#poor man's knees must hurt from all the crouching and balancing

[gliamose]

Koike Teppei as L in Death Note the Musical 2015 (left) and 2017 (right) productions - Urai Kenji version

The Game Begins - side by side comparison

Listen in headphones for separate audio!

The improvement here is absolutely insane. How does he manage to stay hunched and sing even better than before? That said, both recordings are absolutely fantastic in their own way, just because of how different Teppei's approach to the song is in each case.

Love the addition of the blue lighting. In a true L fashion. And the changes to the choreography make him look so menacing!

[miss-choco-chips]

Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed. 

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.” 

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is. 

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing. 

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him. 

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of  orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters. 

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second.  If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive,  but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms. 

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion. 

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind. 

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him?  It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof. 

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets. 

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death. 

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now. 

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard. 

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

[sohin-ace]

Doppio - Frog Princess

Fairy tale AU and lots of love for my small man.

Doppio dragged his feet across the garden, restless and desperate. He sighed and whined to himself, taking the opportunity of being all alone to voice his pain and concerns, something he was never allowed to do.

"Aww jeez... This prince life isn't made for me..."

He huffed again and tugged at his very uncomfortable, gold adorned collar that was almost suffocating him.

Doppio looked around him, sure enough, the tall trees surrounding him did a great job at hiding him from the potential workers on the castle grounds that could possibly be looking for him.

He could finally have a little moment for himself and sneak out, maybe to cry to himself a little bit.

"O-ow... That still hurts..." The boy whined and rubbed on his bruised fingers, the results of angry professors punishing him for each mistakes he made. "I'm no good, I can't do anything right..."

That's right. Prince Doppio was a clumsy and anxious boy who lacked capacity in every domain. He always tried his best and obeyed every and each order, he wasn't undisciplined, oh no, young Doppio was a good boy.

He was just bad. He hardly managed to keep the required straight stance for more than ten seconds, was better at petting the horses than at riding them, couldn't follow etiquette at all, or protocol, was extremely forgetful and sadly, mother nature did not grace him with the strongest physical traits a young man his age was expected to have.

"Tch... Trish was so popular everyone courted her and she was so easy to marry, but me... No one would want to marry a good-for-nothing like me..."

He angrily kicked some rock and held his back that cracked at the movement, in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and sobbing at the sore feeling. That last lesson of fencing went so terribly wrong, how did the others do it?

"I'm so tired... Why meee...?"

"Ribbit!"

"Huh?" Doppio was startled at the very sudden but intriguing croaky sound and approached its direction near the pond.

He couldn't see anything at first, but then a tiny little creature jumped out of its hiding place. Doppio's honey eyes widened and he quickly wiped his warm tears, crouching down towards the animal.

"A frog!" He exclaimed happily, almost like a small child, new to the world. "Hi! You're so tiny, what's your name?"

"Ribbit!"

He knew very well the animal couldn't respond to him with actual words, but just the feeling of having even a one-sided conversation soothed a bit of his loneliness down. He cupped his hands together to invite the frog in, and the animal obliged by jumping on them.

He looked down and observed the chubby little creature. It had the cutest, roundest eyes, almost sparkly in the dim forest light, its green color was so bright and homogenous, there weren't any marks or patterns that frogs usually had on their skin. Even its limbs were tiny and soft, Doppio couldn't help but pet it with one careful and shaky finger.

"O-ooh! Oh my god!" He squealed uncontrollably. "You're so squishy!"

"Ribbit ribbit!"

The quiet and high-pitched croak felt so pleasant to his ears, it meddled with the sound of the water next to him and made him feel so much at peace. He loved to hear that cute sound and how the frog's belly puffed up like a balloon with each croak.

"What are you? A boy or a girl? I'd say you're a girl because you're super pretty and have a tiny voice."

"Ribbit Ribbit! Ribbit Ribbit!"

Doppio gasped loudly. "D-did I get it right?! Oohh yes!! That's so cool! Well... Not like I would have minded if you were a boy... Or both... Wait, do frogs have genders? Oh it doesn't matter."

The young prince felt like this frog was currently the only thing keeping him sane. He had no one else to talk to, there was no one who actually cared for his own well-being and he had no friends.

The only real person to actually show him some kind of recognition and love was none other than the King Diavolo himself. But even his sweet words and affection seemed somewhat back-handed and laced with pressure and severity.

"You know, you're lucky, little thing..." Doppio started with melancholy. "You don't have to worry so much about your life... I'm bad at everything and I'm all alone... I don't know what to do..."

"Ri-rib, ribbit!"

"Even if a nice princess wanted to marry me, I would turn her down because she would deserve better... Sometimes I wish I could disappear..."

"Ribb-ribbit!"

Doppio's eyes softened on the small frog. That's how sad and pathetic he was. Talking his problems out with a frog.

"Why do I feel like you actually understand me...? Thank you for listening to me and being my only friend."

Without even thinking, he lifted the small frog and brought it towards his face, giving it the tiniest of pecks. He smiled at how weird the feeling was, the animal was cold and slightly humid, a bit sticky too which he did not mind surprisingly.

He sighed and looked up mindlessly before his eyes were suddenly striked by a blinding flash of light.

"Wh-what the hell?!"

The light flashed brighter and brighter, coming from the frog in his hands. What was going on?

Doppio could only drop the creature and shield his eyes with his arms desperately as the frog sparkled like a thousand fireflies and grew in size.

The boy squinted his eyes shut and fell back right onto his butt before he felt a strong weight pressing on him, the mass eventually pinning him down onto the ground.

"U-uughh..." He groaned and rubbed his head, a sharp headache from the harsh light hitting his sensitive eyes still slowly fading.

He looked down only for his eyes to widen like saucers. He couldn't believe what he was currently witnessing and thought that maybe he went blind from the flash and was hallucinating right now.

The weight on top of him revealed to be the figure of a girl laying unconscious. He couldn't see her face buried in his chest, but he could make out her beautiful hair, smooth skin tone and the very frilly green dress she was wearing.

And that wasn't just any dress either, the golden ornaments, the tulle, the silk, the lace, the satin... That was an expensive dress, was she...could she be... A nobleswoman? A baroness? A...

...A princess?

"A-aah..." The girl moaned quietly before pushing herself up, not without struggle and Doppio gasped.

"A-are you okay signori-..." The boy could barely finish his sentence and only mumbled open-mouthed nonsense.

He was beyond mesmerized at the beauty who had just ever-so-slowly lifted her face up to look at him. Her shining wide eyes, her innocent glossy lips, her rose dusted cheeks and her hair framing her perfect face made him believe he just stumbled into some sort of forest Goddess.

"Ah-I... U-uuhm.. Y-you...uh.. W-ah-...eh... I-I'm..." He stammered awkwardly, his brain melting like ice in summer as his face and ears burned a crimson red, his breath catching in his now dry throat.

"Ah! My stars!" The girl gasped as she hovered over the immensely flustered prince. "I am so sorry! I must be crushing you!"

The young girl fretted anxiously before trying to scramble over on her knees and straighten herself up to give the poor man some much needed space, but as soon as she did, she was hit with a wave of dizziness and lost balance again. Doppio was quick to sit up and catch her against his chest, wrapping careful arms around her.

"A-are you okay, miss? What happened to you? What's going on?" The boy asked worriedly, regaining his composure slowly.

"Ah y-yes... It's just... It's been so long since I've been glamoured..."

"You've been... Glamoured?" Doppio couldn't be more confused than this, but the girl explained further as she leaned back slightly.

Her name was Y/N L/N, daughter of the King L/N. Many years ago, she had been the victim of a curse cast by the one and only sorcerer Dio, who was overcome by fury and rage against anyone affiliated with the Joestar Empire, or those who refused to become one of his pets, casting spells after spells, and curses after curses.

"He turned me into a frog and swore to me that nobody would ever come to save me from my demise... But you..." Y/N looked up at Doppio's honey eyes and couldn't help the tears pooling at her eyes.

She was free, at last.

"I was all alone... And you came here... My savior..."

Her soft voice cracked with thick emotions and she stared into Doppio's golden eyes with soft ones, her vision blurred by warm tears. Doppio gasped lightly, moved by her story and she shyly wiped her tears.

"A-ah, forgive me! How shameful of me, to weep in front of a prince like this... I'm just.. So..."

"No, princess, don't apologize." He gently held her wrists to pull them away from her timid face. "You have the right to be overwhelmed... Nobody's here, besides... I cried too, earlier, in front of you. Nothing wrong with showing your emotions."

She sighed dreamily at his gentle words and soft touches, the now more confident boy stirring her heart. "What is your name, my prince?"

"Doppio." He gulped, stiff as a rock at her saccharine gaze and tone. "Doppio Vinegar."

"You're a good person, Doppio..." She breathed out, her words dripping with warm sincerity. Doppio's heart could only skip beats at each and every one of her actions.

The boy may be clumsy and bashful, he surely wasn't dense. He well knew he was deeply falling in love with this frog princess, but something in him told him she may not be completely disinterested in him either, despite his overall appearance and personality.

But maybe, just maybe, it was because she didn't know him enough. She didn't know this extent of his foolishness, how worthless of a man he truly was. This was the perfect opportunity for her to just push him away and run back home, only to never see him again.

But against all he could have ever expected, he was completely shaken out of his low self-esteem filled transe when he felt her leaning her delicate hands and head against his chest, closing her eyes and relishing in his warm hold still on her.

"Prince Doppio... I feel so safe when I'm in your arms... I'll forever be grateful for granting me my deepest wish..." She lifted her head just enough to look at his blushing freckled face, his mouth agape. "How could I ever reward you?"

Was she... Really serious? Nobody has ever told him they felt good around him. Nobody has ever felt safe around the small and skinny man that was Doppio. Could he be strong enough for her?

Well one thing was positive, he didn't want to let her go, and if he had to eat razor blades to protect her, he would do it without batting an eye.

She actually wanted to, or at least seemed to, stay with him. She felt grateful, for him, of all people!

He hoped she wouldn't hear his heart go feral in his chest. She would do... Anything for him? Could he be selfish? Could he ask the inimaginable? Would she say yes? He wouldn't force her but... He would love to think about himself only, just this once in his life.

He had nothing to lose.

He gently grabbed both her hands in his surprisingly big ones, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumbs over her soft skin, as if to want to imprint his love onto her.

"Ma-... Marry me, Princess Y/N!" He confessed with loud yet clear determination. "Please, be mine! I will cherish you like my most prized treasure, you will never be alone and feel unsafe again! I promise my entire life to you, please promise me yours!"

She widened her eyes at his sudden assertiveness and his strong, meaningful words. The pink boy in front of her shook her heart in so many ways, and she had already lost everything to Dio in the past. She had absolutely no reason to deny, now did she?

The girl smiled bright and slowly pulled her hands out of his grasp, only to immediately wrap her arms around her hero's neck, nuzzling her face against him lovingly.

"Yes! I accept... my sweet Doppio."

[patchoulimademoiselle]

Guilty. (Part 7.) NSFW.

Part Seven.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Steve tries to apologize, let word tries. Oral sex, you jerk him off, he eats you out in the front seat of his car. Language, smut, NSFW. The plot thickens.

Notes: I apologize for the inactivity. I was in a bit of a creative rut. I still update on Fridays, but I figured I would try to put two out this week to make up for it. Thank you guys for the support. I hope you enjoy. (If you know where this pic is from, sound off in the comments lol). 

Masterlist:

Part Seven:

The following morning, you're greeted with poor weather, dark skies and cold rain. It makes it hard to get out of bed, harder than it already is, but you power house through it for the sake of....

You don't know.

Nothing feels right anymore, your career seems to be falling apart in front of your eyes, and it hurts to think that you've left yourself vulnerable in an industry run by men. It sickens you, makes you want to call in sick and stay in bed with a carton of ice cream. Because fuck it.

But you're stronger than that, a fire in your veins that has gotten you far in life, and it wouldn't sit right with you to just roll over and let them win.

So you get up and shower, change into a freshly pressed suit, and tie your hair up in a bun that just might give you a headache later. You desperately need caffeine, and perhaps a cigarette to get you through the morning, you can take care of that later. But you're stopped dead in your tracks when you leave the house, car keys dangling in between your fingers as you land eyes on a very familiar Mustang, and a very familiar pair of blue eyes.

Steve is parked outside waiting for you, arms crossed over his chest, eyes determined as he watches you. "Let me take you out for breakfast." He says, and you can tell by the strain in his voice that he's exhausted, he must have stayed out here all night. "Let me apologize to you." He's soaked, you will be too if you keep standing here.

"Steve," You don't even know what to say, a heavy sigh leaving your body. "You can't just buy my forgiveness."

"I'm not trying to." He argues. "I'm just trying to make up for last night."

Dinner was a disaster, the food was good but his company was horrible, ruined by his audacity.

You're about to say no, it's on the tip of your tongue, every fiber of your being can't stand to even look at him. But then, "Please." He's trying, he's standing in the rain begging you for just the chance to make up for it, he slept in his car outside your house, and it's far different from the gruff attitude he usually shows you.

"Fine." Your heels are loud as you rush to get in his car, acting before you can talk yourself out of it again.

He holds the door open for you, body acting as a shield against the rain as you bend to sit in the passenger seat. It's cold, he's going to freeze to death, you search for at least a few napkins in the glove box as he jogs around the front of the car. You find a small towel, probably for cleaning the windows, but you hand it to him anyways when he gets in and sits down.

"Thanks." He wipes his face as he starts the car, that familiar hum of the engine sending a chill up your spine, and he cranks the heat. "Starbucks? Ihop?"

You hate that he knows you so well, knows your favorites and knows that you want coffee more than actual food. It has you sucking your teeth, eyes on the window as he waits for an answer.

"Are you going to have this attitude the entire time?" He asks. "We haven't even left your house yet."

"I don't want to be here." You say. "I don't want to have breakfast with you, and I don't want to hear any of the bullshit that's going to come from your mouth."

He has the nerve to chuckle, reaching over to place the towel back in the glove box. "Someone's cranky." He says. "I can fix that."

Your eyes snap over to him quickly, just in time to catch him rising out of his seat to lean over you, fingers searching for the lever on the side of your seat. He leans you back, hand slipping between your feet to then push the seat back as far as it goes, and you're frozen speechless as he climbs over the console and crouches in the space in front of you.

"What are you doing?"

You ask, but you don't need him to tell you, his eyes glistening with raw desire when his palms press flat against your thighs, gripping and pulling you up to the edge of the seat. "You know what I'm doing." He says, voice a pant as his concentration zeros in on the skirt you're wearing. "Let me apologize."

His hands are cold, you gasp when his fingers slip under the end of your skirt, pushing the fabric up as he goes. "Lift for me." Your hips rise up off the seat by a will that isn't your own, your body hypnotized by the man in front of you.

He pushes your skirt up around your waist, a single digit hooking around the material of your panties to push them aside. A mixture of cool and warm air hits your bare sex, goose bumps rising on the skin of your thighs. He notices, of course he does, eyes flicking up to your face for just a moment, eyes locked on yours as he leans down.

Closer, closer, you jolt at the feeling of his lips against your skin. He presses a soft kiss to your pussy, gentle, slow, and you can feel the apology in his touch. His tongue darts out to lick you, experimentally at first, gauging your reaction, the hairs on his chin scratch against your skin in a delicious way, and then he's devouring you.

His lips wrap around your clit with a torturous grip, sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that has you arching off the seat to get closer, to feel more. But his hands keep you pinned, those eyes burning holes in your head as your mouth drops open to let out a satisfied moan.

He hums, releasing your clit with soft pop, his tongue licks the full length of your pussy, "You taste so fucking good."

"Oh, God." Your palm slaps against the window, and for a brief second, you contemplate the fact that you're outside, anyone can walk out and see you like this. But you decide that you don't care, because the feeling of his mouth on you is the very thing you've been dreaming about for weeks.

He sets a pace, tongue darting back and forth across your clit, and your eyes snap shut as pleasure washes over you. It's good, but you realize quickly that it isn't enough. He's crouched awkwardly, the limited space stunting his capabilities, and as if he had read your mind his arms lock under your knees, hands slipping under your ass to lift you up off the seat, your pussy pressed firmly against his face, and suddenly the feeling of his tongue becomes much more intense.

You take full advantage of the position, reaching forward to gab his hair, "Fuck, Steve. That's it." You encourage, breathless pants coming from you as you struggle to keep your eyes open.

He pulls away for a second, "Ride my face." And you swear you could have come right then and there.

You circle your hips, the cold tip of his nose brushing against you, and the gasp that comes from you sounds painful. Your pleasure is building, and you become selfish, using his face to stimulate you.

He shifts his grip, and you help him as much as you can, hand coming down to grip the console to secure yourself. Two fingers prod at your entrance, testing, teasing, and you nearly lose your balance when you thrust your hips forward. "Please?" You whine, tugging at his hair in a way that makes him groan against you.

His fingers enter you quickly, and he immediately sets a pace in rhythm with his tongue, pushing them inside of you as far as he can, just to pull them back out.

It's too much, the constant stimulation against your clit, his thick fingers stretching you open, your legs start to shake, and you can see the smug look in his eyes as he watches you lose control. You could care less, the fingers in his hair tugging a bit too harsh, you release them, grabbing the car door beside you instead.

"I'm going to come." You warn him, head thrown back, legs shaking uncontrollably.

He doesn't stop, he doesn't slow down or pull away, fingers curling inside of you in an attempt to pull your orgasm from you. It's cruel, the way he takes control of your body and takes you to heights of pleasure you've never been able to reach on your own, and you feel yourself clenching around his fingers at the thought.

You know he's hard, you know he wants to bury himself inside you, you can see it, the tint in his pants as he gives you pleasure. "Do you want to fuck me, Steve?" You ask, thighs tightening around his head. "Do you wish it was your cock inside of me instead of your fingers?"

He groans against your pussy, sending a sharp vibration to your clit, and you moan at the feeling. He then does something you don't expect, his tongue stilling as he sucks his lips around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud ever so slightly, the sharp feeling coming as a surprise to your nerves.

It sends you over the edge, body shaking as you cum around his fingers, he pulls away, placing kisses against your thighs, your voice scratching at your throat when you moan his name.

"There you go," He coos at you, fingers curling inside of you, pulling another wave of pleasure from your body. "Good girl."

He sets you back down gently, your body a tired panting mess. You flinch when he finally pulls his fingers out of you, your hole fluttering at the loss. His fingers come out glistening, and you watch as he draws them into his mouth licking them clean.

"You're sick." You say, chest heaving, but he only smiles at you as he reaches back and pulls open the glove box.

