#a piece of a brick that i picked off the wall of a bank

[wetsydy]

i've started writing something for someone who is now very dear to me and this is the one platform i have disconnected from them so i really wanted to share what i've been working on. It's in scraps so far but I really like the style that it's in despite missing some transitions to the next character i promise ill fix it skljlakj

Warning!~~ TWD Dead City Spoilers!

"Oh.. Negan. Look at you." The Dama soothed as he stared out over the full street of Manhatten. Her hands settled over his shoulders as he let out a deep sigh and felt the rush of power go through his veins. Remembering the way that he was empowered during his ruling of the Sanctuary. He listened to her soft chuckle as she let her touches linger before taking a step beside him, her small hands gripping the railing in front of them as she looked out over the followers. The Croat lingered on the sidelines, watching Negan as if he was a scolded dog that was told to keep quiet. He winced as he listened to the chatter of the followers begin to erupt in the air, excited murmurs about the legacy that Negan had picked up. He was their leader now.. a strong leader that was rumored to be cold but fair. The Dama knew full and well that Negan would fall into old habits once she was able to give him a little nudge, it was only a matter of time until she got to see the full extent of his power. Or so the Croat had described, she of course had her doubts about the man... but his stunt at the bank with the Burazi was just enough of evidence that she needed to bring him in. She studied the way his eyes flickered over the crowd... but in reality he was putting on a show that he knew she enjoyed. He had to find a way to stop this... wanted to know the chain of command and what would happen to him if he decided to pull on the right strings that would set him free along with Maggie and her son. He sucked on his teeth and turned his head slightly to look at her. "I'm ready." he finally agreed, taking a deep breath and looking back over their followers. "Let's do this."

(transition should go here, but i didn't write one just yet so shh)

Maggie stared through the foggy unclean glass of the bedroom she shared with Hershel, his sketches scattered across the walls partly due to the craze she had after his kidnapping. She had always told him she adored the drawings, and in his absence she took the time to look over each delicately created piece. None of the smudged shadows going unrecognized as she studied the faces. Headshots of people around The Bricks that she faintly recognized, but also a collection of those she didn't, perhaps made up characters that Hershel created. One of a man that looked faintly like the husband she once knew. When Hershel was younger he recalled the portrait on his homes wall of his father.. but he did the drawing out of pure memory..

Her hand gently ran across the cool metal of the doorknob before she turned it and entered their small candle lit room. Her gaze ran across her sons back, who was half asleep leaning on his hand. Fingers dusted with lead from his pencil. She softly grasped his shoulders and shook, leaning down to whisper into his ear. "Go lay down. It'll be alright. I want to talk in the morning." He obliged almost instantly, letting the pencil in his right hand drop onto the desk quietly. He shuffled around and managed to pick himself up and carry himself to bed, laying down face first into the neatly made arrangement of pillows and bedding. Maggie watched him with a sense of guilt, moving towards him and pushing him to roll over so that she could tuck him in, hesitating a moment and brushing his soft hair off of his forehead to kiss it. She drew back to watch his sleeping figure.. hands finding their way to tuck into her pockets, breathing out. "You were right.. and I'm going to make it right, Hershel. I'm going to find him.. and I'm going to fix this." she said quietly to herself, turning and taking a seat back at the desk, straightening up the papers and blowing the remains of eraser off of them. As she gathered the papers and put them into a straightened pile she paused at the sight of one of them loosely hanging out of his schooling notebook. She curiously reached and pulled at the corner of the page, her eyebrows drawing together as she glanced over her shoulder to Hershel.. then committed and picked up the book, opening it to the disheveled page full of scribbles and a clear drawing of a womans face. Maggie was no artist but she knew that something this clear had to have taken some time.. but yet she had no idea whos face she was peering at. In the mess of scribbles merely two words were legible. Madame Dama

#the walking dead #dead city #maggie rhee #negan smith #twd dead city #twd negan #twd maggie #lowkey neggie #please don't cancel me #twd #writing #twd writing

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Writing Snippet #10

O Positive

Part 2

Ok so @im-a-wonderling had a FANTASTIC idea for a snippet, but I’m putting the ask below to not cause spoilers lol:)

Special thanks to @im-a-wonderling as well for the beta read, edits, suggestions, and expert medical knowledge to help make this way more realistic than my original draft! You’re amazing!!!

—————————————————

Hero shifted from side to side as she stood in line, fingers clutching a bottle of orange juice.

“Well you’re prepared.” Hero’s head shot up as the attendant waved her forward. “Normally people wait until after to go for the juice.”

She chuckled nervously. “That’s me... prepared.”

“ID?” She scrambled through her wallet, making sure she didn’t grab either of the two aliases she’d already used at different locations that morning.

She would have used the same ID, but last time she’d tried to explain that she healed super fast- a result of her powers- and could donate more, the resulting argument had lasted nearly an hour, with nurses questioning whether her “magic blood” could even be used at all (it was perfectly normal blood thank you very much), and they’d still only let her donate the normal amount.

She handed him the correct ID, and he shoved a clipboard full of paperwork at her. A phlebotomist led her to a reclining chair. Even though she’d filled out the information twice that morning, it still took approximately twelve years to finish the stack of forms. The phlebotomist returned, and began asking her an equally long list of questions. She only half paid attention to the stream of questions.

Have you received any blood transfusions?

No.

Have you traveled in the last 6 months?

No.

Are you free of HIV or any other blood diseases?

Yes.

Have you ever been pregnant?

Yes.

Wait! No!

The phlebotomist chuckled as she snapped on a pair of gloves. “Ok let’s see that arm.” Hero held out her mark-free arm. After the first donation that morning, the needle mark and resulting bruise had been gone in a matter of minutes. After the second, she’d had to wait over thirty minutes before the signs of her deception to fade. The phlebotomist wrapped a tourniquet above her elbow before consulting her paperwork.

“It says here you’d like to do a double donation?”

“Yes.”

“You have to be 150lbs in order to donate that much sweetie.” The older woman eyed Hero dubiously.

Her throat went dry. “I know. I am.”

“I’m just going to take one bag today; you’re looking a little pale, honey.”

“But the other phlebotomist let me—”She cut off and cleared her throat. “I mean, last time I donated. It was fine.”

The phlebotomist shook her head as she felt the inside of Hero’s arm for the vein.

Hero forced a cheery smile. “This is important. I’ll be fine.”

By tomorrow, she added silently. Or the day after that...

Last time she’d only been able to get in one regular and one double donation before she’d gotten called into help with a work emergency. She’d spent the rest of the day in bed, but had woken up fine the next morning. Of course, that was only half the amount of blood...

The woman narrowed her eyes before shaking her head.

“The shortage is the worst it’s been in years, but I’m only going to take one bag today.”

“But—”

“Unless you’d like to go stand on that scale over there?”

Hero blanched, then mutely shook her head.

The woman muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I thought not,’ before raising her voice to a normal volume. “And make sure to take it easy and drink that orange juice you’ve got there.” She nodded at the bottle in Hero’s hand as she swabbed her arm with an alcohol wipe and picked up a needle.

