#*Milton voice* I could burn down the building

[music-for-them-asses]

I'm convinced the only people who actually want to return to the office are a) CEOs who have their own floor, b) extroverts, and c) masochists

#Oh and don't forget neurotypicals #*Milton voice* I could burn down the building #my mom and sister both agree they're more productive and less stressed wfh #if you're in a small office I could understand. if you work for a large soulless corporation I do not #especially now that we'll be 'hoteling'

[chiwhorei]

the folly of man

pairing: e. todoroki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: ~2.6k

tags: the softest!enji there ever was, crybabie!reader, age gap (20ish vs. 50), d/s dynamics, belly bulge, squirting, overstim, daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, a spank, breeding kink, creampie, i am dramatic and clinically melancholy so it’s a little angsty but it’s really just unabashed, self-indulgent fluff

a/n: i screamed about soft!enji to @messwriting a few weeks ago, then the other night enji took me to paris and wrecked my shit in my dreams. the result? complete self-indulgence. i will not be taking criticism on my desire to fuck this man, he is a drawing. (the banner image is from the lonely doll by dare wright, if you know this book we probably have very similar issues sksksksksk)

hymn: angel by finneas

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss,” ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

He swears it’s your quirk that got him. Grabbed him by the collar, stole his soul from his chest— you swiped it right from his rib cage.

You sit across from him, legs folded under each other and pen pressing against your lips. Is it your lips? Or the way words curl past them?

A siren’s call in the form of a 20-something journalist. He hates the likes— prodding for sound bites and snippets to plaster across front pages. But your figure buckles in on itself, nerves weighing down the fabric of a light pink blouse and tight-yet-tasteful pencil skirt. Your presence is gentle and honeyed, it feels warm where Enji is usually burning hot.

Your fever spreads across his cheeks and nose.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need me to repeat the question?”

Your bottom lip trembles nervously, pulled in between your teeth to gnaw on. Freshly graduated and on your very first assignment, it seemed hilarious to send the newly minted recruit into a white-hot tongue lashing.

“Mr. Number One has chewed the head off of every reporter in Japan, it’s a right of passage.”

The echo of your colleague’s stifled laugh rings in your ear as you stare back, you scan over the small wrinkles by his eyes and the jagged scar across his face. The silvered skin curves around his features like atonement. There’s something about the prolific hero that seems to pull you towards him. You grab the side of your chair so as to not fall forward right into his orbit.

Any attempt at distance was doomed from the beginning.

He shakes his head, eyes darting from either of yours to find the question you asked him. He coughs awkwardly, nodding his head for you to continue. Any desire to snap at you dissolves into the carpet with the very first laugh. You let out a small, tinkling giggle against better judgement that cracks the glassed tension.

“What is your biggest inspiration?”

The question hangs in the air a moment before a rehearsed answer falls from his mouth, something about the citizens of his community and the desire to keep his country safe. Whatever tumbles out is less interesting than how you smile in response.

Every person in the room-- agents, publicists, the poor intern holding a black coffee in his trembling hands-- watch on, collectively agape, at the scene before them.

Flame Hero: Endeavor breaks composure for a moment to send you a docile, lopsided smile.

You decide it’s something you won’t soon get tired of seeing.

“Did you get everything you wanted,” his voice trails off with a hint of uncertainty, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head, “I could answer a few more questions over dinner.”

Enji stands in shock at his own behavior, the inferno flickers little more than a candle in your eyeline. Every minute holds sixty seconds of opportunity, and Enji’s hair is graying at the ends. Even if you brush the dusty old hero from your shoulders with guffaw, even if you roll your eyes or kiss his insole with a pointed heel. He can’t afford to waste a moment more.

It has to be your quirk, he decides, reciting like a prayer the only logical answer to his sweating palms and clambering heart. Nothing makes sense but keeping you within arms reach. It must be some kind of hypnosis, maybe a pheromone.

Enji’s penance lies in the soft, supplied skin of a quirkless civilian.

***

There are few places that have felt like home, no matter what four walls build a house around him. He alone is responsible for each one decaying. He deserves a spot in every plane of hell.

Enji leans against the headboard, scanning over pages of John Milton and enjoying the quiet just after dusk. Looking over the top of his glasses, the book in hand falls out of frame, like most everything does.

Pink lace hangs like bated breath from your shoulders and hips. You look on to him for approval, the set your eyes had lingered on in a boutique window now brandishes the swell of your breasts.

“My perfect girl.” His words are filled with wonder, pulling at the ends of his mouth when you twirl, the ends of flowing lace pick up around you like wings.

Winter air creeps from the open balcony to hit your skin, spreading chills down every inch. Enji watches as you shiver, the cool breeze prickles past pick lace with little effort.

“Come here.” Enji tosses his glasses and book to the bedside table and pats his lap.

Nothing feels more like home than when you settle to lie atop his naked chest, cheek pressed firmly against his pulse.

You rest your chin against his sternum, hands crawling up to find warmth from his skin. He feels the thin, golden ring as your touch trails around his neck.

His own hands, calloused and battered, eclipse over your lower back to find purchase against your ass.

Away from the prying eyes of domestic paparazzi and forty minutes outside of Paris— Enji cuts out what feels like a stolen heaven.

Idle chat about the museum he took you to today fills the room comfortably. Your fingertip comes down to trace the lines of marred skin across the bridge of his nose, he hums and smiles as you talk about paintings.

None stood out to him.

He takes your hand in his much bigger one, kissing the band that mimics his own. You tangle your fingers together.

“This feels like a dream,” your voice is barely above a whisper, lest the night air hears the talk of lovers.

“I’m not totally convinced you aren’t a dream.” Enji pulls you to sit back against his legs, in this position you can meet his eyes without straining upward. Strong hands come down to rest at your hips, thumbs rubbing lightly against the lingerie’s fabric.

You scoff, batting at his chest, you laugh his comments off in moments like this. But Enji is convinced one day you will lift straight from the world with nothing left but your shoes keeping the earth weighted down.

Soft lips ghost over his, an invitation he’ll never refuse. Your mouth is against him, small hands coming to either side of Enji’s face. His graying stubble is coarse under your fingers. You inhale deeply, he smells like campfire and expensive cologne. Your tongue slips between his lips. His mouth tastes like the remnants of the bottle of red wine you shared after dinner

The hands around your middle pull your impossibly closer, pressing into your lower back to grind your hips down against the bulge in his sweatpants. Your body moves against him, panties rubbing against your already throbbing clit.

“Daddy.” The title wraps in chords around his vertebrae, the sounds of whimpering hits his ear, and he notices the wet patch rubbing right against his knee.

“What do you want, princess? Tell daddy what you want.” The maneuvering of your hips starts slow, but Enji has you almost bouncing on his leg before you can answer him. Both of your hands wrap around his left wrist, tugging it in between your legs.

“I want you to touch me, please. I- I need it.” You bite the inside of your cheek when the pads of his fingers graze the damp, thin material of your panties, his burning touch sets every blood cell aflame.

“You’re so wet, princess, what’s got you all worked up?” There’s a gleam of humor in his voice, seeing you desperate for him has Enji stiffening beneath you.

“My precious little thing, I’ll take good care of you.” His words write you a promise, it extends far past a night of love in Paris.

You can feel his assurance carved into your heart.

Enji’s hand dips into the front of your underwear, ghosting over your clit and running against your swollen lips. He marvels at your response, the smallest ministrations have your head rolling to the side.

His pointer and middle finger prod against you, inching inside carefully. Even with the utmost care, you wince at the stretch. No matter how many times he’s fucked you open in this whirlwind year,

“You’re tighter than a fucking vise, Christ.”

A long moan escapes you, knees moving to dig into the mattress below you for leverage to buck against his hand. Enji curls his fingers upwards, calloused tips finding the spongy patch of skin that has you squirming. His fingers cross over each other, pumping into you and easing you to relax against the intrusion.

“Daddy, I want your cock. I’m ready, please.” The heat in your core is rising, licking against your nerves like wildfire. Enji tutts in response to your begging, his thumb coming down to rub taught circles into your clit.

“I know, princess, but you remember the rules. Cum on my fingers, and I’ll give you what you want.” Enji picks up the pace of his fingers, his own patience thinning at the edges with each call for your daddy.

“Close, ‘m close,” your voice wobbles, aching legs pushing you against him, chasing desperately for that first release.

Enji feels you clenching tight in finality, a squeal breaching the steamy space around you. You crack in his tight hold, the taste of bliss coats your tongue-- it tastes like tears.

You slump forward against his chest, coming to float back down to earth before he sends you hurdling back towards the sun.

“You’re so beautiful, princess, absolutely perfect.” Enji’s voice is heavy, lined with a certain bitterness you are familiar with. His compliments always sound like apologies.

You lift your head, forehead pressing against his, the stray hair around your face tickling his skin.

There aren’t words that could heal decades. No amount of atonement, no prayers to any gods will fix a life of despair. He shoulders the blame of it all, heavy against bones and muscle.

Moving to kiss him tenderly, lips pulling him back into the world's sweetest direction. You shouldn’t let him use you as his redemption. If Enji were another man, a better man, he would have walked away from you that fateful afternoon under fluorescent light with just the fleeting feeling you dipped his heart in.

He’s not any kind of good in this world, Enji is a foolish bastard.

He’ll keep kissing you, he’ll touch and lick and fuck you until your wings pick up in the wind and fly you away.

“I want to ride your cock, Daddy. Let me make you feel good too.” You beg for him once again, you beg to be a distraction, the sweetest kind of diversion-- hidden snugly in the quiet of a French villa.

Enji is meticulous with stripping you of the dainty lace, brushing off the straps of your bra so the cups fall right under your pert nipples. He moves his hands slowly, snaking up your sides to swipe his thumbs against the pebbled buds. You don’t try to stop the wines falling like prayer, your body still on edge from your first orgasm.

He pulls off your soaked panties, eyes tracing the strings of slick collecting and breaking off from your glistening cunt.

“Such a precious little pussy, and it’s all mine.” Enji frees his cock from his sweats and boxers, the length springing to slap against his abdomen. He pumps his hand a few times before pressing it against your stomach. It’s no surprise that his size is impressive, long and thick in an ever-intimidating way.

Enji admires how his cock presses against you, tip nudging against your belly button. In comparison to your smaller form, it’s a wonder he hasn’t ripped you in half.

You’d let him.

“No more teasing, Daddy. I need it, please.” Desperation sparks against your nerves, igniting with the sharp sound of Enji’s hand against your ass.

“Don’t get mouthy now, princess.” His warning is light, he’s never been good at denying you.

He pulls your hips up, lining himself up so you can sink down onto him. If his fingers make you whimper, the first breach of his shaft makes you wail.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging in to steady yourself with every deliciously unforgiving inch. You’ll never get used to his size, you never want to.

Enji has held composure with white knuckles, but his resolve is rusting with every movement of your descent. His desire to tear into you becomes untamable, his mind swims in with the velveteen grip you suck him in with.

“You’re mine, fuck, you’re mine forever.” He will promise you until he believes it himself.

He’ll believe in forever if forever means you.

The folly of man is nestled at the apex of your thighs, is pleading gasps, is begging for more, is too much and too little.

And Enji is a fool in love.

The gates of heaven open between your quivering legs to let the devil in. He’ll take every moment he can steal.

As your hips settle down finally, the feeling of being so completely full has tears collecting in your lashes to run down your cheeks. It’s depraved, truly, how beautiful your destruction is.

Enji gives you a moment, adjusting to his size and relaxing, his hand comes down to rub against your stomach, tracing against the skin lightly.

“I can feel it,” his breath hitches, the pulsing around him is dizzying, he feels his tip as it moves inside of you, “fuck, I can feel my cock in your tummy.”

Shaky thighs start moving above him, the bounce of fat and flesh atop his hardened body. He can’t help the declarations flying from his mouth, he can’t stop the itching feeling to make you his completely.

“I want to fuck a baby into you, want to fill you so full.” He can feel the way your body reacts to his most perverse desire, “I want you round and swollen with my child.”

Enji grabs your hips, taking control and quickening the pace of his assault on your weeping pussy. You cry out, a string of babbled, “Please, daddy, please fuck me full, s-so full.”

You can feel your second orgasm bubbling up with each stroke of Enji’s cock against your abused pussy. All words are lost, all thoughts fuzzy aside from the man pounding himself into you from below.

“Cum around me, little girl, cum around my cock.” Enji’s words are little more than a growl, head thrown back into the pillows as you constrict around him. His fingers come down against your clit again, rubbing with fervor. He’s adamant on throwing you head-first, body limp and overstimulated in every way.

You feel it in the gnashing of your teeth, the wound chord snapping like floss around Enji. You feel yourself gushing, your cum leaking around him and dripping onto the bed sheets.

Enji cums with one final buck, hips lifting off of the bed as he spills into you. You can feel the thick spurts against your still pulsating walls, filling you to the brim and trickling out even before you separate.

He stays inside of you for a moment, large hands wrapped around your middle, pulling you to crumble into his chest. You collapse against his warm, jagged skin. He lulls you with soft strokes to your hair, behind the flush and sweat on your face, he sees the dizzy, love-drunk expression tugging on your lips.

No matter how many times you disagree, Enji knows it’s true.

The swelling, disorienting feeling of your smile. The visions of a future, of the life he doesn't deserve but wouldn’t give up for any deal the devil could make him. The sight of you, simply and without motive, every day.

It has to be your quirk.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#endeavor smut #endeavor x reader #enji todoroki smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #enji todoroki x reader #enji smut

[kimhargreeves]

🔵🟣Happier part 2- Polkadot Man x Reader🔴🟢

Summary: You and Abner seem to get closer while on your time in Corto Maltese. But your team is soon in danger when you have to fight off Starro The Conquerer. Will you all make it out alive?

A/N: Holt shit I can't believe many people have liked my previous work on Abner! Thank you all so much❤️ This is the last part but there will be more of our man. Polkadot Man is one of my favorite characters now and James Gunn did him dirty. If you know then you know. I hope everyone enjoys this and there will be more soon. In the meantime I have a Rick Flag and Javelin one shot out if any are interested!

"La Gatita Amable?"

I raised an eyebrow at the bars strange yet funny name. I couldn't help but chuckle at it earning me a few looks from my team. "It means The Kind Little Kitten."

Some were surprised and some didn't care. "How'd you learn Spanish?" Abner's soft spoken voice asked me.

"My parents were born outside of the U.S, they knew English but I had to learn their language as well growing up. It really comes in handy when someone starts talking bad at you and you can cuss them back." I laugh to myself remembering one time I punched a guy for a few things he said.

"Does he really need to stay behind?" Cleo asked looking back at the car we had gotten off. Milton the driver went to hide himself and King Shark on the back of the building.

"People would've freaked out seeing a walking shark, of course we had to." Rick answers her.

"Just a reminder, I certainly would've like the shark to be here instead of him." Peacemaker pointed at Bloodsport who looked at him angry.

"Fuck you. Let's get this over with." We each made it inside the building and yes it was completely full of people, drinking, dancing or making out.

Rick and I sat opposite to each other with Abner by my side and Christopher on my other side. "See? Getting you into that dress wasn't so bad." Christopher teases me.

We couldn't come in here with out costumes so we each had to change and Rick had gotten me a dress so wear. I hate wearing dresses since I was never used to them, so the guys grabbed me and tried putting it on me until Cleo thankfully saved me and asked me kindly to put it.

It seemed childish of me but another reason I didn't like wearing them was because my legs are covered in many scars. I'm sure they all must've noticed them.

"Maybe not for you, look at you what are you even wearing? You look like a fucking 80's porn star with tight skinny shorts and shirt or a very douchy Captain America."

Bloodsport coughed up with drink with Rick and began to laugh at my comment. "Hey! It's not bad at all, makes it look to everyone that I can take them down in a fight."

"Well, I think she looks very nice." We all looked at Abner. They all raised their eyebrows and looked at each other surprised. They know what was going on.

"Please tell us you still aren't seeing your mother." Bloodsport begged.

Abner looked at him and shook his head. "No, I try not to."

"You're a good guy despite your weird Polkadot powers, but I like them." Cleo smiled and Sebastian her rat gave a thumbs up.

"Thank you, that means a lot." I said looking back at him and smiled. I felt like a young school girl again having a crush. It's been so long since I had someone very important to me.

"Alright love birds!" Rick laughed and patted Abner's shoulder and raised his glass full of alcohol. "Here's to us. The brand new Suicide Squad. We'll all make it out alive."

We raised our drinks and clinked our glasses together and I could feel my throat on fire.

"I'm warning ya I'm just having one drink." Robert warned.

"Definitely." I agreed and Rick nodded.

"One more won't harm us." Rick called for a waitress to bring us more.

🟡🟢🟠🔴🟣🔵

"My mother told me that the world has got its plans

I wanna hold em til they burn right through my hands

Don't ask me questions cause I'm tired of confessing

And I know that it's not much to say but I swear that I'd like to change"

I laughed and saw everyone dancing or trying to. "Won't you join us, (Y/N)?" Cleo asked jumping up and down and made sure Sebastian was okay, he was on the table drinking.

"I'm not good at dancing." I tried excusing myself from making a fool of myself.

"I can't dance either and none of us can." Abner said and looked at the rest of our team attempting to dance. "You can always blame it on the alcohol."

Abner offered me his hand. I looked at it unsure but I finally gave in and took it.

"I can't sleep, I hope I stay awake

Cause I've been running, running, running all day

Long nights, no peace, I feel like everybody's eyes on me. I can't sleep."

We all began to dance and not giving a care in the world if we got weird looks. I laughed at the odd dances everyone would do, I danced weirdly as well and twirled around and was caught by Abner who was holding me tight.

I felt his hands running through my hair and he quickly leaned down and captured my lips. It was an unexpected surprise but a very well invited one. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gripped his dark hair.

I didn't even realize we had gotten away from the crowd and into a bathroom, he continued to kiss me until he hoisted me up from the floor and I wrapped my legs around him. I normally wouldn't do this, but it felt right and who knows if we might did tomorrow. I held onto him tight and enjoyed the moment.

🟣🟡🔵🟠🔴🟢

"A bunch of wannabe superheroes like you would never be able to stop what's inside Jotunheim."

"Villains, man! God knows we're far from being heroes." Someone shouted from inside the van.

I had my eyes closed and had a bit of a hangover. Thankfully Cleo went and grabbed a few pills for me, King Shark in his own way was asking if I was okay and if I needed something else.

"Can you just shut up?!" I screamed at The Thinker or also knows as Dr. Gauis Grieves. I looked at him and hummed.

"You sorta look like someone I saw a long time ago on tv." I mostly said to myself and was ignored by him.

I looked at the seat behind me and avoided eyes with Abner and he did the same. We were both avoiding to talk about what happened last night between us. "Nom Nom, (Y/N)?" King Shark asked holding an empanada to me.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry." I said holding onto my side since I felt like throwing up.

"You're going to get us in." Rick warned when the car made its stop and it heavily began to rain. We went to capture Harley but she successfully did it on her own.

"You're looking pale, (Y/N)." Even Harley grimaced at how I looked.

"You're one to talk you look like a ghost."

"Am I a pretty ghost?!" She happily asked. K have her a look and began to grab my gun, dagger and whip.

"I had too much to drink last night."

"You're gonna be alright." Rick smiled at me a messed up my hair.

We followed him outside and began to shoot the soldiers that were made visible once we reached them. I took one of my guns and easily hit their heads even if I felt tired.

Rick and Bloodsport opened the door and we entered the Jotunheim. We began to put up bombs on the wall and began to run, to try and find what we were supposed to look, project Starfish.

I stood by Rick's side and Cleo's. The Thinker was beside us and we looked at the people, horrified to see they were strapped down and experimented on. "This is sick, who would do this?"

"The American's."

We looked at The Thinker in horror and he explained to us all. The U.S government was behind Project Starfish this whole time. Rick and I exchanged looks when a giant Starfish behind a glass made itself appear.

"The files. Rick, we have to let them all know." Rick nodded his head and went to grab them until Peacemaker showed up. He betrayed us, he was on Waller's side.

"Drop it or I'll blow your heads off."

"The fuck? And just when I was starting to warm up to your weird charms." I sarcastically tell him. He was an idiot for doing this. Just when we were about to fight the building began to collapse because of the explosives.

My head was certainly hurting even more when I opened my eyes and saw everything in pieces. I got up when I heard something shattering, I moved closer and saw Rick and Peacemaker fighting.

I saw the file and ran to grab it but Peacemaker grabbed my hair tight and began to hit my head against the ceramic wall. Rick quickly hit Peacemakers head which made him drop me. I felt blood dripping down to my face.

But I quickly stood back up next to Rick's side. We exchanged looks and took our position to fight. I grabbed my whip out of my waist and began to hit Peacemaker, but he easily caught it which was wrapped around his arm. I had to let go of it and dodges his attacks when he tried to hit me again.

"Don't you dare harm her." Rick warned. We had a brother and sister relationship, so we would have each other's back.

Rick ran towards Christopher and each began to fight. I grabbed my gun and shot it at Peacemakers leg and shoulder but he didn't even flinch. I screamed when I saw he had stabbed Rick, right in the heart.

My vision got blurry and I ran to his side and fell to his side. "Rick.." I was pulled up and held tightly.

We looked up ahead and saw Cleo looking at us, with tears running down her face too. "Run." Cleo grabbed the disk and began to run. I made it out of Christopher's grip and pulled my whip back and began to climb through the wall.

I began to run and jumped as far as I could to the other end of the building and I made sure my whip was being held tightly so I wouldn't fall. I held onto it for dear life and carefully began to climb down and saw half of our now small team below. I had to let go of my whip and jumped down onto the concrete and climbed down the rocks with my bare hands.

I coughed up the dust and dirt off and I raced over to Abner and wrapped my arms around him. "He's dead. Rick's been killed. Peacemaker and the U.S government were behind this all along."

"I knew it! Never trust the government!" Harley said angrily since Rick was also her friend.

Abner held me close as we began to run when the building collapsed even more and a giant Starfish emerged from within.

"Starro the conquerer."

He began to destroy everything and smaller versions of himself started falling from the sky. "Get this off me!" People began screaming once they attaches themselves to their faces.

I covered my face and Ratcatcher did the same using her mask. Bloodsport looked in defeat when the giant creature walked past us and into the city. "We're fucked." We all said looking at it walking away.

Waller gave us an order to leave. To leave everyone here to die. Bloodsport was the first to turn around and start walking away from us. Slowly everyone did the same while I stayed and looked at them sadly.

"Come on guys, we can't leave like this. What if that were us on the other side? I'm terrified like you all are but we can't leave these innocent people to die because of a fucking intergalactic starfish."

Bloodsport made a stop and began cursing to himself.

Cleo looked at me and was the first to join my side. "Fuck!" Bloodsport angrily told himself and also came. Abner and Harley did the same and we all began to run towards Starro ignoring Waller's warning to blow us up.

"What are we supposed to do then?"

"Distract him? I've never fought an alien before."

"Neither have any of us so we gotta try everything."

The people who were being mind controlled by Starro began approaching us. Bloodsport didn't hesitate and began to shoot many of them. Abner was hidden and uncertain on what to do.

I tried to make it was close as I could to the people and try to cut open the starfishes. "This won't do, they are too many." I ran over to Abner and grabbed his hands.

"We need your help, I know how much you hate killing but you need to use your weird but awesome polkadot powers." Abner's dark eyes landed on mine and he seemed a bit terrified.

"I know you can do it, I really enjoyed our time together and I would really really like to know you more." I was pouring my heart and soul into him.

Abner grabbed my shoulders and smiled while he nodded his head. "I'm gonna do it! Together, (Y/N)."

"I hate to interrupt your little chat but we need some help!" He heard Bloodsport.

"Polkadot Man!" He pointed at Starro. "That's your mother!"

Abner began using his powers. "I'm a superhero!!"

I looked at Abner weirdly but couldn't help but cheer him on to defeat the massive Starfish. I ran over to Bloodsport and joined him. "Tell me you shot that jackass dead."

"My bullet went through his neck. That's what he got for being a bloody bastard."

The ground shook when Starro landed one of paws down. My mouth fell open and I slowly looked over where Abner once was.

"This is fucking war." I grabbed a grenade from Bloodsport and angrily tossed it at Starro. The creature whined and fell back a bit, until Harley stabbed it with her javelin and went Starro's eye and Ratcatcher called all of her rats and ate at him.

🔴🔵🟠🟢🟣🟡

I was still on my knees and crying holding onto a single a pice of fabric of his costume. "I say after this suicide mission, we deserve to be set free." I heard Bloodsport tell me. I could tell he isn't a man to express his feelings, so all he did was sigh and patted my shoulder.

Harley slowly walked over to us, soaking wet from being inside of Starro. "Geez, (Y/N).. I'm sorry..Believe me I was in love a day ago, I shot him. But I will say he a huge-"

"Harley. Now's not the time." Bloodsport told her.

I felt King Shark sit beside me and with his fins he pulled me close in a hug. It felt weird but comforting.

"(Y/N)." Cleo knelt down to my side.

"Yes, I know you're all sorry! I get it..sorry it's just, everyone I seem to love always gets killed or betrays me." Sebastian who was on her shoulders made its way on my leg and he began to make movements with his tiny hands.

"Why don't you turn-"

"Let's just go back to jail." I said in defeat and got up angrily and began to walk away still staring down at the ground.

"(Y/N)." I can even still hear his voice. Wait..I stopped and turned around and my mouth fell open and I began to cry without realizing it.

There he was alive! Really hurt but still alive! Abner was covered in blood and dust even his dark hair was covered in dust and dirt. I began running faster and finally met his side, Abner wrapped his arms right around me tight and so did I.

"You're alive." I continued to cry.

"We tried telling you." Harley said which earned her looks.

"Friend alive!" King Shark excitedly exclaimed and came to us and lifted us both off the ground making us laugh.

"I never thought anyone would care so much for me." Abner told me making me look back up at him.

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. "We've known each other for less than a week, but I really love you. You mean a lot to me. I hope this doesn't make you want to die again."

Abner smiled back and ran his fingers down to my hair and rested his hand on my cheek. "..I love you too, (Y/N)."

Cleo ran toward us and wrapped her arms around him once we let go. "I'm so happy you're alive too my friend."

Harley smiled at Bloodsport, "Time to head back home, Milton."

"For the last time my name isn't Milton!" The man angrily told her.

The six of us spotted the chopper up ahead and raced towards it and with that we were out of Corto Maltese. We were all exhausted but despite all that, I was extremely happy we made it out alive.

Abner kept holding my hand when we sat down, the sun was slowly setting down as we made it back. I rested my head on Abner's shoulder and enjoyed being here, in this very moment with him.

#the suicide squad spoilers #abner krill #the suicide squad 2021 #abner krill x reader #polkadot man #david dastmalchian #bloodsport #harley quinn #peacemaker #rick flag #ratcatcher #king shark #starro #dc #the suicide squad x reader

[thewalkingdead-imagines]

TWD - Negan Imagine ~ “Rouge Elements”

Imagine about the 11th and 12th episode of Season 11

Summary: Negan and the Reader’s life goes on in Alexandria after some of its residents join the Commonwealth, and they have to prepare themselves for new challenges, including Pamela Milton’s visit and a mission outside the walls

Warning: (fluffy) Smut

The next morning after the Commonwealth’s arrival approached quickly after your first night home, back in your own home and your own bed.  Your decision to stay hadn’t changed though, and even after Daryl and Lydia had left later in the evening, you found yourself more confident that you’d made the right move for now.  This was your home, the place where you wanted to create a future with Negan, and it was worth to give it another chance, especially until you’d know how things actually worked and operated in this new place. With a soft sigh you closed your jacket a little tighter around your body, preventing the chilly fall air to slip underneath the fabric as you made your way down the streets of Alexandria, past the Commonwealth soldiers that were moving around their vehicles. It was still odd to see them walk around your banged up community, with their tidy and polished armors in between the piles of burning walkers and pieces of debris that hadn’t been cleaned up yet.  “You think many people will join?”, Negan asked as he glimpsed with a wary look from the soldiers back at you. “Honestly? I have no idea....guess we’ll find out soon though”, you mumbled back as you took a turn to walk into the next road straight towards the church that already seemed packed with people who were waiting for the town meeting to start, while a few others were still chatting outside.  One thing all of them had in common though was the sense of nervousness and restlessness that laid over them, elicited by the same uncertainty you and Negan were feeling about the most recent events and even more so, about everything that was about to follow after the meeting. Gulping thickly you steered towards the main entrance only to be stopped by Gabriel’s voice loudly calling out your name, urging you to glance around and quickly find him rushing from the side entrance down the church’s wall, raising his hand slightly to make sure you stopped indefinitely.

“You okay, Gabey?”, Negan asked, the big grin on his lips clearly audible through his voice as the priest quickly nodded. “Yes, I just meant to ask how you’ve decided. It seems like the council is splitting quite disproportionately up and your decision could bring some more insight into what happens with it now.” “We’ll stay, for now at least”, you said, watching as Gabriel started to slowly nod,”Just wanna wait a bit and see what happens.” “Okay, okay that might make things here easier to handle. Aaron stays too”, he said after a short moment of silence, running his hand over his freshly shaved cheek while he still seemed to ponder. “And you won’t?”, you asked, gaining his attention right back as you could feel a bit of surprise slipping into you as soon as he let out a small sigh and slowly started to shake his head.  “For as long as Alexandria isn’t build up again, Rosita thinks it’s safer for Coco at the Commonwealth, especially after the latest storm…and I agree. So until we know it’s entirely safe and secure here again, we’ll stay there.” “Yeah, I get that”, you said, nodding softly even though it still left you a bit shocked and nervous that the person, the council member and friend who’d usually stood up for you and Negan was leaving now. “So it’s only me and Aaron? We’re the only ones of the council who stay?”, you asked, watching as Gabriel slowly started to nod. “Looks like it, just talked to Nora and she’s leaving too”, he said, his glance bouncing in between Negan and you,”We’ll see what we do about it, but it’s a good thing to have you here as our head of the infirmary...now, let’s get inside.”