He pulls out the same towel he used to dry his face, then gets up to lean over you, placing it on your stomach. "Undo my pants." He says, hands planted on the head rest on either side of you. For a moment you're confused, wondering what he's expecting you to do. "Come on, baby." His lips are soft as they connect with the side of your face. "I need you to touch me."

And after that orgasm, you're more than willing. You're quick to undo his belt, then his pants, reaching inside his boxers to pull his cock free, and the sight of it makes your mouth water. He's hard, the tip swollen and red, he hisses at the contact blowing a puff of air against the side of your face.

He takes your hand by the wrist, pulling you off of him, bringing your palm to his mouth. He gathers a glob of spit in his mouth, licking it across your hand. "Touch me." He says again, "Or torture me. The choice is yours."

You're breathless at the realization that he's letting you take control, panting and desperate above you, restraining himself to give you the power over him for once. It speaks volumes, it's his way of apologizing for last night, apologizing for using you by letting you use him, and the power immediately goes to your head.

You grab his cock in your spit covered hand, tugging him closer, and the groan he lets out sounds painful as you begin to stroke him, likes he’s been waiting far too long for your touch.

He kisses you, panting for air in between each one, your taste lingering on his tongue. "Tell me you forgive me." He says, hips thrusting against your hand. "I'll do whatever you want."

You quicken your pace, jerking him off at a speed that forces his mouth open in a moan, "Shut up and keep kissing me."

He does, propping himself up on one arm to grab you by the throat, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that forces your eyes closed, his hips moving in rhythm with your hand.

He moans into your mouth, and you tighten your grip, circling your palm around his tip, and he chokes. "Fuck, fuck. Yes, keep doing that." He gasps against your lips, and you notice his hips stutter.

He isn't going to last long, you realize that he too has a bit of stress pent up, he's been on edge all week. He made you come yesterday too, denying himself in trying to please you.

"Did you feel like a big man embarrassing me in front of James like that?" You kiss him to soften your words, knowing that he can barely concentrate on anything other than your hand wrapped around his cock.

"I'm sor-"

"Did it feel good to claim your territory?" You ask. "Does it feel good to know he won't try anything?"

He moans, voice loud and thick, "It feels so fucking good." He jerks above you, the pleasure becoming too much. "I'm going to come."

You slow your movements then, torturous as he shakes above you, "You going to come for me?" His eyes slit into a glare, but a gentle squeeze of his cock fixes it. "Are you going to stop treating me like shit?"

"Fuck," He groans, nodding eagerly. "I promise."

You award him with a kiss, picking up your pace again, and you jerk him to completion. He comes with a shout, pulling out of the kiss to pant against your ear, body shacking as his cum leaks between your fingers and onto the towel he placed down. You continue to stroke him, slowly, milking every drop from his body, and he places open mouthed kisses against the side of your face.

"Oh, fuck." He groans, movements stilling as he pushes himself upright. "Fuck!"

He takes a minute to compose himself, eyes locked on the sight of you beneath him, fingers covered in his cum, face flushed, bare thighs turning red from his grip. He engraves the image in his mind, then moves to clean you up, grabbing the towel and folding it, containing his release inside.

He wipes your fingers clean, then tosses the towel behind your seat, grabbing your face to kiss you one last time before you fix your clothes.

Your attitude is long gone, body and mind content as he settles back into the drivers seat, tucking himself back into his pants. The air around you has grown hot, stale, scented with sex and endorphins, so your crack the window.

"Where to?" He asks, gaze a bit lazy as he looks over at you. He too needs coffee.

"Starbucks."

Neither of you speaks on what just happened. You feel confident in yourself again, yesterday feels like a distant memory, and when he reaches over to place his hand on your thigh, you let him.

He takes you to Starbucks, orders your usual and a breakfast bagel, and you take a booth by the window, watching the rain fall as you eat together.

He looks a mess, hair ruffled, eyes rimmed red, a sleepy grin on his face as he watches you sip your iced coffee. "Are you going to go home?" You ask.

The smile turns evil. "What? Scared someone will smell your pussy on my breath?"

Your eyes go wide, and he laughs when you reach over to try and hit him. "Keep your voice down, Jesus Christ."

"You weren't so shy a few minutes ago." The glint in his eyes annoys you, but then his expression changes, he reaches over to grab your hand, bringing it up to his lips. "I am sorry, Y/n. I shouldn't have embarrassed you like that. I shouldn't have exploited you either."

"No, you shouldn't have." Is all you give him.

You aren't sure if you're ready to forgive him yet, you aren't sure if you're ready to put it behind you completely. But you're willing to put it aside for the sake of your case, pulling your hand free from his.

"What's the plan for today?"

The change in topic doesn't go unnoticed, eyes sharp as he watches you. "I'm going to drop you off first so you can deal with that assistant of yours, then I'm going to go change." He says. "I need to meet with Rumlow today."

"I'm going to reach out to Natasha and Tony." You say, "See if I can convince someone to come in."

His eye twitches, just barely, but enough for you to notice.

There's still a lot unspoken about that, his raging jealousy, perhaps and insecurity that you've managed to exploit without knowing. But for now, it will have to wait. The trial is coming soon, you don't have time to deal with this.

The issues between you will have to wait.

"Today doesn't change anything." You say, "You eating me out in your car doesn't change what you did. Me jerking you off doesn't mean I forgive you." You bite your straw, fingernails tapping against the table top. "We still have a lot to talk about, but for now it has to wait."

He scoffs, nodding his head. "Okay, fine." He says, disbelief written on his face. "I let you take control once and it goes right to your head."

It's your turn to glare, leaning over the table. "You did this, not me. If you're going to be mad at anyone, be mad at yourself."

His hand slots around your jaw quicker than you can dodge it, pulling you that much closer, his lips brushing yours when he leans forward to meet you half way. "Stop acting like you're actually mad at me." He says. "You're sexually frustrated, and that's not something I can fix right now."

The tone in his voice silences you.

"I'll fuck it out of you." He kisses you, finally, your eyes fluttering closed against your own accord. "I promise you I will. So enjoy this attitude while you can. Because when I'm done with you, you'll forget why you were mad in the first place."

That's the Steve you know, blue eyes dark as he stares you down. You hate to admit that his words raise a fire in your core, a longing for him stirring inside of you that can't be tamed by his lips or hands alone.

You smile, matching his kiss with one of your own. "I'll be waiting."

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

Guilty Masterlist.

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[tears-and-lilies]

Chapter 11 – respect

Managed to finish this chapter on my Birthday!

Some context: Glorien was brought to Berta and her colleagues again. Now he’s in the bathroom next to the dorm room.

Tag: @whumpfigure; @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi; @green-eyed-whumpster; @liliability

CW: whump of minor (17 y/o), creepy whumper, physical abuse, restraints, forced to kneel, dehumanizing language

***

Glorien could cry. His hands – shaking – reached out to grab the sides of the standing mirror in the bathroom. Berta and her colleagues had done their best to decorate him. He had liked the golden bracelets they had slid all the way up to his upper arms and similar bracelets around his ankles. It made him feel as if he was wearing at least a little more. The make-up felt weird, the paint and powder sticky on his face. No matter how long he stared at the face in the mirror adorned with red and yellow, he never got used to it. This wasn’t his face. And this certainly wasn’t his hair. His hair was black.

He touched the locks for what must be the twentieth time. His heart sank once again as his fingertips brushed over the familiar texture. No. It couldn’t be. Why was it red?

He tried to remember what the make-up artists had said. He did recall one of them going through his hair, praising the black waves. Everything made Glorien so dazed. He had been overwhelmed by their carefulness and the way they painted his face, he hadn’t really been listening to what they were saying. He didn’t care.

He cared now. Surely they wouldn’t keep his hair this way? He looked ridiculous! Nervously he looked around the bathroom. Maybe he could find something to wash the dye off with? What had they put in his hair anyway? He grabbed a rag and started scrubbing his scalp. The colour wouldn’t give. He stared into the mirror once more, defeated. Tears were welling up in his eyes and he blinked. He knew he was overreacting. This shouldn’t get to him as much as it did.

But it did. Of course it did. In the span of a few months, he had lost a brother and his father, he had lost his friends, his home. They had taken everything from him, deciding whether he was worth keeping alive, where he should sleep, when he should eat. And now they decided what he should look like as well. Suddenly, he could no longer stand the mirror. The image it showed felt too wrong, as if the sleek surface stopped showing reality. An unsettling feeling crept up to him, making a shiver go up his spine. Glorien suppressed the urge to look over his shoulder. He rushed out of the bathroom.

Two steps into the dorm room, he froze. Lady Triban was standing there, in the middle of the room, between the two rows of beds. She clasped her hands together and smiled.

‘Oh, look at you! That yellow paint under your eyes goes so well with the red eyeshadow!’ She stepped closer.

‘But I thought we specifically requested brown hair? They must have made a mistake there.’ She reached to tuck a lock behind his ear. Glorien flinched and instinctively took a step back.

‘Oh well. They can fix that later. Maybe dye the tips a golden yellow, to go with the paint? What do you think, dancer?’

He looked at her, warily. What did she want from him? She had spoken at the execution, and if he could believe Jespen, she had convinced the Emperor to keep him alive. But why? He barely knew anything about her, except the things everyone knew. She was wealthy. She owned a bank and a fort in the east. Some people say she killed her stepbrother, but that was a rumour spread by her enemies.

And she married Loui. But even though his father and Loui had been friends, Glorien had never met Triban. He took a deep breath.

‘What do you want from me? Why do you care?’

‘If you want to be a dancer, you have to look the part, don’t you think? I only want to help you.’ She lifted her chin, looking down at him with fierce eyes.

‘I don’t want to be a dancer’, Glorien hissed.

‘You’d rather be dead, then?’

He pressed his lips together. She knew what he meant. He didn’t want to play this game.

Triban tutted. ‘You really don’t deserve my help. But I can’t let you die from your own pride.’ She shook her head. ‘We should crush it. Let me give you a few rules to work with.’

As she took a step forward, he took another step back.

‘Firstly, you should be grateful. We spared your life, when you deserved to die. Therefore, your life is worth nothing.’

Glorien took another step back, hitting his back against the closed bathroom door. He was tired of hearing that. He knew she was wrong.

‘I am the son of a noble-’

‘Secondly,’ Triban interrupted, ‘you are what we tell you to be. You owe us your life, and you should spend every second of it paying us back. We were even so kind to give you a place to sleep and eat, when we had no reason to. You can show us how grateful you are by obeying us.’

Glorien snorted. You took everything away from me.

‘And lastly, whenever you are in the same room as a member of the Imperial family, you’re supposed to kneel. That should be basic knowledge.’ She crossed her arms and waited.

He wasn’t going to give in. If he couldn’t run, he could at least fight. He looked up and said: ‘Like I said, I am the son of a noble. You took everything away from me. I won’t kneel for you.’

Triban chuckled. ‘You seemed so frail yesterday. Only a day and suddenly you think you’re of any significance. We’ve been too kind to you.’

She turned towards the double doors and called for the guard to bring ropes.

***

The guard forced Glorien to his knees, in front of his bed. Before he could struggle, his hands were grabbed and bound together in front of him. The guard wound rope around his ankles too, tying them tightly together and fastening the rope around one of the legs of the bed.

Triban walked around the bed and stopped in front of Glorien. She cleared her throat. He refused to look up at her, keeping his eyes locked on her blue dress instead.

The guard kicked his side and he gasped for air.

‘If looking up is so difficult for you, why don’t you try to get up?’, Triban asked sweetly. ‘Go ahead. Get up.’

Glorien sighed and lifted his head. Another kick landed in his side and he caught his balance before falling.

‘I said. Get. Up.’ Triban’s tone had shifted.

He tried to get onto his feet, but the rope was bound to shortly to the leg of the bed. No matter how he twisted his legs, his ankles were kept in place.

The next kick caught him off guard and he fell on his side. He groaned as he shuffled to sit up again.

‘Poor dancer. It’s sad how you struggle to obey even the simplest order’, Triban said. There was noticeable enjoyment in her firm voice.

‘You even lack the respect to thank me.’

Glorien flinched and looked up when he felt a hand going through his hair. Triban took back her hand and smiled.

‘Well? I’m trying to help you to be obedient. What do you say?’

The silence that followed was interrupted by another kick. Now she grabbed his hair firmly and held his head up. Tears welled up in his eyes from the sudden stinging pain.

‘What do you say, dancer?’

He swallowed. ‘Thank… thank you.’

Triban pulled harder. ‘Where are your manners? I thought you said you were a noble boy?’

Glorien pushed his eyes closed from the pain. He whispered: ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ He let out his breath as his head was dropped.

‘So stubborn. I hope you’ve learned some respect by the time practice starts.’ She walked away, the guard following her. Suddenly, she halted.

‘I think it starts in less than an hour, right?’, she asked the guard. He nodded.

‘If he’s still learning how to kneel when dance practice has ended, I think a very bad punishment will follow.’ She opened the door and said loudly to the guard: ‘Oh well, we’re not going to stop him from learning, are we? He can go to his practice whenever he feels ready.’

A loud slam sounded when she shut the door. Glorien’s heart beat faster. He turned at started picking at the knots that tied his ankles together. He didn’t want to know what they would do to him if he didn’t show up to their damned dance practice.

***

His hands were shaking. His sides hurt from being turned so he could untie the rope at his feet. It seemed impossible to do. The rope around his wrists wasn’t helping his case either.

A lot of time must have passed. Had the practice already started? He had been sitting here for quite a long time. He almost jumped as he heard the doors open. The other dancers walked in. They were looking at him, not sure what to do.

Glorien decided to ignore them and turned his attention back to the rope. Tears fell down his cheeks as he kept struggling.

‘Hey.’

He looked up. A girl – Aurora, he remembered – was standing in front of him. She was frowning. Glorien blushed and made himself small.

‘I’m.. I-’, he squeaked.

Aurora crouched down. Her hands moved gracefully, untying the knots around his ankles with ease. When she was done, she moved on to the rope around his wrists.

Glorien wanted to thank her, but she looked coldly at him, as if he was a burden. Or at least, that’s what he could make of it. It was impossible for him to read her expression. Instead, he rose to his feet and ran out of the dorm room while drying his eyes with the back of his hand. In his haste, he almost bumped into the guard. The man snorted.

‘So you’re finally done?’

[thewhumperinwhite]

Lost Dog, No Reward (1)

I made a thing! Dw, i’m still working on everything else too, but i needed to work on something new for a while because i have problems disorder

this owes a lot to @ashintheairlikesnow who is among my fave whump writers. i know she didn’t originate the universe, and i’m not double checking a lot to make sure this is actually bbu compliant, but her stuff definitely inspired me to mess with the bbu at all :3

TW for: violence/gore; amnesiac whumpee; choking; references to institutionalized slavery and accompanying dehumanization; gun violence; cops.

---

Ari’s never had a job go this badly before. Not in the years he still remembers, anyway.

Ari’s vision is always lopsided, and he’s always poor at judging distance, and now the blood squeezing between his fingers and ruining his leather gloves is making him dizzy, too, and all three of those things combine to make him trip over the concrete base of a street lamp and jam his torn-open shoulder against the lamp itself, and the pain takes his knees out from under him and crumples him down to the sidewalk, half-sprawled over forwards and losing time he doesn’t have.

He doesn’t know this street. It’s night and he doesn’t know the street which means it’s nothing but a string of locked doors between him and home; on his own street he knows who forgets to lock their doors, who will let him bleed on their couch for a night in exchange for money or a favor, which alleys lead somewhere and which don’t, but here he doesn’t know anything except that the police men shouted after him at first and now they’re not shouting, they’re only running.

While he sucks air in and tries to get his legs back under him, Ari runs through the options he still has in his head. It isn’t hard, because there aren’t very many.

He can turn and fight. That’s what he wants to do; he’s known how to fight longer than he’s known how to talk and he knows it would feel good. But the police men have guns so he also knows it wouldn’t feel good for very long.

He can stop. He can sit here gasping on the sidewalk, holding a lamp post in one hand and his guts in the other, until the police men come and find him. It’s possible they won’t shoot him again, if he’s already laying on the ground, though of course there’s no way to know; but they would certainly drag him away somewhere, somewhere he thinks vaguely would have white walls and no windows, and he doesn’t want to go there with them.

So really there’s only one thing he can do. That’s good. That makes it easy.

His shoulder isn’t too bad, really, or at least he doesn’t think so. It’s turned his coat hot and sticky with blood—the fur collar is all matted with it, which makes him sad, he’s only ever had the one—and it hurts, more now that he’s hit it against the post, but really they barely clipped him; he doesn’t even think it would make him dizzy on it’s own. It’s the hole in his stomach that’s the problem; that’s deeper and wetter and shifts when he pushes his hand against it, in a way that makes him sick. But Rotty said put pressure on the wound—Rotty wailed when he saw the knife go in, and made time for Ari to get away, and told him to put pressure on the wound—so Ari digs his hand against the wound, and he breathes out, and he pushes himself to his feet.

Up ahead there’s a store with its lights on. And Ari can’t stop, and he can’t turn and fight, but he can still run, so that’s what he does.

----

Pryce has always kind of liked closing up alone, because it means he gets to unplug his headphones and fill the shop with very loud vaporwave, which is genuinely pretty chill music to mop floors to but also, more importantly, an inherently funny thing to play very loudly in an empty grocery store.

He’s in the process of emptying the small trashcan next to his seat behind the checkout counter—which is almost entirely filled with the half-pack of cigarettes he smoked during his shift—into the enormous trash bag from outside the bathroom, when the front door opens. He hears it with a full body wince because it is after midnight which means he’s almost certainly blasting some poor unsuspecting drunk with objectively-not-even-very-good vaporwave, and Mr. Nguyen, the very nice old man who owns the store and puts up with Pryce’s bullshit and is thus the only authority figure Pryce respects, will be disappointed if he loses a customer because of Pryce’s unpleasant taste in music; so Pryce is already halfway through an apology before he actually looks up and sees the very large man standing in a puddle of blood in the doorway.

Pryce drops the trash can.

The man is visually bizarre enough that Pryce almost can’t register the full picture, just disparate, equally-baffling parts—the man’s hair is an enormous red-brown mane, it reaches his elbows in a tangled mass weighed down with blood; he’s wearing a knee-length brown-leather coat with a big (bloody) fur collar; his face is a mess of puckered scars pulling up on his mouth and down through one of his eyelids and in the brief moment he stands there staring at Pryce with his (bloody) mouth hanging open the fluorescents turn his eyes—which must be brown, logically they must be—bright orange.