“I will.”

————— 30 minutes (or so) later —————

Hero made it ten steps out of the building before she collapsed against the wall, head swimming. She peeled the tape and cotton ball off her arm. Blood immediately began to trickle down her forearm.

She struggled to unscrew the cap of her juice, hands shaking. Finally, she succeeded, the cap slipping through her fingers and bouncing against the sidewalk. She brought the bottle to her lips, but only managed a few sips before her stomach revolted. She clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, willing herself not to throw up.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the curious stares from pedestrians on the crowded downtown street.

She needed to get home.

A quaking boom shook the ground, and Hero cracked open her eyes to see a plume of smoke a few blocks over.

Most likely the bank on main. Or the diamond store next door.

She took a step towards the plume of smoke, but the ground was still rocking, and she had a feeling it wasn’t from the explosion. She closed her eyes as panicked civilians began running to and fro.

Her phone rang out in a pealing tone, sending her a foot into the air, her orange juice falling to the ground with a sticky splash.

The emergency line.

Groaning, she accepted the call.

“Hero! Villain just set off a bomb on Main Street.”

“Diamonds or bank vault?”

“BOTH! You need to get over there now!”

Hero covered her eyes. She wanted to, she really did. If only the ground would stop moving.

“It’s my day off. Send Other Hero.” She cringed at her seemingly callous words, but she didn’t think the Hero Agency would exactly condone what she’d just done.

Even if she was just trying to save lives.

“Other Hero is undercover spying on Supervillain. Your phone shows you are six blocks away. That will take you 12 seconds to get your speedy butt over there.”

A second explosion rocked the ground.

Oh he didn’t. Hero growled, pushing off the wall and taking a hesitant step forward.

The ground was finally still. Much better. She pulled out the spare mask she always kept in her purse and fitted it across her eyes.

12 seconds, she scoffed.

————— 9 (and a half) seconds later————

Hero skidded to a halt in front of the shattered front windows of Pristine Diamonds.

The windows of the bank next door were in a similar condition. She rested a hand against the ash stained wall, gasping as the world spun.

She forced her head up, scanning the scene. A gaping hole had been blown in the wall connecting the two businesses, and smoke was still pouring out of both buildings. She darted into the diamond store, moving without her super speed through the black air. She made it to the back of the store, where the massive safe stood empty, the door hanging drunkenly off one hinge.

She cursed and made her way to the jagged hole. She was halfway across the bank lobby when a figure leapt from the smoke and she was thrown to the side.

She scrambled to her feet as Villain faded back into the smoke. His laughter echoed around her as she spun in desperate circles. The smoke thickened until it was nearly solid around her.

“You’re slow today, Hero.” The voice rang out behind her, and she whirled around, but there was nothing but smoke.

Her vision was truly swimming now. She swiped at her eyes. “And you’re extravagant. You can create smoke from nothing, you didn’t actually need to set off a bomb.”

“I was creating a passage between the businesses. They should thank me.” The voice was to her right, and she spun again. There was no point in super speed if she couldn’t see. Her head was starting to pound.

“And that outfit.” The whisper brushed against her neck, and she whirled around again, only to see the smoke curling in around the place where Villain had just stood.

She glanced down self-consciously at her pink shorts and baggy tie-dye T-shirt.

“You already ruined my day off. There’s no need to mock my clothes as well.” She huffed, taking determined strides in the direction she hoped was the door.

“Who said I was mocking?”

She sensed him behind her the instant before he attacked. She spun. He hit. She flew. Across the room. To the floor. Over chunks of rubble. And into a brick wall.

Her back cracked against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs.

Smoke swirled through the air as Villain emerged, the dark tendrils receding to lap at his heels.

He looked surprised; he’d never actually managed to land a blow that direct before.

Hero forced herself off the ground. It was time to retreat. She summoned her powers, but between her swimming head and the sharp pain in her leg, she made it only a few feet before sinking back to the ground with a quiet whimper of pain.

She forced her blurry gaze up to Villain, who was regarding her with a strange expression on his face.

“I thought you healed as fast as you can run.”

She blinked, and realized he wasn’t looking at her, but at her leg.

She looked down. Blood seeped from a long shallow gash on the outside of her calf, no doubt from a sharp piece of rubble.

Smaller cuts and bruises covered the rest of her body, and none of them were healing.

“That’s strange.” She wiped clumsily at the cut.

Villain’s eyes narrowed. “You seem oddly off your game, Hero. You haven’t lost that much blood.”

She mustered the energy to glare at Villain. “I did tell you this was my day off.”

“I wonder if it’s from the blood earlier.” She mused, floating on a hazy cloud.

The tendrils of smoke scattered as Villain knelt down beside her.

“What blood? You came to fight me when you were already injured?”

His voice sounded as though he was speaking through a tunnel.

“There’s a national blood shortage. Worst it’s been in years.”

“So?”

“So, I donated.”

Villain scoffed as he produced a cloth from somewhere and began wrapping it around her leg. “You have regenerative healing powers, a pint of blood wouldn’t have made you this weak.”

Hero shook her head and weakly held up five fingers.

Villain froze. “FIVE PINTS OF BLOOD!” He roared, smoke dancing angrily around them. “ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY INSANE!? YOU SHOULD BE DEAD RIGHT NOW!”

Her head throbbed with every word, and she flinched away.

“I heal fast.” It was barely a whisper, but his fiery eyes met hers.

“I don’t care how fast you heal. No one can survive losing half their blood.” At least now his rage was contained to a low snarl. He grabbed Hero’s hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Your hands are freezing! What were you thinking!? Why would you face me after donating that much blood?!? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He continued to seethe as he swept Hero into his arms and strode through the bank. He paused only to swing a bulging duffle bag onto one shoulder before he swept out through a second gaping hole into a back alley. A dark SUV was waiting in the shadows. He tossed the bag into the back and slid Hero into the passenger seat.

She curled against the warm leather.

“I was just trying to help.” She mumbled, her voice muffled as she spoke into the headrest.

“I know.” A hand ran down her hair. “Close your eyes. Sleep.”

She forced her eyes wider, remembering. “I can’t. I have a job to do.”

Villain shut her door and rounded the car to the driver’s side. Slipping into place, he started the engine.

“Not today.” He managed a small smile even as his eyes crinkled in concern.

“It’s your day off, remember?”

Original request from @im-a-wonderling:

“I started thinking about a story where the hero donates blood and then the villain does something that the hero has to go and face them. The villain notices the hero is off their game, but assumes they’re just tired or something. Then, the hero gets injured. The injury is really minor in terms of blood loss, but the hero is pale and sickly and can’t stand up and the villain gets all protective like “WHY would you come and FACE ME if you DONATED BLOOD today?!” And the hero mumbles “They’re having a blood shortage.” And the villain is ready to wring the hero’s neck for not taking care of themselves. So they just scoop the hero up in their arms and brings them back to their lair to feed them and let them sleep.”