Two hours and seemingly endless discussions and talks later, just about half of Alexandria decided to join the Commonwealth, the overwhelming majority of them already determined to return to your community as soon as most of it was fixed up and cleaned again. Carol, Connie and her sister, Ezekiel, and Jerry and his family were among those that decided to leave, others, like your colleague Steve and his husband Dan, decided to stay back for the same reasons as you and Negan did, to just wait and see what happened.  Just a day later, half of the Commonwealth soldiers left along with those who’d made the decision to join them, forcing you to say goodbye to Daryl, Judith and RJ for now. It was an odd feeling that was stuck in you during these days, with your home missing some of those people you felt closest to and with new, strange soldiers occupying parts of it.  It had advantages though, Alexandria finally seemed to start moving into a better direction with the supplies and materials that helped building it up again. Slowly but most definitely surely. More food started to fill the shelves, more tablets than self-made tinctures finally found their way into the infirmary’s drawers, and while you appreciated this, you stayed wary of the Commonwealth and their agenda, still unsure of what you were exactly supposed to think of them.  It was all a bit of a dichtomy, despite your wary feelings, you could see Alexandria starting to flourish again and it felt good to finally have a reliable and full food source again, that allowed you to work on your future with Negan, have the dinners that you’d planned to have for so long with Lydia, and here and there have Steve and Dan over for lunch to talk about the newest events, especially considering the Commonwealth. The days passed faster without worries about food and shelter, that was for sure.  A little over a month later, Alexandria was already partially fixed, most of the east and north wall were restored and it seemed like they were making a good process with the damaged houses and the south wall as well. Your help here was a little less needed than before and the infirmary was quiet, which allowed you and Negan to finally plan a trip outside the walls to Scottshill, one of the small towns you’d talked about back during your missions at Meridian. You had enough food now, enough supplies and had even gotten a few new clothes, but you still wanted to get a bit of time away from everything, just the two of you together,  and check out whether you could find anything interesting out there on your own.  Before you’d head out for a few days, there was still something else you had to do though, which was your long awaited call with Judith that made you find yourself sitting in the radio room, a promise that the Commonwealth had kept.  They insisted on keeping a guard in there with anyone who had contact to a Commonwealth member though, and while that tended to give you a bit of an odd feeling, your excitement overpowered it. It was good to hear her voice again, and it was even more better to have the feeling that she was allowed to be a kid right now, especially after everything she went through after Michonne had left. She sounded happy and bubbly, and regardless of your suspicious feelings towards the Commonwealth, the joy you could hear in her voice right now was more important than that.  “Oh and we had a suuuper big halloween party, and people were all over the streets, it was super cool”, Judith’s voice echoed through the radio through to you as you shifted a little closer, pushing down your button to respond. “Really? Sounds awesome, what did you guys dress up as?”, you asked, immediately hearing her answer with just the same enthusiasm in her voice as before. “I was a witch, with a black dress and a big, fluffy black hat, and RJ dressed up as spiderman. Oh and uncle Daryl had a job at the halloween party for the really important people and now he’s a real soldier”, she rambled on, barely able to contain her excitement,”We just got a new apartment.” “Wow now that’s exciting, do you like it?”, you asked, even though your mind jumped to another thought for just a moment. Halloween party for the really important people? That sounded pretty much like it confirmed your thoughts back when you’d first read the Commonwealth’s booklets and info sheets. That place seemed to have a particularly soft spot for the privileged and rich from before the fall, and this now, this small, innocent comment seemed to give you another hint that there was a divide between people, between classes especially, back over there. “A lot”, you heard Judith disrupt your short moment of pondering ,”Especially because our first apartment was super weird, like we ate on the floor and everything was so loud and-” WIth that, the guard in her room on the other side of the radio interrupted her as he cleared his throat, likely not enough for Judith to grasp what was happening but enough for you to catch on. She was revealing too much. Especially too much of the Commonwealth that wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. “Y’know what? Why don’t you tell me a bit about your new friend? Are you guys going to school together?”, you asked, trying to steer the conversation into a different direction to stop risking it from being cut short and it seemed to work as Judith quickly responded, relaxed and still as excited as before. “No, I think she’s a bit older than me, but we can also meet up outside of school”, she said, taking a moment to think before she rambled on,”Now that I have an allowance I really wanna check out more of Princess’s record shop, y’know Eugene’s friend that I told you about? It’s super cool, I just have to make sure that I can make it in time after school...the teachers are nice though, but it’s really different to the teachers back home.” “Yeah I can imagine that”, you said with a soft laugh,”Apropos teachers, Negan wanted to know if the teachers are better than him? He doubts it, but he wants to know.” “He’s silly”, Judith said with a small giggle as you found yourself nodding while a small snort fell from your lips. “Yeah, he is.” “They’re stricter...Negan is more fun to be honest”, she answered your question before another small giggle fell from her lips,”They’re not as distracting as him though.” “Y’know what, I can really imagine that”, you said with a laugh,”I’m gonna tell him that first part, he’s gonna like that.” “Yeah, I’m sure”, she answered quickly, just before you heard the guard in her room raising his voice again, merely loud enough for you to hear it on the other side of the radio. “Please wrap this up now”, the male voice said in a rather monotonous tone,”Your time is almost over.” “Okay aunt (Y/N), I have to go now”, she said, audibly already shifting off her chair as its legs made a loud screeching sound as it shifted over the wooden ground,”I miss you, I hope I see you soon and greet Negan.” “I miss you guys too, I’ll greet Negan from you, do the same for me with RJ and Daryl, alright?”, you answered, your voice hushing just as you heard a rusting voice coming from your guard’s walkie, not clear enough for you to directly hear what was being said, but enough for the guard to rush outside the room without another word. Confused, you turned around, seeing the open door that the guard had been  too busy for to close and hearing some voices down in the hallway, hasty and almost nervous though they were too far off for you to identify any clear words.  “Alright, I hope I can talk to you soon!”, you heard Judith say, forcing you to turn back around to the radio station,”Bye!” “Bye Judith”, you responded one last time before the line went silent and you got up from your chair, slowly starting to walk towards the door to see whether you could find your guard again only to see him rush up the stairs as soon as you stepped outside into the hallway.  “Ah there you are, are you done with the call?”, he asked as soon as he spotted you, moving closer as you started to nod. “Yeah, just finished”, you answered, watching him mirroring your nod while a slight bit of tension still seemed to be stuck on his face. “Good, there are news. The Governor will pay Alexandria a visit in two days to become familiar with the community”, he said, as all the suspenseful and hasty talking back in the hallway suddenly made sense,”She’s expected to arrive in the morning hours and we will need you, as head of the infirmary, to lead her through Alexandria’s medical department. We expect Aaron to take over for the rest of the community and possible travels to the Hilltop, but the infirmary will be your job.” “Alright”, you nodded, and even though you could already feel some nervousness slipping into you, you tried to not let it show,”Is there anything else that I should know before she arrives?” “At this point? No”, he quickly answered, already grabbing his walkie again, seemingly eager to get going,”Just be well prepared to answer questions about your approaches and procedures within the infirmary and the current state of supplies.” “Okay, thanks for letting me know”, you answered, and with that leaving him to go back to his responsibilities and make your way finally back home. You were always eager to get to your house in the evening, but today, you were extra excited to come back and discuss the next steps of your little run outside the walls. Most of the organizational stuff was already done, you’d worked down the vast majority of your bullet points on your checklist and Negan had laid out most of the supplies that you’d needed out on a table in one of your storage rooms already. Now, what was mostly left was your procedure once you’d reach the town, the stores there and then, find all of it on the map that Gabe given you before he’d left for the Commonwealth. Both him and Aaron had marked spots on there while they’d been on their last mission, and you already felt kind of curious to see what you’d be able to find. Jumping up the stairs of your porch you quickly moved towards the front door, already seeing Negan standing by the stove and cooking dinner as you peaked through the window before you nudged the door open to move inside. “Hey there”, you said, closing the door behind yourself with a small thud as you stepped inside, already smelling the delicious scent of the dinner that immediately fueled your hunger. “Well lookie who we got here”, Negan said, turning around from his spot by the stove as you moved in closer and greeted him with a quick kiss,”Truly a damn good sight for my sore ‘n tired eyes.” “You’re that exhausted?”, you asked with a small chuckle as you reached up to  run your hand down his tense back, circling your fingers over the fabric of his shirt while he leaned into your touch and nodded. “Mhm it’s done now but the clean up today at the south gate was a fuckin’ lot, and you’re married to an old man”, he said with a grin, groaning slightly as he circled his shoulders back, trying to loosen them a bit up. “Pff I gotta veto that last part”, you said, nudging him softly before you leaned past him to snatch one of the roasted potatoes right out of the pan and plop it into your mouth. “Damn those are good”, you mumbled as soon as the delicious, savory taste filled your mouth and made you let out a content hum. “Course they are”, Negan quickly retorted with a wink before he nodded back down towards the vegetables,”They need a bit more time though.” “Alright, I think then I’ll quickly jump under the shower before dinner”, you said, leaning in to press a small kiss against his shoulder before you stepped back to move towards the hallway. “Okay but I wanna hear about everything you heard on that call with Judith as soon as you’re back, I’m curious!”, Negan called out, pointing at you with his spatula as you were about to step through the door. “Sure”, you chuckled, peeking once back into the kitchen, ”I also have some other news.” A hot shower and a good dinner later Negan knew everything newsworthy you’d heard today, most importantly Judith’s call and her opinion on the teachers at the Commonwealth. The Governor’s visit sparked his interest and curiosity as well though, especially as you started to move from the dinner table over to the couch, where he had already sprawled out the map of Scottshill onto the coffee table. “Alright then so we’ll just leave after she’s gone again? Or the day after?”, Negan asked, running his hand over his beard as he plopped down onto the couch, watching as you set your glasses down next to the map and sat down next to him. “I mean…we can just wait and see how early she arrives and how long it takes? If she gets here so early that we can’t get as much sleep as we wanted then we should probably go the next day, just to be well rested, who knows when we get to sleep again after that”, you mumbled, glimpsing over at him as he slowly started to nod,”And I mean we still need to have time to go to that town and set up camp during the daylight, so if we get enough sleep and she leaves fast, we could still start that day...if not, we’ll leave the day after...one day won’t change much either way.” “Mhm good call”, Negan mumbled as he leaned forward to lean his elbows onto his knees and glance over the map, while your thoughts drifted for another moment to the Governor’s visit, forcing to slip some of the nervousness you’d felt earlier right back into you. This could be big, this could decide things for this place and having that responsibility put into your hands made you feel slightly uneasy, especially since you had no idea what to exactly expect from this woman. “What?”, Negan asked, ripping you out of your thoughts as your glance bounced towards him, seeing him looking over his shoulder at you, a bit worried and slightly confused. “I’m a bit nervous already to be honest”, you said, shrugging your shoulder softly and sighed,”Feels like this might be more than just a random visit…if it might decide over how many supplies and support we get from them this is super important.” “And you’re gonna rock it either way”, Negan said with a soft grin, sitting himself back properly up to make sure that he could hold your glance,”No one knows that infirmary like you do.” Slowly you started to nod, even though you didn’t feel much more confident. “Yeah, but...If they’re so snobby about their education as they seemed in their brochures…”, you said, trailing off as you gulped thickly, trying to find the right words,”I just hope that she takes me serious.” “She sure as shit should because you’ve been doing a great job there, diploma or not, that doesn’t mean shit in this world”, Negan said, reaching around you to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer against him, the soft, encouraging smile was still on his face as his glance stayed focused on you,”she should see that and if she can’t, her loss…but let’s not jump to any conclusions, alright? You’re gonna do great.” Slowly you started to nod, hoping to soak up some of that confidence and hope as Negan pulled you closer in, pressing a soft kiss against your temple before he moved just enough back to look at you and give you a small wink. “Okay?”, he asked again, raising his brows as you slowly starting to not, just hoping that he was right, “And after that we’ll go on that little adventure and get our head’s free.” “Yeah”, you said, finally allowing yourself to smile back at him as he leaned in to give your lips a soft, quick peck before you watched Negan nodding towards the map as soon as you let go of him. “Apropos”, Negan said, his arm still wrapped around you as he gestured with his other hand as the notes on the map,”What do these abbreviations mean? Been trying to figure it out.“ “Uhm wait”, you mumbled, shifting a little forwards to get a closer look at Gabriel’s handwriting that was scribbled onto the paper, mostly two letter abbreviations in circles with arrows pointing at spots around the main road of the small town,”GS should be general store, there won’t be any food left but we might find other stuff in there. Aaron said there was a pharmacy in there but so if we’re really lucky, there could be some small things left. C should stand for Clothes I think and then this one here FS is farm supplies, we might find some extra stuff for the horses there.” You pondered for another moment, your eyes running along the lines and notes on the sheet before you glimpsed back over at Negan. “I’m pretty sure there are more stores but those are the ones he marked down.” ”Well that’s a good start, once we’re there we can just see and take a look at ‘em all”, he said with a nod, a bigger smile starting to grow on his lips as he pulled you a little closer into his warmth,”Maybe they have some baby stuff too. I bet that store for clothes has some cute ass rompers or small socks n’ stuff...or pregnancy clothes, you need those too.” “Slow down cowboy, I’m not even pregnant yet”, you chuckled, playfully nudging him as he quickly shrugged his shoulders, the smile still stuck on his lips. “Never too early to start lookin’ for those things, and I think it would be nice to have some new stuff instead of all the old things from Judith and the other kids”, he said, giving your waist a soft squeeze before you started to nod. “Yeah, that’s true”, you said as the look on Negan’s face grew just a bit brighter before he nodded back at the map. “Already have an idea where we could set up camp?”, he asked, watching as you shifted a little closer towards the coffee table again and pointed at the area on the right next to Gabe’s notes. “Well as far as I heard there should be an area with normal family houses right next to that main street with the stores, so we could probably pick one that looks good and has some space to keep the horses safe”, you mumbled, circling the spot with your finger. “Alright. Dan told me he’d get two of the horses ready for us so that’s done as well”, Negan mumbled, running his palm over the side of his face before he gave you another tired but soft smile,”Sounds like we got a plan for now, huh?” “Yeah”, you quickly nodded, glancing one more time at him as he pulled you a little closer and moved in to press a small kiss against your shoulder. Leaning into his touch you smiled to yourself, almost expecting him to let go of you again within the next moment so you could huddle up on the couch and give the evening a relaxed ending. Instead however, his lips started to travel along your shoulder until they met the exposed skin on your neck, placing soft kisses on it and nibbling it gently as he pulled you even closer in and let his hands slip underneath your shirt. “I thought you were tired”, you mumbled with a small grin, though still relishing in his touch as you leaned into it while the vibrations of Negan’s low chuckle rumbled against your skin. “Mhmm that’s why were gonna go for something slow tonight”, he said, moving just enough up to hook your glance on his and reach up to cup your jaw, his eyes giving you that exact look, created with just the right mix of hunger and adoration, that always made your heart skip a beat. “Okay, I’m not gonna argue with that”, you mumbled as a grin mixed into the smile that was still on his face while he pulled you in to meet his lips in a deep kiss. “Good.”

Negan’s hot breath brushed over the side of your neck as he settled in above you on the couch, pulling one of your thick blankets over both of your bodies as his warmth started to lull you in, enclosing you entirely right before you could finally feel him thrusting himself slowly into you. A soft moan fell from your lips as you wrapped your legs around him, responding immediately to his familiar and rhythmic movements while low groans fell from Negan’s lips and vibrated against your skin. Feeling him place kisses along your jaw, you hummed contently, running your fingers over his broad shoulders and the tiny freckles that speckled his skin on them here and there. A smile pressed in over your lips, only disrupted as another moan fell from them within the very moment Negan looked up and moved his arms to cage you in between them. The side of his face was enlightened by the warm, dim light of the lamp by the fireplace, perfectly enhancing his rough features and the warmth of his eyes that made you swoon right there and then. “You look so...so damn handsome”, you mumbled, humming as you felt another one of Negan’s slow strokes and saw a mix of a smile and a grin pulling on the corners of his lips. “Mhm and you look so fuckin’ beautiful...as always”, he said, interrupted by a soft groan that slipped from his lips as his thrusts continued to bring waves of pleasure through both of your bodies,”So perfect, inside ‘n out.” A happy sound fell from from your lips, watching as a small grin spread over his lips as he pecked your lips. “Didn’t mean your pussy with that”, he mumbled, winking at you before another deep moan rumbled up his chest,”She’s pretty damn perfect too tho.” You let out a small laugh, caressing him as you found yourself diving back into your little, pleasure filled trance as Negan’s lips continued to place kisses over yours. “I love you”, he slurred against your lips as he pecked them softly, still focusing on his slow, yet deep strokes that filled your body with the familiar yet ecstatic warmth.  “Mhm I love you too”, you mumbled back, reaching in to stroke your fingertips softly through his beard stubble, caressing his cheek as he leaned in to place a soft kiss over your lips and rocked himself a little deeper. You found yourself getting lost in him, relaxing entirely as you stayed wrapped up in his arms, entangled with him as you moved together in rhythm, relishing in that slow and sweet lovemaking that was the perfect end for your day. Not all too soon after you became complete undone, you found yourself cuddled up with Negan on the couch, his head resting on your chest, his long legs settled in between yours while your fingers caressed slowly through his thick hair while small, content hums vibrated through his broad chest and against your stomach. His lean figure was hidden underneath the thick blanket, only vaguely traced out as the fabric hugged his body up to his upper back and merely gave you a peak at his broad shoulders that flexed slightly in order to embrace you. “Mhm I love laying like that, so fuckin’ good”, Negan mumbled, tightening his embrace around your body a little before he let out a small chuckle,”Only thing I don’t look forward to when my boys finally do their damn job and give you that baby bump...won’t be able to do this for a whole damn while.” “Well then enjoy it while you can, huh?”, you mumbled back with a soft laugh, running your fingers down to the nape of his neck to caress softly over his still heated skin.  “Oh I sure as shit will”, Negan grumbled, nuzzling his nose into your skin as a content, happy sound fell from your lips and you cradled him a little tighter as you closed your eyes. Negan had once told you, after he’d made it out of the deepest depths of his depression years ago, that laying like this was what usually made him feel as safe as nowhere else in this world. Just as safe as you felt when he’d wrap you up in his arms.  This small thought always crept up in you whenever you found him huddled up to you like this, and it always filled you with that certain type of warmth that made your body tingle pleasantly. It happened right now too, and you found yourself holding him a little tighter, appreciating these moments as much as you possibly could while you tried to focus your thoughts on the man in your arms and your little adventure that would wait for you as soon as you’d met the Commonwealth’s leader. And all you hoped was that things would finally run smoothly and open more doors to the future you found yourself working on. You deserved it after all this time, you really did.

#Negan #twd #the walking dead #negan x reader #negan fic #negan imagine #twd imagine #negan imagines #twd imagines #nts #negan's network #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead imagine #twd fic #negan series #thewalkingdead-imagines #negan season 11 #twd season 11 #twd 11x11 #twd 11x12

[darling-i-read-it]

The Number of the Beast Is 666...

3x12

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, guns, pregnancy, burning, canniablism

Author’s Note: Second to last episode. I’m in my feels. I love this show so much. I hope you guys enjoy!

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: The FBI enlists the help of Dr. Fredrick Chilton in hope of drawing Francis Dolarhyde into an ambush; Will's empathy for Dolarhyde impacts his psyche.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) 

Will sat across from Bedelia. She had her legs crossed, her stance closed. She would likely not open up to him here, not in this space. It felt too much like a therapy session for his taste. You were healing quickly but you weren’t able to make it to this mock session. Instead, Bedelia was curious to know how Will was taking this.

“I look at my wife and I see her dead. I see Mrs. Leads and Mrs. Jacobi lying where Y/N should be,” he said, his voice bitter. Bedelia nodded slowly.

“Do you see yourself killing her?” she questioned. Will rose his chin up at the accusation. 

“No. I see myself killing the rest of them,” his voice lost some confidence as he spoke that but he quickly regained it, “but not her.”

“It’s hard to predict when brittle materials will break. Hannibal gave you three years to build a family and a life, confidence he’d find a way to take them from you,” Bedelia stated. 

“So you know?” he asked. She shrugged.

“I guessed.” Bedelia thought about you as a mother. It seemed like such a foregin way to describe you but not exactly wrong. “Hannibal wants to take her from you because he couldn’t have her.” 

Will raised an eyebrow.

“Alternatively,” he suggested, “I don’t think Hannibal knew that it was going to be Y/N.” 

“But he wants her. Aggression can be effective means of maintaining order in a relationship. Which relationship that is is debatable.” Will adjusted his seating. 

“What’s he going to take from you?” he asked.

“Is it important to you that he take something from me?” she questioned.

“Hannibal has agency in the world.”

“Hannibal has no intention of seeing me dead by any other hand than his own, and only then if he can eat me. He’s in no position to eat me now,” she said smoothly. He nodded in agreement. 

“If you play, you pay.” 

“You’ve paid dearly. As has your wife. That knowledge will lie in the skin forever.” She thought about that for a moment. “It excites him to see you marked in this particular way.” 

“Why?” 

“Why do you think?” 

Will studied her, amused and almost annoyed by her psychiatric games. He played this enough with Hannibal.

“Bluebeard’s wife. Secrets you’re not to know, yet sworn to keep,” he said. Bedelia raised her chin and shook her head, ever so slightly.

“I was not Bluebeard’s wife, I was your wife’s stand in.” She paused. “But if I was, I would’ve preferred to be the last.” 

Will considered this. He thought about you. He was away from you and that seemed nearly illegal. You and him had always been together. But then he thought of Hannibal. He thought of you and Hannibal. He thought of the three of you. His mind slowed for a moment. 

“Is Hannibal…in love..with me?” he asked. Bedelia smiled.

“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment in the very sight of you? Yes. But you are not just you. You come with Y/N Graham as well.” She reminisced on the days before Florence for a minute. Seemed like ages ago. “When Hannibal would hear the two of you bunched together like that he got irked, like his mind could only comprehend his want for one of you at a time. And then, as time went on, I think he realized that you came together. He could have both of you. The Grahams.” Will took this at face value. In a way, it was something he had always known. “But does she ache for him? Do you?” Will did not answer. He just stared. Bedelia went on. “Once you catch the Red Dragon, you can take your wife and your dogs home again. But will you go?” 

-

Hannibal stood across from Jack. They hated the presence of each other but stiffled it, for presence purposes. 

“Will’s thoughts are no more bound by fear or kindness than Milton’s were by physics. He is both free and damned to imagine anything.” 

“Now that he’s imagined the worst,” Jack stated. Hannibal nodded. 

“Like ducklings, we imprint on those ideas that grab our attention,” he explained.

“What’s got your attention? God, the Devil and the Great Red Dragon? I couldn’t believe you messed up with him Hannibal.” Hannibal ignored the last comment. That was an anger used to simmer for another time.

“Lest we forget the Lamb.”

“Will is the Lamb of God?” Jack asked. Hannibal thought about this for a moment. 

“Hide us from the wrath of the Lamb,” Hannibal settled on.

“Who’s ‘us’?” Jack asked. Hannibal smiled.

“You, me, his wife and the Great Red Dragon.” 

-

You walked with Alana down to Hannibal’s cage. Your shoulder ached and pained you but you ignored it as best you could. She looked at you steadily as you approached the door. 

“Have you spoken to Will?” she asked. You looked over to her.

“He doesn’t even know I’m out of the hospital. Which will hopefully not cause any panic,” you muttered offhandedly. You glanced over at her and she saw an ounce of fear in your eyes. 

“You know, when I found out I was pregnant it wasn’t exactly a shock. But I was scared. I knew the world my child was being brought into. But he’s okay now. It’ll all make sense, I swear it,” she promised. You gave her a sensitive smile and nodded softly. 

“You brought a Verger baby. I’m bringing a Graham baby who will hear conflicted stories of the great Hannibal the Cannibal. I worry that I will bring the baby here to see him, if he’s still here. And they will be raised with him in the back of their minds, always wondering what exactly went on between their parents and a serial murderer,” you whispered carefully. As you finished you turned to the door and opened it before she could say anything more. 

She let you walk through the doors alone. 

Hannibal was standing at the glass. It was like he knew you were coming but the look on his face betrayed him. He was surprised to see you. And even a bit relieved, you could tell. You walked up to just a few feet away from the glass and stopped.

“Your shoulder-”

“It’s okay,” you promised. You glanced down at the floor and noticed that all of his things were gone, including his desk and chair. Reminded of the days when Will was in prison, you tentatively sat down on the ground. 

  Hannibal watched you and stayed still for a moment. Then he sat down in front of you on the ground. You smiled gently at the gesture.

“Will told you?” 

“Yes.” You looked into his eyes. You stared into them, deep into them.

“I have a feeling that you will not be here to meet them,” you stated. “I don’t know why. I just feel like something is bound to go wrong. We will catch the Dragon and then we will go home and nothing will be the same.” Hannibal watched your emotions rise and fall. Your face that he yearned to touch. He almost reached his hand up to the glass.

“What will you name them?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet. But Will is never going to allow Hannibal, if that’s what you want,” you said laughing. 

“Pity,” he said and even he was laughing a bit. “I did not tell him to hurt you.” You nodded.

“I know.” You leaned forward. “What are you going to do about it then?” 

Hannibal smiled.

-

As you walked out of the room Alana gestured to you. Apparently Jack and Will were already in the building. 

You walked into the room with Alana and Will stood up.

“I was worri-”

“You never would have let me come if I told you. How’s Bedelia?” He shook his head and grabbed you by the waist, kissing you on the forehead. It conveyed his worry. He turned back to Jack.

“Eight people dead in a month. We can’t play a long game. I say we go for it. You know I know it’s the best way to bait him,” Jack said. He didn’t even glance twice at you. 

“You know Jack, if you had wanted me dead you didn’t have to go through all these lengths to make an attempt. Bringing Will, talking to Hannibal, calling the Dragon. It was all so extensive,” you sneered. Jack gave you a look.

“We don’t have time for this.” You slammed your hands on his Alana’s desk that he was standing behind. 

“It could have been me Jack. You would’ve had to go to my funeral and sit in the front row next to my grieving husband and wonder, ‘huh could I have done something to change this outcome’. And your mind will say no and so my husband would have sat there, thinking it was his fault, for the rest of his life!” you screamed. Jack was still. He had seen you like this once before. When he arrested Will. Alana watched from where she was standing by the window, a proud look on her face.

Will was more or less scared.

“And what do you do now? What do you do now?!” you asked. “Oh yes. The only logical solution. Send Will into the fire and bait the Dragon.” 

“Will suggested i-” he started but you gave him an ice cold look.

“I don’t care.” 

“We’ve fooled ourselves once into believing we were in control of what was happening. Are we still under that delusion?” Alana asked. You turned to her and Will did as well and as he did so he staggered. He had seen something in his head. 

“The Dragon has a certain abstract curiosity about me Y/N. All psychopaths are narcissists, they love to read about themselves. We should use Freddie.” You turned to him and he saw again whatever he had seen on Alana’s face. He grabbed your arm out of instinct. 

“I’m not letting you put yourself in harm's way.”

“We’re already in harm's way. Both of us.” 

“She would need to interview you,” you said. “Take your picture.”

“We’re in it now. Can’t go home as long as he’s loose. I really bad mouth the Red Dragon in Tattlecrime and then give him a shot at me.” You turned to Jack Crawford.

“If I had to choose, it would be you giving the interview. You risking your life. You.” 

-

You sat on a desk. Will stood just in front of you, his leg touching your knee. You had your fingers wrapped around the underneath of the desk as you looked over at Freddie Lounds where she sat. Chilton was in front of her, Alana and Jack elsewhere in the room. 

“There’s a strong bonding of aggressive and sexual drives that occurs in sadists at an early age,” Chilton said. 

“He's a vicious, perverted, sexual failure. An animal,” Will stated. You stared at Will and noticed that it had caught Chilton off too. You smiled a bit at the corners of your mouth. 

“The savage acts aimed primarily at the women, and performed in the presence of family, are clearly strikes at a maternal figure.” 

“The Tooth Fairy’s the product of an incestuous home.” Freddie scribbled this down aggressively, eating it all up.

“This is the child of a nightmare.” Those words hung in the air for a moment. Freddie pressed the stop button on her recording. 

“We need a key shot taken in your ‘Washington hideaway’,” Jack said. 

“Can I flip off the camera?” you asked.

“You’re not going to be in the picture,” Will chastised. You shrugged.

“I’d love something like you in a bathrobe, at the desk, poring over an artist’s conception of the Fairy,” Freddie said, holding up an artist concept drawing of Francis. You raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ll stand by the window.”

“I don’t know, the bathrobe seemed compelling to me. Maybe I’ll pick up my first copy of Tattlecrime,” you said. Will gave you a look but you just smiled. Freddie seemed to like that you agreed with her.

“Make sure you can get the fountain and the Capitol dome behind me Freddie. The Red Dragon has to be able to find this place, if he wants to,” Will finished. Freddie nodded and walked over. “Would you like to be in the picture, Frederick?” 

-

Alana slid a package through Hannibal’s cage.

“May I open it privately?” he asked.

“You may not.” 

She looked down at it as he started to open it. The box fell open to reveal two lips, no longer attached to their owner. Hannibal contained his surprise and anger. He took one between his fingers and straightened his backs.

“As though presents would allow me to forgive him,” Hannibal muttered but still, he put the lips between his own and ate it.

-

You stared at the screen in front of you. On it was Frederick Chilton, notably restrained. Beside you stood Will and at his desk was Jack Crawford. 

“I have had a great privilege. I have seen with wonder and awe the strength of the Great Red Dragon. I lied about Him. All that was said was lies from Will Graham,” Chitlon said. You straighten your back. “He made me say them. I have blasphemed against the Dragon. Even so, the Dragon is merciful. He knows you made me lie, Will Graham. Because I was forced to lie, He will be more merciful to me than to you, Will Graham.” You hated this. Every fiber of your being hated this. You wanted to turn it off but you didn’t, you needed to see the end. “Reach behind you, Will Graham, and feel for the small knobs on the top of your pelvis. Feel your spine between them; that is the precise spot where the Dragon will snap your spine. There’s much for you to dread. From my own lips, you’ll learn a little more to dread.” 

“Turn it off, Jack,” Alana said and Jack nodded, turning it off. You felt your spine all of the sudden. You were aware it was there. You felt it being tugged by a phantom force and turned to your husband, shaking your head. He stumbled back into a chair, head in his hands. 

You sat in front of him and grabbed his hands. Your skin touched his face as he held your hands there, blocking his sight. You turned to Jack Crawford. If looks could kill…

-

Bedelia looked at you two. Back again, sitting together. Your shoulder slumped but otherwise seemingly unaffected. Whatever emotional tole this may have taken, you did not show it on your face. 

Will on the other hand.

“Would you like to talk about what happened to Frederick Chilton?” she asked.

“The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished,” Will said. 

“Contrapasso. If you play, you pay,” she repeated. 

“Chilton languished unrecognized until Hannibal the Cannibal. He wanted the world to know his face and now, he doesn’t have one,” you said. 

“We’re all making our way through the Inferno. Dante’s pilgrims,” Bedelia siad.

“We’re pets, not pilgrims. And the Great Red Dragon kills pets first,” Will muttered.

“I hate that name. I wish we knew his actual name so we could call it so. It must be something mundane, something so unassuming,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“You put a hand on Dr. Chilton’s shoulder for the picture Will. Touch gives the world an emotional context.” She gestured to the hand that was brushing yours. Not holding. Just touching. “The touch of others makes us who we are. It builds trust.”

“I put my hand on his shoulder for authenticity,” Will argued. You felt that wasn’t true but you didn’t say it. 

“To establish he really told you those insults about the Dragon? Or had you wanted to put Dr. Chilton at risk? Just a little?” Bedelia questioned.

“I wonder,” Will muttered. 

“Do you really have to wonder?” she questioned. He paused.

“No.”

“Did you know what the Great Red Dragon would do Will? You were curious what would happen, that’s apparent. Is this what you expected?” Will was glad you were there. He grabbed your hand fully.

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” 

“Then you may as well have struck the match. That’s participation.” She studied the two of you. “Hannibal Lecter does indeed have agency in the world. He has both of you.”

-

“He did Chilton like it looked like you did Freddie Lounds. Hannibal said he would, in his own way,” Jack muttered. They stood outside of where Chilton was being taken care of, you beside him and Will. 

“He wanted to make amends to Hannibal,” Will said. You crossed your arms.

“He’ll have to do better than that.” Jack walked inside of the room but before Will walked in you grabbed his arm. 

“I hate this. I have a pit in my stomach and it won’t go away,” you whispered. He faced you completely and put his hand on your cheek, moving away some hair. 

“That’s a baby,” he joked. You rolled your eyes but smiled.

“I mean a feeling Will.” 

“It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.” 

You didn’t believe him.

3x13

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal imagines

[combat-wombatus]

Anti-Asian Racism (Pt. 2)

so if you haven’t read my (long) post about historical anti-asian racism, you can find it here. i tried my best to put things in chronological order, so you might want to read that before you read this one!

i got really tired writing that one bc it was super long and i only covered up to like...the 1920s?? and so here’s a second part bc i couldn’t fit it all into one post oopsies

WARNING: this contains some graphic descriptions of violence. i don’t want to accidentally trigger anyone, so please read at your own discretion. however, i do feel that it is important to be educated on the parts of history that schools often overlook, so if you can handle this, please read it.

the watsonville riots—january 1930

as US nationals, filipinos had the legal right to work in the US, and employers exploited these workers relentlessly as they assumed the filipinos were unfamiliar with their rights. they were paid the lowest wages among all ethnic laborers. the immigration acts of 1917 and 1924 allowed filipinos to answer the growing demand for labor in the US, and many young filipino men migrated to the US. due to gender bias in immigration & hiring, filipino men courted women outside of their own ethnic community, contributing to mounting racial tensions. white men decried the takeover of jobs and women by filipinos and resorted to vigilantism to deal with the “third Asiatic invasion”, and filipino laborers in public risked being attacked by white men who felt threatened by them. eventually, on january 19, this culminated in 500 white men gathering outside of a filipino dance club—owned by a filipino man—with clubs and weapons intending to take the white women who lived there out and burn the place down. they were turned away by security guards and the armed owners, but returned later to beat dozens of filipino farmworkers. they dragged filipinos from their homes and beat them, threw them off the pajaro river bridge, attacked them at ranches—and at a labor camp, twenty-two filipinos were dragged out and almost beaten to death. the mob fired shots into filipino homes, killing 22-year-old fermin tobera: no one was ever charged for his murder. in stockton, a filipino club was blown up—the blast was blamed on the filipinos themselves.

many filipinos fled the country. filipino immigration plummeted. anti-filipino violence continued in california in the months after the violence ended.

japanese internment camps—1942–1945

established during ww2 by FDR through executive order 9066. shortly after the bombing of pearl harbor, FDR signed the executive order, supposedly to prevent espionage. military zones were created in california, washington, and oregon—states with a large population of japanese americans—and the executive order commanded the relocation of americans of japanese ancestry. it affected the lives of around 117,000 people—the majority of whom were american citizens. canada soon followed, relocating 21,000 of its japanese residents from its west coast. mexico did the same, and eventually 2,264 more people of japanese descent were removed from peru, brazil, and argentina to the camps in the united states.

even before the camps, discrimination ran rampant. just hours after pearl harbor, the FBI rounded up 1,291 japanese community & religious leaders, arresting them without evidence and freezing their assets. a month later, they were transferred to facilities in montana, new mexico, and north dakota, many of them unable to inform their families. most remained incarcerated for the duration of the war. the FBI searched the private homes of thousands of japanese residents, seizing “contraband” (looting).