Then the man barrels towards Pryce and all of Pryce’s muscles lock in place as he prepares to be shot or stabbed or at the very least body-tackled—

The man flings himself over the counter and folds his big (bloody) body into an improbably small space half-under the till, next to Pryce’s feet, approximately ten seconds before the front door opens again, hard, the glass banging against the display next to it hard enough to make Pryce wince.

There are two cops, both panting hard. Their guns aren’t pointing at Pryce but they are very much drawn, and they’re both looking at Pryce, who is still frozen completely solid with his eyes bulging out of his head.

“Where’d he go?” one of the officers barks at Pryce.

Pryce blinks.

Then he points over his shoulder, toward the back door. He half-turns, too, which is more movement than he needs to point but does give him time to nudge the big trash bag a little bit out and to the left.

“The back door’s unlocked,” he says, “I was taking out the trash, he must’ve—”

And they rocket past him, toward the back door and the alley, not sparing him or the big trash bag blocking their line of sight, apparently too excited to shoot somebody to notice that it wasn’t even a very good lie.

----

Ari listens to the police men’s shoe-sounds fade into the distance, waiting for them to come back and haul him out of his poor hiding spot and shoot him or drag him away.

They don’t.

The stranger’s worn red sneakers turn away from Ari, take two steps away from the counter; as more of the boy wearing them comes into view Ari watches him plant his hands on his skinny hips and stare after the police men. The boy lets out a breath, whistling on it a little.

Then the boy starts to turn back to Ari; he has time to say “Well—” before Ari leaps to his feet and gets a hand around the boy’s throat and slams him back against the tiled wall behind the counter.

The boy gasps, a thin hand taking Ari’s wrist in a very weak grip. His eyes are very wide.

“Why,” Ari says, his voice as harsh and scratchy as it always is, and thicker because it’s full of blood, “did you lie for me?”

The boy’s mouth opens and closes without words. He is smaller than Ari, and his sneakers are no longer touching the ground, because Ari is holding him up by his throat. His hair is longish—not as long as Ari’s—and colored bright blue-green. Ari doesn’t know how old—he isn’t good at knowing ages—but he’s grown, and Ari hasn’t ever seen him before, he doesn’t have many memories but those he does have he knows very well, he would remember this boy, whose eyes are a color he hasn’t seen before, almost silver, bright in his light-brown face.

The boy makes a sort of gurgling sounds and Ari realizes he is not answering because Ari is squeezing his throat closed. Ari makes himself loosen his grip and the boy drags in a breath.

“Just—trying—to help,” the boy wheezes.

Ari jerks back, dropping the boy back onto his feet; the boy slides down the wall a little, gasping and covering his throat with his hand.

“Why?” Ari says.

The boy blinks at Ari, wide-eyed. Then he looks away, not like he’s embarrassed but like he’s thinking. Then he meets Ari’s eyes, and he shrugs his shoulders with a wobbly, nervous smile.

“I don’t have very good impulse control,” the boy says.

Ari—doesn’t know what that means. And now he doesn’t know what to do, either. Which means he just stands there, staring at the boy for what he knows is too long because the boy drops his gaze with the same nervous mouth-twitch Rotty got at first, when Ari didn’t know how soon to look away. The boy’s eyes drop to Ari’s stomach, and he raises his dark eyebrows.

“You know you’re bleeding all over the floor?”

Ari looks down. If he thinks about it now, he stood from his crouch below the counter without thinking about the wound, and he hasn’t been putting pressure on it for a few minutes now. His ears are beginning to ring. There is a slow-spreading pool of blood on the tile under him. Ari looks back up at the boy, who is looking at him expectantly, and who did help, Ari thinks, though he isn’t sure why.

“I can—mop it up later,” Ari says. He tries to stand up straight and has to lean back against the counter to keep his balance. His vision is getting blotchy, now, a little. The job went bad before they paid him fully, and he’s already spent the advance on food, or else he would offer to pay to have the floor cleaned. Maybe he hasn’t stained the tile too badly yet. He takes a step sideways, trying to get out of the puddle, and immediately starts making another one. Blood has soaked from his shirt into his jeans—he has two pairs of those, so that will be alright—and is dripping out the bottom now, which means there must be a lot of it.

“Um,” the boy says. “That’s actually not—uh. Can I, like… help you with that? There’s a first aid kit in the office.” He moves, though he’s in range of Ari’s left eye, which doesn’t work well; Ari jerks his head up to see what the boy is doing, to make sure he isn’t moving closer when Ari can’t see him, and then the floor suddenly swings up into the side of Ari’s head.

----

The man crumples sideways and hits the floor hard, and Pryce stands there over him with a hand pressed over his mouth, like a useless idiot who’s never seen blood before.

Which. While it is true he has never seen this much blood in one place before. Thinking about that is not going to help this stranger not die on Mr. Nguyen’s floor.

The first aid kit, which he’s never seen used and which definitely doesn’t have, like, a blood transfusion in it, also might not help with that, but it is what Pryce has on hand at the moment. And as long as he’s already actively lied to the cops tonight. He may as well go all the way and also not call an ambulance, he guesses. He turns and scurries to Mr. Nguyen’s office to grab the kit.

Pryce’s throat is tacky with somebody else’s blood, because the hand the man used to halfway choke Pryce out was covered in blood. That’s not a very helpful thought either but it’s hard to make this one go away.

Whoever this guy is, he’s—quite strong. Pryce’s throat feels—well, like it’s going to bruise, for one thing. And the long moment of kicking his feet against the wall without being able to touch the ground was—well. A headrush, certainly. Presumably in an hour when he’s no longer entirely made out of adrenaline he will realize that it was a bad headrush and will have a panic attack or something.

At the moment it feels—he isn’t sure. Good. Exciting. And panicking would not be productive right now so he’s gonna ride this high as long as he can in the hopes that it will make him in any way useful to anyone.

The first aid kit is smaller than he remembers it being.

Pryce almost slips in the spreading puddle of blood when he gets back to the counter. The bleeding man is trying to sit up, which does not seem like a great idea.

“Uh—don’t try to move around,” Pryce says, trying to sound like he has any fucking idea what he’s talking about. “Is it—okay, yeah, let me—” The man’s big scarred hand is pressed against his stomach, just below and to the right of his navel. Pryce takes his wrist, trying to be both gentle and authoritative. “Let me see what we’re—”

As he’s pushing the man’s hand aside, something catches Pryce’s eye—something on the man’s wrist, underneath the blood, and he stops.

There’s a barcode on the man’s wrist.

Pryce stares at it.

Pryce’s brain is never not moving, faster than other peoples’ seem to; he has the impression it makes him an exhausting conversationalist but it does, in this case, allow him to scroll through many thoughts without losing too much time. They are:

Barcode. Barcode on wrist. Barcode on wrist equals… pet??? This huge dude is a pet??? Why would cops be after a pet? A runaway? No, not with their guns out, they wouldn’t shoot a pet somebody wanted back, that’d be like throwing away—Jesus pets are so expensive, why would anybody bring one here, why would anybody let one get so fucked, why would anybody let something so expensive get so hurt—

And then the man shifts uncomfortably and looks up at Pryce—his eyes are brown, though warm and light enough he isn’t surprised he thought they were orange, and one of them droops halfway closed, the eyelid clearly too damaged to lift properly—with clear uncertainty. Like he knows he needs help but doesn’t know if he can trust Pryce to give it.

It’s a human expression. That a human would make.

That’s a human person, Pryce thinks, and he shakes his head clear of everything else and pushes the bloody fabric of the man’s shirt aside so he can see the damage.

[d3-iseefire]

Nevermore Chapter Three

As a child, Bilba’s favorite game had been a fantasy RPG where she’d spent her time exploring a massive world filled with all manner of amazing creatures and beautiful landscapes. 

It had also been filled with wolves. Not normal ones, but massive creatures known as Dire wolves. She’d used to complain endlessly about them, especially in the early parts of the game when her character was low level with poor weapons and armor. 

Her ire with them had not been improved when her father, who adored random trivia, informed her that the creatures were based on an actual, extinct wolf species that had once roamed the earth. Closer in size to a lion than any wolf currently in existence, the animals would have been apex predators on their own, let alone in a pack. 

The wolf looking at her right now reminded her of those old drawings and descriptions, except she was pretty sure he was bigger. 

He was lounging in front of a tree with his back legs vanishing under a large bush. His fur, thicker and shaggier than a normal wolf’s, was a golden brown, darkest along his back and lightning to near white along his legs and sides. His eyes were a brilliant amber that almost seemed to glow with their own light, and studied her with what felt like an unusual level of intelligence.

Bilba really hoped it was the sort of intelligence that suggested not eating the girl who’d broken up his majestic lounging by using him to break her fall. The tree behind him would have hurt had she hit it, but probably not as much as being eaten by an Eldritch god would. 

The animal was strangely calm, which Bilba took as a good sign. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed frozen in place, but it was long enough that her heart rate slowed and her breathing evened out. Whether this was because her nerves had genuinely settled or she’d moved past sheer terror and into catatonia. 

She started to give what she hoped was a reassuring smile only to cut it off as she realized that baring her teeth at a wolf might not be seen in the positive light she intended. 

Actually, now that she thought about it, how long had she been making direct eye contact with him? Wasn’t direct eye contact with a predator a VERY BAD THING?

She dropped her eyes, only to find them naturally locked onto his paws. His very enormous paws, with curved claws wider than her fingers and probably twice as long. Bilba swallowed, or tried to past the enormous rock suddenly lodged in her throat. 

There was literally nothing she could do. Move or don’t move, slow or fast, in the end it would all depend on whether or not the wolf chose to let her live. 

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She risked a quick glance and saw the wolf’s ears perk up. “Sorry for rolling into you. I’m going to try to scoot away now, okay? Please don’t eat me.”

Her voice dropped to nearly inaudible on the last few words. Be a nice wolf, she thought desperately. A nice wolf like -- oh, crap, she couldn’t think of any nice wolves in media. What did that mean? Even bears had the Care Bears or Yogi or a whole host of others. She could think of friendly snakes, lions and even a shark or two, but not a single friendly wolf. 

That was such a bad, bad sign. 

The wolf caught her eyes and then, in what seemed an oddly deliberate motion, turned his head to where his feet vanished under the bush. He shifted and Bilba heard the distinct rattle of some metal object along with the clink of a chain. 

The wolf’s eyes turned back to focus on her, steadily. 

Trying to avoid any sudden movements, Bilba walked her hands back until she could ease herself into a crouched position. The wolf didn’t seem to mind, so she slowly braced her hands behind her and eased her body into a seated position. Her body protested the action, but nothing felt broken or seriously injured, simply bruised and sore. 

Her new position put her near the wolf’s hind legs. The wolf caught her attention and then deliberately repeated its earlier action, a slow, deliberate look toward its hind legs followed by a shift in movement and the rattle of metal and chains. 

Bilba nodded shakily and scooted back a few feet closer to the bush. An uncontrollable tremor started to run over her, and her stomach was in knots but, overall, she still felt strangely calm. Perhaps she’d finally snapped, and gone insane. 

She leaned over and brushed back some of the branches of the bush. Silver glinted off the jagged teeth of a small trap locked tightly around one of the wolf’s paws. A thick chain led off the trap to a metal stake set deep into a rock jutting out from the roots of the tree. 

Even in the shadows under the bush, she could see how deep the teeth had dug into his foot. Blood matted the fur, and coated the ground underneath. From the pattern, it appeared he’d spent some time fighting to pull himself free by brute force. 

“Ouch,” she murmured, before mentally kicking herself at the inane comment. Now that she knew what to look for, she could see the wolf’s breathing was fast, sides heaving in a near pant as though he’d run a marathon, or was in extreme pain.  

Bilba shivered as her mind conjured just what it must feel like to have those metal teeth ripping through her foot. If she wanted, she could probably leave. The chain was short. If she gathered herself and lunged away from him, it was likely she’d take herself out of his range. She could get up and...only have the one threat to deal with instead of two. 

She could do that, and leave him here to suffer...or she could help and risk him killing her as soon as he was free. 

As if reading her mind, the wolf let out a low whine and laid his head on his front paws, eyes fixed on her. 

Bilba sighed. “Fine, you can put the puppy eyes away.” She leaned in to look closer at the trap. “I really hope I don’t regret this,” she mumbled to herself. She had enough regrets to last her a lifetime. 

At least if helping did end up being a mistake, it’d be a very short lived one. 

The thought was not reassuring. 

She spotted the release lever. She’d have to push it down, forcing the teeth farther into the wolf’s paw, in order to release it. “This is going to hurt.”

He gave another whine and then, to her surprise, thumped his tail on the ground. Bilba frowned, could he be someone’s lost pet? It would certainly explain his behavior. 

She refocused on the trap, and a strange exhilaration ran through her, slicing through the apathy and fog that had shrouded her the last five years. The thought of helping another living being, of mattering to another living being, if even for just a moment…

It made her feel alive again. A being that existed in the world, instead of a shadow merely watching it pass her by. 

It was growing darker, and the gloom gathered under the bush was growing nearly too thick to see through. Bilba got her phone out and thumbed on the flashlight app, bringing the trap back into sharp relief. 

“Here goes nothing.” At the very least, if the wolf killed her, she’d die with the satisfaction of knowing just how truly pissed Lotho would be that she’d finally escaped him. 

Thinking of Lotho dashed some of her exhilaration and the gray pall began to settle over her once again. Bilba grimaced and, desperate to get her mind off it, braced her phone against a few branches of the bush and grabbed the trap. She took a deep breath, got her balance settled and then squeezed on the trap. 

She didn’t immediately die, so that was a good sign. Hopefully. 

The wolf made a low, groaning noise and she clenched her teeth in sympathy. “Sorry.”

The teeth of the trap sank lower into the wolf’s paw, blood bubbling up from the jagged wound. In order to release, the lever needed to ratchet further than she had it so, with a mumbled apology, she rose onto her knees and leaned forward to get her full weight behind it. 

The wolf groaned again and Bilba shivered at the thought of how much pain she must be causing the animal. 

The lever slipped into its final position and, with a sharp click, the trapped popped open. Bilba pried it off the wolf’s paw, and he drew his legs in to lick at the wounded appendage. He showed no interest in harming her, and Bilba sighed and slumped in relief.  

“Hey Girlie! Where’d you get off to?”

Bilba’s heart leapt into her throat and she sucked in a sharp breath. She scrambled for her phone and shut off the flashlight. Darkness fell about her and her eyes widened. She hadn’t been paying attention to how long she’d been there, or how fast the sun was setting. There was still a little light left overhead, past the tree canopy but, underneath, it was fast approaching full dark.

“Come on, now,” the man from the parking lot called. He sounded closer. He must have gotten tired of waiting and come after her. “You can’t stay in there forever. Come on out.”

Beside her, the wolf gathered itself and lumbered up onto its feel. If Bilba had thought it was enormous lying down, it was nothing compared to him when he was standing. He was like a freaking mountain, rising over her. It elicited an instinctive, primal desire to close her eyes, and curl into a fetal position. 

“You’re starting to piss me off, girl! Get out here, now!” The voice was even closer, and it wasn’t dark enough to fully hide her if he should happen to look down the incline. She pulled her legs to her chest and gripped her phone in her hands. 

She really wanted to go home, even if home was hundreds of miles away and five years in the past. 

The wolf limped past her. Bilba watched as he scrambled up the slope and vanished, leaving her alone. The temperature seemed to drop, and the darkness grew heavier. Overhead, she could hear crashing in the undergrowth and she held her breath, desperately praying the man wouldn’t look down and see her. 

“Damn it, Bitch,” she heard him say, “where the hell--”

His voice cut off in a sudden yelp and Bilba flinched in surprise. 

A low, rumbling sound reached her and she struggled to identify it. Something in her subconsciousness seemed to understand what it was and, again, that primal urge ran through her. The same desire that, as a child, would have her diving under the covers to hide from the thunderstorm raging outside. 

Not that hiding under her covers did any good. 

Hiding at all had never done her any good. 

The sound came again and her mind finally registered what it was. 

Growling. Deeper and fuller than anything she’d ever heard, a deep, vibrating thrum on a frequency so low it was almost more felt than heard. 

The wolf. 

The man gave an almost inhuman scream, and then she heard thrashing heading back toward the parking lot. The wolf snarled, a sound that froze her blood despite knowing it wasn’t directed at her, and new thrashing started as it apparently gave chase. 

The distant noise of a car engine started, followed quickly by squealing tires as a truck fled the parking lot. 

Bilba shuddered. She was cold, in pain, and nothing stood before her now but a return to her life, or what passed for it. For a brief second she’d felt normal again, like she’d belonged somewhere, but the feeling was gone now and there was no getting it back. 

She started to get up, but paused as the burning in her ankle registered. She remembered feeling it earlier, but hadn’t been in a position to do anything about it. She tabbed her flashlight app back on and pulled her sock down to check her ankle. 

The light from her phone fell on her ankle, and lit on a small, glowing mark just above the bone. Specifically, the linked, geometric shapes that had appeared when she’d turned eighteen. The ones that had been dark until this very moment when they’d begun to glow a bright, golden color. 

Her ankle wasn’t burning. 

Her soulmark was. 

Her activated soulmark. 

And the only person she’d met since the burning had started was the creep from the parking lot.

Continue Reading on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298015/chapters/66695635

[innittowinit]

Can we agree that duels are dumb and immature? (CH. 2)

chapt. 1 

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Language: English

Word count (including previous chapter): 3701

Summary:

Tubbo is still with Manburg and never became a spy He never wanted to be the villain, so why is he dueling his best friend?

“Is - there - anything - you’re - good - for!” The dictator punctuated his words by sharp kicks to the gut, his black steel-toed dress shoes making the perfect tool for the job; he always bought the pointed style, ‘they looked smarter’ he’d say, but right now it’s job was just to focus all the man's strength into his kicks.

“Y’know if you weren’t so smart I would have kicked you out along with those runts a long time ago. The only reason you aren’t out there, starving and foraging is because i wanted to help you!” Another kick was directed at him, this time it was his ribs. Poor Tubbo could already feel the bruise forming along his bone. “I help you! And this is the thanks I get! I give you a job! Provide you with food!..and you help the enemy. I’m disappointed in you Tubbo”

Schlatt crouched down, one knee on the floor as he watched the boy cower, too weak from both the duel and his beating to even raise a finger in protest. He knew he couldn't run, he was trapped. “Don’t you dare go against orders again. You hear that kid? This is my nation now, not your little playground”

A breath hitched in Tubbo’s throat at that; he was right. He had no power anymore. No matter how long he stayed, no matter how much he sucked up to JSchlatt, he would never rise in power, in the dictator’s eye’s he would always be a pawn, a disposable soldier in his game of chess. How could he have been so blind? Of course he should have left with Tommy, this was horrible, living here was horrible. He’d rather scamper around for food than live under the iron fist of their current ruler. He should have known he’d never be able to take him down from the inside.