Again thanks so much for the request!! I hope I did it justice:)

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #hero and villain #hero #villain #snippet #my writing #write #writeblr #ive donated blood exactly once #thanks again for the medical expertise #don’t lie on medical forms pls ppl #chaotic good heroes #protective villain

[thadelightfulone]

Prologue

Story Summary:  Erik Stevens has a wonderful life - traveling around the world, empowering black people, and living life on his terms. There is just one piece that is missing but how will she complete his destiny?

Demi Bishop sat at her desk, gently tapping her fingers on a file. Picking it up, she opened it for the umpteenth time. She glanced over the two sheets inside and then closed it again. She put the file down and pushed it to her left.

She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. It’s been years since she felt this unnerved about meeting a new patient, but this was something new for her. After spending her entire career behind prison walls, Demi was on her own. The freedom of picking her own patients drew her to private practice.

Her first client would be one of the biggest she had ever encountered. She worked with many notorious people during her career, but he is well-known for being a positive influence in the black community. This could be the boost she needs to move from prison psychiatry to mainstream therapy.

--- 3 Days Earlier ---

Demi’s hand felt along the nightstand for her vibrating cell phone. Someone was about to get cussed out waking her up and the sun wasn’t even shining through her curtains yet? She blinked at the bright screen and saw it was her best friend, Xavion calling.

“MiMi, I have a huge favor to ask.” The voice rushed out over the phone line.

“What’s in it for me, Xay?” Demi sighed.

“My undying devotion.” He sang.

“I have that already. Give me something else.” She yawned, glaring at the red numbers on her digital clock that read 4:30am.

“My first child?”

“I don’t want kids.” She mumbled out as she rolled back over and put the phone on the pillow next to her. “One more try and then I’m hanging up.” Demi pulled her comforter over her head.

“Demi, come on.”

Demi’s soft snores could be heard on the line.

“Please. I really need this favor, so I can look good at work.”

She lifted her head off the pillow, “What do I have to do?”

“I have a client for your practice.”

Demi threw the comforter off of her and sat up in bed. She put the phone on speaker and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

“So, my boss had this really interesting case where the guy was given mandatory therapy before returning to work.”

“I’m listening.”

“He doesn’t want to do it, but he has to, ya know. So, we told him that we would find a therapist for him to complete his sessions with and sign off on his return. It’s simple, meet with him the minimal number of times allowed by the program and then clear him.”

Demi looked down at her phone in confusion. This could not be her friend asking her to do this.

“Xay, you know that’s not how therapy works. Hell, that’s not even how I work.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s all or nothing. It’s my license on the line if he repeats or reoffends.”

“Trust me. You do not have to worry about that with him. He’s good people.”

“Good people don’t end up in mandatory therapy programs, Xay.”

“MiMi!” He groaned.

“Absolutely not. I understand that your bosses have people on payroll to do shit like this for them and that’s great. But I will not be one of them.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, “and for you to even come to me with this bullshit this early in the morning. Thanks friend.”

“MiMi. I didn’t mean to - ”

“You want me to see this man as a client? Then you inform him about how I work. He can see it through to the end and at my recommendation or he can find someone else to buy off.”

“Demi, please -”

“No Xay. Talk to your client and if he is fine with my proposal, you can send me his file.” She hung up the phone.

---

Xavion sent her an electronic file that contained a picture of her new client, Erik Stevens. It contained the court case details and the anger management program paperwork she would sign upon completion. Demi had heard of him and didn’t understand how a man of his status ended up taking the entire blame for this situation.

Handling this case appropriately would provide the exposure she needed to help build her practice. All she had to do was get him to complete the program as outlined by the judge.

---

Erik Stevens looked up at the red brick building and then looked at the note on his phone. This was the place. Apparently, there was a couch with his name on it inside. He was supposed to walk in and speak candidly to some quack for 6 months. There was nothing wrong with him, but the courts didn’t see it that way. Nothing he couldn’t fix during this first visit though.

He entered the lobby and walked to the elevator bank. Erik locked his phone and placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He stood back and waited for the approaching elevator car.

Erik looked at his watch as he exited onto the 5th floor. ‘Early is on time, on time is late and late is unacceptable.’ He smiled to himself, “Time to let Dr. Bishop know how things will go.”

The floor had an open layout with a desk in the center and multiple closed doors surrounding it. He appreciated the mix of modern and classic furniture that made up the office suite shared by all the doctors.

He walked over to the receptionist, who gawked at his entrance. She straightened up in her seat as he approached. “I’m here for Dr. Bishop. I have a 3 oclock appointment.”

“Uh, yes sir, Mr. Stevens.” She smiled up at him, “Please have a seat.”

He returned the smile. “So, you do know who I am?” He looked down at her over the countertop that covered her seated position.

Erik surveyed her. Her pressed hair and pearly white smile to her chaste blouse down to her skirt that showcased glistening chocolate brown legs in stiletto heels. He lifted his gaze back to her face and when he met her stare, she immediately looked away.

“Of course, I’ve attended a few of your seminars before. You are the reason I have this job.” She looked at her computer and then back up at him, “You are quite early, but I’ll let her know you are here.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He stood up and pushed back the panels of his jacket revealing a gold lining. Then he leaned onto the counter and followed her line of sight until she met his again, “By the way, what’s your name?” He held his hand out to her.

“Sylvanna.” She giggled and slowly placed her hand in his.

“Sylvanna, what a beautiful name.” He rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

She nodded at him and Erik immediately relaxed his hold on her hand. Sylvanna quickly corrected herself, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stevens,” She took a deep breath and exhaled, “No, I am not.”

“Good girl. Go out with me.”

“I’d love to.”

“Wonderful. I’ll need your number.” He tapped a notepad in front of her.

Sylvanna flipped to a fresh sheet, wrote it down and gave it to him. He slipped the piece of paper from her hand, folded the sheet and placed it in his pants pocket. He took her hand again and gave it a slight squeeze.

“You can let Dr. Bishop know I am here now.” He winked at Sylvanna, turned and walked away.

She shook her head, took another deep breath and reached for the intercom, “Yes, Mr. Stevens.”

---

For several minutes, Erik stood by the window observing the cityscape. This was his town and his home, Oakland. His work was for his people. He didn’t understand why he was here when he paid people to take care of things like this for him. Why have a law firm on retainer when they couldn’t even get him out of mandatory therapy?

Erik sighed, “Sometimes, you gotta do the messy work yourself.”

Sylvanna called his name. “Dr. Bishop will see you now, Mr. Stevens.”

He turned as he buttoned up his suit jacket to find her standing, “Thank you, Sylvanna.” He walked up to her, “So, where I am going?”

She pointed down the center hallway, “It’s the first door on your right.”

“Great. I will see you later tonight.” He winked at her.

He strode towards the office with a smile as he brushed down his jacket. Erik took a deep breath and knocked before he entered.

“Dr. Bishop?”

“Yes, Mr. Stevens. Please come in.”

Erik froze, one hand on the doorknob, at the feminine voice that greeted him. Dark brown eyes hidden behind slim black-rimmed glasses looked expectantly up at him. He closed the door behind him and stepped forward. Erik studied the woman sitting at the large wooden desk. This was gonna be easier than I thought.