1/3 of hawaii’s population was of japanese descent. some politicians called for their mass incarceration. 1,500 people were removed from hawaii and sent to camps on the US mainland. japanese-owned fishing boats were impounded.

lieutenant general john dewitt prepared a report filled with proven lies—such as examples of “sabotage” (cattle knocking down power lines)—and suggested the creation of military zones and japanese internment camps. his original plan included italians and germans (because we were at war with them too!) but the idea of rounding-up americans of EUROPEAN descent was not as popular.

california’s state attorney general and governor declared that all japanese should be removed at congressional hearings in february 1942. general francis biddle pleaded with the president that mass evacuation of citizens was not required, pushing for smaller, more targeted security measures. FDR didn’t listen, and signed the order anyways.

around 15,000 japanese americans willingly moved out of prohibited areas. inland states were not keen for new japanese residents, and they were met with racist resistance. ten state governors voiced opposition, fearing the japanese would “never leave”, and demanded they be incarcerated if the states were forced to accept them. eventually, a civilian organization called the “war relocation authority” was set up to administer the plan, but milton eisenhower (from the department of agriculture) resigned his leadership in protest over what he characterized as incarcerating innocent civilians. 

no one really cared back then, but we appreciate the sentiment. however, this led to a stricter, military-led incentive to incarcerate the japanese civilians, so you didn’t really win, mr. eisenhower.

army-directed evacuations followed, and people had six days notice to dispose of their belongings other than what they could carry. anyone who was at least 1/16th japanese was interned, including 17,000 children under 10, as well as several thousand elderly and handicapped. 

these camps were located in remote areas, the buildings not meant for human habitation—they were reconfigured horse stalls or cow sheds. food shortages and poor sanitation conditions were common. each center was its own town, with schools, post offices, work facilities, and farms—all surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers.

in new mexico, internees were delivered by trains and marched two miles, at night, to reach the camp. anyone who tried to escape was promptly shot and killed, no matter their age.

when riots broke out over the insufficient rations and overcrowding, the police tear-gassed crowds and even killed a japanese-american citizen. three people were shot and killed for “going too close to the perimeter”.

in 1942, fred korematsu was arrested for refusing to relocate to an internment camp. his case made it all the way to the supreme court, where he argued that the executive order violated the fifth amendment. the supreme court ruled against him.

the camps were finally closed in 1945, after mitsuye endo fought her way to the supreme court once again. the government initially offered to free her, but endo refused—she wanted her case to address all of the internment camps. she was successful; the court eventually ruled that the the war relocation authority “has no authority to subject citizens who are concededly loyal to its leave procedure.”

the my lai massacre—march 16, 1968

during the vietnam war, US army soldiers entered a vietnamese hamlet on a search-and-destroy mission. they didn’t encounter any enemy troops; they did, however, proceed to set huts on fire, gang-rape the women, and murder around 500 unarmed civilians—including approximately 50 children under the age of four. army leadership had conspired to sweep this massacre under the carpet—the my lai massacre triggered a cover-up by the army that served to keep the atrocities committed a secret from the american public for 20 months during an election year.

american soldiers stabbed, clubbed, and carved “C [for Charlie] Company” into the chests of their victims (alive); herded them into ditches and blew them to bits with grenades. they cut off victims’ heads and slashed their throats.

this was more than spontaneous barbarism; for years, the army had dehumanized the vietnamese people as “gooks” and depicted women and children as potentially lethal combatants.

army officers who heard eyewitness reports of a massacre were quick to discount them. they issued a press release that informed news coverage—with lies. they claimed that their troops had killed 128 viet cong forces, even though they had been met with no resistance and suffered only one self-inflicted wound.

after word of the massacre reached the general public, more than a dozen military servicemen were eventually charged with crimes, but lieutenant william calley (the leader of the charlie company who was the main perpetrator in the massacre) was the only one who was ever convicted. pres. richard nixon reduced calley’s sentence to a light punishment—three years of house arrest.

three years of house arrest, and for only one person. for slaughtering 500 unarmed civilians. you do the math.

deportations

in 1975, more than 1.2 million refugees from southeast asia fled war and were resettled in the US—the largest resettlement for a refugee group in US history. in 1996, the illegal immigration reform and immigrant responsibility act (IIRIRA) expanded the definition of what types of crimes could result in detention & deportation—this broader definition could be applied retroactively, resulting in more than 16,000 southeast asian americans receiving orders of removal—78% of which were based on old criminal records.

islamophobia (article 2 preview) (article 3)

after the 9/11 attacks, islamophobia was especially prevalent in the western world, although it was also prevalent in other places without large muslim populations. from a small percentage of violence, an “efficient system of government prosecution and media coverage brings muslim-american terrorism suspects to national attention, creating the impression that muslim-american terrorism is more prevalent than it really is”, even though since 9/11, the muslim-american community helped security and law enforcement officials prevent nearly two of every five al qaeda terrorist plots threatening the united states. globally, many muslims report feeling not respected by those in the west, including over half of those who live in the US. in late 2009, the largest party in the swiss parliament put to referendum a ban on minaret (a tower typically built into or adjacent to mosques) construction, and nearly 60% of swiss voters and 22 out of 26 voting districts voted in favor of the ban—even though most swiss say that religious freedom is important for swiss identity. a network of misinformation experts actively promotes islamophobia in america. muslims are more likely than americans of any other major religious groups to have personally experienced racial or religious discrimination in the past year—48%, compared to 31% of mormons, 25% of atheist/agnostics, 21% of jews, 20% of catholics, and 18% of protestants. 1/3 (36%) of americans say that they have an unfavorable opinion about islam (gallup polls).

in the aftermath of 9/11, the US government has increasingly implemented special programs with hopes of “curbing and countering terrorism” and “enemy combatants.” these policies—such as the USA Patriot Act and the National Security Entry-Exit Registration System—have been targeted towards and disproportionately affects arabs, south asians, and muslims in america.

of course, the most lethal terrorist groups active in america are white supremacist groups, but people tend to overlook that because it’s always easier to blame something you have zero understanding of.

the non-profit advocacy organization South Asian Americans Leading Together (SAALT) cataloged 207 incidents of hate violence and xenophobic political rhetoric directed towards south asian, muslim, middle eastern, hindu, sikh, and arab communities between nov. 15, 2015, and nov. 16, 2016. approximately 95% of those instances were animated by anti-muslim sentiment. also, “approximately 1 in 5 of the documented xenophobic statements came from president-elect donald trump.”

that’s who america hired to run our country in 2016. this was way before his misdeeds in office, yet it took us so long—and such a hard fight—to oust him. did it really take that long for everyone to catch on?

police brutality—(christian hall) (angelo quinto) (tommy le)

“CHRISTIAN HALL was a 19-year-old chinese american teen who experienced a mental health emergency on december 30, 2020. pennsylvania state police were called and requested to help de-escalate the crisis. rather than providing aid or assistance, the troopers shot and killed christian. his hands were up in the air as he stood on the SR-33 southbound overpass to I-80, posing no threat to the armed officers.”

they shot him seven times, with his arms up in the air.

“I miss my son so much. I love him so much but if his death is the catalyst for change, then so be it. Let his name be remembered. His name is Christian Hall.” —Fe Hall, Christian’s mother.

a video, shot by his mother, shows ANGELO QUINTO, a 30-year-old Filipino immigrant, unresponsive on the floor after officers subdued him with a knee to the back of his neck. the video shows him bleeding form the mouth after police knelt on his neck when he was experiencing a mental health crisis in his family home. he died three days later in the hospital without waking up. the antioch police had no body camera footage, nor has the department named the officers involved.

“I was just hoping they could de-escalate the situation,” his sister said in an interview. she called 911 when her brother had been experiencing mental health problems and paranoia. she says that she remains conflicted about calling the police that night: “I don’t know if I will not feel bad. If it was the right thing to do they would not have killed my brother.”

“TOMMY LE, a 20-year-old Vietnamese-American student, died hours before he was scheduled to attend his high-school graduation in June 2017. He was shot multiple times by sheriff’s Deputy Cesar Molina after responding to reports of a man armed with a knife. Deputies discovered after the shooting that he was carrying an ink pen, not a knife.

The office reported that Le had lunged at the sheriff’s deputies with a knife and had been threatening residents, shouting he was “the creator.” An autopsy showed that two of the three bullets that struck Le were in his back, and a witness said that Le was shouting he was “Tommy the renter.”

despite the challenges our communities face, AAPI communities receive less than one percent of philanthropic funding.

covid-19

i’ll try to keep this brief. there have been so many instances of violence perpetrated against the asian community during covid-19—not to mention the casual snipes at our culture, the microaggressions we face every day, the verbal and sexual harassment we encounter, sometimes even on the way to the grocery store for a supply run.

VICHA RATANAPAKDEE: a thai-american, he became known as “grandpa” throughout his neighborhood, where he’d made it a ritual to go on morning walks each day. it was during one of those walks on january 28, 2021, when the 84-year-old was forcibly knocked onto the ground. he was transported to the hospital, where he died two days later.

“He never wake up again. He [was] bleeding on his brain,” his daughter said in an interview. “I called him, ‘Dad, wake up.’ I want him to stay alive and wake up and come and see me again, but he never wake up.”

between march and december last year, the organization Stop Asian American and Pacific Islander Hate recorded nearly 3,000 reports of anti-Asian hate incidents nationwide. the new york city police department also reported a 1,900% increase in anti-Asian hate crimes last year.

i think senator tammy duckworth put it very aptly.

“Most people, I don’t think, think of Asians as being the subject of racist attacks, but we have been. And we’re the one community that’s often always seen as the ‘other’. I—to this day—still get asked, ‘So where are you from really?’“

i don’t think i’ve ever related so much to something a senator said.

actor and activist daniel dae kim talked about an encounter he had with a pollster who said asian americans are “statistically insignificant” in polling models in a congressional hearing:

“Statistically insignificant. Now all of you listening to me here, by virtue of your own elections, are more familiar with the intricacies of polling than I am, so undoubtedly, you already know what this means—statistically insignificant literally means that we don’t matter.”

do we matter? are we really “statistically insignificant”? blips in the machine, to be used and then thrown away once we become too “fussy” or demanding?

testimonies from victims showcase the array of xenophobic and racist insults they’ve encountered. i’ll put an (x) next to the ones i’ve personally heard.

“Go back to Wuhan and take the virus with you.” (x)

“You are the reason for the coronavirus.” (x)

“Damn, another Asian riding with me. Hope you don’t have covid.”

*fake coughing* “Chinese b—” *more fake coughing* (x)

now for some really “creative” ones that i’ve personally encountered:

“Cock up my dad’s botton, Chinease cunt”

“You don’t got the kung-flu, do ya?”

“Ever ate a dog?”

Along the same vein, “ever had any bats? Heard they’re delicious.”

“Wouldn’t want ya to pet my dog. Ya might steal it and cook it for dinner!” *hyena laugh*

a little personal anecdote

i debated whether or not to wear a mask to school in early march. my aunt lives in china, and she’s a first-responder (trained paramedic & contact tracer) and we knew how bad the virus was going to be in late february when we facetimed her, quarantined in her apartment. her toddler was staying with her husband at her parents’ house because she was afraid of infecting them. she didn’t see them in person for four months, working 14-hour shifts in the back of an ambulance decked out in a hazmat suit.

my mom cried when she facetimed us the second week of her grueling shift. i couldn’t stop thinking about her when i went to school that day. my mom sent me another picture during art class, and i just couldn’t control myself. i started crying during class.

i asked my mom whether or not i should wear a mask to school, and she said that if i did, i would be singling myself out. i wouldn’t be protecting myself—far from it. if i wore a mask to school, people would think that i had the virus, not that i was trying to protect myself from it.

gossip spreads like wildfire, and the next day, everyone knew i had relatives in china. most of my friends were sympathetic, but they were wholly removed from the situation. it was early march, and they never believed that the coronavirus would spread here. they were firmly rooted in their opinion that it was an easy situation, grossly mishandled by the chinese government, and that we’d do much better if it ever washed up on our shores.

i do hate the chinese government, and back then, i didn’t think too much of their antagonism. yes, the situation was mishandled. it was like a repeat of the SARS outbreak in 2003—first a cover-up by the local government, then a cover-up by the national government, and finally, a realization that no, in fact, they could not handle it in secret. yes, the media had to get involved. no, dead bodies were not piling up in the hallways while they waited for doctors to triage care. yes, we have capacity! look at these documentary mini-videos, forcing doctors and patients to leave a wing of the hospital empty and operate below maximum capacity so they could shoot propaganda videos for the lunar new year, boasting about how well they’re handling it!

i won’t argue that in the beginning, this was mishandled. i will argue, however, against the idea that asian countries are incompetent. that western approaches are oh-so-much-better.

in wuhan, they built a makeshift hospital spanning three soccer fields in the span of a week, with properly-functioning utilities, hospital beds, decontamination, and security. people rallied together and donated everything from money and supplies to food and ventilators, from all across the country. doctors and medical staff shaved their heads so they could better wear masks and volunteered to go to wuhan, where the situation was much more dire than in other areas. thousands of medical students from shanghai were transported to wuhan to fill the personnel shortages.

china reopened in june.

what did we do?

we didn’t ask the asian countries for experience. china, japan, and korea had handled the 2003 SARS outbreak and knew what kinds of things needed to be done. from the beginning, they wore masks. they halted travel, they did routine testing, performed contact tracing, set up programs for bringing food to the immunocompromised, elderly, and disabled, and worked as a cohesive community.

on the other hand, we resorted to childish infighting, political games, shunning masks and blaming it on asians, when we could’ve learned from them instead. we didn’t do contact-tracing. our testing systems were sorely inadequate. borders were closed with china, yes, but the majority of the cases in the US arrived from italy and other european countries who had already been infected. banning travel between the US and china was nothing more than a political gimmick.

states fought each other for basic medical supplies. there was no national unity. we were fractured in two, and COVID became more fuel for the fire dividing the two parties, when it could’ve been something that unified us.

and instead of blaming china, we would’ve been better off recognizing our own failures.

you can say that the virus caught china by surprise.

it shouldn’t have done the same to us.

we knew it was coming. but we still botched it.

blaming the virus on asian communities is a sign of immaturity and a lack of accountability. own up to your failures.

anyways, my mom was right. whenever we wore a mask in public, people really did think that we were “dirty, foreign chinese.” we stocked up on groceries so we wouldn’t have to go out, because every time my mom did, people would look at her weirdly. they didn’t wear masks.

one time, she was accosted by a blonde woman when we were at a supermarket. i’d gone with her that time because it was right after practice, and i was in the car anyways. the lady came up to us (without a mask: this was in may) and said, “excuse me, you don’t have the virus, do you?” with a pointed look at my mom (who was masked up).

my mom, being the polite person she is, simply responded “no, i don’t.”

the woman didn’t let us go after that. she pushed even more. “well, you see, i was just making sure...with this chinese virus going around, it’s scary, you know?”

i wanted to ask her why she wasn’t wearing a mask if it was “so scary”, but i couldn’t get a word in before she asked another question.

“by the way, y’all aren’t chinese, right?”

yes i am. yes we are. why does it fucking matter. we’re wearing masks, you’re not, get the hell out of my face.

honestly, i don’t know how my mom does it. she has the patience of a saint. she said “mhm”, grabbed a gallon of milk, and walked to the self-checkout area. the lady looked at me and raised her eyebrow, and i said “so what if we are?”

she looked like she’d been slapped in the face. i turned and followed my mom, but she said “now hold on young lady!” i ignored her and kept walking.

i don’t owe her anything. why do people think it’s okay to talk to others like that? we’re human beings too. we’re allowed our basic dignity. basic respect. we’re not something for you to joke at, to laugh at, to fetishize or bully into submission. i don’t understand why it’s so hard for people to realize that. i don’t understand why it’s so hard for people to treat others like human beings.

to people like that lady in kroger:

why do you feel the need to do it? is your opinion of yourself really that high to think that you’re superior to others who are different from you? are you really that conceited to think that you’re the perfect image of a perfect human, and anyone not like you is unworthy, considered lesser? or is your opinion of yourself really that low, to think that whatever you say, it doesn’t really matter anyways? why do you find derogatory jokes and demeaning comments funny? why do you think it’s okay to harass a stranger just going about their day? is your life really that boring, and you have nothing else to do with your time? why? would it be okay if i came up to you and asked if you ate rotten shark meat, then laughed it off and said “oh, i thought you were from iceland”? is that okay? can i ask if you eat cockroaches? how would you respond if i asked “where are you from?”? you would say america, right? and if i asked again? europe? where in europe? oh, you don’t know? are you illegal? was your mother a prostitute? are you a communist? why are your eyes so big? do you speak europeanese? crut iveroij aeish poient. oh, those aren’t words? well i think they sound like european words. what’s your name? je-re-mi-ah? like jeeryyy-miiiaaaccchh? oh, that’s not right? sorry, my tongue just won’t bend that way. your names are so weird! why would your parents name you that? oh, it means something? well, i don’t know the language, so don’t expect me to say it right. have you ever eaten haggis? oh, that’s scottish? oh, you’re not scottish? sorry, you all look the same to me. scots and italians are just so similar, you know? what’s your name? your last name is anderson? i know an anderson! she lived in texas. are you related to her? oh, you don’t know her? sorry, i thought you were all related. yeah, like i said before, you all just look so much alike, you know? are you lazy? oh, nothing, i just heard from my dad that all french people are lazy. oh, you’re not french? well, you still look lazy. are you good at english? oh, nothing, i just assumed that all white people were english. i know you like to assume that we’re good at math. oh, you got an A in english? isn’t that normal? i can’t help it, you’re just smarter. you probably don’t even study. oh, you do? well, you’re smart anyways, so it doesn’t matter. you’re so good at math for an american! oh no, nothing, i just assumed that all americans were bad at math. *starts playing with her hair* oh, that’s making you uncomfortable? but your hair’s so silky, and it’s so smooth. what kind of hair products do you use? i want to learn how to make my hair look exotic like that. oh, you’re not exotic? but you’re foreign. of course you’re exotic. you know, *leans in and whispers* men like you this way, yeah? they just looveeee exotic ladies. *winks*

can you see how this is demeaning? can you see how this diminishes our culture, our hard work, our accomplishments?

racism isn’t funny. it’s not cool, it’s not a joke, and it’s hurtful. it makes us question our capabilities, forces us to have unrealistic expectations of ourselves, makes us feel unworthy and “other”. just stop? stop making hurtful comments. stop stepping on other people to feel better about yourselves.

#racism #anti-asian hate #anti-asian racism #asian #asian racism #politics #covid #covid-19 #i'm so sick of it

[iraacundus]

The Sins of Angels

devil!Taeyong soulmate!au 

Genre: fluff, fantasy, smut, angst Words: 10k

warnings: sex (incl. degredation), swearing

better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven - Paradise Lost, John Milton 1667

You weren't a bad person, but clearly, you hadn’t been a great one either. You had to figure that was the case as you stood in a really long queue at the front desk of Hell. There were some people around you crying and screaming, but most people just stood in stony silence, waiting until they reached the end of the queue.

It was a casual four weeks later when you reached the front, which for Hell you supposed was quite quick. You wondered if it was meant to unsettle you, to form part of your eternity of torture, or maybe that's just how long bureaucracy in the afterlife took.

“Name and time of death?” You finally heard be called out to you. You had to think for a second, the hours of standing in the queue had really started to rot your brain.

“It’s y/n and I died on the 3rd March 2020 at 9:58pm” You said, having no idea why you knew your exact time of death, but the desk man wasn’t surprised and therefore it must have been something dead people just knew. The desk man handed you a gold coin.

“Straight ahead to the gates, tell them you’re going to the second circle,”. You took the coin and nodded. “Have a terrible time,” he said, sounding so bored that you were sure he was having a worse time.

No sooner had you step away from the desk to contemplate your impending doom before he called you back.

He stared down at the old 1980’s computer in front of him in slight disbelief, hitting the side of it three times just to make sure it was actually working properly. Seeing that this made no difference the man shrugged and motioned for you to come closer to the desk.

“Just had a message from the boss man, turns out your wanted down where the real actions happens,” he said taking back your coin. He placed it carefully back in its box before reaching down below his desk and fiddling for a moment.

“Could you come round here and stand beside me?” he asked, you noted his tone had become much more polite ever since he had read his computer message.

“First interesting thing to happen at this desk in ninety years,” He said looking at you, eyes not blinking for a slightly uncomfortable amount of time before pointing down to where he had been fiddling.

“This is a passage to the City of Dis. It’s a ten hour-long fall and it hurts when you get to the bottom, but it’s that… or ten hundred years of torture to get there and we don’t have that kind of time.”

“Don’t we have all of time,” you questioned, Hell had always been marketed as an eternity of suffering.

“You mean to say,” the man began, “That you would actually prefer to endure the ten hundred years of torture?” He was incredulous, you didn’t think his eyebrows could lift any faster.

Neither seemed like a good option, but you couldn’t possibly die twice so one hard fall had to have been the better option. You looked down at the endless dark hole, trying to contemplate what was being proposed here.

“You don’t really have a choice, please jump down the hole, you’re really holding up the queue, I’ve got targets to meet.”

You couldn’t ascertain whether the last part was a joke or not, but you had realised that overthinking wasn’t helping anyone. You took one last look at the man at the hell desk before launching yourself into the depths of Hell.

You screamed for about the first minute, before realizing it was pointless, you had a long while to go until you hit the ground. You pondered about why you might have ended up where you were, cursing that in real life you hadn’t bothered to study the nine circles of hell, that might have given you a clue.

About three-quarters of the way through your fall it started to get lighter again, but also hotter, it was exhaustingly hot, worse than Death Valley in the summer hot. You felt like you had been falling for much less than a few hours, you weren't sure if time worked the same way in eternity. You almost wanted to cry but the thought that an eternity in Hell could be worse though, which somehow comforted you. Even though you knew that it could get worse and probably would.

-----

It was a while longer until you finally hit the ground. It hurt like every single bone in your body had broken. You just lay there, contorted.

“Oh... That looked like it hurt!” You heard someone exclaim from above you. You half-opened one eye to see a boy staring down at you. All you could notice was that he was very good looking, something you had noticed about desk boy too now that you thought about it. Every bone in your body may have shattered, but if all the people in hell, looked like the men you had seen so far... your complaints were limited. A fact which truly made you think you had really lost any sense of reality.

“You need to get up ... you haven't reached your final destination.” He said. You swore under your breath before pushing yourself onto your hands and knees, something that induced the agonising pain all over again. The good-looking guy just stared at you with a wicked grin.

“I have all the time in the world babe quite literally infinite time, but the person we are going to meet does not have infinite patience. And- and I can’t stress this enough - he's really fucking scary so stand the hell up,” he grabbed your arms lifting you to your feet, shaking his head, “get the hell up, did you not appreciate what I did there.” You stared at him blankly.  

“My humour is wasted in this bloody city.” He complained.

You said nothing, you had literally no idea what to say to this man, if he even was a man.

“I’m Yangyang by the way,” he continued, “one of this city’s finest fallen angels, fell straight from heaven into the ladies' hearts.”

Now you were standing up you realised the light you had seen was just endless fire, the only break in the fire was a stone path that didn’t seem to have an end, at least not an end that you could see.

The fire was filled with burning souls in the distance, the screams you could hear were unnerving, you wanted to somehow disappear. Yangyang didn’t even seem to hear them, the screams of hell must have become just a faint music to him over time, like radio music in a shop.

You followed closely behind him as he led you along the fire-lit path. As you got closer to what you presumed was the city of Dis the sound of a distant roar of voices got louder and louder, but there was still no end in sight.

“What did you get kicked out of Heaven for... if it’s not rude to ask?” You were trying to create any sense of distortion from the horrifying surroundings.

He laughed, the fire reflecting against his face that still held the same wicked grin.

“I’m not offended and even if I was, this is Hell, people are rude all the time it doesn’t matter. Here in Hell you can do what you want babe. There is only one person youwill have to listen to; Lucifer himself. Most people listen to the fallen angels too, but I fear you will end up being more important here than me.”

You knew in theory who Lucifer was, fallen angel, cast out by God. Somehow though, you hadn’t expected him to exist even after you got to Hell, you assumed he was just created to scare children and adults alike. The idea of fallen angels was also a foreign one to you, you hadn’t even known there were more people like Lucifer.

“And to answer your question, I got kicked out of heaven for being too fun,” he said, laughing mostly to himself. You doubted that was the official reason he got kicked out, even if he decided to justify it as such.

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

The walk came to an end at the edge of a vast canyon. At the very bottom, you could see a very grand building surrounded by markets and various other buildings. In the rock face, there were many entrances and balconies which people seemed to live inside.

“We don’t have to jump do we?” You asked, feeling like you had done enough falling for at least the next six lifetimes in Hell.

“There is a lift.”

He said like it was very obvious, and you were stupid for even suggesting otherwise, even though he had seen the end of your bone breaking fall.

The lift wasn’t like any modern-day one, more like one you would have seen in a mine shaft in centuries past, just bigger. There was a large queue for the lift which Yangyang didn’t seem at all bothered by. He grabbed your arm and walked through the queue, the sea of people parting as the jumped back in what appeared to be fear. You couldn’t understand why; Yangyang seemed nice enough.

You stepped into the lift and clung to the side as the door shut. The metal groaned slightly before beginning to lower. You could see each of the levels more clearly now, there were four distinct areas above the ground floor.

“The city is the 6th to 9th circles of Hell,” Yangyang explained, “For people who committed worse crimes, treachery, heresy and all that.”

“What is the second circle?” You asked back, hoping he could provide you the answer to your biggest question.

“Is that where you were headed?”

You nodded.

“Just before I was told to jump down the hole and ended up here, I was originally meant to go to the second circle.”

Yangyang just laughed but didn’t bother to answer the question and you weren’t brave enough to ask again.

The metal began to screech again as the lift hit the ground floor and the gate began to open. The people waiting at the bottom also immediately moved back when they saw Yangyang step forward, pushing you off the lift and past the crowd.

Yangyang set off walking, through market, after market in which everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was the odd scream of pain here and there but there were more screams of laughter, more voices chatting and bargaining.

As you got closer to the centre of the floor the buildings got bigger and grander, some of them almost palatial.

“That’s my house” Yangyang said pointing to a large building to the right of you. It looked quite nice, even if a drunk man had passed out on the front steps.

“You can get drunk in Hell?” You asked.

“Ninety percent of the people here are drunk ninety percent of the time.” Was his answer.

You walked for a few more minutes before reaching the gate that surrounded the grandest building of all, Devil House, Yangyang informed you. The gates were opened by two guards as you approached, how bowed at you both as you passed. Yangyang walked you up to the door before knocking six times.

After a minute or so the doors opened seemingly by themselves. Situated behind the doors was a grandiose entrance hall made out of black marble, a gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

You looked at Yangyang expectantly for him to explain what would happen next, but he said nothing, the wicked grin gone from his face. For the first time he actually looked somewhat scared.

You suddenly noticed a man standing at the top of the staircase. He was staring straight down at you with a glare that could have killed, ifyou hadn’t already been dead.

“My Lord,” Yangyang managed to choke out, he stared down at his feet, his hands fidgeting. When you looked back away from Yangyang, the man, who you guessed was the Devil, was standing right in front of you. Blood red hair, perfect jawline, flawless skin - out of all of the good-looking men you had seen here so far, he was the most perfect.

He reached out and kissed your hand.

“Welcome to Hell, my love, my name’s Lucifer, but you can call me Taeyong,” he said.

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

You woke up in a bed with some of the softest pillows you had ever felt, you sat up slowly, taking in your surroundings, not knowing how you had ended up there. The bed you were on was the only piece of furniture in the completely white room. There was a door at the far end of the room and a window that looked out onto the fire and darkness below.

You stood up carefully and walked over to the window. You could see the guards still standing by the gate and a few people fighting in the corner of the street.

A light knock came at the door.

“Come in?” You replied after a brief pause, realising that the person knocking was assuming this was your room.

The door swung open and Taeyong, Lord Lucifer, walked in. You froze where your stood by the window, even though he was standing about ten meters away from you.

If Taeyong sensed your fear, he chose to ignore it,

“I hope you're comfortable, I had one of the women change your clothes, I figured you would prefer that,” he said. You looked down, where your previous dust-ridden clothes had been was now a silk nightdress, you raised your eyebrows slightly. It was a beautiful item of clothing but slightly on the revealing side for meeting a man you didn’t know.

“Isn’t that very nice of someone who is meant to be the Devil?” you asked him. He looked you dead in the eyes and tilted his head slightly,

“If you want me to be mean darling, that can be arranged... but I would prefer if we could be civil.”

You nodded, once again lost for words. You couldn’t remember much about your life, but you were pretty sure that in life you had always had something to say. Yet since you had gotten to Hell you were more often than not lost for words.

You started to remember the events of the previous span of time, you remembered falling and meeting Yangyang. Yangyang made you feel comfortable, you had many questions and hoped maybe he would be able to answer them.

“Could I maybe talk to Yangyang,” you asked. Taeyong shook his head.

“No.” His lips rested in a firm line; you were starting to understand why Yangyang said he was someone to be afraid of. Yet with a life of torture already assured you felt you had nothing left to lose.

“I’m just gonna say it,” you began, ‘what is going on here, like what’s with the whole situation, I don’t remember anything about my life, or even how I ended up in this room, all I know is I jumped down a hole, met Yangyang, who was definitely scared of you by the way, and ended up here right now. I know that you are the all-powerful Lucifer, but you won’t let me see the one person I vaguely know or trust.” Taeyong just smirked out your outburst.

“You don’t always get what you want in Hell and I wouldn’t make a habit of trusting fallen angels” he replied.

His lacklustre reply stirred a deep sense of anger within you, you found it really hard to tolerate people who thought they were better than others.

“Is this my torture? Because if so, you guys are using weird tactics these days... like rather unorthodox if you ask me, I think I might rather just be burnt.” You instantly regretted the comment about being burnt, “But also please don’t burn me.”

To your surprise Taeyong half smiled at your comment.

“I’m not torturing you; I assure you that definitely involves classic techniques like burning people to death. In fact, I would argue that fact fate has left you lucky.”

“What does that mean?” You asked. Taeyong shrugged.

“There are worse things in death than having to marry me.”

You blinked about ten times in a row, the words gone from your mind again, blank.

“Sorry one second,” you said, holding up four hand, “can you just elaborate on that, because last time I checked I wasn’t engaged to any devils.”

“Not any regular devil, theDevil.” He corrected, before looking down at the expensive watch that was on his wrist, “I have to go and sort some things out, feel free to look around the house, just don’t leave and don’t interact with any of the staff around the house.”

You didn’t have time to formulate a reply or protest before he was gone, door shut perfectly, as if he had never even been there.

You sat around in silence for a few minutes before becoming curios about your surroundings. Your room was totally empty so you hoped the rest of the house wasn’t as such or it would have been a rather dull house tour.

Fortunately, as soon as you stepped out of your room you were faced with a very different sight. The corridor had a plush red carpet lining the floor and paintings and tapestries lining the walls.

You entered room after room, most of them just empty bedrooms, though none as empty as yours had been. As you ventured a little further into the house you began to find more interesting rooms.

There was a corridor that constituted only of studies another that had what seemed to be conference type rooms with long tables and lots of chairs. Around the other side you finally came across the dining room where there was food laid out on the table. A whole feast that you didn’t dare touch for a variety of reasons.

A man stood in the corner of the room, when he saw you enter, he bowed down just as the guards had, something that unsettled you.

“In case you wanted to eat,” the man explained, gesturing towards the table. You noticed there was only one place set for eating, at the same time you wondered if the concept of being hungry even existed in Hell. You felt your stomach grumble slightly, answering your own question.

You gave a weak smile to the man before sliding into the seat. This could be where the torture begins, you thought. It could have been poisoned food or turned into rotting flesh when you ate it, yet it looked so appetising you could hardly believe that would ever be the case.

Still unsure of weather to eat it or not you turned to the man,

“Do you know where I could find this guy called Yangyang?”

“I think we both know that I can’t tell you where Yangyang is,” he replied. You looked back to the food pressing your lips together, it had been worth a shot.

“I would be happy to try and answer any questions you have instead, my name is Yuta, I am a personal assistant of sorts,”

“Another archangel?” you asked. Yuta shook his head.

“Nope, just a demon.”

Yes, just a demon, of course.

Yuta watched you staring at the food and quickly guessed as to why you are hesitant,

“It is perfectly safe to eat; you are an honoured guest of hell.”

“That is exactly what someone who wanted me to eat the torture meal would say,” you replied accusatorily. Yuta laughed to himself slightly,

“If you don’t want to eat it that’s also fine, you will starve for eternity but that is, what as this other demon Johnny often says – not my problem.”

You still wondered if it was reverse psychology, but the hunger pangs had really started to kick in, so you decided to eat the food regardless.

You quickly realised that it wasn’t poisoned and that it was actually some of the most delicious food you had ever eaten.

After you had eaten for a while you looked back at Yuta who was still standing there watching you.

“How come I am allowed to talk to you and not Yangyang?” you asked.

“I don’t make the rules,” he replied. Yuta followed the word of Taeyong just as much as everyone else did, the devil really did seem to have a lot of power.

You stood up from your seat, as you did the dishes and food vanished at a click of Yuta’s fingers. Demon magic. When you headed towards the door Yuta remained where he had always been, unmoving.

“Nice to meet you, I suppose, I’m y/n by the way.” You said just before you left.

“I already knew that,” Yuta grinned. Everyone you had met in Hell acted weirdly, both in general and specifically towards you. You couldn’t figure out why there was no torture or why you had supposedly ended up engaged to Taeyong.

You had thought about asking Yuta more questions, but it seemed like Taeyong didn’t want you to know the answer to your questions and therefore none of his buddies were ever going to tell you, so you didn’t bother.

You went another three weeks before you saw Taeyong again, or anyone else for that matter. The only person you had seen was Yuta who watched you eat every day, would enter into general conversations with you about himself, and tales of demons but would never answer any questions you had or explain anything useful.

“I really need to talk to Taeyong,” you asked him, pretty much pleading at this point.

“Not an option,” Yuta replied.

“Where is he?” you asked for the ninth time that day.