The horned man grabbed forcefully at the back of Tubbo's hair, claw-like nails digging in to have a firm enough grasp, before slamming his head down against the cold, stone floor, built by none other than Fundy. A thin trickle of blood seeped down his forehead, only noticed once Tubbo had put his hand up to hold his pounding head and found it covered in blood, but there was no cracking noise. He wasn’t sure if he was lucky or unlucky for that, he’d love to pass out right now and just miss the pain of his torture but knowing Schlatt he’d find a way to make it worse for him once he had woken up.

It hurt. A lot.

Over all the wars he had taken part in, Tubbo had built up a pretty high pain tolerance, he’d been shot by dream countless times, stabbed by George, even his own teammates had unknowingly hurt him before. Nothing had ever felt like this though, he wasn’t sure what was hurting because he had been kicked and hit and what was hurting from the absolute anguish he was feeling mentally. Eyes wide and terrified, he watched Schlatt stand up, he seemed so confident in himself, despite the fact that Tubbo had absolutely no idea what he was planning, which is what scared him even more. He watched as he walked gracefully towards the door, locking the door behind him and leaving the boy in darkness.

To say he was stunned would be an understatement. He was so scared, so confused, was it safe to try an escape? He had to try. He didn’t know if he’d be welcomed into Pogtopia, he didn't even know where it was, but that seemed like the only option at the minute. He needed his friends. With aching, unsteady hands he pushed himself to sit up, getting lightheaded already as the cut in his scalp started to throb more significantly. Grabbing onto a desk, he dragged himself to his feet and was suddenly very unsure on whether he could even make it to the door, let alone find his friends. Apparently Eret and Bad had been to their base before, despite all their disagreements in the past, he trusted Eret a lot more than he trusted Bad. Bad had been on Dream’s side in the war the entire time, at least Eret had been with them a little, and now he was trying to prove he was trustworthy again! Tubbo needed to find him, he needed to find him and get directions to Pogtopia.

That was much easier said than done, unfortunately. Upon standing his head felt fair more dizzy, his vision was static and his knees felt like the bones had been pulled right out from them, Not to mention the way his stomach churned from all the kicks he had endured. He felt as though he might vomit.

Before daring to take a step, he took a deep breath, feeling his bruised rib shift inside of him from the sudden expansion in his lungs. ‘Well fuck’ he thought to himself ‘fuck fuck fuck’ What he absolutely didn't need right now was to have a broken rib, he had absolutely no potions on him and unless he wanted to damage his lungs too, he knew he’d have to stray away from taking big gulps of air, which meant he couldn’t exactly run.

Not like he could have anyways.

An arm gingerly cradles his side, wanting to provide support for his damaged bone without pressing too hard and causing more damage than before. One foot in front of the other, that’s what he tells himself, as he desperately tries to walk across the room. The pain is unbearable and with each step his vision grows more and more fuzzy. He needs to sit down, he needs a break but he knows he won't be able to get back up again if he lets himself have it. Stopping for a second, he grasps at the wall for balance, taking in deep breaths as he tries to level his head again, only to regret it when a hot pain explodes in his chest, causing him to grasp at it in agony as tears slipped out of his eyes.

So much pain. He’d be safe once he got to Eret, Eret would help him.

The boy's thoughts were cut off however by Schlatt returning, this time clad in netherite armour with an enchanted diamond sword in his right hand. After him followed George and Quackity, both holding iron axes.

Spirit crushed, Tubbo sank down to his knees, any hope of escape fleeting at the sight of the men in front of him. Schlatt crouched down in front of him for the second time that day, making a loud stomp on the cold stone flooring to get Tubbo’s attention, and when that didn’t work, he grabbed his jaw and forcefully pulled his head up to make eye contact with him.

Tubbo didn’t want Schlatt to see just how broken he had made him. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of it.

Schlatt lifted the sword, but not as though it would strike down, no, rather he lined it up with Tubbo’s neck, positioning it perfectly and intricately. There was no denying that if he dared move a muscle there would be a large gash where the sword once was.

“Now kid,” A bitter laugh echoed around the dark room, was it day or night? He couldn't tell. The duel had been in the morning but he had no idea how long he’d been left in this damp room. “You know that here in Manburg we don’t exactly like traitors, in fact if you weren't so precious in your skills we’d have kicked you out months ago. You know that. But here’s the thing, Tubbo. We can’t have you running around, being best friends with the enemy. Really this punishment is for your own good, You’re just a kid, we know that. So we’re here to ‘teach’ you how to be a better worker”

The sword pulled away, just far enough for him to be able to nod without cutting himself, before pressing back up against his neck, keeping him from even daring to move. He didn’t want to find out what enchantments were on it, he was already dangerously low on health.

“Good boy.” The ram sneered, glancing back at George and Quackity for a second, mumbling instructions to them. Fight or flight responses kicking in, Tubbo started to kick his legs, the only part of himself that hadn't been damaged yet. He was scared of the sword but he knew he needed to pick up a fight. He kicked Schlatt square in the chest, the man tumbling back because of his height. Taking his only chance so far, he scampered towards the door, only to be yanked back by the arm by George. Yelping out in immense pain his spare hand went back to cradle his ribs, agony coursing through his body at the violent disruption to the already hurt body part.

Whoever was last in, Tubbo hadn’t been paying attention to that while he hurt so badly, had forgotten to lock the door apparently, not like Tubbo had noticed that either. His mind was so clouded he had absolutely been ready to just pound at the door. However, the constant yelling must have attracted someone because there, standing in the doorway, was Eret.

Maybe it was because he had been anticipating getting to him for so long but as he watched the man in the doorway, the sun seemed to glimmer off his crown in a way that made him look like an angel.

“Oh my god” He rushed inside, crouching down next to tubbo, picking him up onto his back.

“Our friend Tubbo here had a run in with some mobs, Isn’t that right, Kid?” The patronising tone making it evident that Schlatt would never see him as an equal.

He gave a weak nod, knowing the only way to get out now would be to play along. He wasn’t stupid, he knew how Schlatt worked.

“Kid trapped himself in here without any torches! Can you believe that?” He slapped Eret on the shoulder, far too hard for it to be friendly “We had just finished fighting them off when you arrived”

Eret gave a slow nod, feeling Tubbo curl up against his back, keeping a tight hold on him as he had noticed he was only holding on with one arm.

“Best thing to do might be to put him to bed, we can trust you with that job right Eret?” Another nod “I think he’s learnt his lesson now anyway, by the looks of those injuries he won't be making any mistakes like that ever again” And with that, Tubbos blood ran cold. He knew all too well that that wasn’t about his little made up story anymore. He knew it wasn’t a ploy to keep Eret under their control either.

It was directed at him. It was directed at him and it was a threat about what would happen if he ever dared to disobey orders again.

[biznichwrites]

Hurt Giyuu Week | Day 3 | Demon AU

Initially I was combining days 3 and 4 because I was behind, but I would rather not lose my theme for day 4, so HGW is just going to be late rather than lose quality and mash days together. 

In this the reader is Giyuu’s tsugoku!

Please excuse a bit of wobbly timing within this, the details of the order of demon moons deaths was shifted because I'm dumb and can't remember the exact order. 

Giyuu had never truly been prepared to fight the upper moons. No pillar had been, after all a century had passed without a winning fight against one until recently. Killing three upper moons within a year should have felt like progress, all things considered, but it seemed there were no shortage of demons to take their place. 

He had kept a list in mind, knowing fully well there were six upper moons. The lower three had been defeated previously and surely their replacements would come quickly, but perhaps too quickly for his taste. Crows overhead screeched updates to the other battles, and his panic seemed to rise when only five demon moons were accounted for. That wasn't right- but the time to think about that was gone as Upper Moon Three appeared before he and his two companions. 

His tsugoku and Tanjirou stood with him, standing against Akaza, but the fight seemed to be an odd shift. While the demon put his full force into destroying the two males, his tsugoku was free from such harsh treatment. Not that she was spared entirely, nor did that grant her the ability to even behead him. A part of him begged she would manage to make it out of this fight alive, he didn't want the person he loved most to perish, but he knew he needed to win for such a thing to become reality. 

She was smarter than she lead on, though. She may not be able to kill the demon, but she could distract him. If he wasn't dedicated to killing her then she could use that in her favor. Placing herself between the demon and her male slayers could become an act of protection - she just needed to keep her stamina. 

It didn't last, not nearly as long as she had hoped. Tanjirou was knocked out, Giyuu's sword broken. With the last of her strength she stood before Giyuu, blocking Akazas advance.

"Strength and will like that would make an excellent demon, and you pass the opportunity and choose death. What a loss…" Akaza wouldn't let his hands be the one to kill the woman, but the man was another story. "The strongest water breath users I've had the pleasure of seeing, all in front of me."

Giyuu didn't like the sound of any of that, as if the demon had already written them off as dead on his mind. Of course he would, their strength wasn't to be compared. However he needed to win, even at the cost of his life. There were five demon moons found so far, two killed and two others currently being fought, and the one before him. It still haunted him that another was not accounted for - there's clearly a replacement if upper moon six had already been replaced. He would figure that out as soon as he killed the pink haired demon in front of them. 

"So you're counting me out?" The voice was stern, hinting at an underlying playfulness. A flurry of water passed through, a flash of peach. It was enough to make Giyuu's stomach drop. "That's cute, you're giving them a choice."

"Sa… bito…?" The tsugoku almost dropped her sword, not that the other two slayers could blame her. This wasn't possible, he had been killed before the older two, the younger had seen his spirit when training with Urokadaki. What was going on? 

The demon flicked his head towards the current water pillar and his next in line, gaze ice cold before a fake smile covered his lips. Sharp teeth filled his grin, looking more sinister than his younger self had ever feared his scar appearing. His hair was longer, he had aged into adulthood, or at least looked to be their current age - with a pair of peach fox ears and a full tail swishing behind him. 

"When you two said together forever, you must have meant the afterlife as well." The demon approached the two, tail swaying in curiosity. Black filled his scleras, making the lavender of his eyes menacing where they had once been calming. 

"Giyuu… Something is wrong…" More than their old friend being a demon - his face was the same but the man inside was different. Still Giyuu couldn't react, he could only hear the drumming of his heart beat in his ears. 

"A woman defending you? Have you really fallen so far? That's not the way a man should act." 

Giyuu's eyes grew heavy, the blood loss and shock pushing him beyond his limits. Unceremoniously his sword fell from his hands, clanging loudly against the floor as consciousness left him. 

"That just won't do, Giyuu. You were trained better than that."

_________________________________________

Giyuu woke to a searing pain, making him gasp out a miserable cry of agony before the thumping of his own heart beat took over. It felt as if he were being burned, but from under his skin. His organs felt as if they were twisted, cramping and tearing apart at once. Nothingness blanketed his vision as his body entered shock, his body convulsing at the sensations coursing through him. 

Eventually he felt as if he had died. The aches faded away, the torment no longer riddled his body. He had either died or mercy had been blessed upon him. 

Tired blue eyes blinked open, finding his surroundings dark, almost pitch black. Immediately his hands went to his wounds only to find them healed. How long had he been asleep for this to heal? The moment his arms raised to itch his eyes there was a pause. 

Were those his hands? No way, not possible. Ashen skin was graced by blue nails, sharpened to a point. Looking down he found himself dressed in a plain kimono, spared of the blood and sweat that had covered him previously.

Just what the fuck was going on? 

As Giyuu shifted to look around the shoji opened, causing dull candle light to filter around the figures in the doorway. 

"About time you woke up. I thought you'd never make it." That voice, that hair, that haori - he knew it to all be Sabito's, but he wasn't sure what kind of person he had become - or rather, what kind of demon he had become. Behind the peach haired demon was the pillar's tsugoku, changed and cleaned as he had been. Unceremoniously she was pushed into the room, her balance altered by the hands tied behind her back that almost caused her to trip. 

Something was wrong. His stomach hurt so, so badly. His mouth way dry, as if he hadn't had water in days, yet salivated so abundantly he couldn't contain it. An ache pulled at his stomach, leaving him hungry in a way he had never experienced before. 

"I'm glad to see you survived the transition. I even brought her to see you, she wouldn't shut up about making sure you were alive." How ill he spoke of her would have been a red flag to Giyuu if he weren't so weak with the need to fill his belly. Idly his tired gaze moved from Sabito to his lover, watching as her lips trembled as she struggled to find words. 

"...Giyuu…?" He didn't like how she fell to her knees with tear filled eyes, nor how she stopped just beyond his arms reach when she crawled closer. 

"Ah, ah, ah! Not so close." Sabito yanked her hair, pulling her back into his grasp. "It'd be a shame if he bit you, you know. Poor thing is probably starving."

The truth he wanted to deny was in front of him - he had become a demon. Desires for food he once deemed a sin against humanity flooded his mind no matter how he denied himself. Beyond his hunger, confusion rattled his brain. If he had been turned into a demon then why hadn't his tsugoku been changed as well? 

"We can spend together forever, just as we were before." The sickly sweet look lavender eyes hid their darker intent. "Just the two of us, Giyuu. It'll be like old times, after Mokomo left for her exam. Before your little friend here joined us."

The newly turned demon felt his breath stop. What was he implying? His aching form struggled to comply with his will to move, movements shaky as he attempted to move into a crouching position. 

"Don't do anything-"

"I don't think you're in any position to give me orders, water pillar. Not only can you barely move, you're starving and this little thing here-" A peach clawed hand held the water pillar's lover by her chin, the nails biting into the skin of her cheeks until small drops of blood gave way. "She's going to be your first meal."

"Giyuu-" Before she could say more a hand wrapped around her throat, constructing tightly. The demon in question trembled, scared she'd die by hand that had kept them both alive eight years prior. 

"I should have let that demon eat you, but that would have upset Giyuu at the time. But you know what? I think he can handle it now. You've seen plenty of people die, what's one more?" Sabito barked a laugh, not even paying mind that the girl in his grasp had quit struggling. 

" Sabito, you're going to- She's-" The blue eyes man moved, attempting to do something, anything to save her life. He couldn't stand by and watch anyone he loved die again. 

"I know." Just as Giyuu moved closer the fox demon kicked his chest, sending him flying back. After he dropped the woman, letting her fall to the floor limply. "She's alive, but for how long?" 

Giyuu was crumpled up across the room, feeling most of his ribs broken. Why wasn't he healing faster? He was a demon now, what gives? With an impaired gait he set closer to the two, only to be blinded by a flurry of blue and peach. 

"You're making this so hard, Giyuu. I'm doing this for you, why are you fighting me?" A choked noise came from the pillar as his own blade pierced his back, traveling through him and pinning his form to the floor. 

"It's a shame you're fighting me, but I had to save you in some way. All the slayers are going to die and I needed to make sure you weren't included."

"Why?" Giyuu's question went unanswered as Sabito drug his tsugoku closer by her hair. She was dropped before him, just out of reach. Bruising littered her throat but he could see she was breathing - faintly, but she was alive. For the moment. Her eyes moved behind her eyelids as she stirred into some form of consciousness, not that she was particularly awake.

"I love you enough to prepare your first meal for you, seeing as you probably will need your strength after a blow like that." Sabito smiled so happily, as if he weren’t reaching to the girl’s throat. Giyuu felt helpless, unable to move and beyond exhausted with a hunger he knew to never feed growing.

“Don’t-”

“Aww, that’s cute. You still care about her? You should probably let that go, it won’t do you well when you eat her.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t think you have a choice in the matter.” Sabito’s smile didn’t trick him and he could only close his eyes and pray his tsugoku was unconscious enough to no longer feel pain. 

The sound entered his ears in a way that echoed in his head. Some part of her, he wasn’t sure where and he didn’t want to know, had been torn open. The scent of blood filled the air, more noticeable by his heightened senses. Nausea filled his stomach as he realized it didn’t smell bad to him any longer. His stomach clenched and growled for food even if he felt he was about to pass out from the fact he grew hungry to consume the flesh of his lover. He hated himself, he felt disgusted. 

“For your sake I made it fast. Screams are nice, but you don’t like loud noises if I recall correctly, do you? Here, hold this.” 

Giyuu didn’t want to know what was placed under his temporarily lifted hand, but he knew very well despite his denial. Soft hair graced his fingers, obviously cleaned and washed. Sabito had planned this, washed her to be clean and pristine to be eaten. Even with his eyes shut he knew her head wasn’t connected and tears poured down his cheeks to soak the tatami below him. He wanted to hold her, or what he could, with both of his hands, but he couldn’t handle feeling her torn neck if he touched it while trying to use his other hand. Prayers to go blind echoed in his head so he could never see the horror before him.

“I think it’s a bit poetic to kill her the way I was killed. After all, she would have died that way anyway if I weren’t there. If she were still awake she could see everything for a while, you know. You think I’m evil to choke her out and take her head off, but it was quite the mercy kill. You’re so soft to such things, I knew if she screamed it would upset you.”

The familiarity didn’t help, in fact it made it worse. Sabito knew very well what he was doing, exactly how much this all hurt, yet he did it anyway.

“Why…? Why are you doing this? You could have just left Akaza to kill us…”

“Ah, he’d never kill the girl, so that’s where you’re wrong.” He sounded so sure, like it was a matter of fact Giyuu should have obviously known. “He never eats women, which is a shame. A balanced diet would make him stronger. Though he is now the second upper moon, so I guess that’s besides the point.”

That wasn’t soothing in the slightest. If anything he feared Tanjirou, not to mention the rest of the slayers, was killed as well. How much could he take in one night?

The sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh entered his ears.

“STOP IT. You killed her, at least don’t eat her.”

“Oh it’s not me that’s going to eat her. Well, at most I’ll have a bite. She’s your meal. And you’re going to eat, even if I have to rip off your lower jaw to force it down your throat. You need to eat like a growing boy, we have a lot ahead of us.”

With that a hard slap clapped against his cheek, one that would have easily broken his jaw if he weren’t a demon. The shock caused his iridescent blue eyes to shoot open in retaliation before those same orbs found his lovers head.

The urge to vomit filled him, seeing her ashen lips and mangled neck. His only solace was that she wasn’t awake to feel it fully, if that could even be called a comfort. His hands cupped her cheeks, feeling them cold beneath his fingers. As much as he wanted to memorize the last time he would see her face, choking sobs wracked his form against the floor as tears blurred his vision.