She waved her hand to the chair in front of her desk. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Dr. Bishop. The pleasure is all mine.” He replied.

Erik walked over and sat down in the straight-backed chair.

“I have some housekeeping things to go over and then we can start.”

Erik watched her shuffle a few files and a legal pad in front of her. Right down to business. She impressed him.

He moved his chair forward and pulled a pen from his jacket. “Great, let me know where to sign.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Bishop snapped at him.

Erik continued, “I am so glad you changed your mind. I need to get back out on the road and speak to all my people.”

He reached for one of the files on her desk. She pulled it out of his reach.

“I think you are mistaken, Mr. Stevens.” She gathered the files together and placed them on a file rack.

---

Does this man really assume that I am going to cheat the system for him? Who the fuck does he think he is?

Demi looked over at Erik as he relaxed into the chair. He unbuttoned his jacket and the lining flashed gold before the suit tails settled around him.

No, he didn’t.

He was wearing a gray pinstripe suit with gold cufflinks. She shook her head as he clasped his manicured hands together on his lap.

He really thinks highly of himself.

“Mr. Stevens, I am aware that you spoke with Mr. Davis about my terms.” When Erik nodded, she continued, “What makes you think I have changed my mind?”

“Well, you have the paperwork in front of you. And there is nothing that YOU can teach me about channeling anger and using it for better,” he moved his hands as he spoke, “I do this for a living.”

Demi smiled at Erik, “Ahhhh, no wonder you are dressed so... impressively.” She pointed at his suit, “This must be your ‘I talk in money’ suit. No wait, it’s your ‘Let’s talk business’ suit.”

---

Erik slowly bobbed his head at her. The more she spoke the more he wanted to hear everything she had to say. He was pleased to say the least. She definitely had a nice read on him.

“You must have thought that you could walk in here and negotiate the terms of your court-mandated therapy.”

“That’s correct.” He sat forward in his seat.

Demi tapped her chin, “So, that’s why you came in here peacocking? Beautiful coat, by the way.”

He watched as Demi stood up and walked around her desk. She stopped in front of it and him.

“Let me introduce myself then.” She leaned against the desk and crossed one of her legs in front of the other. “My name is Dr. Demi Bishop and I will be your counselor as you work through your anger management program.”

A sly smile crept across Erik’s face. “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely.” She reached beside her and grabbed one of the folders on the desk. “In fact, here is your first assignment.” She handed it to him, “Go ahead and read that before our next session.”

Demi walked around his seat and went to her office door. She opened it and then turned back towards Erik.  

---

She held the door as Erik stood up.

He took the opportunity to get a better view of her. Her loose curls were in a bun, some tendrils framing her cherubic face. She wore a fitted brown blazer over a black sheath dress. Sensible black heels finished the look. Hmmm, what are you hiding Ms. Bishop?

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Stevens. I will see you Wednesday. Preferably at your appointed time.”

He brushed up against her as he passed by and heard her deep inhale once he crossed the door’s threshold.

Erik walked to the bank of elevators and hit the down button. While he waited, he looked inside the folder and found an article about healthy ways to deal with anger. This woman is something else. Erik closed the folder and twisted into a tube. He hid his hand in his pants pocket and balled up his fist.

The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. Erik looked back at Demi standing in her doorway. He waved to her, “Yes, you will see me again, Miss Bishop.”

A/N: Trying something new. Taglist is open. 

#erik stevens #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x black oc #black panther fanfiction #devoted #thadelightfulone

[ajbwasntwriting]

Daughter!Reader x Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 4. Bow Boy

First | Previous | Next

After way too many chapters the reader will now meet our favorite archer. 

I’ll only post more chapters if previous chapters get a good reaction so if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

 if you wish to be added to the tag list please dm me. All chapters can be found under the tag AJ’s Negan’s Daughter AU

In the weeks that followed you had become adept at moving through the dead. You had set up a little place closer in the city for yourself, complete with a crappy veggie garden on the roof of an apartment complex for yourself. Only Tomatoes, Onions, and Lettuce seemed to grow up there but it was better than nothing. You had built up a steady collection of books, turning one of the abandoned apartments into a library. You treated the zombie books as if they were comedy. ‘If only they knew’ you’d think looking at your wardrobe which consisted of some comfortable pieces to lounge around your hideout in and a bucket of cloths stewing in guts for when you went out. It proved beneficial to leave the home smelling freshly dead.

You were trying to build up a collection of canned food, meant to get you through the winter, but it wasn’t enough and with your last crop failing you knew it was back to foraging for at least the next three months. You had an old calendar broken up and spread across your floor. If you could fit seven cans on each page then you’d be fine...but seven cans was all you had, not including the dog food. The only good thing is that food was the only thing you had a hard time coming up with.

You were wandering through the streets again in your walker gear, your bag empty, aside from some old seed mix you took from the pet store. The snow had begun to fall making being discrete more difficult as the dead would often get stuck or fall over, which wasn’t an option for you. ‘Maybe when it gets heavy I can wear my normal clothes.’ you thought.

It was no use, the sun was setting, and traveling deeper into town would prove a fruitless effort if you got caught by the dead. You backtracked to a bank. The doors were broken and bloodied and ripped sleeping bags lined the ground, but what you came here for was the boards on the windows. You ripped some filling from a sleeping bag, shoving it into your ruck-sack, and moved to the windows.

You got the first board down but the click of a gun stopped your movements. “Turn around. Slowly” a man with a southern accent spoke. You did as he said, turning around with your hands raised. To say you were surprised would be an understatement. Before you stood Rick Grimes, along with a man with a crossbow and a woman with dark hair pulled into a tight pony, pointing a familiar rifle at you.

“Hey...Rick was it?” you nodded to the woman “Glad to see you got some use out of that rifle.” It took a moment for it to dawn on Rick who you were, at which he couldn’t contain his chuckle at your overly friendly attitude.

“I didn’t recognise you with all that filth on your face, then again I never got your name.”

“I have reasons to prefer it that way,” you smiled at him.

“Look, can you leave those blanks? We need to camp here for the night.” He asked, not putting his gun down, but you didn’t judge.

“I need the wood,”

“Let’s just kill her” the man spoke up, stepping closer then visually wincing. You looked him over quickly and noticed his leg was bleeding badly.

“Your hurt,” you spoke, locking eyes with the man. After a glance over the rest of them, it seemed they had been through a war. Maybe that’s why they decided to stay “I can help with that if you let me. I have a safe house not too far from here.” you said, nodding to the man behind Rick. “In return you guys just gotta help me carry up some planks to make a fire.”

“No” the woman behind Rick spoke.

“Yes,” Rick interjected. He turned to his group, his back to you which seemed to make them trail their weapons on your head. You took a step back for their sake. “If she says she can patch Daryl up then she can.”

“Why do you trust her?” the woman asked, not taking her eyes or aim off of you for a second.

“It’s a long story,” he whispered “But we’re cold and exposed out here. So I say we take her up on the offer.”