“Hell,”

“Yeah very funny bud. I am not marrying him, I’ve only met him once and then he fucked off, not really the kind of behaviour that would make him a good husband.”

“He will return soon,” Yuta said, clearly trying to hide his own laughter, as a Demon he thrived on your suffering ever so slightly.

“You are annoyingly vague.” You sighed, “Can we not just break the rules, like this is hell can we not just sneak out and go and do something, this house is boring there is nothing to do and I would still really like to talk to Yangyang.”

Yuta pressed his hands together before speaking,

“No, we cannot just ‘break the rules’ Taeyong is all powerful I would rather not piss him off. It is very unboring here, I still have two million years’ worth of top-quality stories lined up, not all of them mine, I will admit. You only met Yangyang like one time, no need to make it twice, furthermore he will not answer your questions either, he too fears those who should be feared.”

You banged your head against the table repeatedly.

“This is definitely Hell!”

“You are rather dramatic y/n.”

You could see Yuta out of the corner of your eye and though he was laughing you could tell he also felt sorry for you.

“I will see what I can do,” he relented. You stopped hitting your head, got up and ran over to Yuta, throwing your arms around him.

“Thank you!” you said in earnest.

At that moment the door on the other side of the room opened and Yuta froze.

“It seems I have been gone too long, my fiancé is turning to other men,”

You let go of Yuta and spun round.

“She was hugging me because I offered to find out where you were…” Yuta tried to explain but you cut him off.

“Yeah well I have only been stuck in this boring house for a whole month with only him to talk to so if we are close that is your own fault.” You shouted at him.

“Don’t shout at him, that’s not gonna end well,” Yuta whispered to you aggressively.

“I am just a little bit angry, no, a lot angry and seeing as I cannot have any friends or meet any people, I will be voicing them to the only two people I am allowed to talk with.”

Taeyong said nothing, he strode over to where you were, grabbed your hand and dragged you from the room.

Yuta looked alarmed as you left. Taeyong led you down several corridors until you reached one of the grandest offices you had seen yet. He let go of your hand and slammed the door behind you.

“I would appreciate it if you were not rude to me in front of the people who work for me.” Taeyong said.

“I would appreciate it if you weren’t such an elusive dickhead.”

“I had … work to attend to,” he said, hand running through his bright red hair.

He was standing only a few feet away from you causing you to notice just how good looking he was for the first time. He had a cut in his eyebrow and a jawline that was stronger than anything.

“Whereas I was stuck here, doing nothing. Yuta is nice and all, but his stories get kinda old after the first thirty. I just don’t understand why I can’t talk to anyone or leave this house, why I can’t know anything about hell.”

“I…” Taeyong almost started to explain but then shut his mouth again, leaning with his hand against the door.

“What are you afraid of me finding out?” you asked him.

Taeyong sneered.

“If I told you then it wouldn’t be a secret.” He paused for a moment before walking towards you. “I can’t decide,” he said, “whether to risk falling in love with you.”

“So, you have a bad relationship past?” you guessed. Taeyong said nothing so you assumed you had hit the bullseye.

“See, now we are getting somewhere,” you said, “if you explain things to me life is a lot easier and I won’t resent you as much.”

Taeyong continued walking towards you and you walked backwards away until your back was pressed up against the wall.

“We aren’t alive.” He corrected, you could feel his breath on your face, he was inches away.

Taeyong’s face looked pained, confused.

You don’t know why you did it, maybe it was the lack of physical contact, or the slightly sexual nature of some of Yuta’s stories but you felt like it was the right choice.

You place your hands on Taeyong’s cheeks, pulling his face down towards yours, lips together. You had only meant for it to be an innocent kiss at first, just a few seconds. You didn’t know Taeyong, but you wanted to take away the pained look on his face for just a second.

But as your lips touch you felt a deeper desire, your lips moving against his with a slight sense of urgency. Taeyong’s hands moved to your waist pulling you closer towards him, his grip like iron.

After a minute or two you pulled away, realising that you hadn’t breathed, that you didn’t need to breathe, a surprising perk of Hell. You opened your eyes to see Taeyong staring down at you, the pain still in his eyes, but now mixed with something else, something more positive, you didn’t know quite what.

“I’ve never had a girl kiss me first before,” he remarked. You smiled at him slightly.

“Well I just…” you couldn’t really explain why you did I, you didn’t know, because you still resented this man quite a lot., “It doesn’t mean I forgive you,” you assured him.

Taeyong leaned down and placed a final peck on your lips.

“You have made my choice for me though, there is no way I can avoid falling in love with you now.”

“Yuta are we friends,” you asked him.

“Why do you ask, please don’t ask me you break you out again you know I can’t,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry.

“I just mean if I told you something personal because I needed advice you wouldn’t need to tell Taeyong right? As long as it’s not my plan to break free. I have no girls here to talk to, or even any other boys, you’re my only hope,”

“I don’t see why I would have to tell Taeyong something like that no, so you can count me as a friend on this one.”

“I kissed Taeyong.” You blurted out the second he finished speaking. Yuta blinked a few times, nodding his head slightly.

“Did I really need to know that?” he asked.

“Do you know why I would have done that?”

“This, is the single worst question you have asked me yet, how would I know how your brain functions?” Yuta joked. You sighed, picking up your spoon and placing it in the ice-cream in front of you, that even with demon magic was fast melting due to high temperatures.

A few minutes later you walked back out and started searching the house for whatever room Taeyong was in.

You walked through room after room, to the point where you were not even sure which way was back anymore.

Eventually you came to a room with a door that must have been made out of gold. The door had a picture carved into it of an angel falling from heaven into the fire below. Your feet stopped. It had to be the room you had been searching for.

You knocked loudly but there came no reply, so you pushed the door open slightly, peeking into the room. At first it seemed empty, just like yours had been. There was a wooden bed with a canopy, that looked like one you would see in a period drama. It was ornate and stylish with two bedside tables either side.

Those three pieces of furniture were the only ones in the room.

You felt bad about intruding into someone else’s space, but it didn’t stop you, if you had been a better person you wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

You walked curiously over to the bed and sat down on it, the bed was perfectly made, not even a crease as you ran your hands across the bed covers.

You stared down at the bedside table, something you didn’t have in your own room. The one on the left side was empty, not even a dust particle to be seen.

You rolled over the bed to the other drawer, expecting it too to be empty.

You pulled it open to see a few things inside. There were a few letters which you felt like you shouldn’t read, a pen, a picture of Taeyong and Yuta and at the back of the drawer a small red book.

It wasn’t something you were proud of, but you couldn’t help but peek into the book. The first page was inscribed with a verse:

And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.

So, the stories were true. But as you flicked through the pages you only became more confused, some were written in a language you didn’t understand or even recognise, some were filled with cursive handwriting recounting stories, much like the ones Yuta had told you, but it was the final few pages that confused you the most. There were paintings of five girls, each on a separate page.

Each had their name written underneath, a date and a timespan. The first 120AD - 3 months up until the most recent 1827 – 2 months.

In the last entry to the book you saw your own face. It was a picture of you sitting in a café in the sunshine, it had to have been from your life. You were drinking iced tea and laughing like nothing could have stopped your happiness. The date 2020 but no time span.

You didn’t understand what it meant entirely but you weren’t stupid either, you realised you were not the first girl who had ended up here.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the book was snatched away from you. You stared upwards to see Taeyong, eyes dark and unforgiving.

“What gives you the right,” he began through gritted teeth, “to look through other people’s personal items.”

He placed the book back in the drawer.

“I would say you can’t come into this room when I’m not here, but I assume you have already seen all there is to see,” he laughed darkly.

“Who are those girls, what do those dates mean?” you asked, still curious and somehow still unafraid, even though the man in front of you looked ready to kill.

Taeyong said nothing. You placed your hand over his lightly.

“I can only become close to you if you let me, and if we are to get married for whatever mysterious reason of fate, we should be close.”

Taeyong moved his hand back and looked away.

“We don’t need to be close; all that book proves is that in this cursed place, fiancé does not mean future wife.”

“Would you stop being so damned elusive for a fucking second?” you said. Taeyong lifted one eyebrow smirking.

“You don’t understand,” he said.

“Yeah I don’t understand if you don’t tell me.”

Taeyong’s smirk faded until he just looked sad. He looked over at you and smiled slightly.

“You can leave the house if you want, make some friends, just don’t leave the city, it’s not so fun outside the walls of Dis, its where the real sinners go.”

You were surprised, freedom wasn’t what you expected to gain from your trespass into his personal space.

“Why now?”

“Because even though you probably won’t choose hell in the end, I at least don’t want you to resent your time here.”

You walked round the bed to sit closer to him but as you sat down, he stood up.

“I think it is easier for both of us long term if what happened yesterday… doesn’t happen again.” He looked down at the time, “I have some rogue demons to chastise, I’ll get Yuta and Yangyang to show you around town.”

Five hours later you were drunk at a vodka bar in hell where Yuta had disappeared with some girl about an hour previously and you were left laughing with Yangyang until your stomach hurt.

“You have way better stories than Yuta,” you joked as Yangyang recounted a mishap between him, a goat demon and a man who had been sent to hell mostly for his obsession with stealing collectable plates.

“and you,” he replied, “are much more fun to be around than any of Taeyong’s previous ladies,” he said, covering his mouth as soon as he said it, “well fuck,” he finished off.

“Do not fear young fallen angel for I already know of these previous ladies, as in I know they exist and nothing else.”

Yangyang breathed out a sigh of relief.

“If I had let that secret go, well I would probably have been stung by bees for the next couple hundred years, every day at three o’clock.”

“There must be worst tortures?” You prompted. Yangyang shook his head.

“Don’t ever underestimate hell bees,” he said in a statement that sounded like he had his own history with said hell bees and that you shouldn’t press further.

“I know of the ladies and I guess that’s what makes him act weird towards me, but I don’t understand what happened.” You explained.

Yangyang looked around to see who was looking before motioning you to come closer.

“I can tell you, but you never heard it from me,” he said, “I must be drunk to be telling you this. Basically, Taeyong is cursed, not by God that’s just this whole hell thing but in a personal argument with an angel named Taeil. Taeyong once stole Taeil’s fiancé back in heaven, so when he was cast down to hell Taeil vowed to take revenge. Ever since as soon as a girl dies, who is someone Taeyong would definitely fall in love with, Taeil make sure they are sent right to his door, calls them the brides of hell. Well with the first one Taeyong didn’t realise it was Taeil, he just thought he had found his soulmate. Yet three months later Taeil shows up at the gates of hell und summons her fourth, Taeyong following close behind. He offers the girl a chance to go to heaven to have everything she ever wanted, that her going to hell was just a mistake and she is meant to marry him in heaven. And the girl agrees. Because as much as she loved Taeyong she wasn’t willing to give up the idea of eternal paradise for him, same for the next four girls… and now you. With the last one he didn’t even try. He didn’t talk to her once he just kept her locked up until Doyoung came. When she left, she said she hated Taeyong, which hurt him just as much as when he was betrayed.”

You took another shot of vodka.

“Well that… is a story and a half,” you remarked. Yangyang shrugged.

“Did the first girl really love him?” she asked. Yangyang nodded.

“They were happy together, Taeyong isn’t a bad guy to the people he loves, he’s not the same person he was a couple hundred thousand years ago, he’s not a great guy by any means but he was kind to the girl and they loved each other, the first betrayal is still the worst.”

“How could she do that to him if she loved him,” you asked him, you had only known Taeyong a short time and for most of that you had resented him, but you had started to understand him.

“Heaven isn’t something you refuse,” Yangyang said simply.

Before long you were both back to laughing and drinking, increasingly incapacitated. An hour later Yangyang was dragging you back to the steps of Taeyong’s house. He knocked on the door, lazily calling out,

“Taeyong, come and get y/n! I want to go to bed!” he said.

Taeyong appeared at the door a few moments later to see you lying on the ground semi-conscious, cocktail umbrella still in you grasp.

He leaned down and picked you easily, something you welcomed after Yangyang’s drunk drag.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” he said. You shook your head laughing.

“No!” you protested like a stubborn child, “I want to sleep next to you, in your room.”

Taeyong looked somewhat shocked.

“I already explained it would be better if we just kept out distance,” he began before you cut him off. You put your finger over his lips to silence him.

“Starting today,” you said, “I am going to stay with you forever, starting right now, in your bed.”

Taeyong sighed, continuing on to your room before placing you down in your bed, he tried to leave but you grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Please don’t leave me alone again,” you asked him quietly, “I don’t like being alone in this place.”

Taeyong’s eyes soften, his resolve defeated, he sat down next to you in the bed.

“I really won’t leave you, I won’t go with that mean Taeil guy,”

“Yangyang is so dead,” Taeyong said.

“We’re all dead silly.” You lay back in the bed, pulling Taeyong’s arm so he fell down to lie facing you.

“And you will leave, they all do,” Taeyong explained. You blinked a few times.

“I’m not them, I’m y/n, I’m my own person. And anyway, I bet none of them ever kissed you first.”

“Why did you kiss me?” Taeyong questioned thoughtfully.

“I really don’t know I just suddenly felt like it was the right thing to do in that moment, like fate had been leading up to right then and there.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Taeyong sighed, “we are all just puppets of people like Taeil.”

“For someone who has power over a whole dimension that is a very defeatist attitude.” And before he could protest anymore you placed your hand on his cheek, your fingertips brushing a few strands of his hair,

“Am I really not different to any of those other women? Maybe their choice wasn’t wrong, maybe they just weren’t right for you, maybe I am,”

“I’m scared of you in particular, I have watched parts of your life on earth and I could see myself with you more than anyone before, and that terrifies me,” Taeyong admitted.

“I cause fear in the devil, what a powerful woman I am,” you joked grinning at him, “Don’t underestimate me.”

Taeyong brought his hand up to cover yours that was still rested on your face.

“You said you hate being alone here, why would you ever choose to stay here?” he asked.

“Because I wouldn’t be alone, I would have friends like Yuta and Yangyang and I would have you, Taeil chose me because we are a perfect match, right? Well then we will always be happy, also Yuta assures me he has a few million more stories lined up and I can’t miss out on that.”

Taeyong’s eyes stared into your soul, he licked his lower lip slightly before moving so he was positioned over you, resting on his forearms.

“I really hope that what you say is true,” he said before bringing his lips to meet yours.

A few weeks passed, you didn’t see Taeyong very often, he was still very busy, but he had made your life in hell become somewhat enjoyable. You spent most of your days playing around with Yuta, Yangyang had work to do, and getting to know the city. When you did see Taeyong he still somewhat guarded, but he was a lot more genuine with you.

You were just coming back from a game of throw the devil with Yuta when you noticed a bright white letter sitting on the doorstep, Dear Taeyong was written on the front in cursive writing similar to that of Taeyong’s.

Yuta grimaced at the sight of it. You didn’t have to ask who it was from because you knew it was from him, from Taeil.

“Well it was fun to get to know you,” Yuta said, holding out his hand for you to shake, “I wish you all the best in heaven, it sounds like a great place.”

“I’m not going,” you said. Yuta snorted,

“No one would ever give up that chance, especially not for someone they barely know, you’ve talked to Taeyong, what three four times, you might be crazy but there is no way you’re that crazy.

You looked up at the orange sky above, wishing more than ever that you could remember your past life, so you could understand what choice you would have made when you were alive.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either, maybe I suffered permanent brain damage when I fell down that hole on the way here… but I just have this feeling, a feeling that tells me that I belong here, with Taeyong, with you, with Yangyang, that this is my fate.”

“Don’t suffer a harsh fate just because you feel sorry for the devil,” Yuta exhaled deeply.

“How is this fate harsh?” you asked, “maybe for most people hell is the worst, but I have only had good experiences here, I may have complained about your stories, but they weren’t that bad,”

“Any fate is harsh in comparison to perfection.” Yuta mused.

“It’s almost like you want me to leave,” you joked. Yuta looked at the letter with envy.

“If you want to stay here that’s your choice and I will be happy not to see you go, but it’s not the choice I would make.”

You pushed him slightly on the shoulder to ease the tension.

“You would be bored after five seconds up there,” you said opening the door and kicking your shoes off into the hallway.

You both went to eat and were wrapped up in conversation but neither of you could ignore when you heard the front door slam loudly and Taeyong scream out a list of profanities even from the other side of the house.

You gave Yuta a small smile before hurrying downstairs to try and find Taeyong. He was kneeling in the hallway staring down at the open letter on the floor that was set alight, the pages burning until there was nothing left but ash.

You tried to sit near him to comfort him, but he pulled away.

“I won’t go with him,” you said quietly. Taeyong rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you fucking will, no matter what you say humans are all the fucking same, you’re not special.”

You were taken aback. You had known the letter would upset Taeyong, but you hadn’t expected him to act with such anger.

“I don’t need your stupid fucking pity,” Taeyong hissed, the venom in his voice not something that could be faked, “I may want to love you but at this point I hate you at the same time and I will hate every girl that comes after.”

Your eyes narrowed and you snorted slightly.

“I didn’t pity you before Taeyong,” you said, “but this is pathetic.”

You picked up a vase that was next to you and smashed it on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong said standing up, alarmed at your sudden violence.

“I don’t remember my life on earth,” you began, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t an angel. I do know who I am now though, I commit petty crimes with Yuta for fun, I am attracted to a man who tortures people for a living, and I broke your vase just because I can. That doesn’t make me evil but I’m not a saint and I certainly don’t see a reason to go to heaven. Call me a narcissist but at least here I’m special, at least you will love me and for whatever reason my brain seems to value that more than eternal glory or whatever.”

“I’m a difficult man and this is a difficult place, I’ve just sheltered you from it so far.” Taeyong said.

You stepped closer to him until your lips were right by his ear.

“Then show me,” you whispered, “show me hell,” you stepped back, “show me what life here is really like and then I can make an informed choice, I can’t chose you if you don’t even give me a chance.”

“That seems fair, you can at least be Queen of Hell for a day” Taeyong agreed.

Which is how you ended up hours later back on the lift out of the city. This time you had no broken bones and you instead wore a dress of fire, courtesy of Yuta’s demon magic.

Taeyong led you through the circles of hell, through all the punishments, betrayers frozen in ice; tyrants and robber forced to swim in boiling blood; the eternal combat of the wrathful sullen and lazy and the lustful caught in the endless violent wind to name but a few.

“Hell is a horrible place for a lot of people, the city of Dis is the exception not the rule, to live there you have to live with that.”

“Then who are the people wondering around, in the villages outside the city?” you asked, not really wanting to dwell on the torture.

“The pain of torture dulls after a few thousand years and those people become free, everyone here is free because of that. After a few thousand years you can just get up and walk away and live a life again. I burned in fire for three thousand years until one day I just walked away and found the demons in the city,” Taeyong explained.

“So, the torture ends?” You asked him. Taeyong nodded,

“Pain has no power if you have experienced 1000 lifetimes of it, it just becomes normal.”

“Then I can live with it.” You said.

Taeyong looked surprised.

“It probably makes me a bad person but then I suppose that justifies my place here but if the torture ends then I can justify within myself living here, marrying you.”

“If I chose to stay, do I have to suffer the thousands of years?” you followed up.

“Does that change your answer?”

You didn’t know. But you didn’t think so, you just didn’t ever want to say something you weren’t totally sure about.

“But no, you wouldn’t, every millennium I can pardon someone, I have saved that for the chance someone ever choses to marry me,”

“Not the pessimist I always thought then,” you giggled. Taeyong laughed,

“It wasn’t optimism, it was fear… though the pain ends, I still didn’t want anyone who had made a choice to stay with me to have to experience it, because while it normalises after a thousand years the first couple hundred really are torture.”

“Well then I can’t really have any objections to hell then, or to such a thoughtful devil as you.”

“Would you like to sleep in my room tonight,” Taeyong asked suddenly.

“I knew there were other perks to Hell,” you joked.

“Well you’re a beautiful girl and I’m certainly no saint.”

When the sky turned from orange to blood red you were in Taeyong’s room. He was sitting up in his bed, shirt unbuttoned slightly, making the room feel even hotter than the inferno it already was.

You fiddled slightly with the bottom of your shirt before pulling it straight off, to reveal the lingerie that had been left in your drawer by Taeyong since day one. Taeyong smiled to himself dragging his finger over his lip slightly.

You continued, pulling down your shorts to reveal your panties, stepping ever closer towards Taeyong, who had begun to take his own shirt off as well, revealing his chest underneath.

You reached back and unclasped your bra, throwing it to the ground as you crawled onto the bed, towards Taeyong, fuelled by new confidence given to you by the look the devil. His eyes burning with lust.

You had barely touched him before he caught your arm and flipped you over, once again resting on his forearms above you but this time he kissed your neck.

“I’m the king of hell, I’m in charge here,” he said, bringing his hand up to massage your breast as he marked your neck, causing you to illicit a moan, any plans you had slipping away.

You watched him grin as he pulled away,

“You’re beautiful,” he noted. You noticed the same thing about him, it was clear he used to be an angel, but the scars on his chest, a product of hell somehow only made him more attractive. As you both paused your eyes travelled down to his underwear, where a wet patch had already formed at the tip of his dick.

Taeyong caught you staring,

“Wanna suck?” he asked and so you nodded but Taeyong stopped you as you leaned down to touch him.

“I want to hear you say it, I want to hear the sinful words, worth of the Queen of Hell.”

You had no problem obliging, you didn’t think there was anything you wouldn’t do for this man at this point and you still weren’t a hundred percent sure why.

“I want to suck your cock, I want to choke on it” you said to him with a small smile, before once again leaning down and pulling at his waistband. Taeyong was pleasantly surprised by your own addition to the statement,

‘I didn’t realise you were such a good slut,” he grinned a grin that quickly turned into a moan as you took him into your mouth, pushing your head down until you felt him against the back of your throat causing you to gag before moving back up and down again. As you sucked you looked up at Taeyong, tears forming in your eyes, never breaking eye contact.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he said. It didn’t take long until Taeyong’s breathing got heavier and you swallowed his warm cum that burst into your mouth, not missing a drop.

He recovered quickly and before you realised it, he was kissing you again, his hands wasting no time in removing your own panties, that were already soaked.

“I’m glad I have this effect on you,” Taeyong smirked as he chucked them across the other side of the room. Taeyong’s fingers stroked over your wet entrance but before he could slide a finger in you grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Not today, I just want to feel you inside me,” you asked, and he was happy to oblige, just as you had been.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he commanded. When you were ready you could feel him rubbing his dick over your wet folds, teasing you.

“I’ve gone months without sex down here because of you, just fuck me, please,” you begged. Taeyong immediately thrust his full length into you, but despite this initial urgency, he kept a slow torturous pace.

You whined in complaint which had no effect on Taeyong’s actions.

“This is what you get instead of a thousand years of torture baby, and also you feel so good, so tight around me, I want to savour it.” He said.

You moved your hips back to meet Taeyong, trying to get him to increase his pace.

“I’m sure Taeil would fuck me harder,” you teased which was all it took.

“So that’s the game you want to play,” Taeyong smirked before pulling out completely. Before you could even complain about the loss Taeyong thrust back into you again in tandem with a smack on your ass.

“You’re a bad girl, and bad girls get bad treatment.” He kept one hand on your hip and one hand grabbed your hair as he pumped into you hard and fast, your moans getting louder each time.

“If you don’t shut up Yuta will here you,” Taeyong complained, “but I bet a naughty slut like you would like that wouldn’t you,”

You moaned in agreement.

“I want to hear you say it,” Taeyong said, smacking your ass again.

“I’m a naughty slut who wants Yuta to hear me fucking you.” Taeyong groaned at your sinful words, his dick beginning to twitch inside you.

A few seconds later you felt his cum inside you and Taeyong continue to fuck it into you, which was enough to push you over the edge.

“Fuck!” you screamed out as Taeyong kept fucking you through the aftershocks, before pulling out and getting you to kay down next to him.

“I love you y/n,” he said, his eyes filled with affection, “even if you are a naughty girl.”

Two days later Taeil appeared at your door. It was 3pm in the afternoon when he knocked. Taeyong answered the door and went outside first, you didn’t go until he called you a few minutes later.

“Hello y/n, I am Taeil, Angel of Heaven.” He introduced himself.

“I am aware,” you replied curtly. You could see the fear in Taeyong’s eyes, and it made you want to cry, you couldn’t believe he still thought you would leave him.

“I am here to give you the chance to come to heaven, where you can have everything you ever wanted and live in perfect peace, instead of a tumultuous eternity in hell.” He began but you cut him short.

“I am fine here actually but thanks for the offer.”

Taeil didn’t look phased, maybe it had taken a while before the others agreed.

“I can give you everything, memories of your life on earth, the chance to meet your family again, here you will endure years of pain.”

You remained resolute.

“That’s a no thank you, have a nice day,” you said grabbing Taeyong’s hand and moving to head back inside

Taeil stopped you, his arm placed in front of you. He reached into his pocket and played a scene into your mind.

It was what you guessed was heaven and all you could feel was an immense sense of peace, you saw people around you smiling and cheers of laughter not screams.

“My answer is still no,” you said. Taeil looked perplexed.

“No one who has seen heaven has ever turned it down, what could be better than the everlasting peace?” he asked.

You looked up at Taeyong who still looked frantically worried and smiled. You saw Yuta hopping from foot to foot behind a bush with Yangyang to eavesdrop what was happening.

“Everlasting love,” you replied, “Everlasting friendship,” you continued, “and besides I reckon hell must be more fun anyway.”

Taeil took a few steps back, something close to anger appearing on his face.

“If you turn this offer down, I will never give it to you again,” Taeil asked. You shrugged.

“Have a nice flight back,” was all you said before leaning up and giving Taeyong a kiss on the cheek.

“I won’t want what I can have because I have all the things I need, and that is my peace.”

Taeyong wrapped his arms around you grinning,

“You really are one of a kind, kissed me first girl,” he remarked. Taeil scoffed.

“Have fun being damned together,” he said before heading back out the gate.

“Being damned never looked so good!” Yangyang called from behind the bush. You laughed, sure at that moment you had made the right choice.

Even if you hadn’t Taeil came back every year for the next thirty years, despite promising it would be the last each time, unwilling to accept that he had lost. Each time you found a creative way of telling him to get lost. Each year Taeyong looked less and less scared that you would leave him until he finally realised you never would.

“Get lost Taeil!” He called out, “My wife isn’t interested in your schemes and she never will be,” he shouted before he proceeded to make out with you in a very non-PG way causing Taeil to cover his eyes and run. After that he never returned.

A hundred years later you sat with Taeyong under the orange sky and smiled.

“Do you believe in fate now?” you asked, rubbing your thumb on the outside of his hand.

“I believe in my love for you, be that fate, the end to my torture or just sheer luck. Whichever it is I’m thankful for it, because hell is lonely but when you have someone with you, it’s just a very warm place with a lot of alcohol and screaming.”

Maybe the second part wasn’t so eloquent, but it was right. Hell wasn’t something to be feared when you had someone by your side. Because for Taeyong being alone had been more torturous than the fire.

At that moment Yuta’s demon child ran into the garden and set fire to the tablecloth and you couldn’t help but burst out laughing as Yuta then threw the child about a mile, probably a demon throwing high score.

The afterlife you had chosen wasn’t what most people had chosen, most people didn’t even get a choice and so when Taeyong kissed you in the darkness lit up by flames you felt like someone who was lucky. You didn’t know why this was the afterlife you lived or why Taeyong had ever meant so much. But you final realised that you didn’t need to know. That sometimes things could have vague answers and that was okay. As long as your love for Taeyong was clear, then so was the choice you had made.

As you had once shouted at Taeil whilst chucking a demon at him,

“What’s so good about resting in peace anyway,” you found resting in chaos much more entertaining.

#nct #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct scenarios #taeyong smut #taeyong imagines #nct smut #nct imagines #nct 127 #taeyong scenarios #taeyong fluff #taeyong angst #nct fluff

[theshy1sout]

Inseparable - Chapter 20

Tags: Not rated, Broppy Fluff, Slow Burn Fluff, Trolls Mythology Au

Ao3 here

Notes:  I can't believe I've finally written the whole fanfiction, from the very beginning to the very end. I'd never finished anything in my entire life. And I also wrote it in English! You have no idea how many hard was for me to learn another language. Guh, I'm so proud of myself. I know that the end isn't very satisfying. I mean, I suppose to be a fluff, and yes it is, but the end is a bit... Ambitious? I didn't want to finish it with a kiss, I planned to explain how the strings were created from the very beginning. Tell me your impression in the comments. Thank you for being my reader :)

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- Dad, why do we have to sleep? - A little violet kid hides his face deeper into his father's shirt. - I thought you said once that Immortals don't have to sleep. But we sleep every night! It's... - He yawns. - ...frustrating.

Branch smiles at him, stroking his hair gently.

- I don't know - The blue god admits calmly. - I've never been a child. Ask your mother. She was.

A small girl looks up at the pink goddess, showing her eyes filled with surprise.

- You were a kid and dad wasn't? - She asks aloud.

- Dad came from Chaos - Poppy explains quietly, hugging her daughter a bit tighter. - And I was born just like you. That's why you have a grandpa and others don't.

- So why do Immortal kids have to sleep?

The last question comes from the oldest child, lying a bit aside from the rest. He doesn't like hugging that much. He prefers to sleep alone.

- I don't know, Aster - Poppy turns to him with a smile. - I needed it when I was a kid, that's all I know. We don't know much about immortal kids, they are really rare.

- That's why you are so special - Branch adds, smiling at his kid. He yawns, making everyone, one by one, yawning too. - You really need to sleep now.

- Are you sleeping with us? - A little girl lifts her sparkling eyes.

- Star, do we ever leave you during sleep?

- How can we know? - Aster points out. He really likes discussions. - What if you leave us when we get asleep and come back in the morning?

Star looks worryingly at dad.

- I swear we don't do that! - The blue god declares openly.

- Look, Happy is already asleep - Poppy glances down at the kid cuddled into Branch's arms. She takes a look at her daughter, kissing her on her light pink forehead. - Just close your eyes, little Star.

The girl smiles and listens to her mum. A few minutes later the grasshoppers' concert is disturbed only by calm breaths from children's mouths.

- That was fast - Branch whispers, gazing at his daughter. - What about Aster?

Poppy turns to her left where her son is lying a step or two from them.

- I think he's sleeping too - She announces.

They both look up at the clear nightly sky. They are staring at the twinkling stars for a while, listening to the soft melody of the grasshoppers' song. The light blue moon shines above them, watching the whole Earth from the sky. Everything is pleasantly calm.

- Let's figure it out again - Poppy starts out of nowhere. She doesn't have to explain she means their work. They both think about it most of the time. - What do we know about Love?

- The last time we separated six things it needs to be full and true - Branch starts listing. - Free will, awareness, affection, honesty, attachment, and emotionality.

- Six inseparable parts of Love - The goddess looks at the god, frowning sadly. - And trolls don't have even one of them.

Branch heave a deep sigh. He carefully moves closer to her, trying to not wake up his son cuddled to his right side. He slips his free hand under her head and embraces her shoulders, touching her to him. She has no hand to hug him back, but they both get used to it. They all like a “family” sleep hug, it’s really cozy and warm. Besides Aster, he doesn’t like hugs that much.

- I don’t want to repeat myself on and on, but I’ve already told you - The god says softly, gently touching her ear with the top of his nose. - We can do anything more by ourselves. We have to ask others for help.

- But what can they do! - The goddess huffs. - They will never agree to give trolls free will. It’s too risky. My dad especially will disagree. He told me about Creek and Chaz last time…

She stops, staring helplessly at the stars. From the moment they both became the goddess and the god of Love, they are thought of as the most powerful Immortals. Even if their main mission is to bring Love to trolls and teach them everything about it, other Immortals also come to them for advice and solutions to their problems. They have everyone’s respect and trust, they are welcome with open arms anywhere they go. Their kids are well-known and loved, their names are sounded with a warm smile on face.

If they can’t do something, who else can do?

And giving trolls free will and awareness, giving them an ability to feel and think independently, letting them choose… would open the door to wars and conflicts, like when Chaz came from the Chaos. Do they really want this for trolls?

- Don’t overthink this again - Branch’s low whisper in her ear gets her back to reality. - We all know how risky it is. But tell me honestly… - She feels his hand tenderly caressing her arm. She sighs calmly. Years passed and she’s still enjoying his touch as much as for the first time. - Isn’t it worth it?

Poppy turns to him, catching his sight. He smiles affectionately at her in a way that always makes her melt and want to kiss him. She can’t resist but smiles back gently at him.

- You think it’s so easy… - She says.

- I’m not - He drops his smiles, looking at her seriously. - My first step on the Fest wasn’t easy. But I’ve never regretted it.

She gazes at his blue eyes for a while, thinking.

- And I also needed help back then - He adds, moving his head closer to her. - Your help.

The goddess is still hesitating, staring at him in silence. She touches his forehead with hers. She sighs heavily, closing her eyes. They stay for a while like that, nodding off.

- Do you need one more night to think about it? - Branch asks softly, the care is hearable in his voice.

- No - Poppy says quietly. - You’re right…

- You don’t sound convinced - He points out after a moment.

- I don’t know - She admits. - I have bad feelings about that…

- Things worth effort are always challenging. Look at me and tell me if I was easy to bear at the first meet

Poppy smiles widely.

- It was always hard to not love you - She says, chuckling quietly.