It was his fault. Had she not stuck with him then she would have been safe, or at least had a chance to see the next day. If she never followed him, if she had listened when he asked her to retire from the corps, if he would have demanded she stay with Uzui and Shinjurou to watch over Kiriya - she would be alive right now. If only he had tried harder. She wanted to be stronger, to stay by his side and make sure he never perished. For better or worse she got her wish. 

Suddenly a hand shot into his mouth, pushing warm meat against his tongue and down his throat. He didn’t even want to look over to see her body to know which part he was being forced to eat. It was all too much, he hated everything in his life that lead him here. He hated himself for being too weak to change anything.

“Eat up, she would have wanted the best for you.”

He wanted to die.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

if not by blood, then siblings by bloodshed (part three)

pour one out for all the German Shepherd lovers

TW: Blood and gore, violence, animal violence, animal death, death, mentions of past abuse, vomiting

——————

Run For Your Life

“Joey, I’m tired....”

It’s been a day since the experience in the town- a day worth of no rest and even more walking, not even stopping to sleep at night, and only then was Joan realizing how unwell her young companion looked.

Kitty’s face was ashen and her dull eyes were half-lidded. Exhaustion is etched all over her expression. She clung tightly to Joan’s hand as they walked. Who knows how much longer she would be able to go on before she keels over.

“I don’t know how much farther we have...” Joan said, “Would you like it if I carried you? Maybe that would help?”

Kitty nodded and Joan carefully picked her up. Her knees wobbled when she stood back up; it’s not that Kitty was heavy, quite the opposite, actually, but her legs were so sore that the extra weight put even more of a strain on her, weakening them. Still, she pushed forward, not letting her own fatigue overcome her.

When buildings finally came into view around the bend, it was a huge relief. The sky had been growing darker and the only thing that could make the growing uneasy even worse was if they had ominous shadows cast over their faces.

A ruined village stands before them. Half-crumpled buildings stood around in disarray, long destroyed by wind and rain and other weather effects. A few were still intact, like the one Joan chose to take refuge in. The bed inside was dusty, but held strong, so Joan gently sets Kitty down.

“Mmmmm...” The little girl moaned softly. Joan gently strokes back her sweaty bangs.

“Shh,” She murmured, “You’re in a bed, Kit. Try to sleep, okay? I’m going to go find some food and water.”

Kitty nodded and shut her eyes again. Mercy hops down from Joan’s head to watch over her as Joan went back outside.

As much as she didn’t want to, Joan knew she would have to hunt again. Kitty must have been dehydrated and hungry- the best thing for her right now was food and water, and Joan had to get that for her.

However, her task was cut off by a horrible, guttural noise from nearby.

Joan new exactly what it was.

There wasn't a human being alive on the planet who didn’t know what that sound was.

Joan paused, scanning the buildings with uncertainty and- she had to admit- a certain morbid fascination. She’d been standing there listening, almost mesmerized, for a good three minutes now. It just didn't stop.

But listening in on it- on the grunting heaves and grotesque plops of half-liquid matter hitting mud that followed- felt oddly invasive, like she was watching two people have sex. Feeling a twinge of discomfort, Joan moved away from her spot, stepping quietly as she made her way over to dingy mound of bricks that used to be someone’s house. What she found almost sent her sprinting back to the building where Kitty was, scooping her up, and hightailing it out of those ruins.

“Oh god...”

A small chest sat upturned in a mess of blood splatters and debris in the middle of the house, although it was what was sticking out of it that made Joan’s gut truly twist in disgust. A pair of naked legs, wizened and bruised, protruded stiffly from the broken lid. There was no point in leaning down to check on the state of the body- only a blind man could possibly mistake it for being anything but dead.

Joan stood back, pressing the rough fabric of her collar to her lips. It wasn't the first dead body she had seen since her life was flipped upside down, but it wasn't any more pleasant than the bloodied corpses she’d been lying in the day before. At least those had been in daylight, and an obvious victim of the plague that was apparently now spreading through the country. This one looked more like a murder victim. Between the grisly discovery and the retching noises from somewhere beyond, Joan almost felt as though she'd stepped straight into a crime scene.

She swallowed heavily and turned back towards the sounds.

A body meant that some monster must have been here, but those retching noises were too human to belong to one of those “Hellhounds”. That meant that whatever was in here was a person, and if they'd been here for whatever had gone down in this village, maybe they were hurt. She had to see if they were alright.

Hesitantly, Joan followed the sounds with her hand on the grip of her axe.

A few stray beams of waning sunlight glowed over the hunched form in front of her- whoever it was, they had been crouching behind a broken wall in a stew of mud, perhaps having been in too much of a hurry to empty their stomach to find a cleaner spot. Or be concerned about anything, for that matter. Flabby, pale skin flashed in the light from where they peeked out from under their owner’s shirt, and above that lay a twitching expanse of blue and white. Even in the dimness, Joan could see how the figure was quaking, convulsions rippling through its whole body as it continued to cough into the mud.

Joan’s first impulse was to recoil- as if the less-than-appealing rear view she'd just been treated to hadn't been enough, the thoughts from her first few minutes in the town had come flooding back into her mind. Not even a crazy man could look at ruined, empty streets and buildings that had been full of people a short five years before and not wonder what had happened.

The figure shifted, the unpleasant sounds trailing off into a series of wet coughs as it lifted its head and turned to squint into the light, a mixture of nausea and trepidation sculpted onto the pale, shaven features. Then the coughing became a groan. Perhaps of relief, that the thing poking its head in from around the corner was another human being and not a creature from the plague, or perhaps of disgust and revulsion at being discovered in the middle of such a humiliating activity and at the intrusive light piercing the cramped darkness.

It was a man.

A young, somewhat corpulent man, dressed in brown pants and a green shirt, with tufts of brown hair (now plastered flat against his forehead in perspiration) swept out of his chocolate eyes. Probably somewhere in his twenties, though much older than Joan.

A man.

Not a monster.

Joan relaxed, the sour, nervous prickle that had started to tweak her insides subsiding into relief.

Relief that further faded into discomfort as the pale face turned away from her in favor of heaving into the mud again. There was a liquidy gurgle accompanying it this time, and Joan almost considered muttering a hasty apology and turning to leave him be when the figure finally spoke, in a breathless and strained voice that ran out of steam towards the end, leaving the final word a gasp of pitiful breath.

“I-it wasn’t me... I didn’t do it!”

Grasping the wall, Joan leaned back in, feeling her brows rise to a peak. As disgusting as the display before her was, she could feel very little but sympathy for this poor man.

“Do what?” She asked, although even as she spoke, her thoughts were drifting to the body in the other broken down house.

“I... I didn’t do anything. I swear,” Pleaded the stranger, still leaning over in the mud as though worried there might be more coming up. "She was like this when I got here..."

He choked again, spitting something into the mud with a grimace.

It was hardly the ideal time for an introduction, but Joan found herself giving one anyway. Mostly because she had no idea what to say on the subject of what this guy here had or hadn't done.

“My, uh, my name's Joan,” She offered amiably, and was rewarded with a horrible, retching belch in return that made her resolve falter somewhat. She finished with an unsure tone. "...Joan Meutas."

“Uhm... George,” Croaked the stranger weakly.

Joan nodded slowly.

“George...” She said softly as the poor man's vomiting resumed, keeping her tone quiet. She was pretty sure the last thing anybody wanted while they were sick was someone barging in and loudly demanding answers. "Who's that dead guy in the chest?"

“I didn’t do it!” George moaned miserably. “I swear, I didn’t kill anybody!”

That hadn't been what Joan asked, but she thought better of repeating herself and just stood there by the broken wall, shifting slightly and listening to the ongoing symphony of the man’s guts emptying themselves.

“Well...” She said, thinking of the body in the other room, mere yards from where George had thrown himself down to be sick. When she had come around the corner, this man had been completely vulnerable. If it had been a dog creeping behind him instead of Joan, George would have been caught with his pants down. Literally. "I guess this place isn't too safe... What happened here, anyway?"

“Uh... I don’t know. I’m not even from this country. Passing through for business for my sister...” George explained, “That body...scared the hell out of me. Or my lunch.”

Joan hummed sympathetically, which she almost found weird given the large and very obvious age gap between them.

George has finally stopped heaving. He leaned back, wiped his mouth, grimaced at the mess he had made, then stood up.

“Sorry,” He said. “That was...” He doesn’t finish that statement, instead turning it into a light joke, “If my sister caught me like this she’d be pulling on my hair.”

Joan cracked a slight smile. She notices that George is scanning her over, probably wondering why she was out there all alone, but before he could actually ask, a deep rumbling shook the whole ground. Joan staggered a little, placing one hand on the broken wall for balance.

“Oh no...” George muttered. Joan looks over at him worriedly. The rumbling sounds get louder.

“What?”

“They’re here.”

With horrifying timing, the ground several meters away broke open and an infestation of black came out in dark waves.

Joan screams. George grabs her arm and tries to pull her to a lopsided house, but she resists.

“My friend!” She cried, “I have to get my friend!”

“What?!”

Joan doesn’t bother answering him- she beelines for the house where Kitty is, noticing several cracks forming in the dirt as she did so. George follows her and they burst into the building, scrambling to slam the door shut behind them.

“Are you crazy?!” George yelled. “You could have gotten us both killed!”

“You didn’t have to follow me!” Joan said.

“What kind of adult would I be if I let you run around during an infestation?” George snaps back.

“Joey?”

Joan and George both turned around sharply. Kitty is sitting up on the bed, holding Mercy to her chest and looking very curious.

“What’s going on? What are those noises? Who’s that?” She asked, her age making her unaware of the danger around her.

“This is George,” Joan introduced quickly. “George, this is Kitty. The cat’s Mercy.”

“Hello. WE NEED TO GO.” George said. “Grab your friend- we can climb up onto the roof from this hole.”

Joan obeys, quickly scooping Kitty up into her arms as George manages to clamber up onto the roof from a hole in the ceiling. He grabs Kitty when Joan passes her up, then helps hoist the teenager up. There, they all set their eyes upon the sea of black surrounding them.

There had to be hundreds of them. They all had the same jet black, patchy fur, so black they nearly melted into the darkness of night. Their eyes, however, were as white as a blind man’s- glazed and foggy, but something told Joan they didn’t need to see to track a person down.

“Oh god,” George muttered.

“That’s a lot of rats!” Kitty said helpfully.

“What do we do?” Joan asked.

“Nothing,” George said, sitting down heavily.

“What?” Joan’s eyes widened. “We can’t just sit here!”

“We have to. They don’t like light, but we have no fire. If we had meat we could distract them long enough to run, but we don’t have that either.” George explained, “There’s no choice but to wait until morning.”

Joan’s heart sank. She looked around desperately, praying to find something to help them, but there was nothing.

“Where did they come from?” She eventually asked, sitting down. Kitty scuttles into her arms and she holds her close to her chest.

“Don’t know,” George answered honestly. “They just...appeared one day. The church thinks it’s a warning from God. Doesn’t sound too unlikely. What kind of normal rats could come out of the ground like that?”

Joan nodded slowly. She stared fearfully down at the rats scuttling around on the ground, squeaking and hissing. They smelled of bloody mud and rot.

“So,” George spoke up again, trying to make idle conversation to lighten the tense mood, “What are two kids walking about all alone for?”

“We’re trying to find Catherine of Aragon.” Joan answered him, but her voice was slightly distant. An idea has sparked in her mind.

George whistled. “You’ve got awhile to go, kid. You still have to cross the canal to get to the mainland.” He pauses. The rats shriek wildly below. “Tell you what: Once morning comes, you both can come with me to the nearby port. The ship there will take you to my sister’s kingdom in France. She can help you out further.”

Joan nods slowly. She cups the back of Kitty’s head, pressing her face into her neck, then sits back further, trying to get comfortable on that old, rickety roof.

“Where is this port?” She asked.

“A few more miles north,” George nods in the direction of a nearby path. “We’ll follow that road and you’ll see a tower by the bay. The ship should be there.”

Joan nodded once more, thanked George for his generosity, then kicked him off of the building.

Saying the rats surrounded him was an understatement- their movements weren’t thought out, there was no moment of inspection or a hesitation to sniff; it was just a feral instinct within, a primal need to feed and, all at once, they snapped around, no matter how far or how close, and swarmed George.

The rats literally pile on top of each other, becoming one huge writhing black mass as they push and shove to get to the man. And, when they did, they began biting and gnawing and chewing the flesh off of his body while he was still screaming.

To his credit, George does put up a fight. He gets to his knees, swatting and slapping all over as if he were on fire, but his efforts were in vain. There were much to many rats and, once they tunneled into his stomach, tore his eyes out and stuck their snouts into the sockets, clawed open his throat, dug through his organs, pulled him to pieces, he was no match for their talons and teeth.

Joan watched this all, still reeling from her action, but she knew it had to be done. In the end, all that mattered in the world was her and Kitty; everybody else were mere lambs to the slaughter- a body waiting to be sacrificed, whether they wanted to die or not.

Joan leapt off of the building and ran as fast as she could. Instantly, pain ignited in her legs, and she swore she could hear her muscles singing in agony. Or, perhaps, it was just the ringing in her ears or the delusions of an exhausted young girl.

She was literally running for her life, she realized. This wasn’t like the escape from London- somehow, there was a more underlying terror that came with running away from man-eating rats than man himself. Due to this, Joan felt as if she had wings. Despite her legs pulsing in an intense pain that felt as though all her tendons were being pulled apart, she thought she was faster than usual.

It was probably the adrenaline.

In her arms, Kitty and Mercy clung desperately to her shirt, both of their nails digging in. The extra weight didn’t seem to bother her- the adrenaline rush gave her strength she didn’t know she had. If she weren’t worried about being eaten alive by rodents, then she might have marveled at her ability to run while carrying a seven-year-old and a hairless cat.

Unfortunately, fight or flight doesn’t last forever, and the full extent of her overexertion hit her like a steel mace to her knees. Suddenly, the ground is rushing up to meet her, Kitty is crying out, Mercy makes a startled warble, and there’s dirt in her mouth.

Joan lays dazed on the road like a broken doll, blinking blearily up at the twinkling stars above. Their glow bleeds together into a big silver smear that paints the night sky. In a weird sort of way, it’s almost beautiful.

“Joey!”

Kitty is shaking her back and forth. There’s fear in her voice.

“Joey, come on! Get up! Th-they’re coming!”

Joan groans softly. Her awareness wavers and she momentarily dips into complete darkness. Sleep sounded so nice right now...

“JOAN!!!”

It isn’t Kitty’s shriek that makes Joan snap up, rather the feral growl coming from the woods around them.

Joan sits up, her eyes bulging as she stares at the golden orbs peering out from the underbrush. First a paw emerges, then the leg, and finally the Hellhound slinks out into the open.

It looks like a German Shepherd, except for the twin pieces of gold shoved in its skull. It walks smoothly on its razor claws, stepping onto the path only a few yards away from Joan and Kitty. Nostrils flaring, it sniffs the air. Its tail lashes.

Mercy leaps down in front of the girls. He arches his spine, hissing lowly. If he had fur it would be standing on end.

The Hellhound snarls. Bunching it’s hind legs, it lunges forward. Mercy lunges, too, and narrowly misses the beast’s foaming jaws. He slides when he lands, hisses, then rakes his claws across the dog’s soft nose when it attempts to bite him. Blood spurts from the deep wound and the Hellhound whines like a puppy would, but Mercy has no pity for the thing. He brings his claws to the nose again and again until chunks come off and a nasty hole is left on the snout.

The Hellhound yowls, tottering backwards, then swipes its front legs at Mercy. One paw catches the cat and pins him to the ground. The black claws are so close to his throat.

Joan didn’t think another adrenaline rush was possible with her so exhausted, but she quickly found herself up on her feet and and cleaving her axe down onto the Hellhound’s neck.

The beast howls. It releases Mercy and whips around to attack Joan, only to get the head of an axe slamming directly into its eyes. The blade cuts straight through the eyeballs, gushing fluids out all over its snout, and gets lodged in its skull. When pulling does nothing to help, Joan kicks the thing in the neck and her axe jars free. She then promptly swung again and doesn’t stop swinging until the Hellhound’s head came off. Only then does she lower the axe and let herself breathe.

Mercy blinks up at her. He whacked the Hellhound’s snout one final time, then jumped onto Joan’s shoulder. They return to Kitty, who is still frozen in her spot.

“You killed the puppy...” She whispered.

Joan makes a disgruntled face. She gently rubs the top of Kitty’s head, hoping to cheer her up with the affection.

“It was a bad puppy,” Joan said. “Come on, up you go. There’s just a little further.”

Kitty nodded silently, casting a saddened look at the dead dog before taking Joan’s hand and letting her lead her down the path again.

Hand-in-hand, they walk for two and a half miles before the smell of the sea hits them. When the ocean eventually came into view, Kitty jets forward, startling Joan out of her half-daze (it’s sad that she’s learned how to nap while walking in just a span of a few days).

“Joey! Joey, look! The sea!”

Joan attempts to run after her, but her legs ache in protest, so she just walks as fast as she can without it being excruciating. She smiled when she found the little girl crouched on the rocks along the shore, feeling the chilly water and giggling when the waves spray her with a sprinkle of salty droplets.

“Have you ever seen the ocean before?” Joan asked.

“Uh-uh,” Kitty shook her head. “It’s so much prettier than the pictures!”

“Isn’t it?” Joan chuckles.

She leaves Mercy with Kitty, despite his initial resistance of meows, to let her play and found the tower on her own. It wasn’t like the towers back at London (don’t think about London don’t think about how you’ll never be able to go home again), but it was intact and would shelter them until the ship arrived.

Oh, right. The ship wasn’t even there yet.

Joan clenched her jaw so hard it hurt, but then breathed out the harsh breath. Getting angry wasn’t going to make the boat magically appear; they would just have to wait until it showed up.

(If it even showed up.)

“Kitty,” She called and Kitty came over with Mercy trotting along behind her. “This is where we’re going to be staying for now.”

“Okay,” Kitty nodded. “Do we stay here until mummy shows up?”

There it was. That damn question. Joan didn’t blame Kitty for asking it, but it was still painful to have to hear.

“Umm... Yes.” Joan said, “A boat will come and we’re going to get on it when it does and go to France.”

Kitty huffs and stamped her foot. She seemed to be getting annoyed with how Joan kept putting off the reunion with her mother.

“Why is she there?” She whined, “I want to see mummy now!”

Joan grits her teeth. After sacrificing an innocent man, watching said man get eaten alive by rats, running for her life, and decapitating a dog, she really wasn’t in the mood to hear complaining.

