currently completely under the covers.

“H-Hi…” Grave says quietly as she pops her head out of the cover, looking at the woman.

“Hello.” The woman utters sternly as she places the food down on the bedside table, pulling the extra blanket off of the bed and draping it over Grave as well. “I’m assuming you aint eaten in a while…” She continues in the same stern voice as she looks at Grave with a stone face. Grave shakes her head as confirmation as she comes out fully from under the blankets.

“Thank you, by the way.” She adds, the woman shaking her head.

“Least I could do, since you got shot…” She reasons, shrugging. “I’ll leave ya alone…” She continues as she turns to leave, well aware of the threatening presence she was likely providing for the teen.

“Oh…” Grave shrugs as the woman leaves, beginning to eat her soup, the speed with which she was eating showing to the woman how hungry she was as she leaves, heading downstairs. The woman pulls out a phone, making a call, though her voice is muffled upstairs, Grave unable to make out what was being said. Though Grave finishes her soup and toast quickly, she is unsure of whether she should go downstairs as the woman starts to sound frustrated, her voice sounding harsher and colder until it stops, the woman hanging up on whoever she had called, making her way back up the stairs.

“You were hungry, huh?” She comments as she quietly pushes the door open, observing the now empty bowl and plate beside Grave, who nods and looks down at her hands.

“Yes ma’am…” She mutters, staying quiet and polite, making the woman frown more.

“Whats your name, kid?” The woman questions as she frowns, looking at Grave with keen and sharp eyes.

“…It’s Grave, ma’am.” Grave answers after a second, the woman nodding.

“And I’m Hannah, so you can stop with the ‘ma’am’ stuff, I’m not ladylike enough for that.” Hannah says bluntly as she frowns.

“Oh.” Grave says bluntly, though she didn’t intend to. “Okay…” She says in a downtrodden voice, making Hannah sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Where are your fuckin parents, kid?” She asks in an exasperated voice, pretty sure of the answer she would get, but wanting to make sure. Grave flinches at the word ‘parents’.

“I-I um… they aren’t…” Grave frowns as she continues. “I got kicked out by my mum-” Grave explains, Hannah frowning as she goes to sit on the bed besides Grave gently, looking at her.

“How long you been out there alone?” She questions, her voice quieter, though it still contained that grit and harshness, watching as Grave plays with her hands.

“T-two months.” Grave admits in a small voice as she fiddles with her fingers.

“Two fuckin months-” Hannah huffs, looking pissed off now. “Fuckin assholes.” She huffs harshly, looking angry.

“I mean, at least I didn’t die. That’s somewhat good, right?” Grave tries, but Hannah looks at her sternly.

“You almost did, kid. Lost a lotta blood.” Hannah explains in a blunt voice as she looks at Grave, who frowns.

“Yeah… but at least its ‘almost did’ in stead of ‘did’ if that makes sense.” She reasons to the stern Hannah.

“You shouldn’t have had to be in that situation… and now we’re stuck here overnight.” Hannah responds in a curt and stern voice. “Unless you’re desperate to leave…” She continues, letting Grave know she was free to leave if she desired to. But she quickly shakes her head no.

“I-I’d rather not be put out there again.” Grave explains to Hannah as she nods.

“Then I’m sure we got a place for ya, if you want it.” Hannah explains in a slightly calmer voice as she looks at Grave, her eyes slightly softer than before.

“Yes please. I-I’d like that a lot…” Grave says in an appreciative manner, Hannah snorting, though it sounds happier.

“Sure, after that shit heals…” She explains, pointing to the gunshot wound on Graves shoulder she had stitched and bandaged.

“Yeah, that’d be a good idea.” Grave smiles a little as she talks, Hannah nodding in response.

“Well, since we’re stuck in this fuckin house for today, anything you wanna do, kid?” She questions Grave, her expression inquisitive.

“I… I actually haven’t been asked that in a while!” Grave giggles gently. “So I don’t really know, but thanks for asking.” She shows her appreciation to Hannah, who hums lightly in response, thinking.

“Well… there’s a TV downstairs, and some warm blankets, a soft sofa, so it shouldn’t disrupt the wound, if you wanna come and sit, watch something?” Hannah offers in a lighter tone.

“Yeah!!!” Grave smiles widely, feeling happy at the offer.

“Come on, then. Just be careful.” Hannah cautions Grave as she picks up the dishes from the bedside table, walking down stairs with them to put them in the kitchen for cleaning.

“Okay!” Grave gets out of the bed carefully, following Hannah downstairs, though she heads into the living room, sitting on the sofa. “Oh my g o d.”

“You good?” Hannah calls from the kitchen as she quickly cleans the dishes, not wanting to leave them.

“It’s s o m f t!!!” Grave exclaims, the happiness evident in her voice as she smiles largely, Hannah snorting from the kitchen.

“Guess you’ve not sat on one in a while… its big too, huh?” Hannah asks, the sofa big enough to sit three, maybe even four people.

“Yeah!!! It feels really nice!” Grave exclaims happily as Hannah comes out of the kitchen, the dishes cleaned and placed to dry.

“Anything you wanna watch?” She questions as she sits on the other end of the sofa.

“Cartoon Network!! Please…” Grave asks politely as Hannah tucks her legs up underneath her on the sofa, grabbing the remote from the table in front of her.

“Sure thing. You know you don’t gotta be so polite, right?” She questions Grave as she turns the TV on for her, finding the right channel.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna be rude.” Grave asks as she looks at Hannah, slight confusion on her face.

“Last I checked I’m not a princess, so you can talk to me however you want.” Hannah shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t bug me.” She reassures.

“Oh.” Grave nods. “Hey guess what?” She questions, watching as Hannah puts down the remote after finding the right channel.

“Hm?” Hannah hums in questioning.

“Fuck.” Is all Grave says, snickering. Hannah smiles for the first time at that, her hard exterior cracking a bit.

“Nice one, kid.” She commends Grave as she smiles.

“Thanks, I do try my best.” Grave smiles as she looks at the TV, clearly interested in what was happening on it.

“Outta interests, how old are ya?” Hannah questions as she watches Grave’s intrigued face.

“I’m fourteen. What about you?” Grave questions, Hannah looking at her again.

“Thirty five, kid.” Hannah explains, though she knew she didn’t look the age she was.

“Jeez, that’s like… twenty one years older than me. I got a lot of catching up to do… I’ll try my best to be at least a year older than you in three weeks.” Grave makes the dumb joke, knowing it was dumb, but it came into her mind first, and Hannah snorts again in response.

“Think the only thing you should be worryin about it bein a kid…” Hannah observes as she turns her attention to the TV, watching whatever show they had playing.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Grave giggles as she too turns her attention to the TV, Hannah allowing her to chill out for a while in silence and watch what was playing. She didn’t have much interest in it, but she would watch anything if it was on. And right now, she was more worried about the kid anyway.

Grave, rightfully tired as she was, fell asleep after a few episodes had played on the TV, sleeping through for around four hours. Waking up after her sleep, Grave can see that the TV is still on, though the volume has been noticeably turned down. Grave had also been gently swaddled with a few blankets, which were currently keeping her comfortably warm as she woke up. Hannah had vanished from the sofa, Grave the only occupant on it currently.

Grave smiles in a gentle tired fashion, slightly disappointed that Hannah wasn’t sitting with her, though she doesn’t move due to the blankets around her, as well as the sofa, keeping her warm and comfortable. After a few minutes of comfortable sitting, Grave can start to hear very soft and sweet sounding singing coming from the kitchen, along with some other soft sounds. The voice has a very lullaby feel to it, very light and airy and soft, like the blankets Grave was currently swaddled in.

Grave enjoys the voice, wanting to listen to it as long as she can, feeling nice and happy as a result as Hannah sings a very lullaby esc song that was very soft and calming in itself as she moves around the kitchen almost silently as she doesn’t want to disturb Grave. Grave pretends to be asleep on the sofa, though she cant stop smiling, this kind of event being one of the happy memories she shared with her mum when she was younger. She listens as Hannah finishes the song she was singing, moving to hum a soft tune as she sounds as if she was getting close to finishing what she was doing in the kitchen, the small sounds growing farther apart.

The humming stops in the kitchen as Hannah can be heard putting something on a plate, her padded footsteps starting to move towards the room Grave was in, softer now that she has taken off her steel toed boots, and wore only socks over her feet.

Grave attempts to quiet her giggles, though it doesn’t really work. She still pretends to be asleep, though she’s badly failing at it as Hannah walks into the room with a big plate of chicken alfredo for Grave, cracking a smile as she see’s her pretending. Hannah decides to call her bluff, setting the food on the table in front of them, placing it ahead of Grave and sitting gently on the sofa again.

“You found out!” Grave exclaims as she starts laughing, feeling so happy, Hannah smiling gently now.

“How could I not, kid? You kinda suck at this.” Hannah reasons in a jokier manner as she watches Grave genuinely laugh.

“AT least I tried? Did I humour you a little?” Grave questions as she starts to come out of her blanket burrito.

“You did a little yeah.” Hannah smiles slightly as she looks at Grave. “I suspected you’d still be pretty hungry, so I thought I’d make some food for ya.” Hannah explains as she gestures to the food sitting in front of Grave.

“Well, thank you.” Grave smiles as she starts to eat, a bit faster paced than she should have been, making Hannah snort.

“Just careful not to choke.” Hannah reminds her, Grave slowing down with her eating, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry…” She apologises as she eats her food at a more normal pace, though she finds it difficult to say the least.

“I know its probably tough, and you’re hungry… but from now on, you have three meals a day you can rely on. You’ll stop feeling so hungry in no time.” Hannah reassures Grave, who gasps quietly.

“T h r e e???” She questions, making Hannah frown.

“How many were you gettin at home, before they kicked ya?” She asks as she looks at Grave, who shrugs in response.

“There wasn’t a lot to eat there, so I just ate what I could whenever I needed to.” She explains nonchalantly, making Hannah huff.

“That aint gonna happen where you’re goin…” Hannah trails off as she looks to Grave, smiling kindly. “Promise.” She reassures, Grave possessing the biggest smile on her face, the entire thing lit up, making Hannah laugh.

“Alright, don’t explode kid. Finish your food and I’ll check on your wound.” Hannah returns to a more neutral voice as Grave eats.

“Okay!” Grave exclaims, finishing the small amount of food she had left on her plate quickly, making Hannah hum quietly as she takes the plate from her, running it into the kitchen before coming back in the living room.

“Right, lets have a look at that…” Hannah says calmly as she sits next to Grave.

“Okay.” Grave agrees happily, feeling calm with Hannah next to her currently, calm and happy. Hannah gently pulls back the shirt Grave is wearing gently, exposing the bandaged wound.

“It’s bled quite a lot, though it seems to be slowing since I stitched it… gonna have to rewrap it though, alright?” Hannah checks in with Grave, wanting to make sure the teen was comfortable with what she needed to do.

“A-Alright…” Grave nods, though she starts to feel slightly nervous, and Hannah can tell, frowning slightly as she looks at Grave.

“You okay with that? It’s just to make sure it don’t get infected. You’re also gonna want some pain meds, the others should be wearing off soon…” Hannah comments, more to herself than to Grave, though she speaks gently to try and calm the teen.

“Y-Yeah! I’m… I’m fine with it.” Grave reassures Hannah, trying to smile to prove she wasn’t scared, though it wasn’t entirely true, Hannah frowning more.

“You don’t sound okay, kid. Whats up?” Hannah questions gently, watching as Grave sighs.

“Okay, I know its dumb, but I just don’t want it to hurt more or possibly get more messed up.” Grave explains, making Hannah look a bit more concerned and confused as she looks at her.

“Why would that be dumb?” Hannah questions as she looks at Grave as she chuckles and shrugs.

“I dunno…” The teen half explains, Hannah sighing.

“Well, it aint dumb. And we’re gonna make it as pain free as we can, okay? I’m gonna go get the med kit, you hold on a sec.” Hannah instructs, Grave remaining silent as she watches Hannah leave the room, heading upstairs into the bathroom to pull out the med kit from a cabinet before slowly walking back downstairs, sitting gently besides Grave. “Alright, we need t pull that top down a but so I can get at it to wrap it, okay?” Hannah questions gently with a soothing voice.

“Mhm.” Grave gently pulls her shirt down enough for Hannah to easily access the wound, which she carefully unwraps. It looks red and sore, but has been stitches up properly and has stopped bleeding altogether.

“This is the sucky part, I’ve gotta clean it a bit.” Hannah admits in a calm manner, Grave letting out a long sigh.

“Okay.” She smiles as Hannah nods, pulling out the sterile cleaning equipment form the med kit, dabbing some cleaning liquid onto her sterile cloth, gently dabbing it over the wound to get rid of the excess blood and germs that remained, which takes no longer than a minutes.

“How we doin?” Hannah questions as she puts away the cleaning equipment, getting ready to rewrap the wound.

“Doin awesome.” Grave lies, feeling slightly sore and in pain, though it could be worse for her, causing her to not want to complain, though Hannah see’s straight through the lie.

“I know it sucks, it’ll be done soon, and you can have some painkillers, proper ones.” Hannah reassures her as she freshly wraps the wound with clean bandages.

“That’s good. I-I’d enjoy that.” Grave smiles at Hannah as she finishes wrapping the wound gently.

“Okay, and we are done. You did good. Let me get those painkillers.” Hannah sets the med kit down, packing it away quickly before wandering into the kitchen to retrieve the painkillers for the sore teen, Grave tapping her feet as she watches. Hannah bangs around in the kitchen for a moment before she comes back out with a bottle of high strength painkillers. “These should help.”

“Oh, thanks!” Grave says happily as Hannah takes out a couple of pills, handing Grave the pills and water she had grabbed from the kitchen.

“Should take effect in a few.” Hannah explains kindly as she passes them over. “They might make you a bit drowsy, they’re the proper stuff.” Hannah warns Grave, wanting her to be aware.

“Good, I’d like to sleep… this is actually the longest I’ve slept in a while!” Grave says happily as she quickly takes the pills with the water, flashing finger guns at Hannah as she does so.