“Can I go back to getting my wood now?” you interrupted them. “It’s getting late and it’s hard to navigate in the dark”

“Yeah,” Rick said, turning back to you. You turned and started pulling the planks off the windows, now with Rick’s help. The other two took a moment to join you too, pulling a couple planks off the wall. Between yourself and Rick you had a few days worth of wood, while the woman was busy helping the second man who was limping. You lead them down to an old red-brick building, leading them to the entrance to the basement.

“It’s ten flours up,” you said, unlocking the gate and motioning the group to go down. “You’ll sleep like babies after.” Once inside the planks were offloaded onto you to carry the second man up the floors. Once on your floor, you dropped the planks onto the ground, finding an oil-lamp in the moonlight and turning it on. The group looked even more exhausted now. You held out the lamp to Rick and nodded to the door to your left. “My bed’s in there. Get him laid out. I’ll be on the roof.” he took the lamp from you. You grabbed two planks and walked past them “Don’t take my food there’s not enough” you called as you passed them.

You opened up the roof, finding what was left of your garden, some plastic boxes collecting snow, and a fire pit you had jerry-rigged out of a sheet of metal, an old lamp, and a punch of wire hangers twirled to suspend a pot that had filled with snow. You grabbed the hatchet you had found from it’s space by the door and got the filling from your bag and started a fire using a lighter. As it burned you went back to the entrance way to the roof, where you kept the bucket of guts for your walker gear and a small cupboard with clean clothes in it and some pieces of cloth. By the time you had peeled off the layers, the snow had turned to water. You poured some out into a neighbouring pot full of snow, cooling it.

As you were washing the gunk off your skin and out of your hair you heard the door open. It was the woman. “I’m so sorry” she yelped, closing the door.

“What is it?” you yelled just before she closed it again.

“We were wondering what was taking you” she answered. “You didn’t mention you were bathing.” you wiped the blood from your arms, your skin reacting to the sudden heat and cold.

“There’s a pot on the stove in my kitchen. Can you bring it up?” you called. She replied positively before fully closing the door. By the time she came back you were fully clean and redressed in some red pants, a black shirt, a yellow hoodie, and a pair of slip-on shoes you’d designated as your house shoes. She held the pot from behind the door, you walked over and opened the door, finding her with her eyes closed. “I’m dressed,” you said, taking the pot. You got some snow from the bins and emptied the last of the water into the new pot. You picked it up.

“I’m Tara, by the way” she spoke up as you walked back towards her.

“I didn’t ask” you replied, walking past her “close the door” you were down one flight of stairs with her behind you when you stopped short, looking over your shoulder. “Sorry, it’s just...safer to not exchange names.” Tara nodded at you

“No, I get it.” she smiled at you meekly. The two of you continued down the stairs. “How do you know Rick?”

“I tried to kill him,” you said plainly, pushing your door open to see Rick and the other man, now sitting on the couch. “I thought I told you the bed.” You said, putting the pot of hot water on the coffee table. “Where’s the wound?”

“His calf,” Rick replied, watching you walk into the kitchen. You threw open one of the presses and to the shock of the other three, it was over flowing with medical supplies. You grabbed a familiar first-aid kid, a bottle of antibiotics, some bandage, and gauze.

“Great. Take off your pants.” You unintentionally slammed the doors closed “Or just roll up the leg of your jeans. Either way, I need a look at it.” The man bent over and rolled up the jean leg.

“Where did you find all that stuff?” Rick asked. You picked up the man’s leg and placed it on the coffee table, shoving the pant leg up.

“Around” you replied as you cleaned the matted blood from the wound. It was a rather deep cut and it didn’t look good. “You’re gonna need stitches, and I’m gonna have to open it up more.”

“The hell you mean open it up more!” The man shouted

“To make sure it’s clean, numb-nuts. How’d you get this?”

“We jumped out of an office window” Tara spoke up. “Daryl got caught on the fire escape.” Now that made you laugh. That fragile-looking man, that baby-faced girl, and this rough-looking redneck is the one that gets hurt.

“Old steal.” you signed dramatically “I gotta clean it properly.” you spoke, opening the first aid kit to show it full of medical tools. Mainly single-use tweezers and scissors. You took some scissors and cut up some gauze, “It’s gonna hurt. Need a towel to bite on?” you asked, using a pair of tweezers to pick up the gaze and soak it in the steaming water.

“Fuck you” Daryl cursed. You positioned your free hand over the wound, pushing it open slightly, causing him to wince.

“As you wish” you cut back before focusing on cleaning the wound. He took it like a champ and you had him bandaged in no time. You dumped the water out the window when you were done. You laughed to yourself as it hit a walker and he grumbled up at you. You didn’t pay attention to their conversation until they pulled you into it.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Rick called over to you. You closed the window and walked back into the sitting room of the apartment,

“Why?”

“Please just answer the question,” Rick spoke quietly. You leaned against a hall and took a deep breath

“I don’t know... a lot”

“How many people have you killed?” he asked. You thought on it a moment and remembered the lady you sent a walker on back at Sanctuary

“One”

“Why?”

“She tried to kill me first”

The three of them looked amongst themselves as if reading each other’s minds. “We have a place-”

“No” you stopped Rick, knowing what was coming next. “I am not going to your camp, and you're not staying here. Tomorrow morning you will leave, and I will stay,” you spoke firmly

“It’s not a camp,” Tara spoke up from where she was sitting on the couch next to Daryl. “It’s a community. We have walls.”

“I’m not going” you spoke slowly, making sure every word was heard. You pushed off the wall and walked past the living area towards your bedroom. “Next door is my library. There’s another bed and a couch. Just don’t take my shit.” you closed the door and locked it for good measure. ‘They’ll take my supplies’ you thought as you crawled into bed, pulling the blankets as closely around you as possible, ‘but they won’t take me’.

The following morning you woke to see your patient out cold on your couch, with his friends on the floor covered in the blankets from the library. It was still dark out, as expected in the winter season, but you still wanted them gone. You walked past him to your door, remembering you’d left your bag on the roof. Everything up there was still in its place too.

Back in your apartment, you prepared a wonderful breakfast; half a can of soup, and some seed mix in a bowl. It tasted like crap but you knew it would fill you for the next while. “Thought you said there was no food” Daryl piped up from the couch. You turned your back to him.

“Not enough for more people” you retorted, slurping down your cold soupy-seedy mix.

“How long have you been out here?” He asked.

“Some time” you said through gulps

“Where were you before this?”

“Someplace else” you snapped, scraping the last of the mix into your mouth. Silence fell for a moment.

“Why did you help us?” he asked. You looked down into the old metal sink as if it had the answers. You used to do the same with the neck of a vodka bottle at sanctuary. They never had the answers. ‘Old soldiers don’t forget their training?’ you thought

“I don’t know” is what you said.

The other two woke not long after. Rick looked at your cabinet than at you before approaching you. Before he could speak you opened it up and pulled out two changes of bandages. “For Daryl,” you said, “Now get out.”