“You’re going to have to wait.” She said, tone stern.

“I don’t wanna wait!” Kitty yelled, “I want mummy NOW!!”

“Shut up, you little devil!” Joan hissed.

“No!!” Kitty shrieked even louder, “You’re mean! I hate you!” She turned and ran into the tower.

Joan pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily. Kitty’s “insult” was but a childish outburst, but her companion saying she hated her, despite it obviously not being true, stung more than she would like to admit.

Shaking her head and looking down at Mercy, she says, “Kids.”

————

Space was probably the best thing for Kitty right now, so Joan explored the tower by herself. Most of the rooms were dusty and old, but some of the furniture was still intact and usable. She ends up claiming a small stone room with a bed, desk, and musty bookshelf full of even mustier books to sleep in and laid there after lighting torches around the spire.

Finally in a relatively-safe place, Joan pulls off her boots, took off her tunic (it reeked and still had chunks of vomit dried on it), and laid down. Getting off her feet was a huge relief and she actually found herself sighing out loud. The pain ebbs and she rests...

A dip in the old mattress caused Joan to jolt up with a gasp. She pawed around for her axe or bow, but a tiny voice halts her.

“You’re really jumpy, Joey.”

Joan froze, then breathed out a soft sigh of relief. It was just Kitty.

“Were you hit?”

The question came out of nowhere. Added with how nonchalant Kitty’s tone was when she said it, it left Joan sputtering in confusion.

Was the torchlight bright enough to reveal the silver and red scars lacing her back? And, if so, how could have Kitty seen them with her back facing away from her?

“I-I-...” She can’t muster up the words to explain or deny or say Kitty was being weird and needed to go to bed.

“Let me introduce you to a hand that won’t hurt you.”

And then Kitty hugged her so gently.

[savvyqueen18]

SilveeLocke | Let's Go Eevee ZombieLocke | Pt. 8

♡♡♡

Part 8: Problem Causing

♡♡♡

>Next Part

>Previous Part

>Part 1

>Meet Silviana

>Meet Xander

Silviana walked back to Cerulean. Junipur was resting on her shoulder while she talked to Amare.

“And you are just a strong little Psyduck aren’t you!” Silviana cooed in baby-ish talk while she held the little yellow pokémon, “You beat all of those trainers back there and now you’re almost as strong as crazy berry here,” she nuzzled Amare on the bill. Amare quacked happily, Silviana looked at Junipur with a wink, Junipur just looked at her unamusedly.

“Oh what’s wrong crazy berry,” she mockingly said to Junipur, “don’t like it now that you may have some real competition?”

Junipur hopped down from Silviana’s shoulder with an unamused look on her face. Silviana continued to walk and hold the Psyduck in her arms.

“Hey!”

Silviana felt a tug on her shoelace as Junipur held her back a little and partially tripped her. She quickly glanced down at Junipur then back up to see where the shout came from. A large splash of water came flying at her and she pulled Amare up to block her own face. She quacked happily as she got sprayed.

Looking around the yellow pokémon, she noticed a small Squirtle staring at her. It only glanced at her for a moment before being startled by an Officer Jenny and running in the opposite direction as her.

That’s odd why’s an Officer Jenny chasing a Squirtle?

After tucking Amare back in her pokéball, she slowly rounded the building that the officer came from. Stopping in her tracks, she stared at the massive hole in the wall. There was a family inside. A man, a woman, and a small girl.

This must be their house! Silviana was absolutely speechless. She walked further into the open hole and crouched down among the debris, she could overhear the parents talking about the damage. Quietly as she could, she listened in.

“I just can’t believe…” The man sighed.

“And he seemed to come from nowhere, with such a strong pokéon…” The woman held tight to her daughter.

Silviana’s brows pushed up worriedly, she looked down at Junipur who was watching her carefully.

“Junipur, someone attacked… with a pokémon,” she looked at all the damage that was done, “A whole wall was taken out with one pokémon…” She got up from her spot and stepped into the crumpled debris, “who would do such a thing…”

The parents quickly looked over with frightened faces.

Silviana held her hands up, “I’m sorry, I was just curious, what did this trainer look like?”

The parents glanced at each other before the woman spoke, “He was dressed in all black with a big red ‘R’ on his shirt, his face was kinda covered, but he kept shouting about a little girl.”

Silviana took a big gulp, “Oh okay then,” she took a step back, “I’m sorry about your house. I’ve actually got a battle to go to, so I’ll–” She turned.

And bumped right into the person she wasn’t looking for.

Oh no…

A taller woman with bright orange hair and suspenders was blocking her way, there was also another Officer Jenny behind her.

“A battle huh?” Misty raised an eyebrow.

Oh no, oh no…

Silviana glanced back and forth between the officer and Misty, “I swear on my life I had nothing to do with this.” Silviana pulled her hands to her chest.

Misty looked back at the Officer Jenny with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. She looked back at Silviana and lowered herself to look Silviana in the eyes.

Silviana swallowed again and tried not to shake under her piercing gaze.

“Now why would a little girl like you be battling around this poor family’s home.” Misty took Silviana’s shoulders in her arm as she led the smaller girl away from the damaged house. She turned and nodded to the Officer and continued to walk with Silviana.

“I wasn’t battling him!”

“Him?”

Shoot! “Uh, yes. Him, the man I think wrecked the family’s home. He was hurting my pokémon on the other side of the river and then he tried to take me away. I didn’t want him to hurt that pokémon anymore, I just wanted to protect it, I didn’t know what else to do! I didn’t think that he’d come and wreck this family’s home!” Silviana continued to talk fast. Her throat was tightening with how emotional she began to feel.

Misty stopped her and held both of Silviana’s shoulders gently. She squatted down and had a worried look on her face as she tried to calm the poor emotional girl, “Woah, slow down! It’s alright, I didn’t think someone like you was capable of destroying a building in the first place!” She gave Silviana a kind smile, “Usually trainers your age would be coming to my Gym to take on the League Challenge.”

Silviana calmed herself as Misty talked to her. She nodded at Misty mentioning the Gym challenge, “That’s where I was going to go next, but I just got distracted.”

Misty nodded at her, “It’s alright, no worries. Let’s go have you fix up your pokémon at the Center around the corner from my Gym then you can come and talk to me,” she smiled, “and don’t worry about that family that’s why Officer Jenny was here so that she could ask them more questions. Just leave stuff like that to adults, okay?”

Silviana nodded but something else popped into her mind.

“Just leave stuff like this to us adults.” A masculine voice echoed.

Silviana shut her eyes, “Thanks Misty.” She smiled as she opened her eyes again, “I guess this means I’ll see you soon right?”

Misty nodded. Silviana turned, letting Junipur hop onto her shoulder, and headed in the direction of the Poké Center.

When she rounded the building and was out of sight, she backed up against the wall causing Junipur to jump off. She sunk down to her knees and tucked them into her.

“Ee-ve-vee,” Junipur came up and pawed at Silviana’s leg.

“Junipur,��� Silviana whispered, “do you think that guy did that damage to the house… because of me?”

Junipur had her brows furrowed. And for the first time that Silviana can remember Junipur showed sensitivity to Silviana. She bumped her head against the girl’s leg. The feeling didn’t seem to last long between them though, for when Silviana slowly reached down to touch Junipur, the little pokémon flicked one ear and turned to sit with her back to Silviana. Junipur curled down and stayed facing away from her.

Silviana looked at the little pokémon. Although she didn’t seem to show the girl affection too often, Silviana was grateful to have Junipur accompanying her on her journey. She pulled around her bag and pulled out some snacks. She took out some jerky for herself and a small handful of sour pokéblocks for Junipur.

A woman in a red dress gave them to her after Silviana beat her in a battle. She was very pretty and had a Kalosian accent. Even her pokémon were pretty.

Silviana shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She and Junipur sat there and ate their snacks in the quiet comfort of the small town.

◇◇◇

Silviana got her last pokéball back from the Nurse Joy. She tucked her pokémon away in her bag. And before she was leaving the center she overheard:

“Oh yea! I need a Cleffable! Would you trade me my Caterpie for it?” A little girl with a large grey sweatshirt, white shorts, grey shoes, and long brown hair spoke.

“Sure!” Piped up another little girl. She had a large pink dress on with many ribbons adorning it. Her long hair was tied back with another pink ribbon.

Wait… WHAT! Silviana turned swiftly to the voices knocking Junipur off balance. It was two little kids that were talking to each other. She walked over to the little kids and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re trading pokémon,” she clapped her hands together, “I am sorry but I have to intervene here, for this is not a fair trade.”

“What do you mean?” The little girl in the pink dress asked as she was holding a pokéball.

Silviana gestured to both of them, “Follow me and I’ll show you.” She pulled around her bag and pulled out two pokéballs. Letting out Trahp and Steng outside the Poké Center. The two little girls gasped in awe.

They each went up to admire and pet Silviana’s two pokémon.

“Oh wow! You’re so beautiful!” The little girl with the pink dress with ribbons was looking at Steng, the other little girl in the grey sweatshirt came up to the Beedrill as well.

“I know! The shell is so shiny and the needles must be kept in great condition!” The grey sweatshirt girl was holding one of Steng’s large white needles. Steng buzzed his wings with a happy look in his eye.

Silviana smiled as she talked, “I’m glad you think he’s cute, I haven’t really used him for battle so that’s why he’s been keeping up with his appearance. And this,” she gestured to both Trahp and Steng, “would be a good trade in my opinion, both pokémon are roughly the same age as far as battling, and they somewhat match each other in terms of power right… now…” Silviana could tell that the little kids were too wrapped up in admiring Steng that they weren’t paying any attention to her. She gave a hefty sigh.

Walking up to the little girls she crouched down letting Junipur hop off her shoulder as she did, “You know, she said gathering their attention, “Steng seems to really like you,” she said to the little girl in pink, “I don’t think I’m going to end up using him, so I think this would be the next best alternative. Silviana placed Steng’s ball in the little girl’s hand.

The girl in pink looked up at her confused.

“I want you to take good care of him,” she looked up at Steng, “if it’s okay with you that is.”

She saw a bit of sadness in Steng’s eyes, but the pokémon gave a single nod.

“Protect them like you would protect me okay? And become stronger for them.” Silviana smiled at the large yellow pokémon.

The little girls were freaking out about their newly acquired pokémon, but Silviana watched Junipur walk up to Steng.

Steng lowered his head a little as Junipur seemed to say something to him. She looked back at Silviana with a flick of her ear before the Beedrill gave another nod and motioned something with one of his needles. Junipur turned and flicked her tail side to side as she walked back to Silviana.

Silviana cocked her head and was curious at their secret pokémon language but didn’t question it when Junipur hopped on her shoulder once again and barked for their departure.

Giving one last goodbye to the little girls, and one last sad, but thankful, look at Steng they headed off to Misty’s gym.

[mianite-3-unofficial]

The Advocate

Rha watched the teapot steadily steam. In his hands was a book from the library. He’d never read it before, but it was an old, carefully cared for book about runes. It had taken him an hour to find the librarian, and a few more hours to get out of the conversation and insist that he only wanted the one book, not the seven the librarian said he should also read, and yes, he would take good care of it. It was fun, though. The blatant disrespect that came with the short man’s doubtful eyes was rare now that he was priest.

Overall, though, it was a peaceful evening, the air rich with the smells of coming fall, yet the air was still hot.

Suddenly, the door slammed open.

There stood Celia. Her armor was shifting around her body, as if it couldn’t decide where to stay, except for her helmet, which was stagnant in her hand. Her wings were out and ruffled, probably from the long flight between wherever she was and here. All three of her eyes were filled with an unending, boiling rage, lip twitching.

Rha blinked.

“You cut your hair?”

Celia scowled. Well, she had cut her hair. All of it was gone besides the purple, leaving it short and choppy.

“That’s not what I’m here to discuss.”

She stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind her.

“What has happened?” He asked, a little scared. He stood, even though it sent shocks of pain through his knee.

“I feel Dianite stirring. And I feel them. I wanted to tell you I’m here— and that I’m going to hunt them down like the dog they are.”

“I don’t run the city.”

Celia scoffed.

“You basically do. Those idiots all listen to you. They’re too scared to do anything else.”

“They may, but— that doesn’t change anything. This is ridiculous, Celia, they’re dead. Our sibling, I mean.”

“You can’t change my mind,” Celia snapped, slipping her helmet on her head. “I didn’t come here to ask you for permission, just to tell you that this is…”

“An extrajudicial execution?”

“It’s law here that heretics are to be hung by the throat, is it not?”

“Yes, after a trial.”

Celia clenched her jaw, the teapot screaming out steam.

“Our Lady is the judge. I am the jury, the executioner. And there is not an inch of their skin that does not reek of guilt.”

Her tone left no room for argument. Rha nodded.

“Now then,” Celia continued, “who was that other man, the one who you said was healed with red sparks?”

Rha paused. Yes; that man. Green skin, tattered clothes… Andor’s friend. He’d not seen Andor in a while. What an insightful man. Too smart for anyone’s good. Tom was Andor’s friend, wasn’t he?

He looked down. Andor wouldn’t ever find out. Besides, the so called champion of Dianite… he had it a long time coming.

“Tom. Tom’s his name. Staying at the Cinnamon Grove Inn, but I’ve seen him wandering. A green skinned man with a grating accent. You won’t miss him.”

Celia nodded sharply. She looked younger, somehow, back before she was a champion. Just Celia, face obscured by a scarf to keep out sand or snow or the smell of smoke. Her face was covered, the shifting metal settling in a way to protect her chest and add extra metal onto her fists, meaning her punches could break through a wall without hurting her. Rha shuddered. He’d seen it, many times.

“Glory to Ianite.”

She threw the door open, and stumbled back. There, crouched right before the door, Jordan stared up at her with big, shocked eyes. His whole body was dirty, wings touching the ground. Celia looked at him. He saluted with a quivering hand.

Without another look, Celia stepped over him and stormed out the front door. Her wings thundered against the ground, and she was gone.

Jordan stared up at him. The teapot’s whistle was starting to give Rha a headache.

“What happened?” He asked. Jordan just stared, silent.

“She’s going to kill Tom?” Jordan said, voice small.

Rha extended a hand to Jordan, but he scuttled back on the floor.

“Have you slept at all, Jordan?” Rha wondered aloud, “eaten anything? And your wings— they’re in terrible condition—“

“Is she going to kill him or not?” Jordan cried.

Rha blanked. To tell the truth or lie, the lesser of two great evils.

“You should know, those who go against our Lady must be punished.”

“But there’s a trial involved!”

“Ianite is judge, and Celia is her jury—“

“And as an executioner, how can I see this as just?!?! Ianite is the goddess of justice- she carries the scales of balance! That was the first thing I ever built for her! A scale of balance, of justice!” Jordan stood, stumbling back, clearly unbalanced by his dirty wings. He slammed into the wall behind him, a cloud of dirt spilling from the feathers. Rha furrowed his brows.

“This has nothing to do with balance, does it? Nothing to do with that and everything to do with that man. Tom… you know him, don’t you? Andor as well? So you found me through him.”

He stared at him, eyes wide.

“I have to go- I have to go find him.”

“You can’t go against Celia. She’ll know if you do. She’ll hunt you down and eat your heart in the marketplace, and nobody will stop her. She has Ianite’s support— you would be going against Ianite, against all of us,” Rha said, trying to reason with the poor man.

Jordan put a hand over his heart. He looked so frail, even though he was muscular and proud, wings dirty and shaking, dragging on the ground. The teapot whistled, steady and shrill.

“I can’t let her hurt him.”

And he ran from his house, wings hanging heavily on his back.

Rha watched him go. When he went back into the kitchen, his tea had boiled over, frothy, sweet smelling liquid dripping off the stove. He picked up the pot and set it on the table, but didn’t pour himself a glass. He let it go cold.

[kitty35]

New Feelings

Lee Haechan x Reader - Mythical/normal college AU Beginning - Next

Type - Reality/fantasy

Warnings - being drunk off your rocker, if you’re scared of witches and things like that then don’t read this

Summary - “How long?” He asked, his voice soft as he looked into my eyes. The hands around my wrists were warm and the alcohol spilt on my bare feet was cold, sending shivers up my spine. “How long are you going to be scared?” I knew the answer. I knew what I wanted to say. Forever. But how could I? How could I when he loved me so much. When he believed in me so much. When he thought I could be better then this. Was he wrong? Was I wrong?

~~

A soft noise.

Where am I?

What am I doing?

I could tell a cup made contact with my lips, though I couldn’t feel it. I knew I shouldn’t be drinking whatever was in the red plastic cup. It was bitter and hurt going down my throat. Yet, I couldn’t stop. Or maybe I didn’t want to stop?

Music blared loudly in my ears as my senses began to work once more. It sounded…bad. I can’t describe why, it was just bad music. It was easy to dance along to though. Soon after I heard the music, I heard people. What they were saying went over my head and mixed together with the songs that played. It was just chatter and loud sounds.

Next I could smell again. God, it smelled awful. A mix of smoke, alcohol, and sex. How did I know what those things smelled like? Where ever I was, I didn’t like it so far.

Pretty soon I began to see fuzzy blobs of color. Colorful lights decorated the room and flashed all around. People came next. I could see them surrounding me. They all seemed to be moving and laughing with each other. Some were alone. Some were with only one other person. Others were in groups. But they all mashed together in one big mush around me.

Then I could feel the base from the song shaking my whole body. I could feel the cup in my hand and how my hair brushed against my back as I danced with everyone else. I could feel how people bumped into me and rubbed against my shoulders on accident. I could feel the smile on my face as I laughed.

Was I drunk?

“Hello, pretty lady.” A voice purred in my ear. It was behind me, making me turn to look at who it was. It was a girl around my age. She was pretty. Her dress short and hair and makeup done perfectly. “Why don’t we have some fun?” She inched her face closer to mine. A pain began to grow behind my eyes as I looked at her face.

“I’m fine.” My words slurred together as I put my hands up over my chest in a way that said ‘sorry but no’. The cup tilted and my drink spilled everywhere. Out of shock, I jerked my hands back and dropped the cup with the rest of the drink.

“Oh, common. Why not?” She asked with a fake pout.

“My drink.” I mumbled, my eyes trained on the cup that laid on the floor before I began to move to grab another one.

“Wait, let’s go have some fun~!” The lady said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me close.

“Haechan said for me to say no.” I grumbled.

Haechan. Who was he again? He must be important if I remembered him in a time like this. I yanked my arm from hers before continuing to move towards where the drinks were. Just when I got half way there, another sharp pain made it’s self evident right behind my eyes. My whole body jolted at the sudden displeasurable feeling. A hand went up to cup over my left eye.