“Well, why don’t you get back inside your little blanket cocoon you’ve made, and you can sleep all you like.” Hannah smiles as she shuffles to the other end of the sofa to give Grave space.

“You can get in the cocoon with me if you’d like! Its nice and fluffy.” Grave entices as she smiles, opening the cocoon for Hannah, who thinks for a moment before shrugging, allowing herself inside next to Grave, allowing the teen to feel how soft and warm she was, like a teddy bear. “Thanks…” Grave says as her feet tap against the floor happily.

“No prob, kid. You just relax, alright?” Hannah turns her attention to the TV that was still playing in front of them.

“Okay.” Grave stops tapping her feet against the floor, though she still smiles as she starts to watch the TV with Hannah, who was very comfortable and warm as the medicine starts to take effect, Grave falling asleep within ten minutes, the pills and Hannah’s warmth and safe presence making her feel very sleepy.

 About six hours later, Grave opens her eyes to find herself alone, Hannah gone from the room. Grave was now lying down on the sofa, tucked in securely, the TV in front of her now turned off and silent, though a muffled voice can be heard upstairs.

“This isn’t my house…” Grave mumbles, not quite processing where she was or what was happening as she had only just woken up, the voice upstairs getting a bit louder, whoever was talking sounding annoyed with whoever they were talking to. “Sorry, mum.” Grave says, believing it was her mother upstairs as she attempts to get up, though she only manages to fall on the floor, still covered up by blankets as the yelling gets slightly louder, sounding more aggressive before it all stops, small stomping footsteps coming down the stairs, quiet enough that they wouldn’t have woken Grave, had she still been asleep. “I’m gonna do it, I’m sorry.” Grave says quietly as she attempts to get up again, succeeding this time, though walking, she finds, is very hard right now as she tries to get to the kitchen.

“Grave, what are ya doin? You okay?” Hannah questions, spotting the teen as she comes down the stairs, frowning as she stops and leans against a wall to steady herself.

“I gotta do the dishes, I was told.” Grave explains with a slurred voice, her eyes unfocused as she smiles slightly, making Hannah’s frown deepen.

“Who told you to, kid? No one here but us.” Hannah reminds her gently.

“But…” Grave tries to protest, but she frowns. “Oh. Sorry, never mind.” Grave says as she moves back into the living room, flopping back onto the sofa in her blanket cocoon once again.

“Are you okay? You seem out of it.” Hannah comments, frowning as she follows Grave into the room, watching over her, Grave not responding for a good five seconds.

“I’m. I’m very much in it.” Grave argues as she wriggles around in her cocoon to prove her point. “See?” She questions, making Hannah frown again, more out of concern this time as she leans down to Grave’s level.

“Are you aware of where you are?” Hannah asks in a gentle voice.

“Hng… b l a n k e t.” Grave responds in an aggressively happy manner, sounding tired.

“You are in a blanket, yes… do you know who I am?” Hannah questions kindly as she looks at the unfocused teen, who is starting to wake up, catching up to the situation.

“H…Hannah? Hannah… Hannah.” Grave says, smiling infectiously, making Hannah smile a little as she huffs.

“Fuckin scared me, kid. Thought your mind had gone walkabouts.” Hannah admits.

“Sorry, I only woke up four minutes ago so everything is w o n k y still.” Grave explains as she giggles.

“Well, it better un-wonk soon, we gettin outta here.” Hannah comments in a blunt voice as she heads into the kitchen, Grave sitting up too quickly in response, resulting in her flopping down on the other side of the sofa.

“We a r e???” She asks, sounding excited by the prospect.

“Calm down before you hurt yourself, and yes… its safe enough to leave and head back to base where the others are.” Hannah explains as she starts to do something in the kitchen.

“There’s o t h e r s??” Grave asks, getting more excited by the second, her face and voice showing it clearly as Hannah pops her head back into the room, frowning slightly.

“Yeah… we’re part of the mafia in this country? There’s a shit ton of us.” She explains before popping her head back into the kitchen, small sounds starting to come from inside it.

“That’s how the mafia works.” Grave jokes, going into a giggle fit as she sits.

“Heard that.” Hannah calls from inside the kitchen. “Better be nice if you want breakfast.” She warns, though there was a jokey tone to her voice, indicating she didn’t mean it in a threatening manner.

“Okay, I’ll be nice.” Grave yields.

“Thank you.” Hannah responds, focusing on her cooking in the kitchen, coming out after a while with a plate for Grave stacked with toast, bacon eggs and sausages, setting it down gently in front of Grave, who is humming a song that doesn’t make sense, though its very cute.

“Thank you!” Grave exclaims as she wriggles out of her cocoon to eat the food, eating at a more normal pace today.

“No prob, kid.” Hannah says calmly as she lies on the floor.

“Also thanks for like… not killing me. That was very cash money of you.” Grave shows her gratitude, Hannah frowning slightly from her position on the floor, closing her eyes.

“How could I have killed ya? You’re a kid, and you had nothin with us.” Hannah explains, shrugging.

“Some people are assholes who like to hurt kids. Ever been in a school shooting? Its not fun.” Grave shrugs as she talks in a very clam manner about these atrocious manners, Hannah shaking her head, keeping her eyes closed.

“Nah, been shot a bunch though so…” Hannah shrugs again, also way too clam about what she was saying.

“Oh no…” Grave says, sounding slightly saddened by this. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you closing your eyes? Is it too bright in here?” Grave questions. It was about six in the morning, and the sun was rising, filling the room with light.

“Just a little sore…” Hannah huffs out, covering her hands with her eyes gently.

“Oh no! Is there anyway I can help?” Grave asks immediately, making Hannah smiles gently as she keeps her eyes covered,

“I already dealt with it, just dealing with the aftermath now…” Hannah explains in a clam manner.

“Oh… I hope you feel better soon.” Grave attempts to make Hannah happier, succeeding slightly as Hannah turns her head, moving her hands as she smiles at Grave, though she keeps her eyes closed.

“Nothin I haven’t dealt with before, trust me.” Hannah reasons as she gently smiles, Grave nodding.

“Yeah, but just because you’ve dealt with it before doesn’t make it any better.” She reasons, though she could often have stood to follow her own advice, not that she was thinking about that right now. Hannah laughs slightly, opening her eyes to look at Grave.

“Unfortunately, kid, in this line of work, you don’t get the choice to not deal with it, so you just gotta take the punches and wait out the pain. Or the gunshot wounds…” She explains, smiling as Grave huffs.

“U g h, okay fine… still not that great tho. I don’t like seeing you in pain…” Grave trails off, giggling a little. “I’ve only known you for almost a day and I’m already extremely concerned about you. Isn’t that kinda funny?” She questions, Hannah snorting in response.

“Well, if its any consolation, I’ve known you for a day and you’re about to be introduced to me family, so…” Hannah shrugs, watching as Grave nods in agreement.

“True… the suns ass-” Grave shakes her head. “The suns butt crack is starting to show. Very beautiful.”

“That is a very unique way to refer to the sunrise.” Hannah admits as she laughs slightly. “But it also means I should get up.” Hannah reasons, starting to push herself off of the floor, holding onto her side gently as Grave gets up from the sofa, done with her food, wandering into the kitchen in her blankets. Careful not to get them wet, she washes off her dish as Hannah wanders upstairs to grab her phone, heading quickly back downstairs once she has it, watching as Grave finished washing up.

“You ready to go? You can bring the blankets if ya like.” She watches as Grave’s face lights up, her leg bouncing a little.

“Y e a h!!!” She exclaims happily, making Hannah smile.

“Come on then, got a car outside.” Hannah explains, watching as Grave practically runs outside, going to the car.

“Hnn car ride time!” She whispers to herself as she stands near the back seat door, never allowed to go in the front of the car before as Hannah comes out, remotely unlocking the car as she follows Grave.

“You can get in the front you know…” Hannah offers kindly, smiling as Grave gasps.

“I c a n?” Grave asks, feeling happier by the second.

“Course. It’s a bit of a drive, since I came out here specifically for what I was doing, so you can choose some music to listen to if ya want.” Hannah explains as she gets in the car, waiting for Grave to follow her.

“Gonna see p e o p l e. Y e a h!” Grave says happily as she gets into the front seat of the car, practically beaming.

“In a few hours… buckle up kid, and you can pick some music.” Hannah offers, watching as Grave quickly buckles herself in.

“Rad!” Grave happily flicks through the radio stations until she finds one she likes the sound of, which is playing a sort of soft jazz.

“Nice choice. Alright, you have any issues, any pain or anything like that, you let me know and we’ll make a stop, alright?” Hannah remind her in a stern voice.

“Okay!” Grave happily smiles as she rocks in her seat as Hannah starts driving slowly. “Thanks for taking care of me. Very nice of you to do that.”

“If I don’t, who will?” Hannah smiles as she drives out of the neighbourhood they were in. “Sides, you’re a good kid, wouldn’t want to see the world waste you…” Hannah explains, the words ‘good kid’ replaying in Graves mind over and over again, making her look completely out of it in her happiness, Hannah smiling gently.

“Car rides are a good time to relax, so see if you can do that, you could probably use it after the time you’ve had.” Hannah reasons, though Grave only nods, not fully registering what had been said to her. “Kiddo.” Hannah used a slightly louder voice, thought it was no sterner sounding.

“Yes?” Grave asks, being snapped out of her thoughts, Hannah looking at her for a moment before smiling kindly.

“Relax, okay? You could use the rest.” She repeats.

“Good idea.” Grave leans her head against the window of the car, watching the world go past her in a blur, making it look way cooler as Hannah turns back to driving, starting to hum gently as she does.

“Horses.” Grave says gently, her feet tapping on the floor, as she looks at what were, in fact, horses.

“We got some horses at the base.” Hannah says in a gentle voice.

“H o r s e s.” Grave says in a slightly more aggressive manner, though Hannah could tell she was excited, making her laugh as she continues to hum, keeping in time with the music, making Grave feel calm and happy and safe, allowing her to fall asleep again, with no nightmares, only a weird and wonderful dream.

 Grave wakes up a bit later to Hannah gently nudging her, turning her head to face Hannah, though she doesn’t open her eyes.

“Hm?” Grave hums gently.

“Kid, we’re here. Well, we gotta walk the rest of the way, but we’re pretty much here.” Hannah says in a hushed voice as she wakes Grave up.

“Oh. O-Okay.” Grave gathers up enough strength to open the car door, getting out, though she found it hard, on account of still being sleepy.

“You alright to walk?” Hannah questions, slightly concerned as she gets out of the car with Grave, watching the unstable teen in case she fell.

“Yeah, I’m-” Grave tries to take another step, though she almost falls. “Okay so maybe I’m not okay to walk.” She admits, Hannah nodding.

“Would you be alright with a carry?” She asks gently, not wanting to make the teen uncomfortable, or embarrass her.

“I think that’d be a good idea.” Grave admits, Hannah nodding carefully.

“Alright, long as you’re alright with it. Wrap up, its cold.” Hannah reminds her, watching as Grave wraps herself into her blankets.

“I am a wrapped boi in a blanket burrito.” Grave states proudly.

“I can carry a wrapped boi, so that’s good.” Hannah says as she gently picks Grave up, slinging her over her front in a koala like hold, putting the weight on her hips where she could best hold the teen, supporting her with her arms.

“Yay.” Grave says softly. “You’re strong.” She sounds surprised as Hannah starts to walk, holding Grave close to her to keep her from moving or being jostled as Hannah moves.

“Gotta be string, kid. Never know when I need to carry someone.” Hannah half jokes as Grave gently presses her hands into her back, kneading like a cat might.

“S-Somft.” Grave says in a tires happy voice, making Hannah laugh quietly.

“I guess you could say I’m soft, yes.” She speaks softly to the tires teen in her carry.

“M…Mafia mum… yes.” Grave mutters, not aware of what she was saying. And though Hannah doesn’t stop walking, she does glance at Grave with a kind smile on her face where her face lies against her shoulder.

“Exactly, hun…” Hannah says softly, almost whispering.

“How long until we get there?” Grave asks as she closes her eyes for a moment, smiling.

“Fifteen minutes maybe, you getting tired again?” Hannah questions gently.

“No, I’m excited. I wanna meet your p e o p l e s.” Grave insists in her tired voice.

“And I’m sure they wanna meet you too, but not if you’re exhausted, hun.” Hannah reasons as she walks, keeping an even pace.

“I’m trying my best to wake up. Gonna be a w a k e.” Grave insists, making Hannah smile.

“They wont begrudge you if you’re tired… but I get it.” Hannah explains.

“If I’m not fully awake then I’m not gonna process everything and maybe I’ll forget I met them.” Grave shrugs as she continues to knead into Hannah. “Like one of those friends you don’t remember how you became friends with but you’re just friends with them.” She explains, making Hannah chuckle.

“A fair point. You feelin more awake now?” Hannah asks gently, Grave nodding.

“Y e e, I can walk now if you’d like.” Grave offers, Hannah shrugging gently.

“If ya want, we got about five minutes.” Hannah explains, Grave clinging onto her.

“I shall stay. You feel like a teddy bear… somft.” Grave explains as she burrows into Hannah, making her laugh.

“That is allowed, we’ll be there soon.” Hannah says in a calm, but happy, voice as she walks.

“Yay!” It is the smaller sound coming out of Graves mouth, packed with so much excitement, making Hannah smile as the farmlands their base is on in the middle of nowhere comes into view.

“Home sweet home…” Hannah mutters as she walks.

“H o r s e p l a c e.” Grave says excitedly, trying not to move too much as Hannah carries her, despite her current level of happiness.

“All the animals. We got horse, pigs, sheep, cows, some goats and we even got some birds and dogs and cats.” Hannah explains, smiling at the excited teen.

“A m i n a l s.” Grave says in an excited voice as she does her kneading faster, making Hannah smirk as she loosens her grip.

“Alright, imma need you to get down and stay behind me in case someone’s feeling trigger happy.” Hannah explains as she lets Grave down gently, more serious now. Grave nods as she gets off, hiding behind Hannah perfectly, seemingly vanishing as Hannah huffs. “Hey bro, can you tell our men to knock it off with the fuckin guns.” Hannah calls out in a loud, clear stern voice, Grave flinching at the volume.