Three days later you were coming back to your home from another run, finding some clothes and chocolate powder but no food. With the seeds, you could stretch your rations to another week but it was still tight. That was when you saw a small pile of cans in front of your door. Eight in total. Soups, peas, beans, apple sauce. Among the cans, you found a small note. ‘From Alexandria’ it read. You thought of the ramifications that might have to your security and how that they’ll probably pay a price for not having enough food for your father this week, then one of the tins read /FAVOURITE SOUP/ and your stomach won over, demanding you to start a fire this minute and warm that can of delicious right up!

You were grateful for the first time. Alarmed the second time. Tired of it by the third time. They would come every week with cans and tins of food. When you expected the next delivery ‘from Alexandra’ you stayed home, sitting on the floor watching the door. The sun had been up a while and you were certain they weren’t coming when you heard heavy steps, followed by the sound of tin knocking off each other. You opened the door quickly, startling the delivery man in the process.

“Howdy, Bow Boy” you spoke to Daryl who had the bow pointed at your face. “What’re you doing?” Daryl slid his crossbow back into place.

“ugh...Feeding ya?” he said, a little embarrassed about getting caught. “I figured you’d be out, scavenging.”

“I usually am but some homeless-looking guy keeps bringing me food” you smiled sarcastically.

“Well he sounds like a gentleman,” he said, picking up the cans and offering one to you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, closing your eyes in annoyance.

“You need it,” he spoke plainly. You pushed your door open and motioned for him to follow.

“Put the cans on the coffee table” you said, going to your medical supplies and pulling some things out and placing them on the counter. “I am not taking any more charity. We are going to trade.” He looked over what you were pulling out.

“Are you sure?” he asked. You nodded sternly.

“You ain’t leaving me short, so I ain’t gonna leave you short. That’s the terms.” you held out your hand to him. “Deal?”

You parted with a lot of medical supplies, some soaps, two blankets, and a box of cutlery. You would have given him more but he couldn’t fit any more in his bag. You’d just have to find him better stuff next time.

Riding into the Sanctuary on his bike, Daryl was greeted by some saviours. He emptied his bag, claiming to have found the pieces. Everyone was overjoyed at the supplies and the fresh blankets went to Rodney and his new-born. Heading back to his quarters he was approached by Lauren. “Daryl! Daryl, it happened again. Some asshole robbed some of our cans”

~ Tag List ~

@softsebastian​

#AJ's Negan's Daughter AU #the walking dead negan #negan the walking dead #negan twd #twd negan #negan fic #twd x reader #twd reader insert #daughter reader #negan x daughter reader #daughter reader x negan #daughter x negan #twd #twd daryl #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #twd tara #the walking dead tara #Rick Grimes #twd rick #The Walking Dead Rick #daryl dixon

[thegreatestofheck]

Promises, Promises ✾ JJ Maybank ✾

request:  Hi! Can I request where John B has a younger sister who is extremely close to JJ but there is kind of a unspoken rule between the three of them: you can look, flirt all you want but no touching or crossing that line. Well they deeply care for each other more than John B knows. Well on the day Luke picks him up from jail in that scene before getting in the car he sees her, just staring at him because she knows what will happen if he gets in. The rest is up to you!

word count - 3.8k  warnings - mentions of abuse, uncomfy interactions with Luke Maybank,  synopsis - You and JJ have an unspoken thing, passed only through stolen glances and half serious flirting. But the day after he takes the fall for Pope, you find yourself standing at a crossroads; do you step in to protect him from his dad, or do you stay out of it? a/n - thank you so much for this request anon!! I wish I could have gotten to it sooner, but I’m so grateful that you came to me with this request, I love it!! Here I am with another Routledge!Reader fic. I will never be tired of these. Never ever. I tried really hard to be proud of this, anon, because you deserve a masterpiece, but I really struggled and I’m so sorry for that. I hope you like it all the same!

                                                               ***

You and JJ had shared many different looks in your lifetime. The kind where your eyes were squinted tight, filled with tears because you were both laughing so hard. The kind where your eyes were wide and his were stone cold because you were terrified and he was ready to raze hell to keep you safe. The kind where you’re standing on opposite ends of the room but you meet each others’ gaze and you know that the both of you wish that distance was closed. 

A thousand different looks, a thousand different moments, and thousand different silent words shared by only the flick of the eye. All of that and it seemed like it boiled down to this moment in time, this one very important look. 

You were standing across the street from where his dad’s car was parked, only a block or so away from the police station. JJ’s face was still messed up from his fight with Rafe, Kelce, and Topper at the Summer Movie Series, but his eyes were more haunted now than they ever had been before. Because he wasn’t walking alone. His dad walked alongside him; jaw tight, hands clenched, gait furious. 

And you knew. You knew what was coming to your best friend if he got into that car. He had taken the fall for Pope, found himself thousands of dollars in debt, thousands of dollars that neither him nor his dad didn’t have. 

Your had curled around the wad of cash in your pocket. After watching Shoupe drive away with JJ the day before, you had broken into your piggy bank, gathered all the tips you had ever received from the wrinkled, old, white men who hit on you at the Wreck, torn apart every piece of furniture in your house to find every last goddamn penny you owned, praying that it would be enough for bail. And if it still wasn’t, you were fully prepared to bat your pretty eyelashes and pout a little bit. 

After all, no one had ever been able to say no to y/n Routledge before. 

But now that you saw JJ walking beside Luke Maybank, you felt oddly silly in your too tight tank top and extra short shorts. All the money in your pocket suddenly lost its worth because JJ’s dad already knew. JJ was already heading straight for hell. 

You watched him for a good while before he tore his gaze from the concrete beneath his feet and looked up across the street. It took a few moments for relief at seeing you to glaze over the fear in his eyes. You barely managed a smile. 

Of all the looks you ever shared, you hated these kind the most. Where you knew that JJ was upset, terrified, on the verge of tears, but he covered it up with a smile and a dirty joke. There would be no jokes now, but there had been so many in the past. 

Like the time you and your brother were cleaning up the Chateau after a nasty storm and he came staggering onto your lawn. He was drunk off his ass, his face a terrible array of purple and red. John B didn’t see the way JJ’s eyes flit back and forth as if watching for someone. He didn’t see the way JJ stumbled to cover the limp in his step. He didn’t hear the way his voice broke as JJ drawled out a snarky remark about the weather.

But you did. You saw everything. 

Maybe it was because you spent your entire life looking. Stealing glances in the early morning when he was still asleep on the pullout. Watching how he flinched when Pope or John B raised their voice a little too loud with an enthusiastic thump on his shoulder. Seeing the way he buried himself in weed and alcohol and girls just to take his mind off of the overbearing fear of not being good enough. 

You saw it all because he was, after all, just a mirror of yourself. 

And you wanted him more than anything. You wanted to know how his calloused hands felt against your always cold skin. You wanted to be surrounded by his scent, the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer and sea salt chocolates. You spent hours awake every night, knowing that he was just a few feet away from your room, wondering if he was in as much agony as you were. 

It wasn’t like you were afraid to tell him how you felt or anything. He knew exactly how badly you wanted to take the pain straight from his heart and put it into yours, how badly you wished to be the thing he craved, how badly you needed to have him around all the time. 