“Haechan…” I mumbled, deciding to go home. I stumbled towards the door and out the house. People tried to talk to me as I walked messily through the grass of the front lawn, yet I didn’t hear them. All my brain could now focus on was what was going on with my eyes. It didn’t take long before I was in the city. I walked through the streets that began to grow familiar.

Where was everyone? Surely it can’t be that late, right?

Something out of the corner of my eyes caught my attention. So I looked at it. I turned to be staring into a dark store, though that’s not what I was looking at.

My reflection was what I was looking at.

I wore something very similar to what that other girl was wearing. It was just a short dress. My hair and makeup were pretty. Though, that still isn’t what I was looking at specifically. I was looking into my eyes.

They were a glowing yellow.

Had they always been yellow? I can’t remember. Maybe they had, or maybe I was seeing things?

Another sharp pain stung my now strange eyes. Both hands went up to block out the light from the street lamps. I crouched down so my knees pressed into my chest while pressing my palms further into my eyes.

A warm touch.

“You poor thing.” A calm voice spoke. Almost instantly, I was looking for who said that. “Alone in this world and trying to forget it all.” The voice sighed out. Forget it all? I’m already lost, what more was there to forget. “This is just a temporary state. You can’t run from me forever.” It was quiet for a few minutes, so I figured whatever it was had left. I stood up and used the glass to balance. Once standing, I looked to my reflection. Only, it wasn’t me.

Or, at least I don’t think it was me?

A tall man stood in my reflections place. He wore a tux with his hair slicked back. Two horns protruded from his head kinda like an antelope. What made me question my own identity was his eyes. They were the same glowing yellow that mine were. He smiled at me before my reflection changed back to normal. Did I imagine that?

I pushed off the glass and continued to stumble my way back home.

It really didn’t take that long to get to my apartment. The door opened before I could even reach for the handle. A boy stood in the door way. He had messy dusty brown hair and warm dark brown eyes. He wore comfy clothes and socks. I had to blink a few times. For the first time that evening, I began to feel the pain in my eyes go away.

A certain longing.

“Haechan.” I slurred out, a small smile coming to my lips.

“(Y/n), what are you doing here? And why are your eyes like that? You’re not in any danger, right?” His voice was slow yet worried.

“What do you mean ‘doing here’? This is my apartment!” I giggled at him but he just gave me a weird look before sighing and pulling me inside, casting a look down the hall just incase. He brought me to a couch that I didn’t remember buying and handed me some clothes that didn’t look like mine.

“Go get changed, I’ll make you something to sober up.” But before either of us moved, he seemed to change his mind. “Actually, go get the shower started. You smell awful and it’ll help you feel better. You can drink some tea after.”

“Don’t be silly, we can’t shower together! My boyfriend would be mad!” I giggled out.

“You don’t have a boyfriend.” He mumbled while dragging me to the bathroom. Once there, he set me down on the floor and started a cold shower.

“I guess you’re right.” I said while thinking. Haechan stared at me for a few seconds. It really was strange to see my eyes like this. Had something happened but I was just too far gone at the moment to remember it? Would I even remember it when I woke up tomorrow morning? With another sigh, he tried to let it go.

“Get in the shower and try to sober up, please. I’ll be right outside the door incase you fall or need me for something.” With that, he left the room only to do as he said and sit right next to the bathroom door incase something happened. His head fell backwards to lightly hit the wall. He was exhausted. It was just past two in the morning and he now had to deal with a drunk me. He wished I wouldn’t drink all the time. He wished I wouldn’t run from this. Of course he would call it a gift, but he knew how I thought of it. He knew I was just scared of all the changes. Scared of what might happen to me. He wanted me to know he would always be there for me, but it was hard to get that through my skull when I would forget everything every night while out partying.

Hopefully he could help me change for the better.

A longing to be only me.

[radiantseraphina]

@command-el  Your post with your OC going to Elise for love advice was so adorable that it inspired me to think about how Elise finally confessed her love to Bikaia, the most oblivious man ever born. I think this also serves as proof that I ought to be writing regency romance or something instead of fantasy YA novels set around colleges.

Elise crouched along the riverbank, half-hidden by trees, and carefully reached for the pile of discarded clothes before her. Her eyes darted towards the lake and—more pertinently—at the place where her lord had disappeared. King Bikaia emerged a few moments later, his skin sparkling with diamond-like drops of lake-water. Most Dreamlanders didn’t swim, and the few who did were poor countrymen and women. Bikaia was the exception. And like most of the few people who swam, Bikaia swam only in his trousers. The first time Elise had stumbled upon him by accident. This was the second time she’d found him swimming.

  It wasn’t an accident.

 Had anyone asked, Elise would have insisted that she appropriately kept her eyes at the back of her king’s head and that she most definitely wasn’t taking in the shapes of his body and the scars he’d patiently and softly explained when Elise, having never seen a royal man’s bare torso—much less one with scars—had gasped. Her face had flushed with embarrassment, and she’d stumbled over her apologies. Her lord had been so gracious.

 He told her about the small scar at the base of his spine, so small and faint that Elise hadn’t seen it even after Bikaia pointed it out. Elise wondered if the scar was even really there or just something that Bikaia felt and imagined was there. After being enslaved by the wizard Necrodeus, Bikaia had tried stabbing his captor, and after his attempt failed to incapacitate the wizard, Necrodeus had taken a dagger and sliced across the base of Bikaia’s spine. The dagger had been cursed or poisoned, leaving a wound that made Bikaia feverish and delirious for a week or more. Bikaia had sounded so ashamed of that scar, as if he were somehow to blame for his own imprisonment and torture. And his soft admission that he’d stopped fighting as hard after that because he’d feared being hurt had broken Elise’s heart.

 And there was the small, clustering of scars near his collarbone, where Dark Matter Swordsman had shattered his clavicle, and Bikaia’s scream of pain had sent Galacta Knight, so calm and even-tempered, into a rage so terrible that the knight had nearly become Galacta Knight Soul. After the swordsman’s defeat, Galacta Knight had swept to Bikaia’s side and held him in her arms and petted his hair. Goddess, Bikaia’s heart ached so badly for Galacta Knight and the tender way she’d always treated him.

  There was the small star-shaped branding over Bikaia’s right hip. It was a wound left by Zero, one that had taken so long to heal and one that might have never healed were it not for Galacta Knight’s knowledge of medicine. And after Zero was defeated, the Kingdom of Traumwald rose from the ashes of her ravaged tribes, and Bikaia became their first ally.

  And there was a tiny scar on Bikaia’s shoulder, left by Zero-Two. It had been a cursed wound, and Bikaia might have bled out if a Patchlandic knight and a Traumwaldian sorceress hadn’t pulled him from the battlefield, sewn the wound closed, and cleansed it before returning Bikaia, exhausted and hungry and thirsty, once more to battle. In the end, Bikaia had emerged victorious as he always did, but his dreams were haunted for years thereafter.

  And Bikaia’s abdominal muscles were still bruised and branded from his battles with Galacta Knight, with Landia, and then, with Dark Nebula. Noble Bikaia, who had fought so hard for Dreamland’s peace and would forever bear the marks of that. Most of Bikaia’s smiles seemed forced after that, and persistent, dark circles had taken up residence beneath his eyes. Although Elise hadn’t mentioned it, she remembered being imprisoned in her own mind, and she remembered Bikaia on his knees begging to take her place as Dark Nebula’s host. Elise remembered, too, all the other degrading things Dark Nebula had considered making Bikaia do, just to see how much he was willing to do to save an innocent person.

 Unlike some, Elise didn’t think Bikaia’s suffering made him some tortured, romantic hero. She didn’t even think that Bikaia’s suffering had made him a better man or even a man in need of being healed. But Elise thought he was very brave to fight for Dreamland like he did, and she thought he must be lonely. And maybe, while she could never cure or fully understand her dear lord’s trauma, she could be someone who could listen.

  When his sad, winter-blue eyes met hers, Elise wondered how it had taken her so long to realize just how handsome her lord was. “Elise!” Bikaia exclaimed, the name barely distinguishable with the force of his laughter.

  He so seldom laughed anymore.

  Elise sat, adjusting the skirts of her pale blue dress to reveal a tiny sliver of her calf over the top of her boots. “Didn’t I warn ya that some lovestruck maiden was gonna steal your clothes if you kept goin’ on these morning swims, Your Majesty?” she asked.

  Bikaia pulled himself up and let his forearms rest on the grassy bank; the rest of him remained in the water. Elise may have given him a rather indecent look, even though she could see very little with him positioned like that. “You did, indeed, warn me,” Bikaia replied.

  “D’you also recall you sayin’ that you’d prolly have to pay that maiden some favor to keep from losin’ all yer dignity and traipsin’ back to the castle in only your trousers?” Elise asked.

  And Elise would definitely derive no enjoyment from watching that. None whatsoever.

  Bikaia offered the merest hint of smile; it didn’t reach his eyes. “I may have also said that, yes,” he conceded.

  “Y’did say it,” Elise assured him.

  “Ah,” Bikaia said, his smile a little more genuine. “I suppose that means I’m at your mercy, then. Please, be gentle with me, Elise. I beg you show restraint with your request.”

  “My papa’s been on me about this marriage business,” Elise said. “Y’know I’m gettin’ to that unsellable age, Your Majesty.”

  Bikaia nodded thoughtfully, never casting any judgment. “You wish for me to arrange a match for you, then?” he asked. “Have you spoken to your father about this?”

  “My father is very indulgent and enlightened, but I think he’s…well, he kinda doubts that the object of my affections is gonna return mine.”

  Bikaia looked almost comically offended. “Really? I can scarcely imagine a man who wouldn’t love you,” he said.

  Elise laughed. “We both know that ain’t true, Your Majesty.”

  “You’re quite right. A cowardly man might be threatened by you,” Bikaia said, “But I doubt you’d ever be interested in such a foul creature.”

  “Yer very kind, Your Majesty,” Elise said.

  “Only because Galacta Knight taught me how to be,” Bikaia said. “She was the noblest woman I’ve ever met. And I would consider myself Goddess-blessed if even a fragment of her many virtues was present in me.”

  “I think—no, I know—we can see more than a fragment of it,” Elise said.

  Bikaia’s eyes seemed to brighten a bit. “Thank you. Who did you have in mind for your engagement?” he asked. “I’ll certainly arrange it if I can.”

  Nova’s grace, had there ever been such a thoughtful, lovely man?

  “Well, I wanna marry someone who’ll let me rule at their side. I ain’t willin’ to just sit back an’ do nothin’. And my papa’s been considering Prince Elden of Seventopia for me,” Elise said, “An’ I told ‘im I’ve got my eyes on a greater prize.”

  Despite Bikaia’s enthusiasm for championing women, his fervor hadn’t quite influenced the monarchy of Seventopia, but Prince Eldin cared enough about his reputation and was politically savvy enough to be kind to a wife, especially if maltreatment risked drawing Bikaia’s ire. Marrying him was a good choice for Elise. He was about her age, handsome, and he could carry a conversation. He just wasn’t the man Elise really wanted.

  “So you need another prince,” Bikaia mused.

  “Yeah. Or maybe a king,” Elise replied.

  “Ah, King Larvara,” Bikaia said, nodding. “I’ve always liked him. I suppose that would make strategic sense, although I was under the impression your sister Lilith was—”

  “I ain’t interested in the king of Floralia, Your Majesty.”

  Bikaia furrowed his brow, clearly trying to puzzle out which monarch Elise desired. It really shouldn’t have been so difficult of a task, as Bikaia and Larvara were the only unmarried kings in all the realms. “You may have to be more explicit, Elise. I’m not—”

  “Dearest, there’s you.”

  She’d never called him an endearment before, and without warning, Bikaia’s mouth was against hers. Bikaia quite clearly had no experience in kissing anyone, and he seemed determined to compensate with zeal. Elise buried her hands in his hair and then trailed her fingers over his shoulders. Elise could feel her balance becoming less sure, and she really hoped she didn’t fall off the bank and into the water with Bikaia. But even that worry wasn’t quite enough to make Elise pull away.

  Eventually, Bikaia broke the kiss. His eyes were bright and his face flushed. “I haven’t even courted you yet,” he said.

  A pleasant, breathless warmth spread through Elise. “I ain’t gonna be happy if we go back an’ you spend months smilin’ at me ‘cross rooms and chastely kissing my hand,” Elise said, “And I ain’t gonna be happy with you runnin’ off and goin’ on quests in my name. I want you to pledge yerself to me now, Bikaia.”

  It was only the second time she’d ever addressed him by his name, and Bikaia blossomed as if caught in some profound spell cast by those three syllables. His face softened and glowed; color rose to his cheeks. “Nothing would make me happier,” Bikaia said. “I promise I’ll be a good, faithful husband, and I’ll treat you well. Very well. Magnificently well. Better than any husband has ever treated his wife!”

  As if Elise would have ever believed otherwise.

[littleangel4996]

My Fate Pt 2

Summary: After your trip to the grocery store, you find Selene digging the gardens again. But what you find leaves you clueless

After having the movers help move my new stuff in that Coco helped pick out for me from letgo, I finally was settled in as I plop myself on the couch and Selene hopped on my stomach while I turn on the TV. Nothing good was on except Sabrina the teenage witch so that one is good.

This show reminded me of Selene and I but except she doesn't talk .

Beep beep

My phone goes off. I take it out of my pocket and saying it's Queenie on Skype. I pressed the button and it was Queenie and the girls. Both of them sitting on her bed squealing and saying hi.

"oh hey girls"

"Hey (y/n) how are you and Selene settled in your new home" asked Zoe.

"The house is perfect from the outside and inside, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a big kitchen with a dining room and a living room. Plus the backyard came with a rose garden" I explained.

"Any cute shirtless boys in your area" of course Madison would ask that question but I gotta love her. When she said that she got glares and a shut up from Queenie.

"What, she needs to get that big-" before Madison could finish her sentence she was hit with a pillow by none other than Misty.

" Oh my God girls, you are too much" I laughed.

" We must visit you one day " Nan said in her happy voice.

"I know, I'm already missing you".

"We really miss ya doll, hope ya make the time to come out here" Misty says.

"Yeah it's totally quiet here. It's going to be weird without your loud music blaring, your jokes and pranks" Mallory said.

"Oh, Girls listen quit mopping around because of me I mean look were talking and we're laughing and all. This isn't goodbye, I'm still going to see my sisters one day" I said smiling.

" Oh god, we love and miss you (y/n)" Coco said almost about to tear up and Mallory held her close .

" Oh I almost forgot, how is supreme Cordelia and Myrtle" I asked.

" The ladies went out for a grocery run but they said they will contact you when they can" Queenie answered.

"Oh okay, well sorry I have to go now and feed Selene and I so chat later girls" as we both said our goodbyes, I picked up the phone to looked up grocery stores near me as I go up stairs to my bedroom and order myself a Uber. I've found a Ralphs near by typed the direction to where I need to go.

It said the driver will be here about 3 minutes. Cool, that gives me enough time to quickly get out of my jeans and my FOB t-shirt and change into my yellow sundress leaving on my black and white sneakers and putting on my Jean jacket .

---2 to 3 from the grocery store---

I thanked the Uber driver for the ride and helping me with the groceries before he drove off. Damn I've never seen a grocery store packed. In New Orleans, their market was small and not a lot of whole people. I pull out my house key out of my jean jacket as I insert it into the keyhole and unlocking it. I came inside, going to the kitchen to set down the three bags of groceries. I thought frozen pizza would be easy meal to cook. And as for Selene, I got her friskies dry and wet food.

I pulled out four boxes of pizza, to see which ones I should have. Either pineapple, meat lovers, cheese or supreme. Hmm..I think I'm going to go with the supreme. Every time I see supreme pizza I think of the supreme witch. I don't know why but I always make a joke about supreme pizza between supreme witch.

I shoved that in the oven and start to put the food and things for the house. I even bought Selene a pink brush with red hearts on them and a pet stuffy mouse to play with.

Speaking of Selene, where is she ?

"Selene. Selene darling " I called to her but no meow or no padding steps. That's so odd of Selene. Every time I come home she always comes to me. Maybe she's sleeping. I came out of the kitchen going to go upstairs to see if she is laying in her bed until I found the backdoor opened. Odd, I thought I closed it before the movers came. I turned my direction from the stairs to the back door. I felt a chill, making me flatten my yellow sundress.

But once I came out to the backyard I found Selene digging out what I could not believe my eyes . Selene. Digging out. Fucking. Deceased animals.

"SELENE!" I ran to her as I picked her up away from their rotten cats, rats and dogs. They were all scattered. So that's what was under the rose plants.

"Selene what is all this and why did you -" Wait a sec...Was this the reason why for the bad energy going on in the house, was because of the Dead animals. By the looks of these poor animals they were brutally killed.

"Who would do such a thing ?" I asked myself. Did the people who sold me this house knew and not told me or they did not know about this ? Maybe the person that lived here was psycho or serious issues...maybe both.Well I don't know what to do I mean, I just can't put them back where Selene found them because then I would feel like shit for doing that. I'm a softy when it comes to poor animals like these. Maybe there is another way but I haven't used this spell in a while. It is the ability to balance life's scale and return someone from the dead. I drop to my knees in front of the Dead letting Selene step aside.

I first clear my mind and let only the positive thoughts flow through my mind, placing my flat palms on the grass and start to perform this wonder as I whisper the two words.

"vitalum vitalis".

I feel the shiver as the cold wind blew at my direction almost making my dress go up. I start to see the animals start to form into their normal selves, undoing the wounds that they had. The animals I've brought back to life start to scurry away, hopping over the white fence. Selene went inside the house, probably waiting for a bath. The thought of coming inside a warm house and giving Selene a bath was soon cut off when I felt something grab ahold of both of my ankles making me fall to the ground. I quickly look to see...hands and a head coming out of the ground? What the fuck. My fear got the better of me as I start to scream, trying so hard to get away from what ever is trying to do God knows what. I look anywhere to see a hard object to find to hit the person but no luck.

Unless

I try to turn myself around and knock him out. I followed my instinct, squirming a little until I got room to turn myself around and fist him square in the jaw as he fell to the ground. But he was still awake. Wait, he? A boy? Well more like a man....hold up he was burried too, the fuck is going on here.

" Ow, please don't hurt me I I didn't mean to scare you please" he whimpered as I crouch down to meet eye level with the man thats covered in dirt but I can still make of his handsomely beautiful features, piercing blue eyes, golden blonde hair. He wears a jean jacket with a yellow shirt and khakis plus he's barefooted.