“Sorry, kid.” Hannah says softly as the front door unlocks, a large black haired man standing in the doorway, looming over them. The scar covering his right eye and his unamused, somewhat angry looking face only add to the scare factor he provides, though Grave cant see him too well from behind Hannah.

“Do we have a lorge boi on our hands?” Grave whispers, though the man hears her anyway, frowning.

“Someone behind you, Ari?” He questions, sounding gritty and harsh.

“No. Is there someone behind y o u?” Grave asks, knowing she’s been found out but wanting to fool around a little bit, trying not to snicker, though Hannah shushes her, frowning as the man takes a step forward, looking somewhat angry. Grave is slightly scared, shutting her mouth.

“Let me see you.” The man orders in a stern tone, Hannah rolling her eyes, but staying quiet. Grave slowly comes out form behind Hannah, her face mostly hidden by the blankets over her.

“Hi…” She says quietly, the man coming forward, though he receives a warning glare from Hannah as he pulls the blankets away from Grave’s face to see her better. “H-Hey. How… how are ya-” Grave looks as scared as she feels, though she tries to play it off poorly. The man frowns, looking at Hannah, who rolls her eyes.

“Told you I was bringing a kid.” She shrugs as she glares up at the tall man. Grave looks at the ground, playing with her hands.

“Oh wow, you’ve got… you’ve got some nice shoes. Cool shoes for a cool guy…” She says as she fiddles with her fingers, the man sighing.

“You the kid who got shot?” He questions sternly, looking down at Grave.

“Yeah…” Grave nods slowly, the man sighing again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hannah moves away from Grave a bit, knowing what he would do and giving him room. The man kneels down to Grave’s level, looking a little nicer now as he looks her in the eyes.

“You okay?” He asks in a softer voice.

“Yeah. A-Are you okay?” Grave questions, feeling a little calmer, able to smile a bit now.

“I’m good. Whats your name?” The man questions, a small smile on his face.

“Grave!” She smiles. “Whats yours?” She asks the tall man as he stands up straight again.

“It’s Iden. Come inside, its cold as shit out here.” He moans as he walks inside, Hannah waiting for Grave before following along. Grave nods as she starts to walk inside with her.

“S-Shit!” Grave exclaims, not used to being allowed to swear, and wanting to see what would happen if she did. Both Hannah and Iden turn to look ay her, frowning.

“You alright?” Hannah questions as she walks Grave inside, the teen running to her and smiling, tapping her feet.

“Fuck! Shit fuck!!” She exclaims happily, making Hannah smiles. But, before she can respond, a new male voice rings out.

“Who’s swearing over here?” It questions, as it gets a bit closer to them.

“You! You were swearing!” She counters quickly, stopping her own swearing as a smaller man pops his head out of another room, curly black hair in a mess as he looks at her in confusion.

“Why is there a kid?” He questions.

“There’s a kid? Where? I don’t see a kid.” Grave pretends to be confused, looking around her for a kid as the man frowns.

“…Oh wait, is this the kid that got shot? You joining us, kiddo?” He asks, looking slightly happier.

“Yeah, I think so!” Grave nods, the man smiling.

“Nice!” He comes out from the room he was in, pulling off one of the gloves covering his hands and holding it out. “Jake.” He says happily.

“Grave!” Grave wriggles her handout of the blanket to shake his hand, which Jake does so happily, laughing.

“Well, welcome to the family, kiddo! See you already met my husband…” He gestures towards Iden, smiling.

“Y e a h. he’s tall.” Grave says as she nods, Jake chuckling.

“He really is, hard to believe him and Hannah are twins sometimes…” Jake laughs as he looks at the two of them.

“M h m.” Grave pretends this doesn’t shock her, though she turns to Hannah. “You’re twins?” She mouths silently, making Hannah laugh gently.

“Yeah, we are. Fraternal, obviously.” She explains, smiling.

“Where be the c h i c e n s. I’ll tell them I love them-” Grave says, making a not very serious face, despite trying to sound serious, making Jake snort.

“How much blood did you lose, kid?” He questions as he laughs.

“About… twenty… blood.” Grave doesn’t know the number, but that it was a lot, Jake frowning a little bit.

“You feeling light-headed or tired?” He asks gently, Hannah watching Grave in case she fell over.

“Oh no, I’m fine now! I just lost a lot of blood then. I’m keeping my blood to myself now.” Grave explains.

“You still have to recover what you’ve lost, kid.” Hannah reasons gently behind Grave. “How about this, we introduce you to my wife Leena, and then you can rest for a bit, sound good?” Hannah asks gently, smiling.

“Y-Yeah.” Grave smiles, sounding excited as Hannah grins.

“Okay, Jake, you can go back to what you were doing, and Iden, why don’t you join him.” Hannah rallies them as she gently takes Grave’s arm and starts leading her up the stairs. “Let’s go find my wife.” She says calmly as she leads the tired teen.

“I don’t even know your wife yet and she sounds c o o l.” Grave comments, making Hannah laugh as they get to the top of the stairs, pushing open a door.

“You’re about to find out.” Hannah reassures her, smiling. Inside the room is a woman sitting on a double bed, reading a book, though her brown eyes flick up when she hears the noise of the door being pushed open.

“Oh wow!” Grave’s face lights up as the woman looks at her, putting her book down, smiling gently as she gets up.

“Hello! I’m assuming you’re Grave, the unfortunate victim of the bullet wound…” The woman speaks in a very sweet and soft voice.

“Yeah! And I assume you’re the lucky lady who is her wife!” Grave says happily as she gestures to Hannah, the lady grinning.

“Indeed I am!” She exclaims as she walks over to Grave, giving her a soft hug. “How you doing, that’s gotta hurt a bit, and that blood loss…” The lady says softly as she hugs Grave.

“Oh I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Grave says, though she’s still a little sore, but mostly okay. “What about you?” She asks, the woman smiling again.

“I’m doing great now you’re here, Hannah told me a lot about you!” Leena smiles gently. “I’m Leena, by the way sweetie.” She says in a very soft and sweet tone. Grave flaps her hands for a moment before she quickly puts them back by her side, gripping onto Leena’s shirt as she hugs her back.

“I’m! …Oh wait, you already know my name-” Grave realises as Leena smiles into the hug.

“Hannah told me, sweetie. She also told me you’re very sweet.” Leena remarks in a calm manner as she lets Grave out of the hug, who looks down at the floor, blushing slightly.

“T-Thank you.” She says, way too happy in this situation as Leena smiles at her gently, Hannah coming over to join her.

“She called me mum while I was helping her up here…” Hannah says in a calm voice, but the kind smile on her face showed her true feelings on the matter. Grave taps her feet on the floor, her hands twitching as she smiles, though she keeps her face down, a little embarrassed, but so happy, making both Hannah and Leena smile.

“Well, as newly proclaimed mums, I remember you also told me she’d probably be tired when she got here…” Leena puts on a fake stern voice, looking at Grave.

“Y-Yeah, b-but i…” Grave feels a little nervous as she speaks. “Sheep’s? A-And horses? I’d like… to see them please…” Grave says quietly.

“The horses and sheep will be there whenever you want Grave…” Hannah reasons gently. “Do you wanna see em that badly?” She questions the nervous teen.

“Y e a h!!!” Grave looks up at Hannah, smiling.

“Okay, we’ll give you a quick look at them, okay?” Hannah smiles gently.

“!!!Yeah!!!” Grave says happily as she flaps, following Hannah and Leena as they lead her down the stairs in the large house, out of the back door this time into one of the many fields surrounding the property. They take her to some stables where there were five horses currently being held, two black horses, two brown and one white horse.

“Oh wow! You’re all so beautiful.” Grave says, trying to clam her flapping in case it spooked the horses, in awe of them, and clearly in love, making Hannah smile.

“They’re very friendly if you wanna stroke them.” She offers gently, Grave choosing to stroke the single white horse, smiling.

“I love you!” She says sweetly as she pets the horse.

“That’s snowfall.” Leena informs Grave happily. “She really seems to like you!” She exclaims, watching the horse accept Grave’s touch happily.

“I like her!!! A lot!!!” Grave says, radiating joy that makes Hannah laugh gently.

“We’ll have to let you ride her at some point…” Hannah offers as she watches Grave interact with the horse, Grave only making noises of happiness now, no words anymore, making Leena laugh.

“Wanna go see the sheep?” Leena offers kindly.

“Yes!!! Please!!!” Grave exclaims happily.

“Sheep are over in that field…” Hannah points in the direction, gesturing for Grave to follow her as she walks to them. “They’re growing out their winter coats so they’re very fluffy right now.”

“Good babeys. Nice and fluffy. So good.” Grave mumbles about the sheep as she follows Hannah and Leena, Hannah stopping her when they’ve reached the fenced off field, handing her something.

“It’s food, they’ll come and eat out of your hand.” Hannah explains as she hands it to Grave gently.

“Oh!” Grave puts her hand out to the sheep, watching as they come over. “Fluffy. Babeys. All of you.” She comments as the sheep eat gently out of her hand.

“You’re very good with animals.” Leena comments kindly as she watches Grave.

“Thanks! I try my best.” Grave says happily.

“Misty and Pudge are gonna love her.” Leena directs this statement to Hannah, who nods in agreement, smiling.

“Are they sheep’s too?” Grave asks, looking at them both as the sheep finish her offered food, sticking round to lick at her hands.

“Nah, Misty is a Tibetan Mastiff Iden owns, and Pudge is my little Pit bull.” Hannah explains, smiling.

“Doggies!” Grave gasps quietly, lighting up.

“Yes, but doggies are gonna wait, they’re very high energy and Misty will crush you in this state.” Hannah explains calmly.

“Oh okay.” Grave pets a sheep that has approached her gently. “I love!!! You!” Hannah and Leena watch, smiling.

“You warm enough? Its pretty cold out here…” Leena wonders, looking at the blankets draped over the teen.

“I mean, I’m covered in blankets. So I think I’m okay!” Grave says happily.

“Good, last thing we need is you getting a cold.” Leena remarks, smiling sweetly.

“You don’t have to worry!” Grave says happily, Hannah looking at the sheep, noticing a younger baby who was inspecting Grave with curiosity. Gently she scoops up the small lamb.

“You might wanna sit down, and I’ll get a bottle so you can feed them.” Hannah says as she gently holds onto the lamb, who doesn’t struggle, used to human contact. Hannah gently hands the lamb to Grave.

“This is Berta. She’s a little smaller than the others, so be extra gentle. I’ll go get a bottle for ya.” Hannah smiles, wandering into the house to make a bottle of milk for the lamb, coming back out a couple minutes later with properly made milk, handing the bottle to Grave carefully.

“Thank you.” Grave says gently as she carefully starts to feed the lamb, being as gentle as possible, tears brimming in her eyes. “You’re so precious, I love you so much.” Grave whispers to the lamb, overcome with happiness as Hannah and Leena join her in sitting on the floor.

“Good day, huh?” Hannah asks with a smile.

“Very good.” Grave agrees happily, Hannah smiling gently.

“I’m glad.” Hannah reassures. “Better than being on the streets, for sure.” She elaborates, Grave not really answering anymore, too enamoured with the small lamb currently curling up in her lap, like she has been put under a spell. Hannah and Leena happily sit with Grave as the lamb starts to sleep on her, watching a few tears of happiness fall onto Grave’s cheeks, though they don’t mention it, understanding the feeling.

Grave sits for ten minutes with the lamb, just watching her sleep carefully. She eventually has to stop, sure that if she looked at the small lamb any longer she would surely start sobbing, Hannah noticing this as she stands up.

“Shall we return her to her mum?” She asks in a gentle manner, Grave looking up at her with a face pretty much covered in her tears.

“Y-Yeah.” Grave agrees, smiling as Hannah gently takes the lamb from Graves arms, Leena helping Grave stand up, giving her a tight side hug as Hannah gently places the lamb back into the care of her happy mother inside the pen.

“How you feelin, kid?” Hannah enquires as the lamb lays down to sleep with her mum inside the pen, looking at Grave and Leena, watching as Grave turns to give Leena a full hug, which she happily accepts.

“I-I’m great. I’m very happy. What about you?” She asks as Leena gently hugs her.

“We’re great, don’t you worry.” Leena reassures her in a soothing voice as she hugs her.

“That’s good. Very good. I’m glad you’re okay…” Grave says happily as Hannah gently joins in the hug.

“Course we’re okay… you’ll be a lot safer now that you’re here. You got a new family, and they’ll protect you to the end.” Hannah reassures very gently, her voice soft and quiet.

“G o d, are you trying to make my heart melt? It’s working.” Grave comments, Leena laughing gently as she pulls her closer, tightening the hug.

“I think you’ve already done that for us…” Leena counters gently, Grave making happy noises between the two woman, which are kind of quiet but endlessly cute, making them smile as they envelope her in a very warm comfy hug.

“You wanna head inside?” Hannah asks quietly as she gently moves out of the hug, though Leena happily stays hugging Grave, who nods.

“Yes please.” She says, her voice muffled by the way her head is buried into Leena so the women couldn’t see how happy she was, though Leena chuckles softly.

“You want out of the hug? Cause I don’t know if I can carry you, sweetie, that’s Hannah’s department.” Leena says in a soft voice as the teen clings onto her, hesitating as she lets go.

“Hhh house time. R e s t.” Grave says softly, making Hannah smile.

“Tired, kiddo?” She questions in a soft tone as she wanders over to the teen, starting to move back to the house.

“Yes. I can walk though.” Grave elaborates, Hannah nodding as she leads her back to the house, letting all three of them in and back up the stairs into Hannah and Leena’s room.

“We don’t have a bedroom ready for you yet, so for now you get to sleep here.” Leena explains in a kind voice as they let Grave inside the room.

“!!!Rad!!!” Grave exclaims, the sleepiness in her voice now, making Hannah smiles.

“Why don’t ya lie down, hun?” She encourages in a gentle and calm manner.

“Okay!” Grave says, flopping onto the bed and making Leena laugh as she gently pulls the covers over the teen.

“Feel better?” She asks softly, smiling.

“Yes!” Grave nods.