Branch giggles heartily, grinning really wide. He presses his lips against her and they share a long, slow, passionate kiss.

- You’re lucky our kids are hugging us right now - Branch smirks at her when they finally go away. - I would not stop myself in any other case.

Poppy giggles gently, nestling her face into him. She sighs calmly, smelling his warm scent.

- We’ll ask others for help - She announces, now with more confidence. - Tomorrow.

***

- ...and in those circumstances we are helpless.

King Peppy looks patiently at Branch and Poppy from his high throne. In absolute silence, the sounds of kids playing outdoors are really hearable. There are not only Branch and Poppy’s children; after they taught Immortals about Love, many of them start building similar relationships and some of them also have offspring. There are six immortal children now, not counting Poppy. The youngest of them, little Star, as a Peppy’s favorite, is sitting on his lap now, taking an afternoon nap.

- We need your help - The pink goddess looks around, trying to address it to everyone gathered. But no one says anything. Immortals glance at each other, looking for anyone who would know the possible answer. Above their heads, the single thought is floating loudly in silence: “How could anybody know more about Love than the god and the goddess of Love as large as life?”. Poppy glances at Branch helplessly, knowing what this situation means for them.

- Well, if no one has any idea - The blue god starts slowly, looking around. - There’s only one other option. We have to give trolls what they haven’t got yet.

King Peppy opens his eyes widely at him in sudden realization.

- You don’t mean…

- Giving trolls free will. Exactly - Branch nods calmly.

- Is that necessary? - Delta Dawn, the goddess of Justice, asks, crossing her arms on her chest.

- There’s no Love without the free will - The god explains.

- But the ability to feel and think independently opens trolls the door to not only fight with each other - The god of Wisdom, Stacy, points out. - But also to kick out against us.

His speech wakes up murmuring all around.

- Listen, now trolls don’t understand how much we care about them - Branch goes on. - They don’t even know we love them. They can’t love us back. They are empty souls listening to our every order. They are our slaves.

His last words make everybody freeze in silence.

- I’m also scared of what will happen if we give trolls absolute freedom - Poppy finally finds her words, joining her lover’s speech. - They will reject us, fight with us, ignore us, tell us they don’t need our love for them. They will also fight with each other because Chaz’s seeds don’t disappear from their hearts, we all know that. - She holds Branch’s hand, looking into his eyes. - But… How long can we pretend that they love us back? I’m not even sure if they have ever been happy. They’ve never known what happiness is.

Branch smiles gently at her.

- We’ve never let them be themselves - Milton whispers thoughtfully from his seat.

- It’s not that easy - Queen Barb says with a low voice. - Those are very strong powers.

- It would destroy them! - Smidge takes fright.

- Umm… Can I… - Suki lifts her hand shyly to say something. - I’ve already got an idea…

- Tell us - Peppy nods encouragingly.

- We can use music - She beams, smiling unsurely. - I noticed that the feelings I put into my song stay in their souls for so long. If… If you help me I can make music that will be giving them those things partly, stretching it in time.

- Maybe we should put it into an instrument? - Minuet, the goddess of instruments, suggests. - Poppy says there are six elements of Love. we can put them into separated strings.

- We can make a harp then - Laguna, the goddess of Analyze and Math, writes something in her notebook.

- That’s a lot of work - Gust notices. - We will need a lot of hands to help.

- I can help! - Cooper beams.

- And I!

- I’m in.

- Don’t start without me!

Poppy smiles widely, watching Immortals joining in one by one. All fears she had in her heart slowly fade away. She squeezes Branch’s hand, making him look at her.

- You were right - She admits, watching his smile grows wider. - But I’m still scared.

- Me too - He plants a loving kiss on her nose. - But we’re in this together and that’s all I need.

She giggles, adoring his sweet azure eyes. She sighs briefly and nods with a confident smile.

- We’re gonna do this.

***

They were making Strings almost for the whole year. Every single Immortal was concerned. Stacy, Essence, Coffee, Prince D, and Lownote Jones created the violet string of the Attachment. Minuet, Dante, and Trollazart worked on the yellow string of the Awareness. Trolex, Synth, and Laguna made the blue string of Emotionality. Queen Barb, Riff, Val, and Demo created the red string of Free Will. Gust, Holly, Smidge, and Delta Dawn made the orange string of Honesty. And Poppy and Branch were coordinating the work on the last, pink string. The string of Affection.

When everything is ready, Suki puts all the Strings on the beautiful gold harp created by Satin, Chenille, Guy Diamond, and Minuet. The time is ripe, they need only a delegation. Someone who will handle the Harp to troll. Most Immortals want it to be Poppy and Branch, but they reject it. In that case, everybody votes for their kids to be delegates. But the goddess and the god of Love still persist, that it would be unfair. Finally, they all decide that all six Immortal kids will handle the Strings.

The moment is huge. Everybody’s watching in tension us Peppy and Gust, the god of Order, gather all existing trolls in one place. Six kids present the Harp in front of trolls and then put it down for trolls to reach it. The creatures don’t know what to do at the first moment. They are staring at the beautiful instrument in misunderstanding amazement. The Silence passes for so long and Immortals are patiently waiting. Then, a little shy troll goes from the crowd and unsurely comes to the Harp. He reaches the first string, the yellow one, and touches it carefully.

And then he pulls it slightly and the soft sound of liberatory music peals in the world, freezing all the trolls.

___________________________________________________________

Index

#inseparable #broppy #broppy fluff #trolls broppy #broppy fanfic #branch #branch the god #branch trolls #branch the god of night #trolls world tour #trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls au #trolls mythology au #trolls mythology #trolls fluff #trolls fanfiction #branch and poppy #trolls poppy #poppy and branch #poppy trolls #poppy the goddess #Poppy #poppy the goddess of day #branch and poppy the god and the goddess of the Love #:3 #my fanfic stuff #my fanfic writing #my fanfic #my fanfiction

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (5)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

The days are the same and fortunately for you, no further attempted aggression has been committed on you. But it's not the police you have to thank for that, but just yourself. Because when you tried to file a complaint against your attacker, all the police were able to tell you was that there was nothing they could do. Because as you bear no stigma, no trace of blow ... there would be no point in filing a complaint. You sigh just by thinking about it, decidedly the mentality of some police officers will always surprise you. You really wonder what criteria they are recruited on.  

While you were serving a few clients, your gaze was slowly moving towards Jed, leaning over those drafts blackened by his pencil. God he’s beautiful when he is focused... something about him attracts you when he's in that state. But now is not the time to be lost in your thoughts! Let's stay professional first! you walk towards him a tea in hand that you lay on the table, bringing him out of his concentration. He gave you a smile, that angelic smile that could melt all hearts. We remain professional I said!

“I think it'll do you the greatest good, three coffees in a row could turn you into a ball of nerve. always immersed in your research about this ... Hoggins?” You said looking down to the papers.

“Yeah, I need to know a couple of things about him for this reception...so I could more easily slip into the crowd and rummage through his stuff without him noticing anything. Can you imagine if I find anything compromising about this story? This will create the biggest scandal this city... this state has never known.” he responds with some enthusiasm.

“You could also be killed so no one knows. That Hoggins is a very influent man. He could hire someone to kill you and your peers, like that bastard... Forget it. I can’t believe what the police told me... What are they waiting for? that I'm dying to act?”  

“This the reason why I rather fend for myself and solve problems in my own way. and that's what I plan to do with Mike. he thinks he can belittle me and hit me with impunity, he is seriously mistaken. I'll take the time it takes, but one day I'll give him back the blows he'll take from me.” He replies putting his glasses back.  

“Well, not so shy as I thought after all.”

“I am someone who interacts with people based on how they act with me. If they put me lower than earth ... I do the same.”  

He sipped his tea while putting a little order on the table. You can't help but look at his piercing blue eyes, so attractive, that's what makes all his charm, his major asset. When they stared at you, you feel your cheeks blush slightly and with a little embarrassed laugh, you get up and start heading to the counter ready to welcome new customers.

“You know...” Jed starts making you stop and turn to him. “I was thinking... that you could go with me to this reception. If I say you're with me, I don't think it's going to be a problem.” he said with a little smile.  

“What?? Me?? Jed I... It’s really nice of you but...I’m not a journalist and even less a girl from high society. I wouldn't feel like I belong there. And then I might embarrass you in your work...I don’t know if it’s a really good idea.” you answer putting a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Why not? I'm going to have a good night at this reception too. But knowing Melina and Mattew, they're going to go their own way and leave me alone lost in the middle of people I don't know. So, if I can share it with a friend... And chat with someone I like and know... I'd rather you came.”  

“Well...okay. Thanks Jed. I appreciate that you've thinking about me.”

The door opened and a woman entered the café. Given the outfit she was wearing, she was either working in the office or she was a businesswoman. But a horrible thrill pierced you when you saw in the distance Mc Kellan a smile on the corner. Whoever this woman is, this scumbag knows her for sure.

“Are you the owner of The Nebula?” said the woman by looking around her.

“Yes. Can I help you?” you answer a little worried.

“Let me introduce myself: Mrs Alice Milton. Hygiene inspector. Mr. Kellan has informed me that you are not complying with certain health measures and I am here to check. You don't mind, do you?

“No... Not at all.” you said, trying to stay calm.  

Mrs Milton began to do his inspection. She checked every table, every seat, every window. No object escaped his gaze. Then she went to the back shop to check the reserves and worktops. She wrote down two or three things on her notebook and went on.

You observe her, the fear in your stomach, trembling slightly to the simple fact that she could make fall the cleaver on you. You suddenly feel a hand resting on your shoulder, it was Jed's. He gave you a big smile to reassure you, calm your fears and make you understand that whatever she says, he will help you.

Mrs. Milton put away her belongings without saying a word, then left the café to go to McKellan. From the counter you could see them chatting, Mc Kellan didn't look happy and the young woman tried to calm him down. You'd like to be a pigeon or a fly to find out what they're telling each other.

Suddenly you see Mc Kellan driving away without Mrs. Milton. This one came back to the café but for some reason, you feel more comfortable...as if she were just becoming a customer like the others. And this was confirmed when she smiled at you, a reassuring smile, a friendly smile.  

“You can breathe now, he's gone. I'm sorry I did this with you. But I had to stay professional in front of him. You are not Horace's first victim. Can I?” She said, looking at Jed’s table.  

“Sure.” Jed simply said.

“You look like... not to appreciate him either.” you said while keeping your distance.

“Not really. Horace trusts very few people. He's a very selfish man. Who wants to impose his laws and his manners on everyone. and as soon as someone dares to oppose him... He's calling on me to ‘make the vermin flow’. As I said, you’re not the first one on his list, and you won’t be the last.”

“I have no doubt about that. Coffee?” you ask her before filling her a cup when she nodded. “What did you say to him? Outside.”

“That I found nothing. And as always, he was upset. I said I'll continue my search...But don’t worry I won't do anything. On the other hand, be careful, He’s not likely to give up so easily. And if he gets more upset, he'll make you killing and throwing in Dry Creek.”

Jed says nothing but Danny burns internally, if someone has the right to kill you...It’s him and ONLY him. That's one more reason to kill McKellan. This guy is not only dangerous for you, but for Danny's reputation. There can only be one killer here and Danny is not the type to share the scene. Danny has no choice. He has to get rid of Mc Kellan first. Mike can wait a bit.  

“What can I do?” you ask worried.  

“Do nothing toward him. Everything you do, he’ll turn it against you. And he’ll get what he wants. I suggest you to protect yourself. Or at least not to be alone in case he'll send you another assailant. Always have something to defend yourself. Or someone.” said Mrs Milton.

You nodded and after a few minutes of conversation, Mrs Milton leaves the coffee, wishing you good luck. You clean Jed's table, who was tidying up his belongings, getting ready to leave. He wrote something on a sheet which he handed you with a little smile. You tilt your head to the side, an eyebrow raised.

“My phone number, in case you’ll need something. Or just want to talk.” He said.  

“Jed come on...I can...” you start to answer before seeing he’s insisting. You sight, taking the sheet on your hand. “Fine...Thanks Jed. I’ll owe you one. More than one in fact.”

“I know you’ll help me someday. So, don’t worry. Oh and... I love your praline and coconut cake. A strange but very interesting mix.” he said before leaving, weaving his hand with that angelic smile on his face.

The rest of the day took place and it must be admitted that it was quite sporty. It's hard to handle so many people on your own. But until you have some financial stability, you can't hire someone at the moment. After your usual closing ritual, you go home. Next goal:  buys a pepper spray or a small knife, just in case.

You pick up your mail and go back to your apartment. What a relief to finally be at home. You put your belongings on the couch, the letters in a bowl dedicated to your mail and you head to the kitchen. Family's photos decorated some walls of the apartment reviving wonderful memories... But also, painful wounds. Homemade carbonara pasta for the evening will suit perfectly. it is rare that you take industrial products. As you put all the ingredients on the worktop, the phone rang.

Who can call you at this hour? You don't remember giving someone your landline number since you arrived. You ignore the call and go back to your business when it rang again. Someone's really trying to reach you. You take the handset of the phone determined to know who can call you at this time. Every time, it's a number error.

“Hello? Who’s on the phone?” you said.

“Oh. You're not my aunt. Sorry I got the wrong number.” respond the other person on the phone.  

Jackpot.

“It doesn't matter, it happens to everyone. Good night.” you replied as start to hang up.  

“Wait, wait!  Can... can we talk a little bit more? I never heard such a beautiful voice like yours before.”  

“Quite a charmer, are you? Well, if you want. if it can make you happy.” You answer with a little laugh.

“Thanks. It's rare for people who take the time to chat with strangers on the phone. Usually, they hang up immediately or never respond. Nice shirt by the way.”  

" well, it's usually rare to answer numbers that...” You start before realizing what he said last. “excuse me...What did you just say?”

“I said nice shirt. Purple suits you well.”

“H-how do you know that?”  

“... Raise your head.”

You gradually raise your head and face the building in front of yours. In the window that faced yours, you see him. A man with a white mask was there, tilting his head waving his hand to say hello.

“See me now?” He chuckles.

“Who the f*** are you ??” You respond even if you already know the answer.  

“What a lovely language...Well, I'm sure you already know the answer but if you insist. You can call me: Ghostface. I think I'm gonna call you...”

“what do you want?”

“Just talk. As I said, I never heard such a beautiful voice before...and never see such a pretty face like yours too.”

“call a prostitute if you want to chat, you freaking weirdo.” You replied ready to hang up.

“Tsk tsk. No no no my little star...if you hang up...you won’t see the sun rise tomorrow. Or your dear nerdy friend won’t see it.”

“Leave Jed alone! It’s between you and me! if you dare to touch him, I swear...” you say angrily before hearing him laugh.  

“Calm down my sweet little star... The truth is, I don't intend to touch him. It is thanks to him that I have acquired this beautiful but sinister reputation. He makes me the star of Roseville. We need each other. But let's talk about you. I must admit that I find it difficult to understand how such beauty as you live in such city. You must have a good reason.”

“It’s none of your business. I can ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I want to leave a trace in this miserable world. I want everyone remember my name. But for that I have to move across all the country. You know what? I'm going to let you live for now. But I advise you not to tell the police about our little conversation. It will pain me a lot to disfigure such a pretty face ... and a pretty body. And don't worry, we'll meet again. Good night my sweet little star... Have a beautiful dream.” He said chuckling before hanging up.  

You hang up the phone on the table and when you look back at the window, he was gone. Like a shadow in the night. You take a deep breathe, rubbing your face in your hands and sit on the sofa. Deep down, you felt that sooner or later you would face him. But not so quickly. Fortunately for you, he is not determined to make you a new victim of his macabre round. But for how long? you hope for as late as possible.

Unknowingly, my dear little star you fell into the spider's web. Without knowing it you have caught the attention of the devil.  

And that's just the beginning.

***

(Done! I'm glad to see you like it! And I hope it will continue! By the way I recently watched The Boy and discovered that dear Brahms~ And I must confess that he does not leave me indifferent. What a lovely British accent he has~ See ya! )  

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #danny johnson #jed olsen #ghostface

[jornthur]

Jail Time

John Marston x Abigail Marston, Low Honor 🐺

(Thanks to my friend @liars-and-cheats​ for helping me with this idea!)

Summary: John is in a terrible mood and finds himself in jail, what’s he going to do to release his frustrations?

(Warning: Smut ahead, hanging sentence if you read)

•••••

John sat on the hard bench inside the jail cell he currently occupied, silently fuming as he stared down at the trail dust covering his worn boots. He let out a hard sigh, lifting a hand to take off his hat. Lowering it to his lap, he stared at one of the last reminders he had of his old friend.

He knew he'd gotten drunk last night at the saloon, but he could barely remember a damn thing. All he could recall was that he’d been in a dark mood, some moron had talked shit to him, a fight had ensued, and now here he was.

Oh, he was definitely still angry alright, and he was going to make sure everyone else that ran into him knew it, including that piece of shit deputy.

He lifted his gaze from Arthur’s hat, looking up through the iron bars at the deputy who was leaning back in his chair across the room. The man was piggish, and there was no doubt the dumbass had an inbred lineage, his own features giving off his overbearing ugliness and stupidity.

Those small eyes glittered when the man realized John was looking at him, his lips twisting into a sneer. “Oh, they gon’ hang you for sure, amigo!” He lowered his eyes, “I already called dibs on dem boots a’yers.”

John said nothing, his eyes narrowing into slits. He wanted more than anything to take this bastard out here and now with one of his guns, but considering they were hanging on a wall opposite the room at this very moment, he willed the boiling venom inside him to a simmer.

He stroked the brim of the hat, trying to calm himself down.

“Dat’s one ugly-ass hat ya got theres,” The deputy taunted, “When yer hanged, I’m takin’ all yer stuff, but I’m gon’ burn that old rat trash.”

The venom came back to a raging boil, but John absolutely refused to give the idiot any sort of satisfaction. He couldn’t wait to get out of this cell so he could strangle the ugly man with his bare hands. There was so much anger built up inside of him, and he knew he needed to release it, really soon.

Discreetly, he scanned his surroundings, seeing if there was anything he could use to his advantage.

Suddenly, the front door of the jail burst open, and in charged an angry, beautiful woman.

His wife.

Abigail looked absolutely livid. “Where is he?!” She spotted him and stomped over in his direction. “I’m gettin’ real damn tired of dealin’ with your shit, Milton!”

The deputy stood up from his chair, and John noticed how the fat man was staring at his wife, lust clear in those small beady eyes of his.

“Well, hey ther', beauty.” The man said in a low voice as he made his way over. He was clearly making a desperate attempt to make himself look good in front of John’s woman, but it was a vain attempt. The man rested a hand on his belt as he got closer, “Don’ you worry none, he’ll be hangin’ soon ’nough.”

Abigail noticed how the deputy was looking at her, and she decided to use that to her advantage. Recalling her old skills, she began to seduce the man. “Well, you seem like a tough man that takes care of his own.” She could feel John’s dark eyes on her as she made her move.

Those cracked lips stretched into a self-satisfied smile. “Oh, I can take good care a’ ya, beauty,” he said in a low voice.

“Is that right?” She got up close to the man, moving her body in a way that kept the man distracted. “I’d like to see that.”

Just as the man was close enough and about to touch her, she reached out and snatched the gun from his holster and aimed it at his head. The deputy froze, lifting his hands. “Open the cell,” she snapped, her tone completely flat now.

The man narrowed his eyes, “You dumb whore, I ain’t doin’ shit — ”

She swung the butt of the gun through the air, hitting him square on the head and knocking him out cold. The deputy collapsed to the ground with a hard thud.

“Serves the bastard right,” she snarled under her breath. Leaning down, she snatched the keys from the deputy’s belt and made her way over to the cell as John approached the locked door.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” John teased.

“Oh, shuttup, Marston, I’ve about had it with you.” She snapped, placing the key into the lock. With a loud clank, the thing gave way, and she opened the cell door. “Now c’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

He followed behind her as they walked over to the wall where his weapons were stored. As he put his equipment back on, he bore the brunt of his wife’s harsh words the entire time, all the while his frustration continuing to build. The fact that the man had looked at his wife the way he had, it was all he could do to barely control himself.

Abigail sighed, “What am I gonna do with you, John?”

With that, she turned away as if to walk out of the jail. But before she could take a single step, John reached out and grabbed her wrist. She looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

The next few seconds happened in a flash then. Before she could blink, John had her pressed up against one of the cells, his hard body pressed up against her small frame.

Abigail’s eyes widened at her husband’s unexpected actions, “John, what the hell are you d— ”

Those dry lips of his interrupted her next words. His breathing was hard, hot air hitting her cheek as he breathed through his nose and parted her lips with his warm tongue. She moaned, the familiar taste of coffee and him combined more than welcome, to hell with the situations. She closed her eyes, relishing the heat of him through the fabric of their clothes. How long had it been since she’d felt him like this? Too long, she knew, but — but now wasn’t the time. Her rational mind kicked in, and she pulled away in an effort to reason with him once more, “John, we can’t do this here.”

“Shuttup, darlin’,” he growled, and with that he pushed his lips back to hers, and she lost herself in his rough touch. She had no idea what was going on, but it was clear he was tense. He needed a release, and she couldn’t bring herself to deny him.

John groaned, running his hands up the sides of her body, relishing in the feeling of her soft curves. It had been too damned long, he thought. He’d missed this, the feeling of her, the wild and heated sensations. He tilted his head for a better angle, deepening the kiss further as he pressed himself against her even harder.

Abigail groaned, and John instantly pulled away looking worried, “Did I hurt you, sweetheart?”

She let out a short laugh, looking up at him, “It’s these damn bars, they ain’t quite that comfortable, John.”

He let out a deep chuckle, and she gasped as he suddenly lifted her in his arms, carrying her over to the desk across the room. He sat her down on the edge of the hard wooden surface, and without wasting another second he picked up where they left off.

She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck as he leaned down and continued to kiss her. She would never get used to the sweet overwhelming feeling of being so close to him, this beautiful idiot man she loved with all of her heart.

He pulled away and began placing quick warm kisses on her cheek, and she leaned her head back with a sigh as he made his way down her neck, leaving a wet trail behind. As soon as he reached the hem of her blouse, he traced his way back up with his tongue, groaning at the taste of her skin.

Grabbing her hips, he pulling her towards the edge of the desk and pushed her skirt up until the fabric was pooled around her waist, then he pulled her hips flush with his and began to thrust his hips into her. “Oh, damn,” He groaned, grunting as he gripped both of her thighs and spread her legs further apart to give himself more room. Shit, she felt so damn good, their bodies fitting together perfectly. The tension inside him was at a breaking point, and he needed to be inside of her soon.

Abigail gasped as she felt the heat of him through his ranch pants, unable to help but notice the unmistakable arousal he had for her. He was so hard, so hot that she almost lost herself completely.

John pulled away and began yanking at her drawers, his fingers merciless as the fabric began to tear away. Cold air hit her center as soon as she was finally bare to him, and she looked up to see those brown eyes of his staring down at her most private area, looking completely lost at the sight.

“Abigail … ” his gravelly voice was so low, almost feral. It would’ve terrified her had she not known that he would never hurt her.

A silent moment passed between them, and she couldn’t help but give him a small smile. Reaching up, she grabbed the brim of his hat and placed it on the desk behind her, using her other hand to grab the back of his neck and pull him into another deep kiss.

He let out a deep moan, and without pulling away he brought his hands down between them, working at the fly of his pants until they were undone. Once his cock was released, he looked down and gripped it with one hand, placing the hot tip of himself to her wet core. Another hard breath passed his parted lips, and he looked back up to meet her gaze, as if he were waiting for something from her.

Without a word, she wrapped her hands around his neck, laying a single kiss to his cheek. John growled, and with that he moved his hips forward, slamming himself into her with a single thrust until he was buried inside her to the hilt. They both gasped, and Abigail threw her head back, digging her nails into the rough material of John’s gunslinger vest.

John lowered his head, nearly losing himself in the warm embrace of the woman he loved more than the world. He took in the feeling, the heat, the hold she had on him in more ways than one.

Finally, he began to move, pumping himself into her. Slowly at first, pulling his hips back and bringing them forward again and again. John bared his teeth in a hiss, “Damn, you’re tight, woman. I ain’t — I ain’t too sure about this.”

Abigail let out a short laugh, and his heart nearly skipped a beat at the soft sound. “Well, I can say the same about your size, Mr. Marston,” she teased.

He grinned at that, he so loved this woman. “I suppose you could, Mrs. Marston,” he teased back.

They both laughed, and John continued to thrust his hips back and forth, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to relish in the warmth of her, her soft sheath to his hard shaft.

After a while of slow love-making, he started to pick up the momentum.

Soon their bodies started to sweat from the heat they created, and before too long, he was hammering her into the desk, the heavy piece of furniture creating scraping sounds as the thing inched across the floor with each of his thrusts.

The sex then became furious. It was wild now, and John was no longer holding himself back, pumping himself in and out of his wife’s soft core, releasing everything that had been pent up inside of him over the past several hours. Abigail had to keep her legs wrapped around his waist to keep from being pushed off the desk.

He was getting so close to release now. Everything felt so damn good in this moment that he didn’t care about anything else but her. “You’re mine, Abigail,” John growled into her ear, rocking his hips forward hard to emphasize his point.

Abigail gasped and nodded, “Yours,” she agreed.

John grinned, and continued his relentless hammering, grunting with each push as he plunged his cock deeper and deeper into her heat. A white hot fire slowly began to grow in his gut, a familiar burn he knew all too well. He sped up his thrusts, ready for the explosion to come.

Suddenly, there was a low groan coming from across the room. Halting his hips, John looked over to see the deputy’s head moving around, realizing that the man was slowly coming back to reality.

To hell with that.

Snatching his gun from its holster, Marston shot a single bullet into the ugly man’s skull.

Without being bothered, John went straight back to what he’d been doing, the heat building up once more inside his body. Abigail gasped at his actions, but she was unable to care at that moment in time, completely overwhelmed with the hot pleasure coursing through her entire body.

John gripped her hair in one hand, using the other to keep her hips in place as he thrust into her harder and harder, the slapping of flesh on flesh the only sound in the room next to the moans of pleasure coming from the both of them.

At last, John threw his head back and let out a loud, long groan, like a wolf howling at the moon. Abigail felt his release shooting into her as she came at the same time, hot rays of pleasure shooting from her core to every single part of her body.

Finally, he collapsed onto her, his head going limp as they both panted hard.

“Oh, John,” she sighed, closing her eyes as he lowered his head into the crook of her neck. His hot breath tickled her skin, and she reached up to run her fingers through his long black hair.

She said something under her breath, and John lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. “What’d you say?” He asked.

She let out a small laugh as she smiled, reaching over to his hat and placing it back on his head, “You’re my sexy wolf-man.”

•••••

The End

(*This was my very first smut entry, I hope y’all enjoyed. Please lemme know what you guys thought!*)

#jail time #john marston #abigail marston #john marston x abigail marston #john marston x abigail roberts #smut #romance #low honor #fanfic #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #arthur morgan

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter two

The reception for this fic was so fucking sweet, this really went beyond what I expected I honestly just thought this would be a self service fic but it hit off so well. Honestly, wrote the next chapter to cope with the anxiety of being home and general holiday stress so I hope y’all enjoy it. And thank y’all for all the sweet comments they mean the fucking world to me.

Jessica tries not to let the sigh escape her throat, she really does. But when Gil comes in arms loaded with gifts it probably took him weeks to save for she can’t help it.

She can afford literally anything he wanted to buy for her or the kids and then some, but she resisted.

If not to see the proud little grin on his face when he knows he absolutely nailed the gift that the recipient never even knew they wanted.

He’s quite good at knowing what people never knew they needed.

She invites him in, nonetheless, taking some of the load off, only with a little chiding that he still shouldn’t carry so much. It has only been a few months since his injury. He needs to give his body time to heal. 

Malcolm and Ainsley would arrive soon, hopefully carrying something that wasn’t a twist-on. But for now she would enjoy Gil’s company. His warmth wards off the cold that always seemed to linger in the hollow rooms. His smile lights up even the darkest corners as she leans into his embrace. He pulls out old records that collected dust for years, grabbing her hand and swinging her around the room with more grace than anyone would expect.

They don’t even notice when the children arrive. Only when Gil spins her and she nearly runs straight into Malcolm do they realize they are no longer alone. The laughter catches the air like a flame, spreading across the room with an infectious glee that most of them had not known for far too long. Gil pulls Ainsley in next, taking her as his next partner.

She almost bursts with joy when Malcolm takes her hand to dance without hesitation. His movements are still but he is letting go, allowing himself to enjoy the small moments in life that don’t revolve around homicide.

She’s so proud that she feels tears building behind her eyes.

The music fades and the silence takes over, no longer as deafening but rather content.

Jessica startles awake to a loud crash. Immediately she regrets opening her eyes as pain rips through her head. She reaches up to feel where it hurts but something is holding her down.

It takes a few seconds for the world to come into focus, once it does she wishes desperately for the peace of the dream. Her hands are zip tied to the chair she’s sitting in, her neck and head both ache like nobody’s business. She shuffles through her mind to try to remember what the hell happened. There was a crash, then her world was spinning, she checked on Adolpho… Oh god, Adolpho.

A soft sob of realization takes over her. What happened between the crash and now? How the hell did she get here? She was on her way to a meeting for becoming the head of Eve’s charity in her honor.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Fake sincerity drips from a figure previously hidden by the shadows. She stiffens, suddenly all too aware of her situation. She holds still, as if that would help, if she wouldn’t move they wouldn’t see her. If she closes her eyes she can open them again to the warmth and happiness radiating from her family. “Sorry for the mess, had to improvise.” The shadow gestures absentmindedly. 

“Who are you?” Her voice rasps painfully. She wonders how long exactly she was out for.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I’m much more interested in you.” He comes closer, enough for her to recognize that he’s wearing a mask. “Jessica Whitly, my you are a sob story if there ever was one.” He walks across the room, footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. “Disgraced daughter of the Miltons, married to a serial killer, and dated another socialite exposed to be heading a dubious business,” he sighs. “Truly Shakespearian, have you thought about selling the rights to your story?” 

“Are you done?” She tries not to let her voice waver, her fear shakes just beneath the surface, but she’s not running or hiding now. Malcolm and Gil will find her. She just needs to stall as long as she possibly can.

“Hardly.” The venomous glee sends a chill down her spine. He tilts his head in a way that flashes her back as if she were in Claremont all this time. “Just killing time until our guest arrives.”

“I can give you all the money you want, just let me go.” The bark of a laugh makes her jump, immediately regretting the sudden movement as pain pierces her skull yet again.

“I don’t want your money. It can all burn for all I give a shit.”

“What do you want then?” She pleads.

Even with the mask she can feel his deadly grin, like a cat taunting it’s prey just before it pounces. “You.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gil checks his phone yet again, waiting for Malcolm’s text. He told JT to get Ainsley and get both of them back to the precinct immediately. He almost wishes he’d done it for himself, having them in his sight would be a hell of a lot more comforting right now especially as he stares at the lieu of pictures scattered across his desk.

He trusts JT, though. He’s getting them here as fast as he possibly can with two out of three of the most stubborn people he’s ever met in the back of his car. No doubt they have hundreds of questions that poor JT doesn’t even know the answer to, he’s simply following orders and right now they’re on a strict need to know basis.

Colette will lock Malcolm down as soon as he arrives. He’ll be able to loosen the reigns, but only a little. He’ll be lucky to leave without Dani or JT personally handcuffed to him. Hell, Gil will be lucky if she doesn’t choose him to be handcuffed to Malcolm.

He hears the door to his office open and he feels the lump in his throat develop once again.

“Why are the FBI here?” “Why did I just get pulled out of work and rushed here?” “Why isn’t mom answering my calls?” “Why did we get escorted here by two more cop cars?”

The two siblings speak simultaneously and he sighs raising a hand to stop them. He braces himself delivering the news as impersonally as he could to the two people he basically watched grow up. “You’re both familiar with the kidnappings and murders in Boston?” They nodded, going to talk again but he stopped them with a pointed stare. “This morning there was an accident, one of the cars matched the plates of the car Agent Swanson has been tracking for that case.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Ainsley asks, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve, it’s a nervous tick he’s known since she was 12. Her mother tried to break the habit but was never really successful.

“The other driver was Adolpho.” Ainsley’s eyes widen, she looks to Malcolm who only nods solemnly. “He died on impact.”

“Oh my god.” Malcolm reaches over, squeezing her hand. He watches the younger man straighten, preparing himself for the next blow. He’s all too familiar with the practices and knows that Gil has more to deliver to them. He nods, silently telling him to continue.

“We found this in the backseat of the car.” He turns the photo of Jessica’s phone to them and watches as the dots connect in both of their heads. “We also found blood on the back window that we believe is your mother’s.”

“You believe?” Ainsley’s voice cracks for the first time that he’s heard in years. Even after Paul Lazar, even after Endicott Ainsley didn’t waver. “What do you mean you believe is hers? Where is she?”

“You think the killer took her.” Malcolm whispers. Almost as if he says it too loud, it will make it true. His hands fly to his eyes sucking in a breath when Gil nods in confirmation. He knows it’s his way of trying to keep tears back, just long enough to keep his head from going into full meltdown and instead switching to investigator. “Dani found CCTV footage of the wreck. The suspect’s car redlight, crashing into Adolpho without even slowing down. The man climbs out of the car and goes out of frame. A couple minutes later an ambulance shows up, another man helps your mother into the back and they drive off.”