" Hey hey, it's okay you are okay. Can you tell me you're name sir" I asked. He calms himself down making, eye contact with me as I placed my hands on his shoulders.

"M-Michael, Michael Langdon".

Finally, part 2 is up. Plus what took me forever to get this part right was Everytime I tried to save it sometimes won't save and I have to start over again and my brain is like on fire but I finally got it saved and it's ready. Part 3 will be coming next week or weekend.

And here's a picture of Michael to say I'm sorry

@barbie-solecism

@sodanova

@yourkingcodyfern

@kylolangdon

@theghostoflangdon

@miskwaadesiwag

@whysosadmcfly

@creativedogs

@kaccatus

@lxngdonscoven

@captainskyline

@gracethegeek9902

@castiel-saved-me-from-myself

@edward-nygma-is-my-addiction

@let-me-try-mom

@amortentiaxo

@langdonsdemon

@poisedphantom

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Winter’s War: Chapter 14

Summary: Your time at the Austrian Hydra base comes back to haunt you. Bucky finds you and you bond.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Language (always), Torture, Mentions of Torture,

Word Count: ~3,849

A/N: Yet another tooth-rotting chapter. Enjoy it while you can, bois.

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

You rolled your eyes, but smiled widely. “You goin’ soft on me, Sarge?” you asked playfully.

“I’m actually havin’ the exact opposite problem right now, sweetheart,” he said coyly.

You nearly fell over when your mind caught up with the implications of what he’d just said. “Bucky!” you yelled chastisingly.

His merry laugh filled the hallway and, a moment later, you joined him, your laughter bouncing off the tiled walls.

“I take it back, you are a lech,” you said between giggles as you wiped tears of laughter from your eyes.

Bucky’s laughs cut off abruptly and when he spoke he sounded completely indignant. “Hey!”

Everything hurt. You were in agony.

“Come now, fraulein. Struggling will get you nowhere.“

You tried to look at the source of the voice, but your body wouldn’t listen. It was like you were swimming in maple syrup. You knew what you’d see if you could move, though; You knew that voice nearly as well as your own. Arnim Zola was standing beside you and, judging from how badly your entire body hurt, so was your nameless torturer.

"Tell me how to make more super soldiers, or I will kill your precious boys.”

You fought against the restraints holding you down, crying out in agony as they bit into your skin. It didn’t feel like leather or rope. Everywhere they touched felt like white hot metal.

“No. No no no no.” Not the boys. Not Steve. Not Bucky.

“Yes, fraulein.”

To your horror, a white-hot piece of metal appeared in your line of vision... and it was getting closer by the second. It inched closer and closer to your face until you could feel the heat on your cheeks; sweat beaded on your forehead and dripped into your eyes. 

In just a second, it would touch your eye; you’d lose it immediately and the pain would be excruciating.

“Please, god, no! Dum Dum! Steve! Bucky!-”

You shot up from your bed with a strangled cry, tangled in your now-sweaty bed sheets. Your chest heaved as your hands roamed your body, checking for any of the damage the man in the dream had inflicted. Finding nothing, you finally relaxed a hair, breath coming slower now.

You shoved your blankets and sheets off, their presence causing a sensory overload on your poor, abused mind. You welcomed the chill of the night’s air; it was the exact opposite of the hot metal’s touch.

You were all still in Greece, taking the time to plan here before you made a move on your next target. It seemed the lot of you had taken a liking to the tiny house; it almost felt like home at this point; they might not admit it, but you knew they’d be sad when you all had to leave.

You tiptoed carefully downstairs, not wanting to wake anyone. It seemed like you’d been successful. You made it all the way to the kitchen and the house was still completely silent. You poured yourself a glass of water as quietly as possible and took a seat at the kitchen table, sipping on it absently as your mind wandered. You pulled your knees up to your chest and stared absently out the window.

You didn’t want to go back to sleep again, for fear the nightmares would start back up. They’d been plaguing you since you made it out of the Hydra facility three weeks ago. A quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner told you it was almost 4:00 am. You could make it through the day without going back to sleep... right?

“What are you doin’ up, Doll?”

You swiveled on the chair, nearly losing your balance in the process, and looked up at Bucky, who was standing in the doorway, looking at you with concern. He had a blanket draped over his head and shoulders; he looked almost like a little kid who’d woken up in the middle of the night... except he was a tall, muscular 26 year old man. You didn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes.

“Bucky, jeeze. You scared me,” you whispered, willing your heart to return to a normal pace.

A small smile graced his features as he made his way over to you, blanket dragging just a bit behind him. “Sorry, Doll. Didn’t mean to,” he whispered contritely. He came to a stop in front of you and crouched down, taking your hands in his. When he realized you were shivering, he looked you up and down in concern. “You’re freezin’, (Y/N). Why are you sittin’ out here in just your thin cotton pajamas?” He made a move to take the blanket off from around his shoulders and give it to you, but you stopped him.

“I... had a nightmare... about...” your face twisted grimly and you stared right past Bucky as the horrors Zola had inflicted on you resurfaced.

“About... Austria? The base?” Bucky supplied helpfully, tone quiet and understanding.

You nodded, tremor running through your body at the name, and curled back in on yourself, drawing your knees back into your chest.

Bucky’s face twisted painfully as he beheld you, sitting there shivering pathetically. “Can I touch you, sweetheart?” he asked quietly, kneeling down in front of you.

You studied him for a moment, thinking hard. The thought of being touched made your skin crawl, but it was Bucky... it might be alright if it was him.

“Yeah, alright,” you said finally, giving him a tiny nod.

He moved slowly, immediately setting you a bit more at ease. His hands started at yours; he placed them over yours gently and you nearly sighed with relief at the warmth the simple touch gave you. Had you really gotten that cold without realizing it? He worked his way up your arms slowly, palms leaving heat in their wake. Before you knew it, he was cupping either cheek in his hands, his face inches from yours. You had nowhere to look but into his steel blue eyes and, before you knew it, you’d relaxed almost completely, leaning unconsciously into his touch.

To your shock, you began crying. It was a vulnerable, child-like thing that you couldn’t have stopped if you’d tried. You fell into Bucky’s lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders, and held onto him as though he was a life preserver and you were drowning in the ocean.

Bucky caught you easily and pulled you to his chest. One of his huge hands soothed your hair as he murmured comforting things in your ear.

“It’s alright, (Y/N). I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay. You’re okay,” he muttered over and over again while you cried into his chest. It was only once something dripped onto your nose that you realized how uneven his breathing was. You glanced up and, through your soaked lashes and watery eyes, were able to see that Bucky was, indeed, crying along with you. When he noticed you looking he sniffed and glanced away, trying to put on a brave face, but it was too late. You’d seen it all.

“Oh, baby...” you whispered, heart breaking at the sight. A fresh wave of tears rolled down your face. You knew he’d been through a lot, but he’d never said anything so you assumed he’d been coping well, but it seemed that wasn’t completely the case.

He glanced back at you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he chewed on it nervously. You reached up slowly and wiped the tears from his face, giving him a small smile. “What a pair we make, huh?” you asked quietly.

He cracked a smile at that and leaned down to place a tender kiss to your forehead. “Wouldn’t trade you for the world, Dollface,” he murmured against your skin as he rubbed comforting circles into your back with his hand.

You smiled at that and gave him a gentle squeeze as your thumbs rubbed gentle circles into his skin. “Like I’d let you,” you joked lightly. He laughed at that and the noise made your heart feel unspeakably lighter and you even found yourself giggling quietly along with him. You both quieted again a few seconds later, simply enjoying the comfort of each other’s company. After a moment, though, you spoke up. “I wouldn’t trade you for anything, either,” you mumbled. His hands froze on your back and when he didn’t start moving again you tilted your head up so you could look at his face.

Your heart stuttered at the sight in front of you. There was a gentle smile on his face that you’d never seen before and his eyes shone with such pure adoration that you nearly started crying again. He reached up and cupped your cheek and brushed his rough thumb lightly over your skin. “Come sleep with me,” he said quietly.

A small part of you wanted to say no. You’d only been with Bucky for a day and, although it felt like you’d been together much longer, you weren’t the kind of woman to have sex with a man that early in the relationship. Hell, you hadn’t even had a real date together yet.

But with the way he was looking at you and how you felt just then, you would have jumped off a cliff if he’d asked you.

He must have correctly interpreted your silence because he spoke up again quickly. “I don’t mean anything but sleeping, Doll. I just... thought it might be better than sleeping alone with the nightmares,” he amended quickly, but you were already nodding your head in agreement halfway through his sentence. He smiled broadly and, in a show of strength and dexterity, picked you up and stood as though you weighed nothing. 

“Your room alright?” he asked quietly, glancing down at you with that unbridled adoration in his eyes.

“Considering my other option is listening to Dugan snore all night, yeah,” you said, smirking. He let out a single huff of laughter and began making his way towards your room, blanket floating behind him like a cape.

You were in your loft a moment later. Like Steve, Bucky had to duck a bit to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. He placed you gently onto the bed and you wormed your way underneath the blankets. He crawled into the bed and under the blankets a moment later and sidled up next to you. His arms went around you and you turned to face him, burying your face in his chest. You inhaled deeply, allowing his scent to set you at ease.

He placed a light kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep, (Y/N),” he murmured, voice already thick with sleep. Apparently you had the same effect on him that he had on you.

“G’night, Buck,” you murmured, eyes already heavy with sleep.

“G’night, Doll,” he answered, breath tickling your hair.

You fell almost immediately into a blissfully dreamless sleep, Bucky’s comforting weight next to and around you.

“You wake ‘em up.” Jim.

“I’m not going in there. What if they’re naked?” James.

“I ain’t doin’ it.” Dum Dum.

“Don’t look at me.” Gabe.

“Je refuse.” Jacques.

“... Rock paper scissors?” Steve.

You blinked slowly as you woke, the hushed conversations rousing you rather effectively. You realized there was a weight keeping you from moving too much and you glanced up, eyes immediately finding a pair of equally sleepy-looking steel blue ones gazing back at you. You couldn’t help the dopey smile that took its place on your face as you beheld Bucky in all his disheveled early-morning glory.

“Morning,” you murmured, leaning forward to shove your face into his chest, nuzzling it gently.

You felt the low, rumbling chuckle that left his lips at your actions. “Mornin’,” he whispered, placing a light kiss to your forehead.

“You want to put them out of their misery, or should I?” you asked, peering up at him blearily through one eye.

He smirked and gave you a gentle squeeze before he spoke up, loud enough for the guys to hear. “We’re awake, you fat heads. Your yappin’ was so loud I’m surprised you didn’t wake the whole neighborhood.”

There was a torrent of apologies mixed with indignant comments. Then, Steve spoke up, “You two decent?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” you grumbled, snuggling even closer into Bucky’s chest, making him chuckle. You didn’t want to get up, much less talk to other people, even if it was Steve and the guys.

There was a sigh of relief and the sound of Steve walking up the stairs. You couldn’t see anything except Bucky’s chest but when Steve spoke again it was obvious he was in your room. “Hey, Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky responded instantly, fondness in their tones betraying their words. He poked his head out of the blankets to stare at Steve.

“You made us worry when we woke up and you were nowhere to be found,” Steve said chastisingly.

“Well I had a choice between sleeping next to a bunch of smelly men or a pretty dame, so-” you kicked him in the shin (not enough to hurt) “-ow. Yeah, yeah. I should have left a note or something. Figured you guys would put two and two together, though,” Bucky said, sounding just contrite enough to satisfy Steve.

Steve let out a long sigh. “We leave for Czechoslovakia in a few hours. Will you two be ready to go by then?” he asked tiredly.

You stuck your hand out of the blankets and gave Steve a thumbs up. Bucky grinned widely at that and nodded to your hand and then to Steve. “You heard the lady. We’ll be ready,” he said with a wink.

Realizing that was the best he was going to get out of the two of you just then, he turned and left, grumbling discontentedly as he walked down the stairs. Once Bucky was fairly sure he was out of earshot, he laid back down and kissed you deeply, making you smile and kiss him back, your arms snaking around his waist. It was a slow, lazy kiss, but made your heart soar anyway. You broke apart after a minute and he placed a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“You will be ready to go in a few hours, right?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at you. “I know you have a lot of stuff.”

You rolled your eyes and nodded. “Packed yesterday after we were done working on your rifle,” you said quietly.

He grinned slyly and your heartbeat picked up involuntarily at the sight. “Well that means we have a few hours to kill... You got any ideas?” he asked, hand trailing down your waist until it was on your hip. He pulled you to him and you felt your cheeks heat as you stared up at him, wide-eyed.

“I, uh- Well- Maybe we- Uhm.”

Bucky laughed as he released your hip and placed a chaste kiss to your lips. “I was joking, sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready. Don’t want you to feel any pressure,” he said easily. “But any ideas would be welcome,” he said with a wink.

You relaxed and brought your hand up to card your fingers gently through his hair. He closed his eyes at the touch and relaxed; you were sure that if he was a cat he’d be purring. “How about that date you promised me yesterday?” you asked quietly.

He opened his eyes and graced you with a blinding smile. “I think that’s a great idea, Doll. I haven’t had time to look in town, though...”

“How about some coffee and a light breakfast? We don’t have a ton of time,” you said, scratching his head gently as your fingers ran through his hair.

He let out a small noise of content and nodded his agreement with your plan. “But you know, that means you’ll have to get up.” You pouted at that, fingers stilling in his hair. He smiled at you, eyes twinkling with a mischief that had you suddenly a bit concerned. “Now, Doll, if you don’t get up of your own free will I may be forced to take... drastic measures,” he said dramatically.

You set your jaw and glared him down, calling his bluff. He wouldn’t dare-

Oh, but he did dare. His fingers shot to your sides before you could stop them and began wiggling. You immediately burst into laughter at the tickling and no matter how you clawed at his wrists and hands, they wouldn’t budge. You tried to fight back, reaching for his sides, but he batted your hands away easily with his elbows, face alight with mirth as he tortured you with tickles.

“Give up yet, Doll?” he asked as he smiled, biting his lip playfully.

“Ne-Never!” you managed to choke out between gasping breaths and loud laughs.

He didn’t relent, though. He took it one step further and buried his face in your neck, his unshaved scruff tickling your sensitive skin there, too. 

You couldn’t take it anymore; you could barely breathe. “Uncle, uncle! I give!” you breathed. His hands stilled immediately and he placed a tender kiss to your neck as you gasped for air.

When you finally got your breath back you turned to level a glare at him... the effect was somewhat hampered by the smile on your lips. He smiled innocently at you, shrugging helplessly.

“You’re going to pay for that. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But I will get my revenge,” you said dangerously.

He only winked playfully at you though and placed a kiss to your cheek. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he said coyly. He hopped out of the bed a moment later before you could do anything.

“James!” you yelled mock angrily as you chased after him, vaulting off of the bed. He turned just in time to catch you, arms wrapping securely around your waist. Your arms went around his neck and your legs wrapped around his waist.

He grinned widely at you. “Ooh, pullin’ out the first name. I am in trouble,” he said cheerfully.

You rolled your eyes and pecked him lightly on the lips. “I’m going to shower then get ready. We can leave in... forty minutes?” you asked doing the math in your head. You could be ready in forty minutes... probably.

He nodded along, wide grin lighting his entire face up. “Sounds good, Doll,” he murmured. You smiled and disentangled yourself from him, dropping to your feet gracefully. You turned away to gather your things, but he stopped you; he grabbed your hand and pulled you firmly back to his chest. You opened your mouth to ask him what he was thinking, but your protests were silenced by his lips on yours. The kiss was passionate and heated and filled with everything he felt for you, and you for him. The closest word you could come up with for it was “perfect”.

You broke apart after a moment, both wearing matching, ridiculously happy smiles.

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that,” he said quietly, gazing happily at you. He seemed to sober a bit after a second. “But we have places to be, Dollface. You better go get ready,” he said, spinning you so you were facing your suitcase. He placed a light kiss to the crown of your head then gave you a gentle push. “Meet you in the living room in forty.”

You turned to look at him, nodding dazedly. You watched him leave, only snapping out of the Bucky-induced haze once he was out of sight.

As you were gathering up your things, it finally hit you. You were going on a date with Bucky. You were his best girl.

You practically skipped to the bathroom, ignoring the knowing looks the guys gave you as you made your way through the house.

Right before you closed the door, you heard Jim say something to Dum Dum.

“They’re going to be insufferable from now on, aren’t they?” Jim asked, harsh words belied by his kind, amused tone.

“Oh yeah,” Dum Dum said with a hearty laugh. “Big time.”

Forty minutes later you were waiting nervously at the door, clean and fully bundled up to face the chilly forty-three degree morning air. Bucky appeared a moment later, looking as cozy as ever in his dark blue pea coat. He forewent the normal munitions, though; today he wore a scarf and you could see the telltale bulge of a wallet in his front pants pocket (at least, you assumed it was a wallet. You didn’t let your gaze dwell long enough to discern whether or not it really was).

“Ready to go, Doll?” he asked, taking your hand in his as you made your ways towards the door.

You opened your mouth, but your stomach chose just then to growl, effectively answering his question for you. You looked guiltily up at him and he laughed, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“One breakfast date, comin’ right up,” he said with a wink as he opened the front door.

The two of you made your way to a little cafe just a few blocks away. It was one of the few places left open in the area due to the war, but its food was delicious, so you weren’t complaining. You sat in a booth by the window, chatting easily and people-watching, coming up with increasingly ridiculous made up life stories for passersby. Time passed by quickly; you drank coffee, ate your food, and talked. Then talked some more. It was only once Bucky glanced at his watch and did a double take that you realized how much time must have passed.

“Geeze, Doll. We better go. I’m surprised Steve hasn’t sent out a search party for us yet,” Bucky said, hastily throwing on his scarf as he scooted out of the booth. He made his way to your side of the table and offered you a hand. You took it thankfully, smiling warmly at him as you tugged your coat on.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

“My pleasure, Doll.”

You made it back to the house in record time, only after buying an entire pie as a peace offering to the guys. Steve opened his mouth to chew you out the moment you stepped in the door, but one sniff of the pie in the box in your hands and he shut right up.

Not a half hour later you and the guys were on your way to the airstrip; you were on Moxie with Bucky (you’d let him drive- he was thrilled), Steve was on Patriot, and the guys were in the trucks.

The moment everything was loaded you took your seat in the cockpit. Bucky took the seat next to you; you’d agreed to teach him how to fly and he was to be your copilot while he learned (Steve had been insistent about that. He probably hoped it would temper your impulses). Just like that, you were all on your way to Czechoslovakia.

Next Chapter

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