“Get some rest, okay? We’ll all be here when you get up.” Leena reassures softly as she stands up to join Hannah.

“G’nite.” Grave mutters as she smiles, closing her eyes.

“Night.” Leena and Hannah both speak softly in unison as they silently close the door to the room, leaving Grave to sleep safe and sound inside, drifting off quickly in the place she would soon come to consider home.

[tiny-ruby-seeds]

The Nature of My Game

Michael Langdon x Dean Winchester

AN- This is what I do on my birthday. 

I post strange crossovers with (not so much if you think about it) crack ships. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea but... Damn do I like this crazy thing and I hope you guys will like it too! Especially my fellow AHS & SPN lovers and my fellow Pisces whose birthday is tomorrow (you know who you are)!

Graphic made by me, picture taken from Pinterest found here with credit to their owners

Trigger Warnings-  Blasphemy (It’s Supernatural and American Horror Story yo), Demonic Shenanigans (death, destruction, souls get barbequed... That stuff),  Language, Violence, Mentions of Blood/Gore/ Dismemberment (I mean cannot you guys not see it happening with these two? Don’t lie), Mentions of Solo (Male) Masturbation, and Slight Knife Kink

Word Count- 4206

***

It was first time in the past few minutes that the bar had fallen silent. There was an almost eerie quality to it after the carnage of a few moments ago, save for the terrible wet fleshy smacking sounds that rang over and over of the records clicking and changing in the jukebox in the corner. Soon that terrible sound went silent as the jukebox hummed.

A silence that was almost ringing between the two men (left alive) in the bar. The one closest to the jukebox surveyed his ruined clothes (he may have worn a red velvet dinner jacket it but blood had a tendency to dry to a disgusting dark brown if not washed) before looking to the bar around them.

Now, he hadn’t been keen on coming here in the first place. Had sighed and rolled his eyes when his companion insisted on dragging him into this place that stank like stale beer and made his stomach turn when seeing some over greased concoction that seemed to coat his veins just looking at it. But now…

It was filled with the scent of blood as patrons everywhere around them were slaughtered. Blood, a few limbs, and viscera covering the floor mixing with the bar peanuts and odd bits of silverware. Normally he didn’t mind the sight and smell of destruction, in fact, he would have dared said it was an improvement but right now was not the time to admire the chaos. This would be a problem soon enough.

“Was that really necessary?" He asked suddenly; voice silky, cool and calm above the notes that were starting to filter from the jukebox.

He could hear the drums of a famous band his caregiver (dear sweet black-hearted Ms. Mead, long gone) had once loved. He could hear the slight accent from the singer even as he sang the word he had once sung with her as a child.

“...Please allow me to introduce myself

I’m a man of wealth and taste

Been around for a long, long year

Stole many a man’s soul to waste…”

Maybe later the Antichrist, Michael Langdon, would chuckle at the irony that of all songs it was this one that the old jukebox decided to ring out and sing. Maybe later he would admit it was rather amusing that amidst the carnage of the bar that the jukebox was still rather untouched, as though it were a living thing thinking that playing that song would save it from any further damage save for the splatters of blood and gore (Seriously, that idiot had it coming thinking he could aim a shotgun at them both and that one of them wouldn't break his bones, snap tendons, before tearing his heart out). All of it would be funny later. Right now… Annoyance reigned supreme. It gleamed in his icy blue gaze, drew taunt in the line of his shoulders and the grip of his hands tightly behind his back, and all over his handsome (although slightly blood splattered) features framed in ginger blonde hair.

He had a reason to be annoyed, even angry. After all, this bar had been full of hunters before they had walked in and it was the blood, guts, and limbs of hunters that decorated it now. It had just taken one of them saying the wrong thing for his companion to finally explode. A companion who was already of short temper thanks to the ancient mark branded on his arm.

A companion was currently on the floor, resting slightly from pounding the remnants of blood, bone, and gore into the dark hardwood floor. Michael had no time to marvel at how, a few moments ago, that had been some poor bastard who had made the mistake of trying to make a break for it out of his hiding spot. Needless to sa,y he didn’t stand a chance when pitted with Dean Winchester. The man’s green eyes turning jet black before he all but threw himself at him as soon as Michael shouted at the former hunter to stop him (Good to see he can follow orders when it suits him, The Antichrist thought grudgingly).

There was a terrible dark chuckle answered Michael’s question, as Dean looked up. The once hunter was smeared with more blood than Michael was. It was all over his face, across the stubble of his chin, his black shirt, and red button up, even starting to stain his blue jeans, and it certainly covered the ancient jawbone fashion into a blade, the first blade in fact, in the man’s hand. It seemed oddly fitting in a way, the once hunter now Knight of Hell didn’t have the Antichrist’s distaste for getting his hand dirty.

No… He lives for it, Michael thought.

He was born for it.

"Nah but admit it, Princess," Dean said easily, a terrible grin crossing his face. “It was fun as hell.”

Michael felt his jaw tighten feeling a flash of anger in his gut. He couldn’t allow himself to think of how it had been a physical effort to pull his eyes from the newly turned demon as he watched him work. Even as a hunter, the older Winchester was something to behold. Movements sharp, precise, that mark of a warrior trained to hunt monsters But bearing the Mark of Cain…Dean turned killing into an art form. A primal dance that was hard to pull away from even after the newly turned Knight of Hell just fucked Michael’s plan off into the sunset.

Michael couldn’t let himself think of how this awful, horrifying, utterly beautiful being was how Dean was supposed to be. Nor could he allow himself to think of how the hunter’s dirty blonde hair was just a little too mussed from its normal look and he fought the itch in his hand to correct it. But he couldn’t ignore the simple fact that blood on the other man’s face seemed to bring out the deeper hazel hues hidden in his sage colored eyes.

Dean meanwhile couldn’t help but watch as Michael sighed, starting to pace the room, appraising the damage. If Dean didn’t hear it in the other’s voice he could see it clearly from how the blonde was looking over the carnage, eyes lingering in disdain on bodies Dean knew he could add to his ever-growing kill count thanks to the mark:

Michael wasn’t happy.

Of course, he wasn’t, this wasn’t the way he liked to do things, hadn’t been since before when Dean was the hunter. Of course, it would be the same when the tables had been turned.

Dickhead Antichrist is such a damn hypocrite, Dean thought as he wiped the blood off his face, smearing it slightly but it was enough to get rid of that sticky feeling as it was starting to dry.

A few of these bodies had their hearts torn clean out, the blood belonging to them had trickled down Michael’s plump lips in a way that had made it really damn hard to focus even with the mark screaming in his veins, Kill Kill Kill! Not to mention the pile of ash that was at the corner of the bar that had once been of the fuckers who thought an exorcism would do anything other than burn their ears.

He fixed the Antichrist, his so-called lord, with a glare. Trying not to notice how Michael seemed to blaze even brighter when he was angry. Not for the first time… Dean wondered what the hell was wrong with him after all… It was so very hard to look away even if he wanted to.

Stupid damned prince...

"What the hell is wrong now, Lestat?" The knight of hell finally snorted after a few beats getting to his feet once more.

That little dig was one the former hunter turned knight knew Michael hated. Dean didn’t want to give the other the satisfaction of thinking he cared or anything in the like (because he didn’t damn it), but he was pretty done with this silent treatment. Only watching Michael paced the room doing… Well, whatever weird demonic shit he was doing. Was he destroying their souls? Or did he have to burn them for that? Did have to eat their hearts? Who knows?

“Oh, whatever gave you the idea something was wrong?” Michael replied coolly without missing a beat.

Smart ass.

Dean fixed him with one of the looks he had learned from watching his once little brother (once, it was easy to say once now, Demons didn’t have family at least that’s what he told himself). The phrase that's bullshit showing on every feature.

“Cause you’re acting like a little bitch, Mikey.” He said with a smirk (if Michael hated being referred to as an Anne Rice vampire, he despised that nickname even more). “You can't tell me you didn't like every damn minute of that. Here I was thinking you were a better liar than that.”

Michael stopped in his pacing, turning to Dean. His face was expressionless but his eyes… Dean wasn’t sure if it was because of the slight trace of sunset crimson (how the hell Michael could wear makeup and look like that while doing it was always beyond Dean) or the blood splatter on his face but his eyes seemed to shine. Even in the dim light of this shitty bar.

“I’m the one acting like a ‘little bitch’?” The Antichrist snapped. “Odd… I wasn’t the one who fucking started this temper tantrum because of something some Neanderthal with half a brain said.”

The smirk on the demon’s face sunk into a dirty look as something deep within him whimpered at Michael’s tone. Not this crap again, Dean thought. Hating the strange instinct he had developed since waking to serve the Son of Satan before him. Damn Knights of Hell and their damn Knightley bullshit.

“Dick was asking for it,” Dean said with a shrug.

“Oh?” Michael said turning to him full. “And he told you this, did he? Got on his knees as begged you to gut him when you insisted going to the bar after his outburst earlier? I must have missed that as you were suddenly breaking a bottle over his head, as I had made it very clear to you to leave it alone.”

The knight shrugged.

“Didn’t see you doing anything about it,” Dean said. “You think I'm gonna let some backwater bitch say that crap to me?”

Or say that crap about you, a terrible little thought in Dean’s mind added but he locked that up. Not wanting to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

Meanwhile, Michael had fixed his knight with a glare that Dean half wondered if would cause him to burst into flames for a moment. He's probably still thinking about it so… Fuck it.

“You do realize I just had to whisper in the right ear and I wouldn’t have had to?” Michael said coldly. “There were some here who were thinking of getting revenge for a failed hunt he had been on and it wouldn't have taken much for them to seek it.”

“Cause that wouldn’t have taken too damn long.” Dean snorted, doubtful.

“It certainly wouldn’t have caused the entire bar to react when you decided to flash black eyes when started slamming his head against the bar repeatedly. Causing us to kill every one of them when I had made it very clear we were trying to keep a low profile-.”

“Yeah but that was awesome and you know it.”

“Dean...” Michael said as though he were dealing with an idiot child, something that grated on Dean’s nerves a bit up there with that annoying look on his face.

The knight tried not to think of how Michael hadn't ever called him that before. By his name. It was always Winchester, Hunter, or (quite recently) Knight or something like that. As if Dean were just another piece in the Antichrist’s game. This was probably the first time that silky voice had said it (his name, his) and something in him… Wanted to hear Michael say it just a few more times.

Just a few more.

Just one more.

“... Must I remind you again of what we are trying to do now that I have reclaimed the throne?” Michael continued.

Dean rolled his eyes, that feeling dashed with the reminder of the plan. Of course, he knew about the damn plan as Michael had all but beaten him over the head with it.

“We’re trying to take over hell, trying to get rid of the trash Crowley left behind, trying to start the Apocalypse up again,” Dean said, mimicking the Antichrist’s tone mockingly. “Blah be-blah blah blah.”

Dean could see a tick in Michael’s facade as he simplified this grand elaborate plan to just a few sentences. It was a small chink in the armor of Lucifer’s Kid but it was fun to see nonetheless. Just as he was about to try to put another chink in that armor, suddenly the Antichrist spoke.

“We’re trying to avoid the attention of those who would seek to thwart us before we set out what I was born to do… Righteous Man,” Michael replied.

Dean didn't just hear those two words, he felt them. Felt them as strong as the knife in his hand, tasted them as clear as the blood he felt on his tongue, heard them as clearly as the souls he had ripped apart what felt like a lifetime ago some days and felt like yesterday during others. He hadn't been called that in years but… Hearing it was like kicking a Pandora’s box of pain open, tearing open a scar that was barely healed.

Dean fixed Michael with an angry glare. The urge to attack starting to flicker in his veins.

“Or… Does something in you want us to fail?” Michael lilted suddenly

“Shut up.” Dean snapped.

The Mark branded on his arm started to ache as it started to awaken once more.

“It does, doesn’t it? You want them to find us, don’t you? That’s why you are not hiding it anymore aren’t you?”

“Shut your damn mouth.”

Dean could see red glowing at the edge of his vision. Knight or no, the mark was craving blood.

“After all… Any word of you would bring your beloved little brother running now, won’t it… Winchester? Do you think they would save you from what you have become? What you are? Your brother and that sweet little angel friend of yours… What were their names again? Castiel and Sa-.”

Michael didn't finish as, at that moment, Dean crossed the room in what seemed to be just a few steps. The hand without the blade going right to Michael’s throat, finger’s clenching. Instinctively the Antichrist’s arm raised and Dean felt the sharp edge of a blade Michael had claimed in the fray. In the hands of a normal human, it would be an annoying little pain. But in Michael’s hands though, with the power he possessed...

The hunter turned demon’s eyes locked onto the Antichrist’s, sage burning onto cerulean, as a war of instincts clashing in his mind. One crying KILL KILL KILL as the other screamed NOT HIM NOT HIM NOT HIM. Dean wanted to scream above the din in his seemingly empty soul for both of them to shut up but… He knew it was useless. Nothing every stopped it before and Dean was started to believe there was no force on earth that could 

“Ya gonna keep going, Princess?” The knight said with a terrible smile despite hating this, eye’s flashing black, raising the first blade as though to stab the man before him through the heart.

It would probably do nothing to Michael, it might do everything, but Dean was having trouble caring even though something in him knew he wouldn't be able to do it. Something would stop him before he tried. Something always did.

“I’m doing this cause I like doing it. You may be my king or whatever but don’t you think I give a damn about you or your little kingdom. I’m just here cause a regime change sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.”

To his surprise… Michael didn’t sputter, didn’t choke. Rather his blue eyes seemed to set alight, a slight smirk crossing his face for the first time since Dean had insisted that they go into this small hole in the wall bar. Dean wondered what it said about him that his black heart seemed to stop for a moment when he noticed it. Before he had the sense of danger that followed Michael like a shadow.

“Really?” Michael managed to get out, voice breathy, the sound going up Dean’s spine.

What was he-?

“Is that what you are still are telling yourself when you follow me, Dean?” Michael asked, silky voice honeyed. “I am to take that staring you have been doing as nothing more then forced devotion to your lord then? Defending him when someone slanders his name even among the the unwashed masses...”