“Shouldn’t she be fine then? We just need to find out want hospital they took her to. She’s probably logged as a Jane Doe if she doesn’t have her purse either. She probably hit her head and she’s confused or unconscious and we need to-”

“Ainsley.” Malcolm’s tone stops her. He’s already read Gil’s expression, knowing what’s coming next.

“The ambulance on the scene was reported stolen just an hour before the wreck.” He watches as Ainsley’s face crumples, despite her best attempts to hold it together. Malcolm pulls her into a loose hug, rubbing her back in comfort. He can tell only by the slightly uneven breaths that Malcolm is crying as well.

His eyes sting and every fatherly instinct wants him to go to them and hug them. Tell them everything will be fine just like he did 20 years ago. He gives them time to settle again, determination overpowering their shock and grief. “What can we do?”

“Right now, stay in sight. I’ve already got the FBI pressing hard enough on this pushing for a clean end but I don’t think that’ll be the case. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m assigning each of you an officer and if either of you tries to shake them or go off on your own I’m putting you in a holding cell.” He raises a brow at the two of them. “Understand?” 

“Yes.” They answer in unison. Gil tries not to think about the two kids, hardened too young. With only each other and their mother to hold onto in the storm that raged around them. Now with one less thing anchoring them to this earth.

“Let’s get to work.” XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The clanging of metal pulls Jessica’s attention from the deep abyss she allowed herself to sink into. The man had long left with the promise of the “guest” lingering over her head. She busied herself praying to every deity that she could think of that Malcolm, Ainsley, Gil, all of them were safe. She stopped believing in God long ago but her desperation outweighs her beliefs right now.

Different, slower footsteps shamble in front of her. This man looks younger, his physique, at least. He places something down against the wall before dragging a chair in front of her. She feels bile rise in the back of her throat when the something against the wall groans in pain. The man shuffles back over to the body, lifting it with ease yet again and placing it in the chair across from her. He secures the wrists individually to the chair before standing behind it. She stares at him for a moment, she swears his movements almost seem hesitant.

The static of a radio starting up breaks the relative silence. “Take off his hood.” She recognizes the voice of the man who was taunting her earlier. The other figure does as he says, removing the bag from over the tied up man’s head. Fearful bloodshot eyes meet hers. “This is Tommy Moore. He is a resident at Montgomery and from what I hear? He will make a promising young surgeon one day.” She swallows hard trying to calm the nerves building up in her stomach. “Do you know who she is Tommy?” The poor boy can only get out a whimper. Her heart sinks when she hears the sound of a gun cocking from behind him. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes.” He chokes out. “I saw her on the news. She was looking for a missing girl o-on Christmas.”

“Do you think she would choose your life over her own?” Tommy bows his head sobbing openly. “Please don’t do this.”

“Let him go.” She begs.

“Well would you Mrs. Whitly?” The sentence cuts deep. “Would you choose your life over his?” She closes her eyes, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. She thinks of Malcolm and Ainsley, no idea of where she was. She thinks of Gil, pouring everything he has into finding her. She even thinks of Martin, the horrid man who no doubt has caused this somehow in some way.

And then she thinks of her dream. She holds onto the smell of Gil’s cologne surrounding her as they spin around her living room, the sound of Ainsley’s laugh bouncing off of the walls as Gil dips her, Malcolm’s smile brighter than she remembers it being in so very long.  And she hopes they forgive her. “No.”

The silence feels as if it stretches for hours. She waits for the gunshots. She waits for the pain and then the utter nothingness of death. “Perhaps you didn’t understand my question. Would you die so that Tommy here can live?”

“Yes, I would.” The boy cries only get louder, mixed with tragedy and relief. She almost wants to cry with him.

“No!” The voice roars and they hear something from the other room crash. “You’re doing this wrong!” Another stretch of silence, this one even longer than the last. “You would rather die, so that he can live?!” Tommy looks at her, finally, and the realization strikes her. His eyes looked familiar, the same shade as Martin’s. His curly, unkempt hair even the shade so similar she’d assume he was a relative had she not known Martin had no other family. Everything was a subconscious push so that she’d choose her own life over his. This was a losing game.

“I choose his life over mine.” She says with more anger than before. She wouldn’t fall for this game. Even if it meant her own she wouldn’t put an innocent life on the line. She hopes for her children’s sake that they find her eventually. She hopes that they find peace.

“Shoot him.”

“What?” The man with a gun asks before either of them could.

“Shoot him!” The shot makes her ears pop. She never knew a gun could be that loud. Blood hits her face causing her to flinch, watching in horror as the boy slumps forwards. A cry rips through her throat as she struggles against the bonds tying her down.

“Why?!” She screams. “Why did you do that?!” She folds over on herself trying to contain the panic threatening to swallow her whole. Every fiber of her wants to fight back, to fight her way back to her family. Her head screeches in pain, spots flashing in front of her eyes. It only seems to get more intense though as her world tilts and spins with an effort to stay awake.

“You chose wrong.”

#gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #gilssica #gil arroyo #jessica whitly #malcolm bright #Ainsley Whitly #prodigal son #prodigal son au #kidnapping au #find your way (back to me) #find your way (back to me) chapter two #fanfic #notgonnarememberthis fics

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 11/?

Part 10

Gerry gives a dry, humorless snort as he sits up on the chair, and Jon lets go of his face to give him more movement. "It's- she was fond of me, she says." Jon stiffens, when Gerry's forehead lands softy on his stomach. "Where was that when she was making my page?"

"...I don't know." Jon whispers, bringing his arms to rest across Gerry's shoulders. "I- there are a lot of things I don't understand about her."

Gerry's arms tighten around his waist. "Of course. Night and day." His voice is muffled against Jon's sweatert, his breath filtering through the fabric, searing hot against Jon's skin.

"You loved her." Jon says, not really asking what he already knows.

"It didn't matter, in the end." Gerry snorts again. It sounds like it did. Like it does.

XI

The fact that the Institute building is so beautiful when it holds so much horror is both very fitting and very jarring, Georgie thinks.

Once you know what you're looking for, you can see the subtle eyes carved amongst the leafy motifs wrapping around the exterior pillars, and the unnerving gaze of the rounded window above the double oak doors.

She doesn't go too close despite the pouring rain, preferring instead to lean against a lamppost across the street and text Melanie that she's already there. This is how she gets a first row seat, partly hidden behind her large umbrella, when Jonathan Sims comes down the street towards this terrible place.

With him is a man she's heard plenty about, tall and broad-shouldered, with long black hair and blue-green eyes. The hand he's not using to hold an umbrella above their heads is deep inside the pocket of Jon's coat, along with his own; Jon is leaning against his arm in that way Georgie knows means he wants you to hold him closer.

That last thought draws a sigh out of her, as the two men draw closer to the Institute. Jon has always been a complicated subject, but he's so much more so lately. Georgie loves him, but she's also terribly aware that every time she allows herself to care, she comes out burned. Just earlier this year she had to sit by his bedside wondering if he would ever wake up again, and if it would really be better if he did.

They seem to be saying goodbye now, and Georgie can feel the tension from here. Jon is tilting his chin up and slightly to the side, but also leaning slightly away from the man, who's leaning towards Jon, but retreats after a moment, taking a deep breath. Jon lets their hands fall apart as he climbs the steps towards the Institute. The man watches him disappear behind the door, and Georgie starts crossing the street.

"Hey." The man doesn't flinch at her voice, and Georgie wonders if he knew she was watching. "You're Jon's Gerry, right?"

The man snorts with a hint of resigned humor. "Yeah. I guess that's the only of putting it. You're Georgie?"

"The very one." Georgie nods. "Melanie has told me about you."

"Has she? I'm almost afraid to ask." Gerry smiles at the name, and Georgie finds herself mirroring it. "You look well. Jon will be happy to know."

Georgie sighs. "Actually... please don't tell him you saw me."

"Oh?" Gerry arches an eyebrow.

"I don't- we're not really talking anymore." Georgie shrugs. It's painful to say aloud, because Jon grows on you, with his rare smiles and his quiet gestures of love. Every time she lets him back in, it's a battle to rip him out.

"Huh. I thought he'd stayed with you last year while-"

"While the police looked for him, yes." Georgie crosses her free arm over her chest.

"That's... you do know he didn't do it, don't you?" Gerry frowns.

"Wouldn't have let him into my house if I didn't believe him. I just-" Georgie's gaze drifts towards the Institute. While it -like anything else, really- doesn't inspire any fear in her, she can hardly ignore what she knows about it. "I don't really approve of his decision to stay involved in all of this."

Before her, Gerry stiffens. "Excuse me, his what?" His eyes harden.

Georgie scoffs. "I'm not sure how long you've been here for, but Jon is very self destructive."

"Oh no, trust me, I know." The man shakes his head, and Georgie knows there's a story there. "But calling it his 'decision' is-"

"Listen, I'm not interested in discussing it," Georgie says, shaking her head. "I saw Jon recording his creepy stories even when he didn't have to, when I asked him to stop, and now Melanie's trapped here because-"

"Because you brought her here," the man snarls, and Georgie freezes.

"Excuse me?" she asks, her voice low and dangerous.

"Wasn't it you who told her where to give her statement? You're flinging a lot of bullshit accusations around for someone who doesn't even know-"

"Georgie?" Melanie's voice drips down on them colder than any rain could be. "Gerry? What's going on?"

Gerry's face does soften when he looks at Melanie, who descends the stairs and slips her hand into Georgie's like a reverse of the scene she just witnessed from across the street.

"Nothing. You should talk to her." He turns around then, and starts the walk back up the street, without a single look back.

"...What happened?" Melanie asks, squeezing her hand and looking up at her with a frown.

Georgie forces her body to relax, the man's last accusation still echoing in her mind. She looks back at Melanie, taking in the worried curve of her brows, the raindrops shimmering in her hair, the bags under her eyes from the nightmares. She loves her, Georgie thinks, she has for a while. Was this really all her fault?

"Melanie?"

"Yes?"

Georgie knows, really, that it is her ignorance as well as her lack of fear that has kept her somewhat safe from this world her loved ones move in; it's becoming increasingly difficult though, to stay that way. "I need you to tell me everything."

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

"What are you thinking?" Melanie asks, reaching a hand to intertwine their fingers together. "It's a lot to take in."

"It's true." Georgie looks down at her cold, untouched meal, replaying Melanie's story in her mind. "If I hadn't suggested you give Jon your statement-"

"Elias would have found me some other way," Melanie says immediately. "I- it's not even like I was marked already when I first came to the Institute. I think what really matters is that I came back, once I was. It's- really, nobody forced me to go around looking for more ghosts, Georgie. I just had to know. The Eye... it really is subtle."

Georgie runs a hand through her hair. This is- all of this, it's too much. "Is there really no way to stop it?"

Melanie pokes at her own half-eaten panini. "Not- I mean, I'm not controlled by the Slaughter anymore. But I signed the contract. That's- as far as we know, we're trapped in there. Jon says he and Daisy sort of were human again when they were in the coffin, but that's another dimension. I don't think there's a way to break it, not while we're alive."

She mulls this over for a moment. So... so Jon wasn't just being difficult when he said he couldn't stop recording the statements, or when he got his hand burnt. He- it's like all the frustration she's been harboring towards him the past year has congealed into a viscous, disgusting knot at the bottom of her stomach.

'You don't even have the credentials to be the head archivist', Georgie had said. It's terrible to know that that's probably the reason why Jon was offered the job in the first place. Jon, who's always doubted himself, and overcompensates by throwing himself head-first into things. Almost too easy, like throwing a stray dog a sausage stuffed with crushed glass, and watching it die painfully because it gave in to the need to eat.

"You don't have to just... like him again, you know?" Melanie reaches out to lay her hand on Georgie's. "I don't. I just- this is Elias' game."

And yet the only thought in Georgie's mind is that she left the hospital room without saying goodbye, and the dozens of unread texts and ignored calls in her phone. The fact that they stopped coming, when it became clear they weren't well-received.

"I- let's talk of something else, please," Georgie mutters, nearly begs. Were the nights on her sofa the last peaceful rest Jon had? "Did- did I show you this picture of-"

"Georgie, you're shaking-" Melanie mutters, and Georgie's voice cracks. "I- tell me what's wrong. Please."

But she can't, can she? Distancing from Jon was the right decision, even he probably agrees with that. Still, Georgie can't get rid of the feeling that Jon was reaching out a hand while he drowned, and she just watched him go under.

"I just- I need a moment. Please."

She doesn't look up when Melanie moves her chair beside her, but Georgie does lean into her embrace. This at least she's sure of.

"All the time you need." Melanie says, patient in a way Georgie knows is non-existent with anyone else. "I'm here."

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

Everything feels different about statements, lately.

The ones at the Institute never feel like the ones he gets fresh off the source, of course, but even reading those old stale ones, or listening to Gertrude's recordings, bring forth a barrage of information that leaves Jon feeling as though he just finished a well-seasoned meal.

Exactly ninety-eight prisoners were 'freed' from the Japanese encampment by the Nemesis. A hundred and twenty two Japanese soldiers killed each other to the beat of the drums, and some of their hearts were still beating as their recently liberated prisoners stepped over their bodies to go meet the boats at the shore.

Leonard Holden's last thought, as he twisted Milton Gallagher's neck, was that the commander officer was right, and this was really just like killing chickens back at the farm. When the bayonet first stabbed into his back, he let out not a scream of fear, but the bestial bray of a pig after you slit its throat. He never stopped tapping his feet to the Piper's music.

He barely registers the sound of his door opening and closing, his eyes focused -but unseeing- on the tape recorder on the desk.

As Gertrude moves on with her suppositions, Jon can See the Spider's webs all over the Nemesis, obscuring it from those who could have fed more violence into its fire.

"Doesn't help with the Unknowing, though," Gertrude says, and Jon gives a bitter smile, leaning back against the wide, warm hand that comes to rest at his nape.

"I don't suppose it would." Jon brings a hand of his own to cup the back of his neck, and Gerry intertwines their fingers together.

"Dekker always did have fun ideas," Gerry chuckles.

"Gerard may have a connection to the Eye, but I'm not sure it's enough... besides, I must admit I've grown fond of the boy."

Oh shit.

Jon scrambles to stop the tape, but Gerry reaches it first, and puts his weight on Jon's shoulder to keep him from getting up.

"Gerry, don't-"

"I do wonder sometimes, if I should tell him about Eric. He might decide to follow in his father's footsteps, but it's not like it did Eric any good in the end... Anyway, point is..." Gertrude continues to ramble on, but Jon couldn't care less about what else she has to say as he pushes his chair back. Gerry's grip on his shoulder has grown lax, as he stares at the tape recorder in his hand with a raised eyebrow.

"Gerry-"

"What does she mean, my father's footsteps?" Gerry's eyes, confused and hurt, fix on his when Jon climbs to his feet. "Jon?"

"I- I don't know." Jon closes his eyes, but the Watcher won't volunteer any information. He digs harder, but is only shoved back with the same ferocity with which knowledge is forced into his head. "Gerry I- oh!"

When he parts his eyelids again, twin streams of ink are flowing down from Gerry's nostrils, and Jon wipes at them with his sleeve.

"Your shirt-"

"Stop it," Jon snaps. "What makes you think it will let you Know, if it won't let me? Sit- just stay still already!" he bats away at Gerry's hand, pulling and pushing at him until Gerry's sitting on his chair and Jon stands between his legs, dabbing at the still flowing ink. "Stop trying to-"

"Jon, I can't!" Gerry snaps, wrapping a hand around each of Jon's wrists to pull them away from his face. "Do you even- what does she mean?!"

"Gerry, I don't know." Slowly, very slowly, Jon moves his hands to cup Gerry's face; his eyes are still unfocused, his breathing wild, and the ink is starting to run down his neck. "Please stop. You're hurting yourself." Jon's voice is very nearly begging, but he couldn't care less because Gerry's eyes finally focus on him.

Gerry lets go of his wrists, and Jon's heart skips a beat when his hands come to rest at Jon's hips almost tentatively.

"Doesn't-" Gerry starts, then clears his throat when his voice comes out hoarse and rough. "It's not fun when it's someone else, huh?" he asks, his breathing still coming in long, shaky pulls.

"I- I suppose it's not." Jon slides his thumb over Gerry's cheekbone in an awkward gesture that he hopes transmits comfort. "Are you alright?"

Gerry gives a dry, humorless snort as he sits up on the chair, and Jon lets go of his face to give him more movement. "It's- she was fond of me, she says." Jon stiffens, when Gerry's forehead lands softy on his stomach. "Where was that when she was making my page?"

"...I don't know." Jon whispers, bringing his arms to rest across Gerry's shoulders. "I- there are a lot of things I don't understand about her."

Gerry's arms tighten around his waist. "Of course. Night and day." His voice is muffled against Jon's sweatert, his breath filtering through the fabric, searing hot against Jon's skin.

"You loved her." Jon says, not really asking what he already knows.

"It didn't matter, in the end." Gerry snorts again. It sounds like it did. Like it does.

Jon digs a hand in Gerry's hair at the base of his neck, a mirror of the gesture Gerry uses on him all the time.

"I think it matters. I- I don't think Gertrude could afford to care, Gerry, but these recordings- they were for her." She couldn't have expected anyone would find them in her mess of an Archive, for sure. "She cared for you."

Gerry flinches like the words are yet another blow, and Jon tightens his grip on him, this man who only ever wanted to do good with his life, and who was hurt in return every time.

This man who is his now, something dark and slithery whispers at the back of Jon's mind, to correct the damage, to protect and comfort, if only he was powerful enough.

It's really hard to ignore the Beholding, when it speaks Jon's thoughts aloud.

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

Martin waits until the woman leaves, before he heaves a long, tired sigh.

This is... Less than ideal. He gives the whirring tape recorder an accusing glare and a shake of his head.

"Don't just 'brrrrr' at me. What are you doing, Jon?" he snaps. "Are you just- preying on people now? What am I supposed to do with this?!" He can't give it to Basira or Melanie, they'll kill him before they give him a chance to explain. Martin runs a hand through his hair.

There is someone else isn't it?

It's a dreadful thought, but after talking to the- to Jon's victim, he feels human enough to realize it's the Lonely feeling it, not him. Gerard is... whatever he is, he's helping. With Jon.

Martin pockets the tape recorder, and locks the door to Peter's office before starting down the corridor. It's relatively easy to follow in the specific direction the Lonely doesn't want him to go, but Martin feels another, lighter pull against his destination that he suspects might be the Eye.

"Of course you'd prefer him to keep doing it, wouldn't you?" Martin grumbles, glaring at one of the carved eyes in the masonry. "Well-"

"Are you talking to yourself?"

"Jesus!" Martin flinches, turning in time to see a smug smirk spread over Gerard's lips. "Could you stop doing that?!"

Gerard lifts both hands in surrender, his smirk still there and not apologetic in the least. "Sorry, sorry. It works just fine to get a bit of color back into you, though."

Martin huffs. "Well, don't. Anyways, I was looking for you."

"You were?" Gerard raises an eyebrow. "Got another Extinction statement?"

"No, actually..." and now that Martin has him before him, he's not really sure of how to put this into words. "Its- Jon has been taking statements," he says, shoving the tape in his direction. That's probably easy enough to understand right?

"O...kay? That's his job, isn't it?" Gerard does take the tape, but he's still giving Martin a quizzical look.

"No, I- he's- Gerard, he's been looking for statements. From people who don't come to the Institute to give them." And that's when he seems to catch on, because he grimaces, and lets out a low whistle. Martin nods. "A woman came to my office today, he- I think he compelled her."

Gerard looks down at the tape in his hand, the slightest curl of distaste at his lips. "How did she look? Was she...?"

Martin sighs again. "Said she's been having nightmares."

"Yeah..." Gerard shakes his head slowly. "That tracks."

"I just thought... he'll listen to you," Martin says, every word a little sting in his chest.

"He'd listen to you too," Gerard frowns, "I know you don't want to talk to him because of your isolation thing, but I think it would be better-"

"He loves you," Martin says simply. Like ripping a bandaid, if ripping a bandaid felt like tearing your skin off. He misses the numbness of the Lonely a little, but it's very unlikely he'd be able to call on it right now, not with Gerard right here.

"Whoa!" Gerard's eyebrows shoot up again, and a nervous chuckle escapes his lips as if it's been punched out of him. Martin doesn't miss the color rising on his face, and his lips twitch. "That's- you don't know that."

Martin rolls his eyes. "Gerard-"

"Actually, can you not... call me that?" Gerard interrupts. "It gets on my nerves. Just... Gerry's fine, alright?"

"Oh." Martin blinks. "Okay? What does that have to do with this?"

"Nothing. I just- listen, I've spent every single moment since I was brought back to life hearing about how bad Jon has it for you." Gerry pockets the tape recorder, and Martin wonders if it's really alright, that they went from talking about Jon's victims straight to discussing which one he's in love with. Maybe Peter wasn't that far off when he called the Archives a soap opera. "And it's very frustrating when you keep being as obtuse as possible about it."

"I can't exactly do anything about that, can I?" Martin rolls his eyes. "I'm supposed to be isolating myself to- to save humanity or something, and like we established before, he has you, so-"

"There's more than one way to do these things, you know?" Gerry speaks over him, and Martin has to stop on his tirade due to choking on absolutely nothing. Gerry pats him on the back, and Martin bats his hand away, face burning.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Martin asks.

Gerry groans. "You're impossible. I'll talk to him."

He stomps down the stairs to the Archives, and Martin stays there, mortified, confused and a bit exasperated, which is apparently becoming his usual state after any interaction with Gerry.

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

"I know you've been feeding." Gerry says once they've sat down at the café, because there is probably not a good way to tell the man you're in love with that the man he is in love with had to come to you so you'd ask him to stop feeding on the fear of innocents.

Across the table, Jon pales immediately. "I- how?" he stutters out, and Gerry wants more than anything to reach over and lay a hand on his to reassure him, but there are things that must be said first. "Who told you?"

"Martin did. He... there was a tape. Apparently someone came in to complain." Gerry reaches inside his jacket, only to find that the pocket is... empty. "Huh. Wait."

He pats the other pockets, as well as the ones on his jeans just in case, but the tape is just gone. Gerry frowns, confused, until the very clear memory of a yellow door at the bottom of a drawer pops up in his mind, and he groans.

"Why- what would Helen want that tape for?" Jon asks, and Gerry frowns at him when his eyes start to give off the faintest green glow.

"Don't do that. That's exactly why we're here, Jon."

"I- yes. Sorry." Jon sheepishly lowers his gaze to the table. "I... know. I know I shouldn't have done it," Jon sighs. "I just..." his elbows come to rest on the table, and he buries his face in his hands. He looks... small.

There are places of power, for people aligned with the Entities. Mooreland Manor for the Lukases, Ny-Alesünd for the Dark's freaks, and Gerry can't even think about Hilltop Road without getting a headache.

The Archives are like that for Beholders; Elias is never as powerful as he is when sitting behind his desk, but Martin put him in jail and that means Jon is the biggest dog at the Archives now. Here at the little coffeeshop, however, apologizing for his very existence, Jon has never looked more frail. It's a relief, really. He doesn't know what he'd have done if Jon had reacted differently.

It means he's still Jon, even after all that's happened.

When Gerry reaches out to lay a hand on his shoulder, he's half afraid Jon will crumble to pieces under his fingers. Instead, the man's desperate gaze is aimed straight at him, and Gerry's relieved to notice it's not the bright green of the Archivist's eyes, but the sweet dark brown that looks at him over the edges of books at home.

"I don't know how to stop it. I don't even know why I'm doing it. It's- I don't want to hurt people." Jon says in the strained tone of a confession. "I- before the coffin, I knew I would need the strength, it was for Daisy. But after that I've just- it even made the statements a bit better, because I can Know more things about them-"

"Makes sense. Feeding regularly would make you more powerful." Gerry observes. Jon flinches back like the words had been a strike, and Gerry gives him a sympathetic shrug. "It's what you're doing; it's what Avatars do. At least people survive when you feed from them."

"That's... not helping." Jon's face looks pinched.

"No. I don't suppose it is." Gerry squeezes at his shoulder.

"I just- maybe I can live off of statements alone from now on. It's- they don't really.... but it's better, isn't it?" Jon asks, with the same fervor of a child insisting they can fix the toy they just broke.

"You don't have to stop." Jon's eyes widen at his words, narrowing in suspicion just a moment later. Gerry rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes. You do have to stop feeding off of innocent people, that's not debatable. I wouldn't let you, either. It will only make you change faster, and I'd like to think that's not what you want."

"Of course not!" Jon snaps, shrugging Gerry's hand off his shoulder with an indignant huff. "I don't- that's the opposite of what I want!"

"Mhm. Thought so." Gerry nods. "Feed from willing people, then. People who won't be afraid of you." Jon's face is still fairly flushed after his little outburst, and Gerry has the sudden, very distracting thought that he would very much like to kiss him. But he's got a purpose, at least for now, and most importantly, he doubts it's the purpose the Eye had for him. "Feed yourself, not the Watcher."

"I don't- is that how it works?" Jon frowns.

"Maybe? It can't hurt."

"That's- I don't think people like that exist, Gerry. Should I only take statements from Institute employees now? Basira won't hear of it, and I won't ask Daisy or Melanie. I'm not going to-"

"Well no, not them." Gerry feels a smile tugging at his lips. Jon is ridiculously blind sometimes, for someone on the cusp of becoming quasi-omniscient. "Start me off, come on"

"...What?" Jon asks, and Gerry doesn't bother holding his grin back. "Gerry, what on Earth are you-"

"Yeah. You know...." Gerry schools his face into stern determination and forces his voice into a deep, affected accent. "Statement of Gerry Keay, regarding-"

"Are you crazy?!" Jon snaps. Gerry doesn't miss the new hungry, predatory gleam in his eyes. Maybe if Gertrude had reached this stage of becoming the Archivist, Gerry would've had an easier time mistrusting her; but then again he's literally just offered himself up as a meal for Jon, so maybe his self-preservation instinct is just not great. "I'm not going to take a statement from you!"

"Why not? I've got them in spades." Gerry shrugs.

"Haven't you heard what happens to my statement givers?!" Jon insists, but Gerry can see his hands shaking, white-knuckled around the edge of the table. A dog before a steak that he knows he's not allowed to have.

Gerry chuckles. "I have nightmares all the time, Jon. This would just be choosing which episode I get to watch. And honestly? Having you there will add a bit of novelty, if you ask me."

"Novel- are you mad?" Jon is shaking. Gerry wants to hold him close and whisper in his ear about the time he set a Vast avatar on fire. "Gerry, you don't want me in your dreams, trust me."

Gerry leans an elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand with a smile. "Maybe I do, you don't know that."

"Gerry!" The result is just as he expected, Jon goes red from neck to hairline, and Gerry gives him a wink. "I- that's-"

"Oh my God, he's flirting with you, you absolute moron," comes a new voice from somewhere next to their table. "No wonder you never noticed Martin wanted your sorry ass."

Gerry turns to face the newcomer, and his mind flares with alarms when his eyes land on the man's and the only thing he can see is fire. He was marked by the Stranger once, and the Eye as well; both marks have been burned away though, and they remain in his soul only as a reminder, with no real pull over him.

"Coffeeshop date and everything, statement included? You're getting lucky, Boss." The man speaks again, fixing Jon with an amused smirk, like this is a shared joke between them. Gerry can feel the temperature rise around them however, and see the barely concealed anger in his eyes.

It's not a look Gerry specially likes on a Desolation avatar looking at his Archivist.

Jon's face that was so flushed with color just a minute ago has gone pale, and Gerry tenses in preparation for a fight.

"... Tim?" Jon's voice is soft, almost... hopeful. After a moment though, his brow furrows, and his next words are grave and laced with a compulsion so heavy Gerry can taste the resentment as the words flow into his core. "Are you the real Timothy Stoker?"

The man's face contracts into a bitter mask as the compulsion washes over him. His body stiffens and his shoulders tense as he tries to resist the pull, but he fails, of course.

"Thought I'd hate it less now, but it's still the fucking worst." The man rolls his eyes, letting out a huff of steam. "I am. At least as much as you're, you know... you."

"The Desolation claimed you-" Jon doesn't really ask now. "At the Unknowing?"

"Big fan of my work, it looks like." Tim shrugs. "They buried my remains you know? The Desolation turned the whole grave into a cremation chamber for me to wake up. Climbed out just like that; I think I'm made of ash now."

And… yeah, that would explain the random fires they've been hearing about.

"So- so you're..." Jon starts, stops and clears his throat. "You're what, an avatar now? You're lik-"

"Boss, if you say 'like me' I'm going to punch you," the man interrupts him, and Jon's face tightens in pained recognition, like the threat of violence is much more credible as a confirmation of this man's identity than a compelled confession.

Maybe it is, and Gerry feels a burst of unreasonable irritation at the way Jon looks at his former assistant like he's both a ghost and a miracle, when Tim looks at Jon like he's a bug he'd like to step on.

"Tim... why are you here?" Jon asks. The compulsion is subtler this time, but still there.

"Honestly?" Tim asks, like he has any other choice. "I'm not sure. When I woke up, I wanted to see how the others were. Martin at least. Melanie, maybe. And..." he purses his lips, but doesn't manage to keep the rest of the words in. "I wanted to hurt you, if you were still alive."

Gerry stiffens in his chair, ready to hop up as soon as the man moves too abruptly. Across him, Jon looks... resigned. Like he'd known the answer before he even asked the question.

"Ah. Yes I- I can believe that." Jon sighs. "Are you going to?"

"He can certainly try," Gerry responds before Tim can even open his mouth, because he's getting sick of seeing Jon grovel for this guy's abuse.

"Gerry-"

"I'm not a hunter, but I've put out some fires before." Gerry speaks over Jon this time, his eyes fixed on Tim. He makes sure to lean back on his chair, and leave his chest open. Show this man that whatever fear he came looking for, he's not going to find here. "Molina died just fine with a scalpel."

Tim frowns, and much to Gerry's displeasure, looks much more confused than he does concerned. Something seems to click in his mind, because his eyes go the size of saucers, and he whips around to face Jon again.

"Gerard Keay?! The Gerard Keay?" he asks, and now it's Gerry who's confused. How does- "You're getting your freak on with the angry goth that shows up in every other statement? Isn't he supposed to be dead?"

Oh.

"I don't think either of us have any right to criticize anyone for not staying dead." Jon frowns. Gerry feels his mouth dry up; that's not the part he expected Jon to take issue with. "Now answer the question, please."

"Oh? Why don't you try your thing again? Don't really want to know?" Tim arches an eyebrow in challenge.

Jon rolls his eyes. "I know what you think of me, Tim. I'm not going to-"

"You literally just did it."

"Because I didn't know if you were... something else!" Jon snaps "I wanted to know if you meant harm to anyone in the Arch-"

"Oh, so you're the watchdog now?" Tim takes another step towards the table, and Gerry's napkin begins to smoke. "You keep everyone safe, you protect them?" He asks. His words are laced with mockery, striking like a cracking whip.

"I try-" Jon stutters angrily, only to be interrupted once more.

"Well isn't that great? You're definitely good at that, Boss, it's not like you've gotten what? Four people killed already?" Tim snarls. Gerry puts his napkin out with a couple pats, but he finds himself realizing he's not too worried. Desolation avatars know how to destroy. Tim could probably send the entire shop up in flames so hot only he would survive it, but he clearly doesn't want to. "They must be so reassured that you're taking care of them, Martin must be over the-"

"Shut up!" Jon's voice cuts cleanly through Tim's, and Tim's mouth clicks closed as static builds up around them. "I'm- I tried Tim. I did- I am doing my best to fix what I did wrong. I'll be the first to admit I- I made mistakes. And I know you won't forgive me, but- but I'm done. I- I'm done with begging you. What was it that you told Elias while I was gone? Either kill me, or-"

"Or fuck off" Tim nods. His eyebrows are arched, and when he speaks again his voice carries a hint of reluctant admiration. "Grew a pair while I was away, huh? Bit too late. If you ask me."

"Tim-"

"Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'm not... I should hurt you." Tim shrugs. It's stilted, too tense when he's trying to look casual. "But I don't want to. I think that part died too. The real me, you know?"

Jon's face goes from closed off to hopeful so quickly Gerry cringes a little. Whoever this man was -is-, he's... important, for Jon. Whether he likes it or not.

"So you-"

"I don't want anything." Tim rolls his eyes. "Well that's a lie. I want to destroy things. See the world burn and all, you know the drill. But I don't- Just stay away from me, Jon."

Jon flinches at his name, almost as if 'Boss' had been a quirky nickname and not some sort of mockery. Gerry guesses it could have been, and the thought makes him like it even less.

"Those are some bold words, when you were the one that came in here." Gerry arches an eyebrow, his hand balled over the smouldering napkin.

Tim rolls his eyes. "I figured I'd decide whether or not I wanted to melt his face off when I saw him," he says. "Wouldn't get too close if I were you. People who care for him don't end well."

He walks away without waiting for a response, and the air around them begins to cool down immediately. Gerry watches his back until the coffeeshop's door closes behind him.

"Do you want me to go after him? I can- Jon?" whatever he was going to add fades from his mind when he looks back.

If Jon had looked sad when apologizing for feeding, now he looks... miserable.