He knew it all because you were, after all, just a mirror of himself. 

The years of pining and flirting and joking and pretending that there wasn’t a barrier between the two of you placed there by your very own brother meant that, at the very moment when JJ needed you the most, you could tell instantly. 

It all took a second. An entire conversation in just the blink of an eye. He knew why you were standing there across the street in your too tight tank top and your too short shorts. He could see the outline of the coins and the cash in your pocket. And he knew that even though you couldn’t save him from spending the night in a jail cell, you would be damned before you left without trying to save him from his dad. 

“No,” his eyes told you as soon as the elation in his face faded. “You’ll get hurt.” 

“If I don’t, so will you.” 

It didn’t matter that an entire road separated the two of you. You’d spent years communicating through a brick wall built by your own two hands. You could still read him perfectly. 

But now wasn’t the time for reading. Road be damned, brick wall be damned. 

You pulled your hand out from your pocket and forced a wide grin on your face. JJ scowled at the sudden change in your demeanor. 

“JJ! Mr. Maybank!” You called and stepped into the street. The old man turned to look at you with the deepest scowl you had ever seen in your life. Just before your mother abandoned you and John B, she had told you that the only thing scowling achieved was wrinkles. Looking at Luke Maybank’s face now, you knew that she was right. 

“What?” He snapped as you stepped back onto the sidewalk. 

“My dickhead brother was supposed to come pick me up but he’s off with some chick,” you lied smoothly, your smile never once faltering. Luke grunted and took a step to push past you and continue walking. As you stepped in front of him again, you sent one quick look to JJ to affirm that you were doing just fine. 

“I was wondering if you could maybe give me a ride?” You asked as sweetly as you could. 

“Look, y/n,” Luke grumbled. “I’ve got shit to deal with right now.” 

At the word ‘shit’, Luke sent a sharp glare over to JJ, who tried not to flinch. Your eyebrows pinched together. You dropped your smile into a small pout and heaved out a heavy sigh. You knew exactly what you were doing, but you tried to ignore Luke’s eyes on you all the same. Just thinking about it sent shivers down your spine. 

“That’s okay,” you said, looking up with a pouty sweet smile. “I’ll just walk.” 

You gave JJ a small wave of your fingers, but you had no intention of leaving. Because only seconds later did Luke Maybank let out a sigh equal to that of your own. 

“Get in the car, y/n. A girl like you walking across the island is bound to get unwanted attention.” 

The smile that grew on your face was equal parts to cover up the fear that his words struck into your heart and elation that your plan had actually worked. You looked over at JJ again, only to see this his eyes were stormy and his jaw was clenched tight. You sent him a wink as his dad brushed past you. 

Falling into step with JJ was like breathing. With you by his side, he was less tense than before. Neither of you said anything on your way to the car, but neither of you really needed to. You hooked your pinky around his and gave a short squeeze before letting your hand fall back to your side. 

There was half a race to the passenger door, but, like always, you won. You sent him your best attempt at a playful smile as you pulled the door open, forcing him to slide into the back seat, disgruntled. In your mind, the harder it was for Luke to reach JJ, the happier you would be, even if it meant sitting next to the one person you hated most on the planet. 

In an attempt to keep your nonchalant air about you, you propped your feet up on the dashboard, leaning back and draping your arm out the window. JJ jammed his knee into the back of your seat, giving you an angry glare, which you dismissed and ignored.

“Feet off the dash, sweetheart.” Luke’s voice was tight even as he tapped his hand once against your shin. You tried to laugh it off as you pulled your feet back but you suddenly realized what exactly you had gotten yourself into. 

“Sorry, Mr. Maybank,” you said as you cast your eyes back to JJ, who was smoldering silently in the backseat. 

“It’s Luke, please,” the older man said, pulling out of the parking spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat and gave a quiet laugh. 

Eight years you had known this man and never once had he let you call him Luke. A pit formed in your stomach. 

“Haven’t seen you around in a while, y’n,” he said. He didn’t turn his head but you can see his eyes shift toward you. 

“Oh, you know. With my dad missing, I’ve been taking care of John B a lot,” you said, waving your hand through the air like it was nothing. “Leaves very little time for a social call.” 

“You’ve grown a lot.” 

How in the hell were you supposed to respond to that? Normal people shouldn’t say shit like that to a teenage girl. You didn’t even have to look at JJ to know that he was absolutely fuming. All you could do was let out a stiff laugh. 

“Where do you need to go?” Luke asked. You cringed to yourself. You hadn’t really thought this far ahead. Improvising was more JJ’s area of expertise, but you’d picked up on a thing or two over the years. You hoped it would be enough to keep you out of deep shit with Luke. 

“JB and I have been working on this bike back at the house and I came out here to buy a part from some guy online. Turned out to be a scam,” you said with a sigh, playing with the broken rubber on the door. 

“This boy back here hasn’t been helping you out?” Luke asked, jamming a thumb in the direction of JJ. You noted how he refused to say his name. 

“Uh, it’s kinda a brother/sister project.” You glanced back at JJ again. He rolled his eyes, smelling your bullshit from a mile away. You weren’t really the tinkering type. 

“I see. What’s the part you need?” 

You almost panicked, your eyes going wide. You knew jackshit about what different parts of a motorcycle were called. JJ had tried to teach you once a few months ago before John B had so rudely interrupted. Giving yourself a few seconds to rack your brain for the name of even a single mechanical part. 

“It’s the uh, I can’t really remember the name,” you chuckled, your heart starting to pound as Luke eyed you carefully. “It’s something weird. Something small and it goes in the engine? I don’t know what JB was thinking sending me.” 

“Why don’t I take you to the house and you can show me which piece you’re missing?” 

Your heart constricted even further. There was a rule you and JJ had. Well, aside from the silent rule not to ever act on their feelings for the sake of John B. This rule had nothing to do with your brother. Never, ever, ever were you supposed to go back to his house. No matter what happened, JJ had told you to stay clear of his house. 

But if you didn’t go, what would happen to him once he was alone? You almost couldn’t stomach it. Looking back at JJ, his eyes were narrowed into a warning. 

“Don’t you dare,” his eyes said. You grimaced. Could you really leave him knowing full well what was waiting for him on the other end? It didn’t feel right. It’s not like Luke would try anything with JJ there. You would be perfectly safe. Or, at least, you had managed to convince yourself you would be. 

“Um, yeah. It’d have to be quick though. Kie’s picking me up from the Chateau in in an hour.” 

It was another lie. You just hoped it would be enough to keep you out of any trouble. JJ sighed audibly and you tried to send him an apologetic look but he was too busy staring out the window. 

The trip to the Maybank abode was full of awkward small talk between you and Luke, JJ refusing to make a sound. He refused to even look at you once Luke parked the car and stepped out. You were expecting him to storm inside, but he stood there and waited for you. The look on his face told you that you had royally pissed him off and for half a moment, you felt ashamed for breaking your promise never to go to his house. 

But that shame faded into a firm resolve. You were helping him. He may be angry at you now, but he would understand later and he’d be grateful. 