That grin fell away from the former hunter’s face, replaced by an angry glare.

Damn it… He had thought he was being so careful sneaking glances when he could of the lithe man before him. Had thought the man was so focused on his plans of world destruction. Had thought he beat the bastard (the one who started all of this shit) into a pulp before Michael had heard what he had said to Dean… About him.

Dean really couldn’t be blamed for the way he was drawn to the man before him… Michael was far too damn handsome for his own good. The hunter had thought so when they first met the Son of Lucifer not long after his father had risen, and as a demon, as a Knight, it was far far worse.

Every awareness of him was heightened, maybe because Knights of Hell were created to serve their lord and thereby his son but it was true all the same. Dean could hear every sweet breath that left the Antichrist’s too soft lips, could feel the silky waves of hair when the blonde would pull those locks back on occasion, could almost sense that too hot skin when his lord would change in their shared room (because of course they had to share a fucking room as something in him felt the need to protect Michael even though he had the feeling Michael didn’t need protecting). Even he knew choking Michael like this wouldn’t do anything to him other then annoy him…

And give Dean an excuse to touch that golden sun kissed skin that he had craved touching since the day they met.

Dean had hoped that Michael was done. That he wouldn’t keep digging. He couldn't know could he? No, he couldn't, Dean was careful. Besides, Michael may have that night vision of the soul but his soul was too corrupted and black too see right? Dean’s answer came in the way that smirk became a full blown smile.

“... Not the sounds I have heard you make the shower when you think I’ve gone or when you think I'm asleep. When you moan my name… Should I call them false prayers of thanks to your savior?”

The blade almost tumbled from Dean’s hands in shock.

Son of a bitch!

Dean jerked his hand away from the man’s throat as if Michael had burned him, stumbling back from the Antichrist snarling as if the other man had struck him. Yet he didn’t have an excuse for that one ready. Wasn’t prepared. Rather he was kicking himself.

He had sworn he had been quiet.

Had sworn that Michael had gone.

Dean you stupid son of a bitch, He thought. Self hate was an old friend of his… Even as a demon. And he could taste it’s bitterness. He went to tear and stalk away when he felt something on his cheek. 

Long clever ringed fingers tracing the stubble on his face. It’s strange… But… The dance of those fingers across his face… They felt like home. The silence in his head, the ringing urge to kill... It was a barely even a rumble of thunder in a oncoming storm He heard Michael chuckle and looked up to see the devil’s smile… Yet there was something in it. Something that made something in him he thought was dead with his humanity stop.

Something fond, something almost sweet… Something that blazed and Dean suddenly had the urge to burn.

Michael was suddenly stepping closer and closer into his space. The scent of that spicy, musky cologne mixed with the metallic tang of blood washing over him. Dean was finding hard to breath as the Antichrist started to trace down his chest with the edge of the knife. As the fingers on his cheek started to leave scorching paths up his jaw, going to the small hairs on the back of his neck. A bit of tenderness followed by the threat of pain. Yet Dean had a feeling in Michael’s hands… It would be like heaven and hell rolled into one.

Michael was close now, so close that Dean could feel the heat of him. And the former hunter could feel his breath catch when the Antichrist forced his head down slightly. Dean's eyes slid closed as he could feel the Michael's breath dance across his lips, felt his nose nudge against his own.

“Pity you insist on being a fucking thorn in my side as your false lord would have been tempted to answer those cries for salvation.”

Dean's eyes snapped open, seeing that smug smile on Michael’s face.

“You bastard son of-!”

“Now now Dean, you went against my wishes. Do you really think I would reward such misbehavior?” Michael said, pulling his hand away. “Perhaps you will do well to remember. In the meantime do insist that if you must attack like a rabid wolf you do so when the occasion calls for it. Regardless of how... Amusing it is to see a wolf tear apart the sheep.”

Dean was tempted to snap back, tempted to grab that hand and put it back on his face, when he noticed Michael’s too blue eyes lingering on his own lips. Unconsciously, he couldn’t help but wet them, tasting the lingering bits of beer and whiskey. Trying not to wonder if Michael’s would taste like that red wine he had ordered (cause Michael would order wine in a dive bar, the high and mighty prick) or the blood of those hearts he had taken bites out of like candy or a mixture of the two. Something in Dean craved to find out but knew he couldn’t…

Not until his lord gave him leave. Although he didn’t give a shit about everything else Michael spouted or believed in or everything else… This was something that would be so much sweeter when he did.

And damn am I going to make that little shit pay for it when I fucking get it.

He swore he saw a spark in Michael’s eyes at that thought but it faded as soon as he tried to focus on it.

“Come,” Michael said. “We have work to do.”

“Yeah yeah,” Dean muttered.

The knight glanced over to the jukebox, the telltale clicking sounds making it clear it was changing records once more.

“Actually hang on…”

Dean put the First Blade in his belt as he strode over to the jukebox, he reached over grabbing a nearby unbroken chair (probably one of the few in the whole place), a grin crossing his face as the first few notes of a new song rang out. He could hear Michael sigh, could feel the Antichrist roll his eyes. He was betting through that the other man was probably eyeing him, could almost feel it with his demonic senses like he could sense everything to do with his lord. And for some reason, he wanted Michael to watch.

Dean pulled the chair close, pulling it so it would be easy to lift up and then…

Wham! Wham! Wham!

The music became disjointed, off-key with a loud sound of metal twisting, glass breaking, wood cracking as Dean took the chair to the jukebox. The sound of the new song sounding terribly discordant and broken.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Soon the jukebox was sputtering.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Wham!

And with a few crackles and a few fading notes… The jukebox died.

“Do you feel better now?” Michael said with a chuckle.

“Oh yeah, that one from the Stones was the only decent song on that damn thing. I looked, everything else sucked. Lead on boss.”

Cause if you insist on being a tease then I'm gonna check out that ass of yours. Dean thought.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Michael could read minds as he tilted his head slightly. But he shook his head and led them out of the bar nonetheless as suddenly flames erupted behind them the scent of burning cloth, wood, flesh, and alcohol following them as they made their way to the door.

As they did Dean couldn’t help but think, Maybe this pain in the ass Antichrist ain't too bad after all. And Dean could swear he caught Michael trying to hide a smile as they stepped into the night...

---

Tagged: @sojournmichael (HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOO!)  @youshouldbescared and @eternally-jkatherinehale 

Trivia- Title and lyrics song from Rolling Stones “Sympathy for the Devil”

[theonewiththefanfics]

Numb- Epilogue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10- END

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: angst/ fluff

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sexy times

Word count: 2788

   “She’s not here is she?”    “Buck, they’re just running late, that’s all.”    “No, Steve! She probably has realised what a mistake she’s made and now has run off with the pool boy!”    Steve threw his head back in frustration and grumbled out a ‘you really need to stop watching ‘Desperate Housewives’. “Y/N has not run off, okay? Just… let me call Wanda.”    But right on cue, Pietro whizzed to them, the man’s silver hair dishevelled, while he tried to smooth down the tux, Wanda standing on her own two feet after being carried by the speedster. The navy dress hugged her sides perfectly, her long ginger hair swept over her left shoulder and bouncing in perfect curls.    “You guys need to come.”    Bucky immediately straightened out. “Is Y/N okay? Did something happen?”    “Yes, something did,” Wanda snapped back as she went to talk to the man standing beside the two super soldiers. “So I suggest you run.”    The pair took off in a dead-sprint, eyes of other people following their movements filled with worry. They had just entered the mansion when Steve’s phone rang.    “Yeah, Nat. We’re on our way. What’s going on?”    The brunet couldn’t help the clench in his heart as he saw his friend’s eyebrows furrow.    “Cancel? What?”    Bucky’s head immediately hung, eyes welling with tears at the verbal confirmation of what he’d been fearing for the past year.

   “How long?” Steve questioned further and that made Bucky frown. Usually, when you call off a wedding it’s permanently.    “Ok,” Cap replied, “we’ll be right there.”    “What? What is it?” Bucky’s body flushed with fear at the thought of anything bad having happened to Y/N.    “She’s locked herself in the bathroom and won’t come out. She threw water on the floor and zaps anybody that even tries to come close.”    The two men walked into what was Y/N’s room to find the rest of her bridesmaids all ready to go without the bride herself.    “Finally,” Nat stood up and sauntered into the hallway. “Get your girl in check and call us back when things are on track. I have no desire to walk in these heels with my toes fried off.”    Bucky quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t question it, turning his full attention to the locked white oak door, where Y/N had barricaded herself in.    “Doll? It’s me. Can you let me in?”    There wasn’t a reply, only a soft sob, indicating that the woman was crying.    “Darling please, talk to me. Why do you want to cancel the wedding?”    Suddenly the door sprung open to reveal a dishevelled Y/N. Her makeup was completely smudged, black mascara and eyeliner running down her cheeks and across her temples, her hair was a mess, having come undone from the beautiful braids that had been pinned to her scalp in a bun. The white hotel robe was tearstained and with dark smudges from her eyeshadow, while cream lipstick adorned the collar. “Because everything is ruined.” Y/N threw her body at Bucky and he easily caught her, his strong arms enveloping the woman in a warm embrace.    “Shh, nothing is ruined, honey. Everything is perfect.”    “No, it’s not,” Y/N pulled back from him.    “See that?” the woman pointed at what looked like a giant ball of white lace. “That was supposed to be my wedding dress. Now it’s ripped in half! It was Tony’s mother’s dress! And it’s ruined! I ruined it!” Y/N cried harder remembering how Pepper had been rummaging through Tony’s old storage units and stumbled upon the beautiful vintage gown. Diamond beads hung from the off the shoulder neckline, her fingers trailing the intricate design. She had immediately known that it would be perfect for Y/N. With a little bit of tweaking here and there, it would entwine the modern of the twenty-first century and give life to the olden days. Once Tony had found out about Pepper’s discovery they had given it to Y/N as a wedding gift.    “Those were my shoes,” she pointed at the off-white pumps. Well, a pump as the other one was clearly missing a heel, in fact, the whole sole had been ripped open.    “But best of all- the engagement ring is missing! I’ve scoured every inch of this place and it’s gone! Buck, it’s gone! Everything has turned to shit and this was supposed to be our special day! And it’s all my fault.”    Bucky glanced at her ring finger on which for a year had sat a beautiful silver band with a little diamond rectangle in the centre of it. Yet now there was nothing, only her skin in a slightly lighter shade than the rest of her body. The man still recalled how nervous he’d been when he had uttered those words.    He hadn’t planned it, though the little black box had been sitting in the back of one of their drawers for a good five months. It had been a simple evening, the rest of the team were out bar-hooping, while the two lovebirds stayed inside, having come back from a three-week long mission and wanting nothing more than to sleep and cuddle.    Y/N’s eyes had drowsily followed along the story of ‘Stardust’ and it was right at the end when Yvonne shone so brightly it obliterated the old witch, Bucky knew that there was not going to be a perfect moment, no matter how hard one tried to make it. There was only now. So with his nose still hidden in Y/N’s Y/H/C hair, he uttered the little phrase that sent her heart reeling.    “What?” with wide eyes she looked back at him, now fully awake.    “Marry me,” Bucky cupped her cheek.    “Y-you’re serious right now?”    He was looking over her features trying to decipher what was going on in Y/N’s mind, but he couldn’t, seeing only disbelief. “I've never been more serious about anything in my life.”    The girl had looked at him for a long minute without uttering a word, Bucky didn’t think she was even breathing, but then her lips crashed against his and the heavy make-out session turned into the most mind-blowing sex he’d ever had.    Only when Bucky felt his brain go back to normal, the stars disappearing from behind his lids as well as the haze from his thoughts, with very wobbly and shaky legs did he stand up, and went to retrieve the ring. He was almost unable to open the drawer as he had to lean against the wardrobe from being a bit lightheaded.    He had returned back to their bed, Y/N laying on it still completely naked, her eyes closed as her body spammed one last time from the best orgasm she’d ever had. She slowly looked to her left and felt how Bucky pushed the little silver circle on her ring finger. It glimmered in the moonlight and the soft smile that appeared the man’s face as he looked down at her was the best companion to it.    “I love you, Bucky Barnes,” Y/N leaned in and deeply kissed the Avenger before hugging him tightly and stroking his sweat-covered back. They had fallen asleep like that, in one another’s arms, and now, seeing the woman so broken, so frustrated in what was supposed to be their happiest day, his heart hurt with her.    “Y/N it’s alright. We’ll figure something out. We don’t have to cancel the wedding.”    “Are you kidding me?” she looked up at Bucky. “And what am I supposed to wear? My ‘Ninja Turtles’ pj’s and Sam’s ‘My Little Pony’ blanket as my veil? Should I wear Wanda’s barbie pink flip-flops as well? I was supposed to be walking down the aisle twenty minutes ago. I was supposed to be your wife by now.”    Bucky felt his heart speed up at the word ‘wife’, especially with how defeated Y/N looked.    “Listen,” he sighed and picked the woman up, placing her against his chest while he himself sat down on a plush chair. Instantly she curled up into his side, the man’s arms stroking down her arms and things. “I don’t know if this is going to help at all, but in the morning, I was ready to call it off as well. I couldn’t find my socks, I looked everywhere, I checked all the bags and there was nothing. My mind kept telling me that if all the little things are not in place, it’s not worth it to even try. But then, when I looked down and saw that they were already on my feet I realised I had panicked about nothing. Because it doesn’t matter if things are perfect. When you’re with the right person, they will be no matter what. I love you,” he brushed away a stray tear that slowly rolled down Y/N’s cheek, “and even if I had to stand in front of everybody in my boxers I would. If that made you happy, I’d do it. I’d do anything. So if you wanna call off the wedding, we can, but I just want you to know, that it doesn’t matter to me if you have the most expensive dress and the most outrageous jewellery. You’re mine and I’m yours. No matter what.”    “Yeah,” Y/N whined out, “but the difference is that you actually have clothes to wear. I have nothing. All my makeup is ruined and so is my hair.”    Bucky was just about to reply when a panting Natasha burst into the room.    “Barnes, get out. We have a bride to prepare.”    Wanda barrelled in next followed by Maria and Nakia, all of them carrying different items.    “Leave and wait by the altar. She’ll be ready in half an hour. And if you’re not there I’ll rip that metal arm of yours off and shove it down your throat so far,  you’ll be shitting vibranium for the rest of your life.” Nat spoke up before pulling Y/N out of his lap.    The man chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, barely avoiding the kick Hill sent to his butt.