Gerry knows all too well he's not built for comforting people. He can protect them alright, but there's a lack of action inherent to comfort that always manages to make him feel like he's doing everything wrong, like he should be doing something to fix the problem instead of just being there.

Maybe it should've been Martin who brought Jon here, Gerry thinks bitterly, because he would fight the world for Jon, but what good is it if he cannot make things right?

"... Do you want to talk?" he asks. That's how this is done right? Communication, catharsis, comfort. He can't fuck up a simple formula.

Jon looks up at him, a hand buried in his tangled mess of hair. His eyes are still shiny, but less with the thrill of a potential statement, and more with something Gerry doesn't want to even think about.

"Tim was my friend," Jon says, and he seems to grow even smaller as he talks. "He moved to the Archives for me."

"Jon..."

"Guess this is the best outcome there could've been. At least he's free now."

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

Martin notices the melted doorknob as soon as he walks up to his flat door. It's not a great sign, probably, but also not something he's really in the mood for dealing with after the day he's had.

The Lonely kept coming and going at random today, and the complete numbness of it coupled with the bursts of intense emotion when he found his mind clear of it were exhausting.

"Whoever's in there-" Martin calls as he pushes the door open, careful to not touch the still warm metal "-I'm really tired. Please just say what you want, and go?"

The flat is completely dark, and Martin's eyes latch on to the two burning embers that he guesses belong to whoever came to kill-

"Dear, sweet Martin, telling the entities to behave. Things really have changed, haven't they?"

The voice crashes against him like a wave, terrifyingly familiar and entirely too disorienting; Martin leans heavily on the table by the door, knocking his mother's picture back. The warmth and the slight hint of humor contrasting with the raw bite of the words.

"T- Tim?" Martin gathers himself enough to flick the lights on, and sure enough there's Timothy Stoker, leaning by the door to his kitchen.

He looks exactly like he did the day he left for the wax museum with Jon; the scars from the worms littering his skin, the artfully messed hair, the confident curve to his lips. The only difference is his eyes, two burning coals in the middle of the much beloved face.

"Surprise," Tim says, elongating the word so much Martin can see the sarcasm bleeding off of it. "Turns out my old flat is not mine anymore, who knew? I'm going to need a place to crash for a while."

"I don't- how are you here?" Martin asks, still holding to the table for the stability that seems to have fled his world so suddenly. "You were- we buried you! Is- is it really you?"

"I had my doubts." Tim shrugs, making no move to get closer. "But I said I was when Jon asked, and it's not like I can lie to him, so I-"

"Jo- you went looking for Jon?" Martin's heart skips a beat. That can't be a good thing, that- "did you hurt him?"

Tim laughs at that, long and loud and bitter in rivulets of steam that raise from his parted lips.

"I should've known. No, Martin, I didn't hurt Jon." He says, his voice curling venomously at the name. "I wanted to. I really did. But when I was there, I-" his mouth moves around half formed words that he can't seem to give voice to, and his eyes flare up bright enough that Martin sees the glow even with the lights on.

"You couldn't." Martin blurts out when the revelation strikes, and Tim flinches. "I- that's- not that that's a bad thing, but Tim-"

"He compelled me, you know?" Tim spits out. "At the Unknowing. I was going to give her the detonator, but then he asked me to look, and I was so angry at him that everything was clear for a moment. And I killed us."

Martin takes a small, careful step towards him.

"You saved the world, Tim."

And Tim looks up at him, with a humorless smile.

"All I wanted at that moment was to kill him, her, and me, Martin. And I couldn't even do that." He pushes sharply off the wall then, and Martin restrains the urge to move back. "And I had him there today, he was practically begging me to do it, and I couldn't- why couldn't I kill him, Martin?"

He looks... devastated. Like the only certainty he had was just ripped from him and shattered before his eyes, and Martin has a moment to consider just how sad it is, that Tim depended so much on his hatred for the man whose friendship he treasured once. This new world has made strangers out of them all, empty husks that feed on resentment while yearning for a past that won't come back.

Martin takes a step forward, and then another, and another, and he only remembers Jack Barnabas' statement by the time his arms are closing around Tim, but it doesn't do much to stop him. Tim is in need of a friend, and Martin -or whatever is left of him that Gerry has managed to wrestle out of the Lonely- is the only one left.

Tim's arms come to wrap around Martin's back roughly, almost violently- Martin guesses that's now just as much a part of Tim as anything else.

"You melted my doorknob," Martin mumbles into the hug.

Tim snorts, and just for a moment, everything is right.

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

"Ouch," Basira grunts, and Daisy flinches back like she's been burned.

"Did I bite you? I'm sorry, I-"

"No, stop." Basirs lays a hand down on her head to still her, and Daisy looks up. Basira's rubbing at her with a pained frown on her face. "Something just fell on me."

Daisy scowls, but a look around the room reveals they're alone. "What-" she catches the corner of something black and shiny poking from between the sheets. "Is that a tape recorder?"

Basira groans, and Daisy pats her thigh with a sympathetic smile.

"I'll ask Melanie to talk to Helen about timing."

#jongerrymartin #illicio #vit writes

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Sunday Afternoon Session

Oh Say What is Truth

Softly and Tenderly

 Henry B. Eyring

“Of course it’s hard! It’s supposed to be! Life is a test!”

We are being proved to see if we will do what God has commanded

They love you..Your success is Their success

God has the power to make our way easier

He knows that we must grow in spiritual cleanliness and stature to be able to return to Him

In all things the Saviors example will be our guide

When you remember how much pain you can endure well, Remember Him. He suffered what you suffered so that He would know how to lift you up.

1 way will be to invite you always to Remember Him and Come unto Him

Feast upon His words

Faith unto repentance

Baptized and then keep covenants with God

D&C 58:4

When we lift another’s burden even a little our burdens are lightened

We must notice the suffering of others and try to help

Jeremy R. Jaggi – seventy

The day dawn is breaking, the world is awaking, the clouds of nights darkness are fleeing away

Count it all joy (James 1:2-4)

Let your trials work for your good

Of all the zealous social, religious, and political endeavors of our day, let ‘disciple of Jesus Christ’ be our most pronounced and affirming affiliation.

When we exercise patience our faith increases. When our faith increases, we have joy.

Where we make sacred covenants, the temple, is closed. Where we keep sacred covenants, our homes, are open.

“Be of good cheer” is the commandment from the Lord, not be of good fear

Hear, hearken, and heed the voice of the Prophet

Gary E. Stevenson

is something the Lord gives us to help us grow

God wants us to know that He will never abandon us, he will always be with us

We can help each other know that we can be blessed during adversity

Temple ordinances we have missed seem sweeter than previously imagined

Go forward and not backward and on, on to the victory

Acknowledge the afflictions in the course of our days, while also acknowledging that we are God’s children

I believe that one day, each of you will look back at the canceled events, the sadness, disappointments and loneliness attendant to the challenging times we are passing through to see it overshadowed by choice blessings and increased faith and testimonies.

He is my Savior, my redeemer, my hope, and consolation

Milton da Rocha Camargo – Sunday School 1st counselor

His impressions are really

He who seeks will find

We seek because we trust the Lord’s promises

Communication with our Father in Heaven enables us to sort through what is true and what is false, what is relevant to the Lord’s plan for us and what is not

To knock is to act in faith. When we actively follow Him, the Lord takes notice

I am here. I love you. Go on, do your best. I’ll support you.

He may not answer all of our questions or solve all of our problems right away; rather, He encourages us to keep trying. If we align our plan with His, He will guide us

 Guide Us O Thou Great Jehovah

 Dale G. Renlund

Salvation is not earned

We can never do enough or be enough by ourselves. The good news though, is that because of Jesus Christ and His atonement we can become enough

We can be redeemed and stand pure and clean before God

Do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before God (Micah 6:8)

Do justly is a practical application of the two greatest commandments

Broken heart and contrite spirit entice us to joyfully repent

God delights in mercy and does not begrudge its use

 Leviticus 19:18

Always dealing well with others is part of loving mercy

When you become a physician you work to heal people, if you do otherwise you do not deserve to be here

Loving mercy means that we do not just love the mercy God extends to us, but also the mercy He extends to others

You shall not esteem one flesh above another Mosiah 23:7

Treat everyone with love and understanding regardless of characteristics such as race, sexual orientation, religious affiliation etc (I missed the rest ahh)

When ye do these things, you are on the covenant path

Kelly R. Johnson – seventy

What power and knowledge are you endowed with and will yet be endowed with?

Power of God is the power to do more than we can do by ourselves

Burning microwave ahahahahaha

Those who have faith and the word of God deep in their hearts will be able to absorb and overcome the fiery darts which the adversary will surely send to destroy us. Otherwise, our faith, hope and conviction may not endure, and like [an] empty microwave oven, we could become a casualty.

His power diminishes in our lives only if we fail to keep our sacred covenants

et a clear unchanging course in your life

There is no expiration date associated with the power God bestows upon those who make and keep temple covenants, or a restriction from accessing that power during a pandemic

Jeffrey R. Holland

Why the delay of help to come?

while we work and wait together for the answers to some of our prayers I offer you my Apostolic promise that they are heard and they are answered though perhaps not at the time or in the way that we want it but they are always answered at the time and in the way an eternally compassionate parent should answer them

he who never sleeps nor slumbers cares for the happiness of his children above all else that a divine being has to do

He is pure love gloriously personified and Merciful Father is His name

yes God can provide miracles instantaneously but sooner or later we learn that the times and seasons of our mortal journey are his alone to direct

for every infirm man healed instantly as he waits to enter the pool of Bethesda someone else will spend 40 years in the desert waiting to enter the promised land; for every nephi and Lehi divinely protected by an encircling flame of fire for their faith we have an abinadi burned at the stake of flaming fire for his; and we remember that the same Elijah though in an instant called down fire from heaven to bear witness against the priests of baal is the same Elijah  who went through a season when there was no rain for years and who for a time was found only by the skimpy sustenance that could be carried in a raven's claw -  by my estimation that can't have been anything we would call a happy meal

he point is that faith means trusting God in good times and bad even if that includes some suffering until we see his arm revealed in our behalf

one’s life cannot be both faith filled and stress free it simply will not work

Christianity is comforting but it is often not comfortable. the path to holiness and happiness here and hereafter is a long and sometimes rocky one it takes time and tenacity to walk it but of course the reward for doing so is monumental (taught in Alma 32)

a call for diligence and patience in nurturing the word of God in our hearts, waiting as He says with longsuffering, for the tree to bring forth fruit unto you

when will these burdens be lifted? well the answer is by and by and whether that be a short period or a long one – it is not always hours

by the grace of God the blessings will come to those who hold fast to the gospel of Jesus Christ

those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength and shall Mount up with wings of Eagles they shall run and not be weary they shall walk and not faint

Russelll M. Nelson

the Lord wants you to feel we live in a glorious age foreseen by prophets for centuries. this is the dispensation when no spiritual blessing will be

the Lord would have us look forward to the future with joyful anticipation

let us not spin our wheels in the memories of yesterday the gathering of Israel moves forward

The Lord Jesus Christ directs the affairs of His church and it will achieve its divine objectives.

the challenge is to make certain that each of us will achieve his or her divine potential

turn your heart mind and soul increasingly to our Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ, let that be your new normal

daily seek to be increasingly pure in thought, word, and deed; minister to others; keep an eternal perspective; magnify your callings

whatever your challenges live each day so that you are more prepared to meet your maker

Tarawa, Kiribati; Port Vila Vanatu; Lindon, Utah; Greater Guatemala City, Guatemala; Sao Paulo East, Brazil; Santa Cruz Bolivia

as we build and maintain these temples we pray that each of you will build and maintain yourself so you can be worthy to enter the holy temple

I bless you to be filled with the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ. His peace is beyond all mortal understanding. I bless you with an increased desire and ability to obey the laws of God. I promise that as you do you will be showered with blessings including greater courage, increased personal revelation, sweet harmony in your homes

 God Be With You till We Meet Again

#ldsconf #generalconference #general conference #genconf #tumblrstake #church of jesus christ of latter-day saints

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 33

Read on AO3 here

Dear Journal, 

I always hate starting these things. Never know what to do to signify another passage starting when the ending of the other was just on the other side of the page. Be it days or months, the one thing that never changes is how close my last entry was. I guess this is to document my thoughts so that when I’m an old man I can look back and reflect on how life used to be. Most of the time I just draw something awful and leave a caption so when my eyes can’t see right anymore I’ll know what I was attempting to preserve. If I make it that far I’ll have plenty of stories to tell. 

Anyways. 

I know the last time things seemed to be doing well. I got married to a woman who changed me. Dutch had a plan to get us out. John and Abigail were getting along just fine, even little Jack was learning to hunt rabbits and small critters. But it all changed so quickly, where do I even begin…

The bank. I know that damned job was where everything went wrong. Micah and Dutch never stopped talking about it the whole time we were in Guarma so I couldn’t forget any detail even if I tried. And I did try. The first week stuck in that humid hell I was too angry to speak and drank myself into a stupor that would rival Reverend Swanson; alcohol helped me ignore the pain in my chest where my heart used to be. Maybe that’s why he drank. To forget. Everyone tried to talk to me but I wasn’t in a place to listen. They tried to tell me everything would work out, that she was alright and we just had to focus on one thing at a time. But that was bullshit. I just kept seeing Hosea get shot and my wife being carted away, and I was stuck helpless to do anything against it. I’ve never before realized that was my worst fear; watching from the outside as people I love get hurt. 

The Pinkertons showed up too fast to not have known about it before but there was no way any of us would have ratted out the gang when we were so close to our goal, so close to leaving and putting behind us any thought of betrayal or being on the run any longer. I spent more than one night stuck on that island replaying it over and over but I couldn't make sense of it. 

I should have been faster. I shouldn't have let Dutch separate us. As soon as that snake Milton yelled I knew we were done for. 

I shouldn't call him that. I know I can come up with something worse. Technically he is my father in law, but he is the reason Hosea is dead and the woman I love is...gone. Who knows where he’s hidden her away. No wonder she never told me about that mess, I would have never believed someone so good and true was family with that vile man. 

She probably thought I’d hate her for keeping the secret, but the truth is I couldn’t care any less. Sometimes you don’t get lucky enough to pick your family. I know that better than anyone. 

Micah claims they planned it together, for her to distract her father long enough for us to escape, but I’m not too sure yet if I believe that. I saw the look in her eyes. Panic. Fear. Then that stubborn heroism that should have told me to drag her out with me no matter the cost. It was in the set of her mouth, and how her eyes narrowed enough to give away her thoughts. Just a few of the things I love so much about her. But in an instant she was gone. Locked eyes in the middle of the chaos was the only goodbye I got. 

Losing Hosea was hard, to say the least. He was more of a father to me than Dutch was in all the ways that mattered. He taught me to swim and fish and how to read the leaves and stars at night. He taught me that waiting is sometimes the best strategy, and to never go anywhere without a good strong lie as to why you’re there. He was kindness and compassion, but also cleverness and hard edges when he needed to be. I looked up to him more than I knew and his absence will leave a painful hole that cannot be filled. 

But my grief is nothing in comparison to Dutch’s. His...it’s like a pain he’s unwilling to admit is there. Like he’s afraid that acknowledging it will break the damn he’s built and everything will come crashing down. I worry what it means for him, for me, for all of us. Hosea was truly the angel sitting on Dutch’s shoulder. 

I somehow made it out of Guarma and that whole mess alive. A boat took me back and I had the unfortunate luck to land in Van Horn. I must be getting old, my bones seem to have absorbed some of the exhaustion I’ve been feeling for nearly a month now. But I got myself a horse and should be back at Shady Belle tomorrow afternoon to whatever wreckage is left from my former life.

The thought of seeing my wife seemed to be the only thing getting me through the days since that cursed robbery. Her smile, the sound of her laugh, her soft hand in mine. I miss it, sometimes so much I am nearly brought to tears and in those moments I understand why Dutch doesn’t talk much about Hosea. Like watching the sunrise with burning eyes, sometimes the pain that comes with it makes you aware that it happened at all. 

Part of me knows that what’s waiting for me at Shady Belle isn’t good news, but I can’t think about that just yet. Hope is the comforting shadow beside me. 

I should have known better than to expect a good night’s sleep. My eyes were so blurry I mistook a tree for a man on the side of the road. Even my body knew that nothing is how it should have been. 

Shady Belle was empty. Well, worse than that. It had echoes of the gang being there, our last hurrah as we rode out to the gates of victory so blind to what was about to happen. Cans littered around where we ate together, scuff marks all across the dirt from our boots, even a small pair that must have been Jack’s. The worst though was a carving I found on one of the poles of the front porch of my initials in a heart that she must have drawn without me knowing. I tried to etch it into my notebook but found I couldn't stand there for more than a few moments without the familiar pain of missing her taking over my senses. Maybe one day I won’t feel like I’m being ripped apart by all of these emotions.

Inside was empty. Nothing remained of the time we spent in those walls. I couldn't bring myself to check the room I had shared with YN for the fear of being entirely overwhelmed again. Instead I found a letter from Sadie Adler, a woman of many surprises, waiting for me in the living room. She must have known I would come back. 

The quiet didn’t last too long before a couple of Pinkerton fools in the employment of Mr. Milton came around. From what I overheard they returned to Shady Belle every single day to see if we had returned but had no such luck. That meant two things; that the gang got away safely and the other’s from Guarma hadn’t come to the house. For a few moments at least my heart settled but that didn’t last long. These days it never did. 

I rode straight to Lakay even though I despise the damp, disgusting heat of the swamps. My eagerness to see people I knew won over my hatred for the area. Eventually I found my way to a small village, if you’d even call it that, of buildings set up along the river bank. Time and humidity had worn away at any pride these homes must have held, the moss clinging to anything that needed to be filled back in. It was silent save for one man in the farthest hut chopping away at some type of meat. 

Pearson for the first time in my life was a sight for sore eyes. Luckily Abigail was behind him and Sadie behind her so I was quickly welcomed with warm arms and a bowl of stew that was the finest I had ever tasted. There were questions, so many questions, but they held their tongues for the time being and let me settle into a bed for a few hours of sleep. Finally the exhaustion caught up with my body and I was overcome with aches and a cough, but that I ignored too. 

Tilly, Uncle, Lenny, Karen, Sean, Mary Beth, Strauss, Molly, Charles, and everyone else was safe and hidden away. We were safe for the time being. 

Micah and Javier arrived the next day with the same story. We all needed rest, but there were things to do. John had been captured and taken to Sisika. Abigail pulled me aside and asked about YN and I did my best to hide my pain, but she told me what happened after we got caught in the gunfire. She was taken somewhere north, or at least that’s where the wagon headed, and some man named Staten was her watcher. My blood nearly boiled, but Abigail calmed me down until the agony of losing her ripped me apart and I had to go sit on the dock before anyone else saw me. How am I to deal with this alone? I would give anything to have her back by my side again, father be hanged. 

Not two days later a rain storm kept us inside, and set up the dramatic entrance for Dutch’s grand return. Things all broke loose. Abigail was yelling about John again, Micah on about something else. The man didn’t even have a chance to sit down before he was bombarded again. We raised a glass to Mrs. Adler for saving the gang in Dutch’s absence, her and Charles were the only reasons things continued on. 

She found me staring at the water the next morning. I was sitting there, thinking of my wife, and Sadie must have known. She tried to talk about knowing loss and feeling my pain, but there’s no one in the world who knows what I’m going through. What we’re going through. My wife is somewhere I don’t know and I can do nothing about it. Every second of every day I feel like a failure for letting her down. I want to be there for Dutch as he needs the support, but I can’t help think that as time ticks on she’ll forget me and move on. Not sure what I’ll do if that happens. 

Bill Williamson is a right fool. That night he came busting into the sleep house going on about how hard we were to find, saying he asked everyone he could find, and I knew trouble couldn't be too far behind. Only someone truly hoping to meet death walks into a nest of vipers. I had just finished my glass of whiskey when I heard her voice. 

At first I thought I imagined it. There were plenty of times that the desperation in my mind had boiled long enough that her sweet tones called to me from somewhere just beyond my reach. At first I longed for them, for any gentle reminder that she was as real to me once as the glass currently in my hand. Then after a while they hurt to hear and the words got all jumbled together. Like she was farther away than ever. Like I needed reminding. 

But sitting inside that house I heard her clear as a bell. Not the words she spoke, it was far too loud inside for that, but I could tell it was her. My heart knew too and started pounding in time with the rain hitting the roof. Dutch saw me and asked why I had frozen in place but Abigail had heard it too. She stood and stared at me, wondering what was taking me so damn long to move but it was like my legs had grown twice their weight. I finally got myself up and pushed through the sudden silence around me to stand at the door. 

There she was again. She had to be real. But she sounded...off. Like something was wrong. 

Calling for me, for us, or anyone. I was so full of terror I couldn’t breathe. But someone touched my shoulder and I came back to life, opening the door and finding my dream standing before me. Wide eyed and desperate, much like myself, but there was a warning in her eyes I couldn’t decipher from so far away. Her hands were up in the air shaking like a leaf. Her head shook slightly. I was overcome by a need to preserve this moment of reunion and committed her to memory for once she was back in my arms and I could draw her in this here journal. Honestly I can’t describe how I felt knowing she was at least alive. My heart wanted me to run to her and throw caution to the wind, but my gut told me something worse was lingering in the shadows with an alligator grin. 

Just from looking at her I could tell Milton had damn near starved her for the dress she wore was much too large, hanging off her arms and shoulders. The blood was what cued me in. Rust red stains splattered the front and ice filled my veins at the realization of who’s ghosts she wore wrapped around her. That bastard Milton paraded her around in a costume like he was putting on a show, but I was done being a puppet.

Arthur Morgan was nobody’s fool. 

Arthur. 

His eyes were murderous but whether that was aimed at you or not remained unknown. The rapid thumping in your chest flooded into your ears as well but the words passing between you didn’t need to be spoken. You didn’t need to hear them to know what he would say. 

Seeing Arthur after all that time was a breath of fresh air in a world that had been a dusty haze for the past month. It was awful and wonderful at the same time to be standing so close yet unable to move any closer. Your soul ached to return to its rightful place. The stress of standing there with the weight of all that had happened could be seen as your hands shook and your shoulders tensed and your heart broke all over again.

More light passed onto the muddy ground as the door behind Arthur opened and a few cautious faces moved out. Dutch. Abigail. Bill. Lenny. Charles. Sadie. Anger and confusion colored their expressions. You hoped they all could understand. 

A strange feeling passed through you as you noticed Micah was nowhere to be found.

Arthur took in deep, heavy breaths as you held eye contact. Under any other circumstance standing beneath the stars in the dark of night would be almost romantic, especially with the twinkling fireflies blinking their messages all around you. But the rain and the tension crackling across the night like lightning changed that. In fact it changed everything. 

The rain covered the sound of wagons rolling in and the footsteps of Pinkerton agents as they crept around the perimeter to trap the Van der Linde gang from escaping. The lightning bugs hid the glints of metal from the guns being raised and taking aim. And you, the queen of the chessboard, were meant to hold the outlaw’s attention as the plan slid into place around you. Your father had been almost gleeful explaining it to you and it made you sick. 

“YN...what’s going on?”

Dutch held his hand out in front of his adopted brother but kept his eyes trained on you. 

“Don’t say anything, Arthur. We don’t know what this is.”

A voice hissed behind you. The horrible reminder that you were not there of your own accord. You were not there to be rushed to safety, to explain and convince those you loved that you have never walked out those bank doors if you thought any harm would have befallen them. 

“I…” The words faltered as they mingled with the falling rain. “I am here to...offer a deal on behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, the United States Government, and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth.”

“A deal!” Dutch snorted. “And what would that be?”

Tears rolled down your cheeks at the thought of what had to come next. Only when your shoulders shook from the tension of holding them back did you look away from Arthur, praying to anyone who would listen for a way out of this. 

“You have nowhere left to run.” The words were plain but landed like a slap in the face. Milton had prepared a lengthy monologue and you fought to remember all of it. “My father has chased you relentlessly and ultimately you will submit. There is a price big enough on your heads that  bringing you in dead would still earn him a fortune. But there is dignity and pride in turning yourself over alive instead of ending up d-dead like that...fool Hosea Matthews.”

The hiss behind you continued as the people in front of you balked at your words. It hurt to know Milton was twisting the knife in but you held the weapon.  

“If you come without a fight, you will all be allowed to live. If not, I can’t -”

“Allowed!” Dutch responded. “What is this, there’s no honor in this choice. I will not be commanded like some dog after what your father did to Hosea!”

This time the words hurt you and you answered with a flinch. 

“Dutch, please,” you licked your lips, your eyes darting to Arthur. “You don’t have to fight! Everything will be alright, just listen to me -”

“Everything will be alright?” The leader repeated back. “I believe nothing of the sort. Mrs. Morgan, do you know what happens to folks like us who the law doesn’t see favorably? Who aren’t the shiny, golden children of society? They are hung like common street criminals and forgotten in the ashes of our history books. I refuse to fade away as an ink spot upon a page, I refuse to let others make my choices for me, and I refuse to listen to a bully who hides like a coward behind others! We demand to be more than that legacy fated for us by others. We demand our god given right that others only dream of, freedom!”

His speech was beautiful but it didn’t change the fact that mere feet behind you sat a Maxim gun, manned and ready to fire, if they didn’t listen to your pleas. Dutch’s pretty words did nothing to stir the rebellious spirit in your chest and instead caused more tears to run down your cheeks. The flare of his independence was bright, but that meant it couldn’t burn for much longer. 

You weren’t the only one affected by Dutch. Behind you the men lying in wait rustled out of the bushes and crept up with their guns drawn, each footstep stringing tension across your shoulders. 

“I was wrong about your father, YN.” Dutch drew in quick breaths at the sight of the ambush. “He’s not only a coward, but a fool too. You see, he’s underestimated us once again and that will lead to his demise. Now, boys! For Hosea!”

The world erupted in gunfire and smoke around you. At Dutch’s signal everyone hiding inside fired away at the agents planted around the swamp, yelling and filled with rage at the thought of revenging their beloved Hosea. Loss was a strong motivator, and as you clamped your hands over your ears you wondered how long the haze of distraction would last. The maxim gun fired continuous deafening rounds and all you could hear above the ringing in your ears were the screams of people you loved. Your knees sank into the mud as panic rippled across your skin. 

Milton shouted behind you, commanding his men like he was trying to storm the gates of hell. 

Dutch retreated into the cabin leading his rebel crew in a secret assault against the forces of perceived evil who had come to change his ways. 

Where did you fit into all of this? What was your place and how did you go about getting there? Was your only hope to run and hope it would find you? It only took a moment to come to you. There was only one anchor in this hurricane and it was the same one you returned to time and time again. 

Arthur Morgan. 

As Dutch retreated Arthur hesitated to leave you behind. His eyes darted through the dark to try and find you while he ducked for safety. Terror clenched your heart and you screamed for him to get out of the line of fire, you would find him. 

Forcing tension into your shaky limbs you knew you would regret it if you never even tried to get to him. The air above you was filled with shouts and raindrops and gunshots but nothing could distract you; this was your only shot and you would not throw it away. A door to your right swung open and light flooded the ground and you took off pumping your legs as hard as you could to cross the muddy ground getting closer and closer to your goal. 

Breathe. You had to get to him, you were so close. 

Behind you bodies hit the ground and you had no doubt that Arthur had taken most of them out. He had incredible aim in the worst of times, and this was definitely one of those. Even Dutch couldn’t rival him and after a few competitions no one else had bothered. 

“YN! Over here!” 

“Javier!” 

You had never been so happy to see the dark haired man in your life. He grabbed your arm and pulled you inside, yanking you down to the floor immediately to avoid another spray of bullets from the gatling gun. 

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to help!” You pleaded with him. “Someone needs to take out that gun, what can I do?”

“Stay down, Dutch has a plan!” 

You both ducked to the floor as a window shattered above you. 

“It better be quick, we can’t hold out for long!”

From outside one of the agents yelled above the chaos. “There’s too many of them, we have to retreat!”

“No!” Your father bellowed back. His voice was too close for comfort. “We do not back down, we have the power of the law on our side.”

“The power of the law ain’t fighting two of the best shots this side of the Mississippi, boss! We are!”

Javier let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and shook his head. “Mrs. Adler’s out there too now, won’t be long. Between her and Arthur I don’t think the Pinkerton’s stand a chance.” There was a pause as Javier eyed you warily. “Your father, that is.”

“Javier -”

But you couldn't finish your sentence as the back door flew open and someone called out to him. He nodded at you and crawled his way to the door to see why he was needed, leaving you alone to hide from the debris falling all around. As the door shut behind him, you caught a glimpse of red coat tails that looked awfully similar to what Micah usually wore. 

More men were dying outside, you could hear the yells of defeat as the maxim gun came to a stop but you were running out of time. Something inside of you said the clock was ticking and you needed to move. 

Breathe. In, out. Breathe.

“Where did she go?” Milton bellowed from outside. The bullets had stopped and the air felt deathly still. “Where did that bitch go?”

“Don’t you talk about my wife like that!” Your heart swelled at Arthur’s words. 

It sounded like he was in the barn next door. If you could sneak without being caught this was your chance for a getaway. Perhaps the only one. 

“Get out here now before I blow this whole place to hell! Turn yourselves in and die with nobility.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Block him out, he’s bluffing. A ball of nerves formed in your stomach like a hard thing weighing you down and you fell to the wall for support as you gathered the courage to move again. 

“Agent Milton, I believe this is where we part ways. You are alone and outnumbered, give it up.” Dutch answered. 

“Never, Van der Linde. I am tasked with bringing you and the others in…” his voice tapered off as soft clicks rang out and you imagined from your hiding spot behind the wall everyone aiming in his direction,

“How about this,” the dark haired man suggested. “You and I can make a little trade. Me and my friends here will walk out of here safely and you will not pursue us if we give you something you want.”

A bark of laughter responded. Milton was not pleased with the child's play that interrupted his duty. “And what would I get out of this deal?”

“Your life?” Dutch shot back. “A chance to live another day? No?” There was a pause as Dutch walked forwards and you dared a peek out of a nearby bullet hole to observe the scene. “Maybe something a little more valuable. Your daughter for instance?”

Two rough hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders and yanked you upwards and you let out a cry of disbelief. They hadn’t made any noise walking up, or perhaps you were too trained on listening to the conversation outside to notice. 

“Get your hands off of me!” You cried out at the same time Arthur yelled something from outside. 

“Shut up, Princess Pinkerton. And walk.” 

You should have known. Did the man who walked you down the aisle really have no regard for your life? Micah gave you a shove to move forward and you hesitated for only a moment. All you wanted was to help your family escape safely and to keep your father from enacting his twisted sense of justice. You wanted to feel safe and free, but there were too many obstacles holding you back. Was this really all your life would be?

With dirty hands you wiped your cheeks, squaring your shoulders and preparing to face him again. It wasn’t going to be easy. But there didn’t seem to be another choice. 

“Dutch what in the hell are you playing at?” 

Falling rain once again met your face as you walked out and took in the tense scene before you. Dutch, Arthur, Bill, and Charles all had their pistols focused on your father who in turn stared down his barrel at Dutch. The two men were everything the other despised, and you were caught in the middle. 

“My daughter?” Milton still seemed shocked to see you. As if he hadn’t been the one to bring his own child to a gunfight and had simply found you there. 

Arthur was held back by the iron grip of Charles as he habitually tried to come to you. The look of pure sorrow on his face broke your heart but there wasn’t enough time to think about yourself and how you felt. Soon he would be out of sight. 

“That’s right. Take her, and the two of you leave and never come back to chase us around the country. Me and my friends will never cause another day of trouble for you and we all leave with our lives. Isn’t that what we want, after all? To live and go our own ways?”

It felt like he had slapped you across the face with his words. The fact that you were the bargaining chip was not lost as you stared down the man with newfound hatred. 

“Don’t I get a say in any of this?” You snapped back. “Or am I unimportant enough to both of you that my value lies only in my silence?”

“Oh Mrs. Morgan,” Dutch chuckled darkly. “I have missed your temper. But today, my dear, is not the day to fight like it's your last. Be a good girl and run along with your father.”

Something in his tone made you hesitate, the hatred pausing for just a moment. Was there something else going on? Had he not abandoned you just quite yet? It was a glimmer of hope but that was all you could find so you held it close. He gave a slight nod in return.

“Fine. But I won’t forget this.” 

Dutch’s gun slowly moved to take aim at your head and you caught your breath at the sight. He was filled to the brim with frustration and rage. But somewhere in his eye was a calm collection as he formed a plan. 

“Now get out of here. Both of you. And don’t come back.”

Milton’s free arm shot out and gripped yours too tightly, his eyes still focused on the outlaws escaping of their own design before him. His men were all dead. There were two horses left to ride out and no wagon. He had truly and utterly lost but he refused to admit it. 

Arthur’s eyes were dark as you tried to meet his but he wouldn't look at you. The flush in his cheeks gave away how worked up he was and you wondered if it was all too much and he had found his breaking point. You wouldn't blame him if he didn’t want you anymore, things were just so damn complicated. It hurt but his happiness came first. 

Your father took a step backwards and dragged you with him and panic hit your stomach.

“Dutch…Dutch! Don’t let him do this,” the tears started no matter how much you tried to keep them in. “You don’t know what it’s like, please.”