   Bucky fidgeted with the cufflinks until music fluttered through the air, his blue eyes immediately going to where Y/N stood at the end of the aisle. His breath hitched in his throat when he saw her. The ivory dress was light, the pretty much non-existent winds still managed to make it flutter through the air. Her hair was down from the bun and now freely went over her shoulders, a beige flower tucked behind her ear. The smokey eye was nowhere to be seen, her makeup barren and natural, accentuating her already beautiful features. Bucky instantly recognised the gown as Pepper's as she was going to wear it on the second day of the wedding, though now, seeing Y/N in it, there was no doubt in his mind, that this was the dress.    Her hand was linked through Tony’s as he led the woman towards who was going to be her husband. Her feet were bare, and soundless making Bucky think, she was an actual angel that had decided to stay on Earth, leaving heaven behind only to be with him.    He didn’t hear a word the priest said, his attention fully on Y/N. In a way, he was terrified he’d miss when the ‘I do’s’ were gonna have to be said, but Bucky didn’t spare a second once the question was asked, a blinding grin adorning his face when he heard Y/N reply as well.    Wife. She was his wife and he was her husband. He just stared at her, unable to stop his smile and the warm feeling floating through this body. Until he heard snickering and snapped out of the daze. The guests were giggling as was Y/N. Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion, but then he felt a soft tug on his jacket.    He looked back and saw Dominic, the boy clearly trying to suppress laughter as he held out the little pillow on which two golden rings sat on. Bucky had watched the boy grow up to be good, nothing like what his mother was. His father had kept in touch with the super soldier allowing him to explain why Katrina was locked in a prison, why she had been forbidden to contact him and when Dom had grown up enough to understand the error of her ways, he forgave the woman, yet told Bucky he didn’t want to have any sort of communication with her.    “I don’t want to have her in my life when she hurt you. For no reason at all.”    “Dom, you’re young and whatever happened between me and her, it’s our business. She’s still your mom.”    “If she truly was, then she would’ve realised how important you were to my me. And how much you cared for Y/N. You made me happy when things were bad, so I wanted you to be happy as well. But what she did made you completely opposite. She's not my mom. Just somebody who pretended to be.”    Bucky chuckled as he took the ring and turned back to Y/N. Once the engagement had been announced, he invited both Dominic and his dad to the wedding, asking the boy to be the ring-bearer.    “You know, if there was anybody I thought who could possibly lose a ring, I thought it would’ve been him,” Bucky pressed a kiss to Y/N’s knuckles. “Wife.”    “Hush,” she shushed him, but the smirk never left her face. Her fingers delicately slipped a copy of her own ring onto Bucky’s finger, the little loop clicking in place when it found the spot. T’Challa and Shuri had specifically designed a new arm for him so that when they married the band wouldn’t slip and fall. So that it would become one with the limb. Like Y/N would become one with his soul.    “…. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the b-“ but the priest didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence when Bucky’s lips were already on Y/N’s, hands woven around her waist and pulling their bodies flush together. And she could reply with nothing else but the same passion.

   The newlyweds themselves had slipped away a while back. They sat in one of the swing sofas by the ocean under some palm trees, Y/N’s legs thrown over Bucky’s. His shoes were discarded in the white sand while the jacket covered her shoulder, keeping the girl warm from the gentle winds.    “I love you” he whispered, cupping Y/N’s jaw and bringing their lips together as the morning sun peeked it’s head over the water, painting the world in pinks and oranges and yellows.    “I love you too,” she replied once Bucky allowed them to come up for air. “And I’m sorry. For this morning. I shouldn’t have said that I wanted to cancel the wedding. It was the last thing I’d ever want to do.”    “ ’S okay. What’s important that it all worked out in the end.”    Y/N hummed and looked out in the distance “I guess it did…”    The unsure response made Bucky look down and he saw the woman chewing on her lip absentmindedly. “What’s wrong?”    “I don’t- I,” she huffed, “it’s just that I feel bad for overreacting, but also I have been dying to tell you something and I’m terrified of how you'll react.”    “Doll, you know that you can tell me anything. Nothing you say will ever make me stop loving you. Besides, a) we’re married, so breaking things off would be kinda hard and b) I don’t wanna repeat what happened last time when we held on to our feelings.”    Y/N snorted and gazed up at Bucky, her palm pressing against his cheek. “No, nothing like that. It’-umm- it’s more important than that.”    “Nothing’s more important than love.”    The woman smiled and took his hand, placing it on her stomach. “I think taking care of a baby is.”    Bucky was stunned looking up and down from Y/N’s eyes to her belly. “A baby?” he managed to get out through a sob.    “Yeah,” her lips quirked up. “A baby.”    And this time it wasn’t the girl having a full on mental breakdown. But Y/N wasn’t afraid that Bucky didn’t want to have a kid with her, in fact, she was happy as he pressed his lips against her skin, whispering ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’ in her chest. Yet little did they know that in eight months time there wouldn’t be just one mini-Barnes running around, but two, making both adults wish they hadn’t quit the Avenger’s life when Y/N started showing, feeling like saving the world had been easier than tying your shoes. Though for now, they basked in the incredible feeling that was love and their new-founded family.

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A/N: and this ride has come to an end! thank you for sticking through and I hope you enjoyed it :))

P.S. if you wanna be tagged in future stories or have any requests, drop a message :)

P.S.S. feedback is always appreciated

P.S.S.S. please, don’t repost without credit :)

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Someday Your Child May Cry

Previous: Question | Preparations | Irrational | Confession | Collateral | Thoughtless | Interrupted | Recovering | Irresponsible | Possibility | Devastation | Confrontation | Generous | Confirmation | Understanding | Sight | Insatiable | Agreement | Family | Threatened | Terrified | Helpless | Mourning | Evasion | Gratitude

26. Unexpected

In the six or seven years that Mulder and Scully have known Walter Skinner, they’ve never known him to attend any sort of social gathering, much less host one himself. So when he drops by the basement office two days before Christmas to invite them to his New Year’s Eve party, they’re taken by surprise.

“Of course, I understand you can’t commit one way or another,” Skinner tells them, with a pointed look at Scully’s stomach. She’s four days from her due date and three minutes from reaching in and yanking the baby out all by herself. “But if nothing’s changed by then, and you feel up to it, I’d like it if you could both come.”

Privately, Scully doubts she’ll survive that long if she hasn’t given birth by then... but when New Year’s Eve arrives, and she’s got nothing to show for it except a few particularly intense Braxton-Hicks contractions, Scully allows Mulder to coax her into her lone maternity dress and out of her (now their, as of October) apartment.

“Come on, Scully,” he wheedles, as he pulls her, protesting and grumbling, out of the building and to the car. “Our boss has finally deemed us fit enough for public consumption to invite us to a social gathering. Don’t you want to reward his faith in us?”

The drive to Skinner’s apartment in Crystal City is just long enough for Scully to breathe her way through a few more Braxton-Hicks contractions. Each time, Mulder glances over at her nervously.

“Should we be timing these?” he asks, and Scully shakes her head.

“It’s not the real thing yet,” she says. “There’s no rhythm to them whatsoever. They don’t even hurt yet.”

“Yeah, but your pain tolerance is considerably higher than the average person’s, Scully. I’ve seen it. Are you sure we shouldn’t-”

“Mulder,” Scully snaps, cutting him off, “I went through the trouble of squeezing into this dress and putting on makeup, and I’m not going anywhere except to this party. At the stroke of midnight, and not a moment later, I’m getting back in this car, you are taking me home, and I’m not doing anything that I don’t want to do until this baby finally decides to make an appearance. Understand?” Mulder nods meekly, and says nothing for the duration of the drive.

A light snow has begun to fall by the time they arrive. Mulder glances up at the sky nervously, then at Scully, and appears to weigh the risk of commenting on potential risky driving conditions before deciding to keep quiet. Skinner, drink in hand, meets them at the door and attempts to thrust a glass of scotch at Mulder, who shakes his head.

“Better not,” Mulder says, and leans over to whisper something in Skinner’s ear that makes their boss immediately look concerned. Before either can start trying to convince her that maybe she should head to the hospital, Scully shakes her head and walks away as quickly as she can. 

Scully wanders from one group of fellow agents to another for an hour, making polite conversation, answering far too many well-meaning questions about when she’s due, how she’s feeling, whether or not she’s ready for this to be over yet. She fields the occasional labor-and-delivery horror story (why do people insist on sharing these with first-time mothers?) and dodges the obvious gossips who are clearly only looking for juicy tidbits to share at the water cooler. The entire time, she splits the remainder of her focus between keeping an eye on the steadily-increasing snowfall outside, and timing her contractions, which are increasing right alongside the snowfall.

With less than half an hour to go until midnight, Scully is finally no longer able to talk through the contractions, and the intervals between them are decreasing quicker than she would have believed possible. Carefully placing her half-drunk flute of ginger ale on the nearest table, she goes in search of Mulder.

Seconds later, however, she feels a sudden, warm gush of fluid between her legs, and she freezes in place, her breath catching in her throat. She’s just wondering what her chances are of finding Mulder before anyone notices when there’s a sudden gasp to her left.

“Oh my god!” shrieks Kim, Skinner’s assistant. “Your water broke!” As people around them begin to turn and gawk, Scully tried frantically to quiet Kim down.

“Kim, don’t-” But Kim whirls to the room at large, paying Scully no mind.

“SOMEONE FIND AGENT MULDER!” she yells, over the music, over the hum of conversation, and every eye is immediately on them. “AGENT SCULLY’S WATER JUST BROKE!” Scully feels her face go immediately red as every guest in the room simultaneously gasps and turns to look at her. Excited murmuring is suddenly everywhere, and moments later the crowd parts, revealing a panicked Mulder and a terrified Skinner, barreling through the guests at top speed. They skid to a halt at either side of her.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” Scully insists. “We should probably just- ohhhhh....” She groans sharply and bends at the waist, as much as she’s able, clutching at her belly, as the strongest contraction she’s felt so far seizes her. Mulder takes her arm and leads her through the crowd, towards the door. Skinner follows along behind them.

“We should call an ambulance,” he suggests. “It’s been snowing for hours and the roads are getting dangerous.” Scully opens her mouth to tell him that’s ridiculous, they’ll be fine driving on their own, but another contraction rolls over her and her words die in her throat. Mulder makes a strangled noise that suggests he’s inches from panic, and as the trio leaves the apartment, borne on a wave of well-wishes from the guests, Skinner pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. Through a haze of pain, as she waddles slowly down the hallway, leaning on Mulder, Scully hears the AD calling for an ambulance, arguing with the dispatcher; then, as they reach the elevators, he hangs up in disgust.

“There are four multiple-car pileups in this part of town, because of the snow,” he says. “Every ambulance in the area is busy.”

“Don’t- need- an ambulance,” Scully grunts at him. “You drive us.”

“Me?” Skinner’s panic seems to ratchet up a notch when Scully nods.

“You’re a Vietnam veteran,” Scully says, as the contraction releases her from its grasp. “Are you telling me you’re too scared to drive a pregnant woman to the hospital?” Skinner opens his mouth to answer, but his retort dies in his throat as Scully doubles over with another contraction.

“They shouldn’t be this close together yet,” says Mulder anxiously. “This is faster than the book said it would be. What’s going on?” Scully shakes her head, unable to speak, and keeps moving, smacking the elevator button with all the force she can muster. Mulder and Skinner follow her into the car when it arrives... and as the doors slide shut, Scully suddenly feels an incredible pressure in her pelvis, accompanied by a deep, instinctual compulsion to push. She groans, leaning her back against the wall of the elevator and sliding to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Skinner demands, as both men kneel next to her. “What’s going on.”

“Now,” Scully huffs, beginning to pant. “The baby’s coming now.” Mulder pales.

“Not now!” he says. “It can’t come now, not here!”

“Yes. NOW.” Scully insists. She begins to wiggle out of her soaked underwear, grateful for her decision to wear a dress, and Skinner hastily stands and turns his back. “Mulder,” she pants, “need you to check. If you can see. The head.” Mulder nods, terrified, and lifts her dress, peering between her legs... and he immediately falls back on his hands, his eyes wide.

“I can see it!” he exclaims, looking up at her, his eyes wide, his panic intensifying. “It’s coming! What do I do?”

“Nothing,” Scully grunts. “Guide the head- as it slips- ouuuuuuut!” The urge to push hits her hard, and she obeys immediately.

“It’s coming out!” Mulder yells excitedly, and in the corner of the elevator, Skinner looks, in spite of himself, and quickly turns away again, leaning his head on the elevator wall. “No, wait!” yells Mulder, as the contraction ends. “It’s going back in again!” He looks up at Scully. “Is that normal?”

“Mulder, you said you read this part of the book!” yells Scully.

“Six months ago, Scully!” says Mulder defensively. “And that was before having part of my brain cut out!” There’s a sudden chime, and behind Mulder, the elevator doors slide open, revealing an extremely startled older couple.

“Get the next one!” yells Skinner, slamming the button to close the doors again. At the same time, Scully is hit by the strongest urge to push yet, and she bears down, grunting involuntarily in a way that would probably have embarrassed her to no end, had she not been wholly preoccupied by the searing pain in her abdomen and pelvis.

“OH MY GOD IT’S COMING!” yells Mulder, grabbing at his hair, now almost completely out of his head. Dimly, in the apartments beyond the elevator, Scully hears people counting down. It’s about to be midnight.

“CATCH IT, YOU IDIOT!” shrieks Skinner, and thankfully, as the pain reaches an almost unbearable crescendo and Scully screams, Mulder comes back to himself and reaches down, carefully guiding the tiny, slippery form from Scully’s body. There’s a half a second of terrifying silence... and then, blessedly, the elevator is filled with the indignant cries of new life. 

Mulder sits back on his haunches, the squalling newborn in his hands. His eyes, swimming with tears, are about to bug out of his head... and Scully realizes that he’s so overwhelmed, he has no idea what to do next.

“Your shirt,” she barks at Skinner, who jumps. “Give Mulder your shirt!” Skinner stares, confused. “To wrap the baby! We don’t have any blankets or towels!” Understanding, Skinner rips off his dress shirt, not even taking the time to unbutton it all the way, and thrusts it at Mulder, who tenderly wraps it around their new daughter.

The baby’s wailing mingles with the cheers of partygoers throughout the building welcoming in the new millennium. Still on his knees, Mulder crosses the few feet to Scully’s side and places the baby in her arms. Scully hungrily takes in every detail of her, from her dark hair and button nose to her tiny fists, clenched tightly, as she manages to work her arms out from under Skinner’s shirt.

Next to them, Skinner crouches down to get a better look. “Congratulations, agents,” he says, grinning. “She’s perfect.” Mulder smiles.

“Congratulations to you, too, Uncle Walter,” he says, and Skinner chuckles, flushing with pleasure. Outside, they can hear loud, off-key renditions of “Auld Lang Syne,” and Mulder leans over and gives Scully a kiss.

“Happy New Year, Scully,” he says, and she smiles.

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

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

Mulder paces up and down the hallway, bouncing the squalling baby in his arms, waiting for her cries to finally cease. Scully, still exhausted from giving birth two days ago, has just finished nursing her, and Mulder had sent her back to bed, promising that he’d calm the fussy baby so her mother could rest. Elizabeth Margaret Mulder, it’s becoming apparent, is every bit as capable as her mother is at voicing her displeasure whenever circumstances are not as they should be.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay,” Mulder murmurs in the infant’s ear, rubbing her back, trying to coax out a burp, in case that’s what’s upsetting her. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.” Elizabeth continues crying, her tiny legs kicking in distress.

Mulder thinks back, suddenly, to his dream, the shared hallucination he and Scully had had months ago, when they had finally come to an understanding about what each of them had thought their future together should look like. He remembers the song he’d sung the baby in his dreams... and taking a deep breath, he begins singing it to Elizabeth.

“Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes, And save these questions for another day.”

The lines bring a smile to his face. If Elizabeth is anything like either of her parents, she’s likely to have nothing but questions as she grows up. He imagines, as he continues singing, all of the things their daughter will ask them, all of the arguments he and Scully are likely to have over how to answer her.

“Remember all the songs you sang for me When we went sailing on an emerald bay?”

Scully will have to be the one to teach her to sail, he thinks to himself. The only thing he’ll be able to teach her about boats is how to throw up over the side of one without getting anything on herself. There will be plenty to teach her himself, though... how to tell a phony picture of a UFO from the real thing, why the Yankees are far superior to the Red Sox, how to shoot a free throw. Though, he thinks to himself, wryly, Scully might actually be better at teaching Elizabeth about baseball than him.

“Goodnight, my angel, now it’s time to dream, And dream how wonderful your life will be.”

Elizabeth is quieting down in his arms as he reaches the end of the song, and he buries his nose in her hair, smelling her sweet scent, and closes his eyes. For the first time that he can remember, all is as it should be in his life. He has Scully, sleeping down the hall... and while Elizabeth might have derailed his plans to propose at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, the ring is still in his pocket, and he’ll have another chance soon enough... and besides, they’re a family already, more of a family than any ring or priest or judge or piece of paper could make them. 

“Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby, Then in your heart, there will always be a part of me.”

[idiopath-fic-smile]

Oh my goddd I was scrolling back through your blog and the 1950s lesbian exr is a thing that just could not conceivably be any further up my alley (I realise what this sounds like and I apologise), so I was wondering if we could get another little snippet? No pressure ofc. PS I love your writing and even if we never get any more of tscosi it's still probably my favourite podcast of all time

Hi!

Thank you so much. There will definitely be more Starship Iris eventually, but I really appreciate that.

Re: the fic, I was simultaneously trying to write a historically accurate-ish look at 1950′s American lesbian identity and activism, and give it a bit of a noir feel, which in theory I think you could do because holy shit these women were risking so much, and they had to basically be spies anyway because the FBI was legit trying to keep tabs on them and their meetings. I don’t really know if I’m the person to do it, though; this feels pretty damn far out of my lane, to be honest.

I really wish there was more historical fiction about this cause in this period; you can find some fascinating shit just doing a cursory wikipedia crawl. Like, the first lesbian periodical was created in 1947 by a 25-year-old who was working as a receptionist at RKO Studios; her boss was like ‘just look busy so people think I’m a big deal’ and so she was secretly using company equipment to type and format a zine about lesbianism, like 25 years before the APA stopped calling homosexuality a mental illness.

Anyway, I only wrote about three pages; I stopped when I realized how long it would need to be, and how much work would be involved, and also frankly it’s a lot easier to situate Enjolras in a fic about queer activism post-Stonewall, because the D.O.B.-era organizing tended to be pretty assimilationist. Like, I think their work was important and has been unfairly neglected, but I still think Enjolras in any era would chafe at their gradualism. 

Enjolras isn’t even mentioned by name in this, but uh I think you’ll be able to find her. 

(Head’s up: this is the very opening of the story, it’s from Grantaire’s POV, and she has not begun to work through her issues yet, so quick content warning for period-typical internalized homophobia and self-loathing, as well as period-typical sexism. Also, historical note: from what I can tell, “lesbian” had negative connotations even within the community at the time.)

“Grantaire, are you alright?” said Murray. He didn’t try that hard to hide his laughter. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly.

“You’ll need to set aside your small-town attitudes if you want to succeed in the big city,” Chester added. “There’s all sorts here, as you can see.”

Grantaire nodded. There was nothing more dangerous than someone desperate to prove they were more Bohemian than you, she thought. She wondered if they were only doing this because she had corrected Chester about Rothko. Maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut. She could have just let him be wrong and avoided the whole adventure, or prank, or byzantine office hazing ritual–whatever had inspired them to take her here, of all places.

The Musain. Run by the mob, of course, but that wasn’t what made the place so notorious. There wasn’t exactly a neon sign screaming gay bar! But even if Grantaire was as naive as Chester and Murray seemed to assume, she probably could’ve put the clues together herself from the clientele, men mingling with men and women mingling with women. 

How much looking was too much looking? It all felt like too much. She tried focusing on the grimy wall of bottles behind the bar, except one of the bartenders had hung a poster of a pin-up girl back there, naked but for a strategically-placed ukulele, grinning a slick, lipsticky grin. There was no safe real estate to rest your eyes on. Every inch was dangerous, an admission of something.

“I’ll be right back,” she croaked. “Ladies’ room.”

“If you can tell which one it is,” laughed–Chester? Murray?–who even cared, she thought, ducking into the crowd.

The water did not help like she’d hoped. Grantaire switched off the tap and wiped at her face, badly wanting a cigarette. She wondered how much longer she could hide in here before it got suspicious. Two or three minutes, she figured, but when she stepped back into the bar she’d need to be perfectly composed.

Then again, neither of her new colleagues seemed too perceptive. Case in point: this present stunt, designed to unnerve her in an entirely different direction. Even now, she could at least detect a certain sick humor about the whole affair. She was still half-smirking when a woman walked in. Grantaire looked away on instinct, but foolishly, right into the mirror, to be pinned instead by the stranger’s reflection. There was just no catching a break tonight.

Grantaire had seen the stranger already from the other side of the bar, would have noticed her from a hundred paces. She was tall and athletic-looking, dressed like a man in a button-down shirt and trousers. Normally a girl of that stature slouched, pulled in her shoulders as if apologizing for taking up the space, but every line of this woman’s body was utterly assured, self-possessed. Her hair was cropped short, and there was a stark beauty in her strong brows and sharp cheekbones, feminine without a trace of softness.

Her eyes slid to Grantaire and away again: registered and dismissed in a single motion.

Grantaire dried her hands—slowly, because she still did not really want to go back. Anything was preferable, maybe including this.

In a way, it was almost a relief to see that nothing had changed. Seasons came and went but Grantaire was still Grantaire: a bundle of too-tight nerves and awkward elbows, scratchy throat, furtive gaze bouncing everywhere it shouldn’t. Still nursing a fascination with the most dangerous-looking female in the area. A puppy dog panting after a wolf.

Grantaire snorted, echoing in the cramped space. The woman looked back at her.

“Sorry,” Grantaire mumbled.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Your friends seem to be having a good time,” she said. Her voice was cold and dry as the Arctic Desert. Searing sun, powdery snow.

Chester and Murray weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination. They were barely co-workers; Grantaire had only been at the magazine for five days, had only arrived in the city three days before that, had been hired sight unseen by the eccentric editor-in-chief on the strength of a portfolio sent by mail and a first name that could pass as a man’s. It was even odds that once the bossman returned from his honeymoon and discovered his brand-new cartoonist was a she, Grantaire would be right out the door again, no chance to slip a single drawing into the lineup. As it was, her presence at the office had the air of a lingering typo.

Best-case scenario, her new employer would turn out to be one of those awful tyrants who refused to acknowledge any degree of fallibility, and he’d keep her on out of sheer hardheadedness. Perhaps after a year or two, she’d fade from a novelty to a background detail, and she’d finally grow up enough to stop trying to prove herself when it mattered the least.

None of it was worth explaining.

“They’re harmless,” said Grantaire instead. “That new intellectual type. They like modern art and smoking marijuana and pretending to understand poetry. They’re not here to gawk, not really.” She could not make herself shut her mouth. It was like having a fit. “They only brought me by to try to get a rise out of the girl from Skokie,” she was saying. “They’ve got nothing against your kind.”

“My kind,” the woman repeated, and Grantaire gave a helpless inward flinch. Was it rude to imply someone was a homosexual simply because she was wearing trousers at a gay bar? It didn’t look like a costume; she wore it with too much grace. “Don’t you mean ‘our kind’?” the woman said.

Grantaire froze, still clutching a wad of paper towel. She hadn’t expected to feel caught out. She had almost hoped for it, maybe, some slight terrified swoop of the stomach, but one foot inside the Musain, one glance at the flesh-and-blood patrons flirting under threat of police raid, had put it to rest.

(“Welcome to city life,” Chester had said, with a chuckle. “Meet your new neighbors!”)

Grantaire could only stand there, in the drab skirt and blouse she had picked specifically to blend in at the office, and measure the distance in miles, in light years.

She threw the paper towel in the trash, made herself meet the woman’s eyes. Grantaire was a head shorter, but somehow it was her spine that craned down, her shoulder blades that pulled together, her posture that begged forgiveness for the sheer fact of her blood and muscle and skin.

“I’m nothing like you,” said Grantaire.

“Really?” came the reply, unimpressed. “Because I could’ve sworn I saw you in here last week. Minus your friends.”

It had to be a bluff, thought Grantaire. Without two rowdy men at her back to make the whole thing a joke, she had barely managed to step in before she’d hightailed it back out.

It had to be a bluff, unless it wasn’t.

First Chester and Murray, and now this. Grantaire had just about had it with people trying to shock her by telling her things she already knew. Sex perverts exist, Grantaire, on one hand. You’re one of them, Grantaire, on the other.

At some point, a girl reached her limit.

“Oh,” said Grantaire, “I’m a lesbian, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

The woman blinked at her, not expecting—what? The directness? The word? The slightest illusion of a backbone?

Grantaire bared her teeth in a grin: another illusion. Nothing but well-honed reflex at this point; every bone in her body knew how to lie.

“And that’s the beginning and end of what we have in common,” Grantaire said. It had been a long day; she gave herself the petty satisfaction of slamming the door on her way out.

“Feeling better?” Chester asked, all mock-sympathy, when she returned. “Maybe a ginger-ale to settle your stomach?” It had the shape of an offer but the taste of a dare: can you stay long enough to drink it.

“Throw in some whiskey and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she said. Murray laughed. Her head hurt.

“Don’t look now, but there’s a woman, if you can call it that, watching us,” said Murray in a low, amused voice. “Think she’s got her eye on you, Grantaire.”

For once in her life, she wouldn’t rise to take the bait. “You’re hilarious,” said Grantaire without looking up. “A regular Bob Hope.”

“They still laughing at Bob Hope out in Skokie?” Chester said.

“It’s Illinois,” she snapped, “not the Mesozoic Era.”

“Mesozoic,” said Murray, as though he’d never heard anything so ridiculous. “Big word for a little lady.”

Mesozoic. Eight letters. But it didn’t matter how you contorted yourself; somebody would always find a way to be sore at you for being too much of one thing or another.

Grantaire hunched down on the stool, away from the sweep of those imagined eyes, and forced herself to smile.

[dead-palette]

Jeff the Killer, New Beginnings

Hello there, I'll be using you to talk about the situation I find myself in. See, my name is Jefferson L. Killian, but you can just call me Jeffry. I'm 22 and recently moved from Tucson Arizona to Alton Utah with my mom, dad, and stupid adopted kid brother Liu. I like Yu gi oh, Roblox, and rap music. I'm actually thinking about starting a soundcloud to do yu gi oh parody rap battles. Or I was, before the bad day came. Now I'm no sure of anything anymore.

It all started a week ago when we moved into our new house, so Y2K had not hapened yet. I didn't want to move but my mom got a new job on a public access kid show writing. Her idea was called super puppet friends. Anyway, the new house was in a nicer neighborhood than our last one. I can tell because I saw married couples wearing sweaters tied around their shoulders. My parents forced me and my 14 year old brother to go to a new church. I wish we could go to normal church, sadly we're Mormon. When we got there, some men in black greeted my parents but I had to look after the kids in the daycare, INCLUDING my super adopted brother. The daycare was in the basement, and ugh, the smell. It was like a new kind of poop smell that was clearly poop, but like modified in a lab. The genetic code of this poop wasn't meant to occur naturally in nature.

So I surveyed the room. In the middle were a group of kids playing Beyblades in the middle of the room. They were playing Beyblades in the middle of the room in a hulahoop, not the officially licensed Metal Fusion Beystadium by Takara Tomy like my brother uses. My brother ran over and started playing took out his Burn Fireblaze Pheonix metal beyblade. I saw one black kid using a Twisted Tempo spinner, and another using a Diablo Nemesis Metal Fury. I hated Beyblades so much. They all yelled "Let a rip!".