The small group watched you with hard eyes of confusion and hesitation and you didn’t blame them. Sadie had a mean look to her, but that was probably from the heat of battle. Charles looked sad and your heart ached for your friend. Even Bill looked hesitant to send you off with Milton, but no one moved against Dutch. Something whispered to you this might be the last time you saw them. 

You fought every step of the way but eventually Milton got you on a horse and tied the reins to his with a length of rope. Any last drops of hope were drained out of you at the sight of the others breaking away hurriedly. It was just Dutch, Arthur, Sadie, and Micah left that you could make out through your tears as your world fell apart. 

“Stop crying, I can’t think,” Milton muttered harshly. 

“Everything I love has been taken away from me, by you! And now I’m stuck with you again I think I have the right to be upset.”

“You have no right to anything,” he replied. “You are nothing in the eyes of anyone and that’s all you will be.”

The horses started moving and you looked behind you one last time. Without the rain the evening appeared softer; the firebugs had come out to blink to one another and the moss swung lazily around the canopy. Dutch had finally lowered his weapon but you noticed Arthur was gone from the group, no doubt off to chuck your wedding ring into the bayou and let the memory of you fade with the small metal object as it sank into the murky riverbed.

If only you could touch him, feel him, let him know that nothing was his fault and every mistake had been tallied in your name. Arthur had scrubbed his slate clean in your eyes, it was time he saw that too. You missed him more with each step your horse took away. 

It was torture to to ride on with your father as emotions swirled all around you. He pushed the horses at a fast trot to leave the swamps as quickly as possible, paranoia creeping up on him like the sounds of crickets at his back. You could no longer hold back the sobs that shook your body. Sorrow at losing everyone again. Nerves about going back to being a prisoner. Utter and complete heartbreak at the thought of Arthur hating your every fiber. It was all too much. How could one person cope with this much feeling?

“I ever tell you why I joined the Pinkertons in the first place?”

Milton’s voice caught you off guard and interrupted your sorrow. 

“N-no, and I don’t care -”

“I joined,” he continued on. “Because I wanted to put order where there was only chaos. The Pinkertons were a respectable organization I could put myself behind, gain respect myself and do something worthwhile for society. We left Boston after your brother...died and I couldn’t stand the pain. My work eventually came second to drinking and I knew then that was my lowest point.”

“But you kept drinking, you still do,” the thought of stale whiskey making you shiver. 

“Since you ran off I haven't touched a drop. You see, in the past I myself was the chaos and I needed order to save me. Our family was broken but I couldn't look past my own pain to see that you both needed me instead of the shell of a man I was parading around as. Your mother is a good woman and pulled me up when I needed it. She packed us up and moved us out all on her own. I was simply a shell.” You had never heard your father talk like this and wondered what brought about the nostalgia. It was strange to hear about a time you dreamed so often of but in reality knew nothing about. He looked softer as he spoke. “I never wanted to be like that again. Yes, I still drank to forget but I was finally in control where I belonged. We had a good house, in a good town. I had a good wife and a good daughter. Only when that bastard Van der Linde moved in did you start to get reckless, going to town with that dark haired woman and forgetting where you came from. It didn’t take me long to realize you were the only thing left I had to steer away from chaos. My little girl.”

His honey-covered words were hiding something but you couldn’t figure out what it was. The way he spoke of chaos and control sounded religious; he truly meant to save others the same way he found for himself. You sat in silence for a moment before thinking of something to say. 

“I’m not your little girl anymore,” your voice remained steady. “To be honest I’m not sure I ever was. Growing up with a daddy who drinks and hits you takes away any kindness he offers and twists it into something evil.”

“You see what I mean?” Milton’s temper flared for a moment and he carefully brought it back in. “All of them, they turned you away from what’s right. They worship savagery.”

“These aren’t things that changed because I met them, they were always wrong! Do you really not see that?”

Milton hesitated before answering. “The life you lived there wasn’t...These people are just playing pretend. They have no sense of contributing to something larger than themselves and it’s so small minded, you were raised to know better than that.”

“Maybe I don’t want to contribute to something,” you muttered. “Maybe I just want to know what it is to not live bound to any rules other than what I need. I’ve seen your justice, father, and I don’t want any part of it.” 

Weariness slipped into your bones at the conversation. It was the longest you two had spoken in months, almost a year, and his blind passion did nothing to sway your feelings towards the Pinkertons. 

“I’m sure you’ll change your tune. Your mother is too.”

Your head shot up at that. “Mother knows what you’ve done? And she agrees?”

Before he had a chance to answer, a horse came thundering up the road behind you. Squinting through the evening fog you couldn’t make out the rider but had a feeling in your heart that it was someone you knew. They drew closer and with each passing second you grew more anxious. Your father pulled out his pistol and kicked the horses faster. 

“Milton!” A feeling of relief washed over you at the sound of the voice. “You ain’t going anywhere with her. Give it up!”

“Arthur!”

The hose below you let out a nervous whinny. It struggled against you pusining to turn with your legs and the yanking from the rope as your father pressed it to go faster than before. You were desperate to get to your husband but it was nearly impossible with no control and you wanted to cry out in frustration. 

“Get back, Mr. Morgan. We had a deal but I’m not surprised you snakes went back on it,” your father spit, looking back. “You’ll get nowhere with this stunt.”

“Stop, please stop!” You begged. Arthur was gaining closer with every second.

Milton spun around to check on the pursuer’s progress and the look on his face was murderous. Rage flushed his face and the pressure to flee made the veins in his forehead stand out at a horrifying attention. He paid you no attention as he kicked his horse again. 

With less than ten feet between you Arthur kept one hand tightly on the reins and held the other out to you, reaching as far as he could to try and bring you to him. As if on its own, your arm stretched to try and meet his fingertips. You held on to the saddle horn and tried to ignore the sounds of protest coming from your father that drove the horses on somehow. 

“Just a bit more, darlin’. I got you. Don’t be afraid!”

“I’m not, I’m not!” 

The sound was bordering hysterical. The distance between you was all you had to overcome and then you would be safe and home in Arthur’s arms again. Your heartbeat matched the echoing of hooves around you at the thought of making it to Arthur and simultaneously what would happen if you didn’t. 

His blue eyes held yours with no malice and your own fears melted away momentarily. For a month you had been kept apart, by Dutch, by your father. It was time to end all of that. 

Just as your hands brushed one another in their first reunion Milton screamed and whipped around to face the two of you. 

“Enough! I’ve had enough of this!” The pistol in his free hand raised to take aim at the moving target. “Leave us now or die!”

“No!” You screamed, moving in front of Arthur as best you could to shield him. “Father stop!”

“Milton put the gun down!” Arthur’s voice was low and hard, anxiety weaving its way through at the thought of either of you getting hurt. By now he had a firm grasp on your wrist and the pressure of his hand on you gave you strength. Your mind ran wild trying to think of a way to get out of this alive. 

But there simply wasn’t enough time. 

The missing heat from Arthur’s fingers registered at the same time as your scream ripped through the muggy air. You clawed at the empty space next to you and watched in horror as a red stain blossomed across Arthur’s shoulder beneath his hand. He looked up almost bewildered. 

“Arthur! Arthur no!” 

You twisted out of the saddle and fell to the ground with a hard thump. The impact hurt but you pushed it aside. You had to get to Arthur. 

Milton stayed silent but circled back around. You ignored him and ran, if you could get far enough you could both still get away. But hope slipped out of your grasp as he came closer. 

The shot hit him right in the shoulder and he was bleeding. A lot. Harsh, ragged breaths pulled in and out of Arthur’s chest as he applied shaky pressure to the wound and cursed in agony. You knew there was no way he could ride both of you in that state. 

“How could you!” You screamed at your approaching father. “That is my husband you just tried to kill!”

“Milton -”

“Enough of this foolishness!” Milton shouted, spit flying in his desperation and rage. “I will not have you acting like a child any longer. This ain’t over Morgan. You tell Van der Linde -”

“YN -”

“We’re not leaving him! He could die!” Milton gave you a pointed look. Anger bubbled up inside of you. “No, I refuse to go with you.”

“You don’t have a choice. If he dies no one will come after us and you will stay with me. If not,” your father shrugged. “I’ll kill him later.”

Just as you went to join Arthur, Milton grabbed your arm. You struggled and pulled to no avail. He was stronger and dragged you further and further from your husband who held himself up precociously, blood covering his chest. 

“I said enough!” Your father yanked you one last time and looked down at you with rage and a hint of pity in his eyes. “You clearly need to be reigned in more than I thought.”

A blinding pain exploded on your right temple and radiated down your neck. Arthur cried out but the sound was lost as your father brought the flat end of his pistol down, hammering it into your temple to knock you out. Unfortunately it worked; you couldn't fight him anymore and Arthur was all but dead if no one knew where he was to help him. 

Your last fleeting thought before losing consciousness was that this had to end. The chasing, the fighting, the pain of losing good people who didn’t deserve their fate. It was time to take back the control others had over you and set everything right that had toppled into chaos around you. In a twisted sense your father’s words about disorder and structure were true. Just not in the way he wanted. 

You were no one’s pawn and never would be again.

#rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #fanfic #price to be paid #chapter 33 #I don't think I posted 32? #oh well

[watersofmyth]

if the seas catch fire

Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

by: watersofmyth

It’s a good thing he’s already an atheist, Bucky thinks as he presses his lips together to suppress the slightly hysterical laugh he can feel bubbling up in his chest, because this alone would be enough to turn him into a non-believer. Outside of the 70 some odd years he spent as a brainwashed assassin for Hydra (which he’s been trying very hard to pretend didn’t happen, even though his therapist tells him that facing the past is the only way to let go of it, but how many times did she have her memory wiped and her body shoved in a glorified freezer? None, thank you very much), this has got to be one of the top 10 worst moments in his life. Because of course, of course, he’s sporting his first erection since he fell off that goddamn train in 19-fucking-45. And his traitorous body couldn’t decide to get it up one night when he’s happily alone in his Wakandan hut. No, that would be too fucking easy. Better to wait for the awkwardest possible moment for his dick to remember how to work.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried before now. He was a little busy at first after his memories starting coming back, trying not to lose his fucking mind at the onslaught, and then trying not to get killed or arrested before he even had a chance to live with said semi-functional mind. But they woke him up from cryo a month ago, and he’s had plenty of time alone in his hut since then to try to get reacquainted with his dick.

No luck. He’s tried everything, every trick he knows and some new ones he found on the internet. Nothing’s worked. Eventually, he’d been forced to conclude that his dick had permanently shut down and honestly, given how many times he’d been frozen and defrosted, he’s surprised any part of his body is still functional.

He’s more or less accepted that any potential for a sex life is nonexistent and let’s be honest, people aren’t exactly lining up to fuck the guy who’s responsible for the deaths of countless people. It’s just, apparently his dick didn’t get that memo because he’s currently lying in bed next to Steve Rogers with a dick hard enough to poke out an eye, because his luck is shit and the universe hates him.

It’s the first time he’s seen Steve since they took him out of cryo. Bucky had called him right away when he woke up, but Steve had been on a mission, some undercover shit in the middle of nowhere, and it dragged on for longer than they thought it would. Steve had flown straight to Wakanda the second the mission ended, and had shown up at Bucky’s hut in the middle of the night, exhausted and bleary eyed but claiming that it had been a torturous month and he wasn’t going to wait a second longer to see Bucky. Bucky had laughed at that; told him he’d clearly gone soft in his old age, and tried to pretend his insides didn’t do funny things at Steve’s words coupled with the sight of him in his uniform.

Bucky had fed him (because he knew Steve well enough to suspect that he probably hadn’t eaten in way too long and super soldier or not, Steve always got crabby when he was hungry), sent him to shower, and then climbed into bed with him. He hadn’t thought twice about it - they used to share all the time when they were younger and why should either of them sleep on the couch when he had a perfectly good bed that easily fit the two of them? He’d turned out the lights and Steve had rolled onto his side, thrown an arm over Bucky, squeezed him and said softly, “I really missed you, Buck.”

And that was when Bucky’s dick decided it would be an excellent time to make an appearance.

After a few seconds of near hysteria, Bucky manages to gain enough control of his body to respond with a highly intelligent “Nghh.” He immediately feels his face flush but the embarrassment has no effect on his dick, which continues to strain against his pants.

Steve’s quiet for a moment, his arm still draped across Bucky’s chest and Bucky realizes with a start that Steve can probably feel how fast his heart’s beating right now. Can probably hear it too, goddamn super soldier ears. He forces himself not to squirm like a fucking teenager and tries to calm his breathing.

“Buck?” asks Steve, “are you okay? Did I say something? Oh shit, should I not -“ He snatches his arm back from Bucky’s chest. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think, did I-“

“Steve, it’s fine, I’m fine,” says Bucky quickly. “It’s not- you can touch me, I’m not- I’m fine.”

He’s not fine, but his panic is coming from mortification, not trauma, and he doesn’t want Steve to worry. (As if that’s possible, Steve is the biggest worrywart he’s met, with the exception of Mrs. Milton from their old apartment building in Brooklyn.)

“Okay,” Steve says cautiously, and Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs Steve’s arm, draping it back across his chest. Which he immediately regrets because Steve’s fingers graze his nipple and fucking hell, that is not helping the situation in his pants. His cock twitches at the feeling and Bucky feels his body shudder involuntarily.

“Bucky,” says Steve, “what’s going on? Why do you keep..twitching?”

This would be a good time to die, Bucky decided. He’s pushing 100, nobody needs to live that long. Take me now, he thinks, the hysteria back in full force. No lightning bolt comes to relieve him of the humiliation that is his life right now however, so he says to Steve, “I’m fine, really. It’s just, uh, it’s been a while and uh, don’t worry about it, it’ll go away.”

“The twitching?” Bucky can hear the confusion in Steve’s voice and he groans quietly which only seems to heighten Steve’s alarm. “Is something hurting? Can I help? What do you need?”

Bucky can feel Steve start to sit up next to him and he grabs his arm and says in a rush “it’s fine I’m hard don’t worry about it I’m so sorry fuck my life it’s not- it’s fine” and then bites his lip hard as his mind supplies, “can you fuck me, Steve?” because yeah, he remembers that he’s always had a crush on Steve for as long as he’s known him but he’s kept that a secret for a century and he’s not about to spill it now, not when he only just got him back.

He feels Steve freeze next to him and then lay back down slowly. Bucky hardly dares to breathe, his whole body burning with embarrassment.

“So that uh, works then,” says Steve awkwardly and Bucky hears himself snort because Jesus fucking Christ are they really having this conversation right now?

“This is actually the first time since..well, since 1945, I guess,” admits Bucky, who’s still hoping for that lightning bolt to show up and end what has to be the most uncomfortable conversation he’s experienced in decades. Possibly ever. “I thought it was, you know, broken, but surprise surprise.” He laughs wryly, covering his eyes with his hand and deciding that dignity is overrated anyway.

Steve is silent for a long moment and maybe there is a god after all because Bucky feels his dick start to soften and he’s trying to come up with something to say to change the topic when Steve says, “do you want me to- I could- I mean, do you want me to help?”

In an instant, Bucky’s hard again, his pulse skyrocketing. “Fuck,” he manages, “Steve, you don’t have to do that, I’m fine, really.”

Another long pause, Bucky feels his heart hammering in his chest because now all he can imagine is Steve’s hands on his cock and fucking hell, has he ever been this hard in his life?

And then Steve says, “what if I want to?” and Bucky is sure he’s entered an alternate reality because there’s no fucking way this is happening in real life. He turns to look at Steve, whose eyes he’d been studiously avoiding and finds him much closer to his face than he’d realized.

“Steve,” he whispers, and that’s all he gets out because then Steve’s lips are on his and his brain promptly explodes into what can only be described as fireworks. Steve’s lips are soft and perfect, gently pressing against Bucky’s and it takes a second before Bucky’s brain turns itself on again and he kisses Steve back, reaching his hand up to grab the back of Steve’s head and pull him closer. Steve gasps and the sound sends chills running through Bucky’s body.

He sucks at Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve opens his mouth for him, as one of his hands finds its way into Bucky’s hair. Steve tugs gently as he pushes his tongue into Bucky’s mouth and Bucky groans and arches up, his whole body tingling and desperate for more contact. Steve seems to take the hint and without breaking the kiss, suddenly straddles Bucky, one knee on either side of his thighs, hovering slightly above him as he continues to do wicked things with his tongue that repeatedly fry all of Bucky’s remaining brain cells.

Bucky’s not going to break goddamnit, Steve doesn’t need to treat him like he’s fragile. Growling slightly, he grabs Steve’s hip and yanks him down until he’s pressed against Bucky. The feeling of Steve’s hard cock against his own is almost too much for Bucky and he gasps against Steve’s mouth as his hips jerk up of their own volition. Steve starts to grind his hips against Bucky, who meets him thrust for thrust. Soon they’re panting into each other’s mouths as they move faster, Bucky gripping Steve’s ass and Steve pulling on Bucky’s hair.

All too soon, Bucky feels the orgasm building in his lower back, the feeling spreading through his insides as his moans become louder and his rutting more frantic. “Come for me, Buck,” whispers Steve, and Bucky comes, arching up off the bed as the orgasm hits him in waves, shuddering into his release. Steve holds him through it, still grinding against him and before Bucky even finishes coming down from his orgasm, Steve’s crying out and jerking against Bucky as he comes.

Through his post-orgasm haze, Bucky focuses on Steve’s face as he comes and decides that it’s quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, his head tilted back, mouth open and a look of sheer ecstasy stealing over his features.

With a soft moan, Steve rolls off Bucky and collapses next to him on the bed, both of them panting. Bucky’s brain starts to catch up with him but before he can get a good panic going, Steve turns toward him, kisses him gently and says “I’ve wanted to do that since we were sixteen, Buck. I love you, always have.”

And Bucky thinks that maybe this isn’t in the top 10 worst moments of his life, after all. In fact, it might be one of the best.

#stucky #steve x bucky #oneshot #stucky fic #otp #smut #post ca:cw #marvel #captain america

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 18

@goodomenscelebration - Themes Prompts

Still posting as many as I can, so catch up on AO3!

CW: Torture, kidnapping, violence (none graphic).

The vote a few days ago decided that Milton Keynes should be destroyed, but the spread-out nature of the town means only the McDonalds got wrecked. Please feel free to imagine any sections you like being destroyed off-screen (except the Ikea, which I was told must remain intact).

Note to new readers: Kasbeel is the identity our Aziraphale is traveling under in this alternate universe. “Aziraphale” is used to refer to his AU counterpart except, notably, when it is not.

Wayward

“Run! Keep running!” Kasbeel flew, gliding at the back of his charges, scooping up the ones who fell behind and carrying them forward. He glanced behind him. At least twenty, thirty, forty angels descending on them from the sky.

Grabbing Ollie, he carried the boy to the front of the crowd, handing him off to an unburdened adult. “Lyla, I think you were correct. This is a planned strike. They knew we would be here.”

“Yeah. Told you.” She puffed, legs pounding on the pavement. “No way. This many people. Went unnoticed.” To their left and right, wide strips of blighted earth corralled them, forcing them to continue their straight path. “I thought we were in a town, where are the buildings?”

Aziraphale flapped his wings, gaining a bit of height to scan the road ahead. Then he plummeted down to land beside her. “Milton Keynes,” he explained, glancing back again. “Take a right at the next traffic circle, you should have at least half a dozen business parks to choose from. Plenty of parking lots, plenty of offices and stores. Split up, but keep the groups together. I’ll try to distract them.”

“You’re not going to freeze up again, are you?”

He closed his eyes, trying to sense the swarm of angels. Yes. He was there, somewhere. “I don’t know, my dear.”

She nodded. “Everyone follow me! Get ready to scatter, on my mark, not before!”

Kasbeel stopped running, and turned to face their pursuers. They stretched across the sky, rank on rank of shining pale wings, coming to take the people he’d sworn to protect.

Not on his watch.

An abandoned car sat nearby. Throwing every bit of power he could spare into his strength, Kasbeel grabbed it by the fender and threw it into the air.

The car spun through the air like a frisbee and struck two angels out of the sky. The rest wheeled, breaking ranks, scattering to attack from all directions.

One of the tumbling angels crashed through the roof of a fast food restaurant nearby. That wouldn’t slow them down for long. Kasbeel kicked off the road and flew across the tainted earth, looking down through the hole in the red roof, just as the other angel scrambled to his feet amongst the broken tables, struggling to straighten his helmet.

The angel unsheathed a flaming sword. “Identify yourself!”

“And ruin a perfectly good alias? I should think not.” The angel leapt upwards, wings unfurling; Kasbeel dropped like a stone, tackling the other angel around the middle before he could even swing his sword, slamming them both again into the tables and the cracked tile.

The other angel quickly regained his feet while Kasbeel rolled aside, looking for anything he could fight with. A chair? A table leg? No – he scrambled to the soda fountain, pulling it off the wall, and threw it at his opponent. But the flaming sword cut it in half without even slowing down.

The other angel finally got a look at Kasbeel’s face, and blinked in confusion. “Guardian…?”

“Er,” Kasbeel flapped his hands nervously. “Yes. I am your leader and – and you should return to our base peacefully. Oh, and leave the sword, please.”

“No,” the angel shook his head, stepping back into an attack position. “I don’t know what kind of trick this is, but you are not him.”

“Ooooh, I don’t have time for this,” Kasbeel groaned, looking for anything else to throw. No luck. The other angel was surely about to charge.

So Kasbeel charged him first, dropping down to roll into his legs, bowling him over before he could begin to react. He grabbed the flaming sword with both hands and twisted, pulling. “Terribly – sorry – old chap. But I need – a weapon!”

“I’m not going to—”

Kasbeel punched him in the jaw.

The other angel flopped back, stunned, just long enough for Kasbeel to pull the sword from his grip and take off, up through the roof, back along the road.

Trumpets rang out through the air. He felt them tug at his mind, felt the other him accept them, absorb the orders into his mind unquestioningly, unhesitating, while Kasbeel struggled against the riptide of obedience.

No. Fight it. We’re on our side. Our side. Not theirs.

He flapped his wings, hovering over the road, resisting the urge to fly forward, to join his brethren.

This was, often, the best he could do. Against any other angels, he could fight, he could lie, he could protect his charges. But here – in the presence of the Guardian of Humanity – he could only hide or flee.

Angels swooped down into the nest of office buildings and stores up ahead – a voice screamed –

“They are my people,” he growled under his breath, “my wards…my godchildren.”

He snapped his wings open, catching a bubble of heat rising from the concrete below and let it lift him up – up – up – until the entirety of Milton Keynes unfurled below him.

“I protect them. Not you!”

He folded his wings and dropped, a white streak cutting across the sky. He hit the pavement in a roll, coming up in a crouch, his sword pointed at one of the seven angels in the parking lot. Each held one of his children.

“Unhand them. Now.”

--

Lyla tore up the road, clutching Alex’s hand, who held Chloe’s, who held Mickey’s – a chain of eight children and teenagers running as fast as their legs could carry them. They’d taken a wrong turn.

Wide open parking lots were visible on both sides, just beyond the stretches of blighted land that had once been cheerful grass and trees lining the street.

Her arm jerked backwards. “Lyla!” Ella called. “Ollie tripped!”

She ran back to the end, scooping the tiny boy into her arms. “Who else has a Mark? Ella? Mickey? Grab the littlest ones. We’re going to have to make our stand here.” A banged-up car sat nearby, that had crashed into the divider, spinning, blocking the road. “Maybe if we hid behind –"

“Lyla! Over here!” Alex had run further ahead, pointing excitedly to the left. “There’s a – a – a turning place! We can get in that building!”

“Go!” She waved the others ahead and clutched Ollie as tightly as she could. “Good job, Alex,” she called. “I knew we kept you around for something.”

“Looks like a bank,” the thirteen-year-old called with a grin, running backwards. “A huge one! We’ll be able to—”

None of them saw the angel until too late, dropping from the sky, gathering Alex up in her arms. “Take the innocents,” she instructed, with a dazed smile that almost reached her silver eyes. Four more angels appeared around her.

“Let me go!” Alex screamed, kicking and squirming, trying to scratch the angel’s face. “I’m not innocent! I’m a – a rebellious piece of shit, I will destroy your garden!”

“Scatter!” Lyla screamed, but there was nowhere to go. The four angels moved quickly, surrounding them, as the one with gold-tipped feathers and scars down her arms gently lifted into the air, holding the screaming, fighting Alex as easily as a baby.

Another angel picked up Chloe, a third took Isaac out of Ella’s arms. Dominic and Mariah crouched behind Mickey, who held a brick in his hand, looking ready to fight the angel in front of him. And the last one stepped towards Lyla. “No,” she moaned holding Ollie tightly. “Not again, not again, you piece of—”

A flash of white slammed into the angel, and the two rolled away in a flurry of feathers, crashing into a car. Kasbeel came up on top, sitting on the other angel’s stomach, fiery sword pointed downward. “Do you know who I am? Look at me! Do you know who I am?”

The pinned angel blinked. “A…Aziraphale?”

“Yes!” Kasbeel dabbed his forehead with a sleeve, where sweat and golden blood mixed together. “I am Aziraphale, I am the Guardian. You will leave these children – these innocents – and return to New Eden. Do you understand?” He looked at the other angels, numbly holding their abducted charges. Two more brows were beginning to furrow in confusion.

“But…” the angel holding Chloe started. “Our orders?”

“Orders change. This is…this is right from the top. As you can see. Now put them…down…” He stood up, watching the other angels.

Chloe was back on the ground almost immediately, but the angel holding Isaac stood, still smiling, head tilted to one side. Kasbeel walked towards her, sword pointed forward, burning with blue-white flames. “Do not make me fight you,” he said, slowly and clearly. “I only want you to put the child down…and return to New Eden. Can you do that?”

The angel tilted her head the other way, then handed Isaac back to Ella. A second later, all four of them shot off into the air.

“Oh, thank humanity,” Kasbeel murmured, staggering a little. “I think it’s…starting to work.” He smiled blearily at the children.

“Kasbeel! Are you alright?” Lyla ran over to look at his head. A gash ran just under his hairline, thin but bleeding quite a bit.

“Tip-top and tickety-boo,” he shook his head, blinking his eyes rapidly. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Wait – Alex!” Lyla spun around, counting her group. “They still have Alex! An angel with white and gold wings…”

Kasbeel scanned the sky. “Over there, I see them.” His wings flapped – sounding heavy and noisy compared to the other angels – and off he went into the sky.

“What was that?” Mickey demanded, coming up beside her.

“What do you mean?” Lyla didn’t take her eyes off the distant white specks. They stood out against the sky, which seemed a little dimmer than it had been; one circled the other, little flashes of light against the dark blue. She couldn’t see Alex at all.

“I mean – how did he do that? Convince the angels he was their leader?”

“Hm? Oh, Kasbeel looks just like the Guardian of Humanity. He’s, I don’t know, a clone or something.”

“The hell does that mean?” Mickey demanded. “Clones? You seriously think that’s how angels work?”

“Um, yeah?” Lyla glanced down just for a second to frown at him. “Like all those demons that look the same? What are they called, Eric? Same thing, right?”

“No, not the same thing.” Mickey scratched at his Mark, black brand just above his right eyebrow. “How long were you with the Marked ones before you joined him?”

“Only about two minutes. It’s kind of a weird story.”

“Because I was with them for seven years,” Ella said, stepping up to her other side. “And that thing Legion has going on? Is unique. No other demons are identical like that.”

“And definitely not any angels,” Mickey added.

“What?” Lyla glanced between them. “You’re wrong, ok? I saw it myself. The Guardian took my brother right out of my arms. He looked like Kasbeel, talked like him, even smiled the same way. It was really scary. But they were both there – at the same time – so I know it’s not some kind of trick.”

“Look, even if they’re, I don’t know, twins or something?” Mickey shook his head. “Angels can’t just – override orders like that. I used to fight against them. And the angels are…look, once those trumpets go, nothing in the world can change their minds. So that? That was impossible.”

A trumpet blast echoed over Milton Keynes.

One of the two white shapes above departed.

--

Kasbeel clutched Alex tightly in one arm, his sword in the other, flapping exhausted wings to try and stay aloft. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

“Nnnnh,” the child managed, drowsy. The Retrieval angels often put their captives to sleep.

“It’s alright. We’re almost down.” He’d drifted away from the shopping area. Below was some sort of oddly-shaped grid of roads, filled with almost-identical houses. It looked like the other angels were departing. He didn’t know if there were any losses, but he couldn’t rush after any more until Alex was safe, anyway.

He landed, stumbling, at an intersection: brick road, brick sidewalk, brick walls surrounding the blighted gardens of brick houses. The trees that had once stood at every corner were long dead, but it still seemed shady and cool. He put down his sword and carefully stretched the child out on the ground. “Wake up, dear. I’ll need you to find—”

Something stuck his ribs, sending him staggering down the street, dropping his sword.

Kasbeel looked up into –

Into his own face.

Aziraphale, the Guardian of Humanity, armed with a flaming sword. Two flaming swords, as he retrieved the second from the ground.

The wave of obedience crashed into Kasbeel again, but it was scattered this time, less certain. Perhaps he’d finally learned to resist it properly, or at least enough to stay on his feet.

“Did you kill any of our brethren?” the Guardian demanded.

“No. Certainly not if you heal the ones I fought.” Kasbeel pressed a hand to his ribs. They hurt, but he could easily have been killed if the angel hadn’t wanted answers. “Did you harm any of my children?”

“I would never harm any human,” the Guardian said simply. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“That’s…rather a complicated question.” He scrubbed at his forehead, trying to think clearly. “Where do you take them? Is it far?”

“New Eden. Its location is one of Heaven’s most guarded secrets, you won’t get it from me.” He slowly circled, eyes locked on Kasbeel. “Are you here to stop my work?”

“Not initially,” he conceded. “But I’m afraid it’s become something of a hobby for me.” Another wave lapped over his mind, telling him to relax…filling his mind with questions…

Why would an angel’s mind be full of questions?

“An interrogation,” he realized. “I’m not resisting, the orders are just confused – you’re interrogating me, and I’m interrogating you back.”

Well, if there was one thing Kasbeel was better at, it was asking questions. He’d had the very best teacher. “Why would they send you? Do they not know who they’re dealing with?”

“I do as I’m ordered, and I don’t ask questions. Why would you resist?”

“Because I cut ties with Heaven years ago. As you should have. Why are you helping them?”

“This is what’s best for humanity.” The Guardian sheathed one sword, keeping the other unwaveringly pointed at Kasbeel’s chest. “It’s for the best.”

“It most certainly is not!” Kasbeel spread his arms, gesturing to the rapidly dimming street. “Look around you! This world is dying. What will remain? Not food, not books, not music. Why aren’t you trying to protect that?”

“I am protecting it! The humans will recreate all that in New Eden. Once they learn to obey. Why would you want to stop that?”

“Because I happen to have noticed, young man, that it is humanity’s disobedience and – and willful nature that leads to their best developments!”

“I’m not younger than you.”

“You’re certainly more foolish.” Kasbeel stepped forward, ignoring the blade, looking only at the Guardian’s eyes. They were wide, worried. The interrogation wasn’t going as planned, and he didn’t know what to do. “Look at yourself. The Trumpets might make it easier to practice perfect obedience, but they leave you unable to adapt. Every soldier knows that’s more important – I learned that in the first war! Why didn’t you?”

“I did,” he said through clenched teeth. “But things…changed…”

“They certainly have. And now it appears that I can command your soldiers. Your days of stealing children are coming to an end. I will find your prison and—”

He was cut off by a hand slammed into his throat, shoving him against the wall. The Guardian towered over him, holding – not a sword, a little glass screen, like what the angels used in Heaven, like Crowley’s smart telephone.

This one showed an image of Crowley, chained to a wall in a dark room. His wings were stretched to either side of him, nails driven through the soft flesh, already looking misshapen and ragged. An angel stood before him, with a hammer. The video began to play.

“Ahhh! Aaaaaaah!” Crowley cried out, over and over again. “What do you want? Just ask me a question, I’ll – AAAAH!” He screamed as the hammer crashed into the delicate bones of his left wing. “Stop! Please, don’t – AAAAH!” Another swing, another snapping noise.

The angel in the video paused in his work, switching to a larger hammer. Crowley collapsed forward, pulling against chain and nails, sobbing. “…Aziraphale…” he moaned.

“Crowley…” He looked up at the Guardian before him, trying to stay calm. “How long…have you had…Crowley?”

“Years.”

With a scream, Aziraphale rushed the other angel, throwing him back, away from the wall, into the street. He felt the pressure of obedience snap in his head, dissipating in an instant, as he threw his fists against the Guardian again and again. “Give him back to me! Give him back! You awful – you monster—”

The Guardian’s wings flashed and in an instant, he was shooting away across the dark sky. “Get back here you coward!”

“…Kasbeel?” A soft voice. Alex still lay on the street, just waking up.

“I’m here, child, I’m here,” choking back his anger, Kasbeel knelt beside godchild, pressing lips to the forehead. His own face was wet. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmmmh,” Alex moaned. “How long was I asleep? It’s night?”

“No, it should still…” But while he’d been distracted, the town around them had grown dark. Kasbeel looked up. The sun was still overhead, but it had turned black as if covered in sackcloth.

The sun was going out.

--

(The angel who attempts to take Alex is Ishliah, previously seen in “Miracle” and “Holiday.”

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