One boy ran up to me and complained that they wouldn't let him play because he didn't have his own Beyblade. This boy might have been patient zero of the genetically modified super poop experiement. He had what I assumed what chocolate pudding on his face and nose, and did have a cowboy hat on. The whole time he whined he was itching his butt, really using his red shorts to get in their. I told him to wash his hands first. He then went to the near by drinking fountain and rinsed his hands, only to dry both of them by itching his butt again. This redirection must have changed his train of thought.

Over to the left area of the basement was kids playing with lego. If you didn't know, the plural of lego is lego, not legos, but I bet these stupid kids didn't know that. A few of the lego were officially licensed by the Lego Group of Denmark. The rest were some christian knock off legos. Like noah's ark themed bricks and the naviety scene. These lego bricks symbolized the death and rebirth I'd go through to become the man I am now. The one Ninjago toy that was officially licensed, Kai, symbolized the power I'd WELD.

Over to the right area of the basement there was some kind of some leaking pipes. The leaks were flooding the floor on the right side of the room. But no one seems to take notice of the leaking pipes and the wet floor. Besides dookie kid who would ocassionally jump up and down in the water, sending small splashes of putrid water of to the left area of the room, where the lego kids were playing at. Near the back of the room, opposite me, was a child having an intense game of pocket pool. Focusing my eyes, it was Randy, a boy my age. Randy had a skatebored at his feet and his hands in his pockets. I wondered if the strange curve in his back was natural or if it came from how good his game of pocket pool felt. Randy wore a black trench coat and a fetching white ascot. His hair was qcouffed in a manner that made him look like Joseph Smith if he was a school shooter. His skatebored had tight wheels on it, and it's underside had a picture of Dark Link from Ocarina of Time on it. Randy also wore a nametag that said Randy Anthon of the LatterDay Saints. That's when his eyes connected with me.

I wore white hoodie. I like to wear white to show off my positive attitude toward life. My hair was pure black and unqcouffed. My body has numberous scares from cutting myself. My pants WHERE black to slim my legs. I never liked my legs, too leggy if you ask me. Anyway, Randy gave off an aura of malice. I could just tell he had something to do with the Anthon Forgeries that made Mormons look like fools years ago. If not for that slip up, Mormonism might have been mainstream by now. But I couldn't let myself get distracted by that at a time like this, in this hell hole.

That's when a Bishop came down stairs with a cart full of snacks. The Bishop wore a red bow time and red suspenders, a white dress shirt and black dress pants. His haircut was dorky with disturbingly even bangs and ginger-y hair. His ears were big and magnifient. He started to introduce himself to myself and my adopted brother liu as "Bishop Bob Backlund." But then he started just yelling at me. He wanted to know why the pipes were leaking. I of coursed had nothing to do with it. But he wouldn't listen and blamed me. He pushed me on to the floor and told me to serve the the snacks if I wanted to stay a Mormon. Then he left.

Randy was laughing as he walked out of the room with the Bishop. I was so made, but I couldn't have my Mormonism revoked. My parents would be pissed. So I served the snack. The snack was either goldfish or vanilla wafers served in white coffee filters. And every child also got a can of warm ginger ale. But the Ginger ale was Canada Dry. My old Mormon church had Verners Ginger Ale. I couldn't deal with all this change.

Once all the children had snacks, they all resulted to their activities, getting goldfish and waffer crumbles everywhere. I started watching the children playing with K'Nex because I didn't have any paper to write Roblox raps. While all of the K'Nex were officially licensed by the K'Nex Industries Inc, many pieces were missing making the hole thing sad. They did have the K'New Plane that you got from Pizza Hut. My mom actually directed the Pizza Head commericals for Pizza Hut, so I had all the Pizza Hut K'Nex until we adopted Liu from China. I also got lots of Muchtown meals.

But while my attention was focused on the K'Nex, I missed some awful happening at the other area of the room. When I noticed, time slowed down. It was clear that this would be the defining moments of my life. And it didn't turn with a whimper, but a bang, of horrorific bang. A bang that would turn me into a harbinger of evil. Gone was the pure Jeff that believed in truth, justice, and the Book of Mormon. No, I would become death, bringer of evil. It was cowboy hat boy. His pants were down. His small small little boy penis hanging out. He was standing over the puddle, his vibrant red shorts around his ankles getting wet on the floor. Scattered around him were gradually softening goldfish, turning into puff balls. His back was arched in an all too famaliar way, a sign of inpending doom. Behind him was a trash can placed flush against the wall. His hands, far above his head and clinche into granite fist like victorious vice grips. That's when he yelled the incandation that brought to earth to a stand still. "LET A RIP!"

A shotgun blast of solid yet wet shit erupted forth from his prepubest bum and hit the wall without loosting any elevation, then shattering and recocheting on impact. Bit of wet poop landed on everything and everyone in a circular reverberance zone. The remants of dookie that stuck to the wall began to loosen and fall, hitting the rim of the trashcan but falling to the floor. This happen as a second burst detonated even louder and more sour sounding than the first. Now a mostly liquid napalm that traveled two and a half feet to the wall in a constant stream, that in turn back splashed landing mostly on the red shorts.

Then came Revelations 17:12. "The ten horns you saw are ten kings who have not yet received a kingdom, but who for one hour will receive authority as kings along with the beast." And these ten horns were ear deafing farts, the kind of piercing ordanance sounds that give soldiers life long nightmares. With my ears ringing and my mind boarding on insanity, a pee stream was unleashed from this tiny little man. A pee stream of a perturnatural nature, seeming to come from no where as it was impossible that it sprung from such a minuscule vessel considering the sheer literage of the urine in question. Whats more was the smell, the pee, not the poop, but the pee smells worst than anything I'd ever smelled. One might imagine puking, but the smell had such a tartness that it oppessed the heaving I was feeling in my gut. As my hearing returned, I heard the boy say one word with a blank expression on his face.

"Help"

That's when the Bishop returned and blamed me for the poop. It was so unsafe. He told me to clean it up. He handed me some cleaning supplies and sent all the kids home. I tried cleaning the trash can with bleach and ammonia and it burned me, turning me into a monster. I went broke into the Churches Musuem and stole the Kitchen Knife of Latterday Saints, the knife destine to end the Beast.

Afterwards, I broke into the inner sactum of the church where Randy, Troy, and Keith were all drinking ginger ale from the glass bowl of reformed Egyptians, one of the 3 scared objects of mormonism. I stabbed all three of them and drank from the bowl. Now I can read every langauge. Tihs made me Jeff the Killer, New Beginnings. Now go to sleep children of Abraham.

[why3m]

Title Me

All is well in love and war. There they were again; the words that haunted every picture-less dream he had. Startled up in a cold sweat not knowing how to react to it as though it was the first time he’d heard the words, Allister sat up and pulled his legs close to his chest as he shivered and forcefully shook the sense he could muster back into himself. In his defense though, it did feel like the first time, it always did.

"All is well in love and war", he repeated in his mind as he slowly calmed down. "Still no sense. ‘All is well in love and war’. What in the hell is that supposed to even mean? All is not well, there is no love, and all there ever is, is WAR!" He was thrashing around and almost ripping his hair by the follicle at this point. Oh, how he wished he could ponder upon this longer.

Just then, albeit later than usual, but then enough. “Oy, Llister! Whadaya think ya doin’ sleepin’ in like that?” popped in Flynn slamming all 40 kilos of himself on the bed, and snapping Allister out of his reverie. “Are you trying to get yourself kicked out of here?” he paused and stupidly stared seemingly waiting for an answer to an obviously idiotically rhetorical question. “Look, no one wants to be here, and no tantrum, bad behavior, or uncooperativeness is gonna get you out of here; in fact, that’ll just guarantee you a longer stay and more dailies.” He then walked out and left Allister dangerously alone with his thoughts.

"He got even skinnier", he thought as he looked to where Flynn had just been, how is that even possible?

Flynn was a flamboyant child. He was always the one to wake up Allister in the morning and “eat” with him at meal times ever since Allister got admitted a few months prior. Flynn was around Allister’s age, if not a bit older and much skinnier. That’s all he seemed to be to Allister at this point, skin and bones… quite literally. He was a kind child, and loved to laugh, his bright brown eyes just seemed to light up every time he did. He laughed with his whole body too, nodding or violently shaking his shaggy brown hair, slapping a hand on a knee… Allister was always amazed at his acting. Even he almost fell for it a few times before.

They were there again too… A dangerous thought train was about to start again. Luckily, or more unluckily, for him though, O’Malley came just in the nick of time. He was quite a tall girly looking man; he had a head of neatly done blonde hair, his eyes looked unsettlingly kind for someone who did what he did, he had a soft jaw and soft cheeks; almost the face of an angel really… an angel from hell that is. His soft facial features, delicate hands, and deceivingly kind eyes could so easily fool anyone outside the asylum. With a painful smack to Allister’s head, he shoved the daily pills everyone had to take as he ordered, “Drink.” As per the usual, aka his survival, he did as told and ever so quietly and obediently let the man grab him by the arm and drag him out into the corridor to start his day in the hell hole he’s lived in since they showed up.

"Well, that’s gonna bruise."

Out in the hall, everyone was awake and on to their own devices. O’Malley dragged Allister to the living room not minding nor batting an eye at the teenage boy drawing on the walls, or the child with a bucket on its head and nothing else being chased by two men in white uniforms running everywhere screaming bloody murder, or the little girl in the corner biting her nails and seemed to be sitting in a pool of something that was beginning to soak her cream night gown, no. They simply marched on because this was just a normal day in Tranquil Sanctuary Sanatorium; yes sir it was in fact, it seemed to be a tad tamer morning today.

The corridor felt longer than usual, but they inevitably got to the living room’s doorway, and there O’Malley threw Allister in and left. Ah, the living room. The calmest place in the building, albeit the creepiest, as there were only ever about eight people there and it was always a constant staring contest with everyone because it always felt like someone was about to kill you if you just happened to blink at the wrong moment. Other than that, it was quiet and you had your own space, Allister’s at the moment just so happened to be by the door today as he didn’t feel comfortable enough to move anywhere else. Today, there were only seven people in. There was frequent living room comer Amelia, a freckled short haired brunette that seemed to have a snarl; uncommon visitor Linus, a green eyed ginger boy with a twitch and a temper; usually found in the kitchen Ollie, an ironically skinny, despite how much he eats, bucktoothed bug-eyed little boy; physically present but mentally absent Ann, a raven haired blue eyed teenage girl whose gaze seemed to be on Allister today; seemed to be wrongly convicted of being put in an asylum in the first place Emmett, a terrified black boy with gray eyes around Allister’s age; and the little girl from the corridor that also seemed to be staring at Allister? He was starting to get even more uncomfortable, but then again, he was alive and was only going to be there for another two minutes, so it was fine; but, the pills were kicking in, and it didn’t feel like how they usually made him feel.

"What’s wrong with me? Why is everything spinning all of a sudden? Crap. Did he give me the wro-" Allister tried to find the door behind him for support, but it opened and he stumbled out into the corridor. Everything was getting even hazier.

"Where am I?" Desperately trying to find his balance, Allister held on for his life at the nearest thing his now shivering hands could find. What is this? Then black.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" Was all that could run through poor Allister’s head as he did everything he could to create any sort of image in his mind as to avoid them. You have to understand, they only ever haunted Allister in his picture-less dreams, and Allister being the smart cookie he is, always tried to imagine anything to avoid them. Despite his best efforts most of the time though, he couldn’t create any images. He didn’t know why, but when you’ve become so consumed by the blackness of your own mind, color and images become harder to make or come by especially on your own.

He’d never really known who they were, or at least that’s what he thinks, but when you forget things, you never really know until you remember. All Allister knows now is that he’s running from them, whomever they were; wherever they were.

_____

Cries.

He was hearing something. He hoped for his life it was anything but them again. What he heard were echoing cries that were getting closer. They were the cries of a woman.

“God, Wilfred, don’t touch him!” the woman pleaded with a screeching yell that very well could have wounded her throat.

"He always did though, didn’t he? He always touched him even when you begged for him not to."

The scene unfolded before him. It was in a small cabin house in the woods. There was a crying woman kneeled and battered on the floor in what looked like it used to be a living room of a family, and a man, but he didn’t look like a human, no, no he looked like a monster holding a little boy that was clinging to dear life.

SMACK. CRASH. SCREAMS. LOUDER CRIES. BANG. Silence.

Brutal, that’s what it was. Who in their right mind could ever think to shoot a child? But then again, who in their right mind would throw themselves to save a child they didn’t know?

"Enough. I don’t need to see this anymore."

As the scene dissolved, a new one formed from tits remains. Gates in front of a brick building suddenly stood. "Tranquil Sanctuary Sanatorium, home sweet home." The dread and sarcasm dripped from his thoughts like blood which materialized on his head. An old black carriage pulled up to the gate and was let in. Allister didn’t want to follow. He didn’t need to know what this was because he knew. That carriage was his father’s, but the scene didn’t change.

“No, no father please,” the boy in the scene pleaded as he was dragged out by an older boy probably in his mid-teens. He was wearing an old white shirt with old slacks held up by new suspenders, whereas the young boy he was dragging wore a straightjacket. “I’m not a lunatic, father! I swear, I promise I won’t mention them again! Please, father don’t leave me here! FATHER!”

“We can take it from here,” said a man’s voice from the doorway. O’Malley.

This was the day he was damned by his family and society, and was left to the hands of evil incarnate along with all the other poor souls to be “fixed”.

_____

AN: I'm just leaving this here because my stupid ass actually deleted the original draft that I just added on to not even a month ago. So I've been "working" on this story on and off for the last 2 years because I only continued it when I felt good about what I was going to add to it. But yeah, I stupidly deleted all of that, except for the very first original back up aka this one. I'm currently hating myself for this because this draft is the most undeveloped stage because it's the very freaking first so yeah... Ugh.

Anyways other than that, it doesn't really have a title yet, so if anyone ever comes across this somehow, please help me.