You followed after Luke as he walked into the house, keeping your chin high. You were right about this. You had to be. 

“You want a beer?” Luke asked you. You could tell that he had already had a couple this morning. You wondered how many beers it would take for him to pass out. 

“Sure,” you said, tugging on frayed edges of your shorts. Luke didn’t ask JJ if he wanted one. 

“Beer’s and the parts are out in the back,” Luke told you. 

“Okay.” 

You slowed, pausing to stop next to JJ. 

“Are you okay?” You whispered to him. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like to spend the night alone in a jail cell. The idea of him being there all by himself made you queasy. 

“You promised,” he whispered right back, keeping his eyes fixed on his dad, who wandered around the porch looking for something. 

“I know.” Your voice was quiet. 

“y/n!” Luke called. “C’mere!” 

JJ tore his gaze from his father to look down at you. He reached out and grabbed your wrist. 

“Don’t.” 

“He’ll think something’s up. It’s just a beer.” 

“Get out of here, y’n, I swear to God-”

“And leave you here with him?” You let your quiet voice raise ever so slightly and then glanced toward Luke to make sure he hadn’t heard. “No. I’m staying.”

“y/n.” You slid out of JJ’s grip and took a started toward the back porch. “y/n!” 

You stepped onto the porch with a smile. There was an opened beer just waiting for you to grab. You picked it up with as much of a smile as you could muster.

                                                           ***

Forty-five minutes later, you were holding a piece of metal that was supposed to do something for a made up motorcycle that you had no idea how to use and Luke was passed out on the couch. You let out a sigh and set down the empty beer bottle that you hadn’t taken a single drink of. Luke was tipsy enough before you even started talking about motorcycles that he didn’t notice you pouring your beer out over the side of the porch. 

JJ was leaning up against the wall, watching you and his dad carefully. Once you were convinced that Luke was asleep, you turned around to face your friend. 

“My room,” he said, pushing off the wall and turning down the thin hallway. Your heart skipped a tiny beat. He was still upset with you. All your life, you hadn’t really been like John B or JJ. You weren’t confrontational. You liked to keep your head down, walk away without a fight. 

But this wasn’t confrontation you could avoid. You had to follow him. You had no choice, even if the idea of it made you want to vomit. 

You had never been in JJ’s room before. Of course you hadn’t. You weren’t really sure what you had been expecting, but it wasn’t really this. Maybe some old movie posters, some pictures of the pogues, a record player and the albums of his favorite bands. 

But his room was bare. The paint on the walls was peeling. His bed was nothing more than a mattress on the floor with a sheet and a torn comforter. There was a wooden dresser on the wall under the window, but it was chipped and one of the drawers that had been pulled out was broken. Clothes were all over the floor, but it was clear JJ hadn’t been back here in a few days. You knew exactly where he had been, of course. 

“JJ-” 

“What the hell were you thinking?” JJ’s hands were on his hips. You wrapped one hand around your wrist and twisted nervously. JJ putting his hands on his hips meant he was especially agitated and the more agitated he was, the more he was likely to yell.

“I was just trying to keep you safe,” you said, voice quiet. 

“I don’t need you to protect me!” 

You clenched your teeth together as tight as you could. You wished you could properly articulate your side of things without your voice shaking or tears gathering in your eyes, but the sad truth of it was that yelling always made you cry. And you hated it.

“What was I supposed to do? Let you get your ass beat?” 

“Yes!” You flinched at the tone in his voice. “What’s the point of trying to keep me safe if you’re the one who gets hurt?”

“I didn’t get hurt,” you reminded him gently. “I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, well, you might not have been.” There was a look in his eye that you recognized, but you had seen it only a few times before. Fear, true fear. He had gotten good at covering it up over the years, but there was no shroud over the fear in his eyes now. It was a level of vulnerable that was so rare to see on JJ. 

“I understand that,” you said. “And I’m sorry if I freaked you out, but I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.” 

“Why not?” 

“Why not?” The tiniest shred of courage found its way into your heart and your own voice started to rise. “You know damn well why not! What kind of friend would I be if I just let you get into that car alone?” 

“You promised me you would never get in between me and my dad again. You made that promise to me and you just broke it.” 

You tried not to scowl. 

“First of all, I didn’t technically break any promises. I didn’t get in between you and your dad this time. I stopped it from happening in the first place. Second, the promise was never valid because I had my fingers crossed.” It was childish, sure. But you were a child so you had a habit of acting like one from time to time, especially when you got nervous. 

“Dammit, y/n! Can’t you see I’m just trying to keep you safe?” 

“Yeah and I’m trying to keep you safe.”

JJ huffed out a sigh and turned his back on you, which sent a spike of pain through your heart. 

“You should go,” he said. 

“JJ-”

“I’m not kidding. Get out of here before my dad wakes up.” 

You let out a short breath through your nose and clasped your hands together in front of you. You couldn’t help the agitation that burned in your chest. 

“Whatever makes you happy, J.” 

“Fuck you, y/n. You know this doesn’t make me happy,” he turned back around slowly to face you once again and you pursed your lips. 

“Don’t stay here,” you told him, going back to your quiet words and almost shy demeanor. “Come back with me to the Chateau. We can figure everything out.” 

“How?” He asked with an aggressive shrug. “How in the hell are we going to figure anything out?” 

You paused for a moment, searching for the right words to say. You had one shot to get this right, to say the one thing that would get JJ to leave this place with you. 

“Like we always do,” you said after a few moments. “Together.” 

You extended out your hand to him, silently begging for him to bridge the gap between you. He hesitated, glancing between your tear-glossed eyes and your outstretched hand. Eternity passed in those few moments before he made his decision. A bead of sweat ran down your spine. A cool breeze left a wave of goosebumps across your legs in its wake. Your eyes swam with tears but not a single one of them fell. And you waited. 

Eternity passed and JJ finally made his move. His hand was up, reaching for yours as he took a step forward. You were pulling him into your arms before his fingertips even grazed your own. He let out a single, shuddered breath like a sob of relief as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pressed a gentle kiss against the side of his head. 

“I can’t promise you that everything will work out the way we want it to,” you whispered quietly to him. He let out another shaky breath as he held tight to your hand, one arm wrapped around your waist. “But I can promise you that whatever you face, you won’t be alone.” 

“Your fingers aren’t crossed this time?” he asked in a half hearted attempt to joke, but he didn’t even attempt to crack a smile as you pulled away from him to look him in the eyes. 

“I promise,” you told him, holding your uncrossed fingers up in front of him. He nodded once, his hair shaking loose and falling in front of his eyes. “Come on, then. Let’s go home.” 

________________________________________________________________

taglist -  @simonsbluee, @parkerpetertingle, @diverrdown, @ponyboys-sunsets, @outerbanksbro, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch, 

#jj maybank #jj obx #outer banks #obx #jj imagine #outer banks imagine #routledge!reader #routledge!reader x jj #jj fluff #jj angst

[theunknowncryptid]

5. Night One

Next

Masterlist

Namjoon x Y/n

After her brother makes a deal, Y/n is forced to spend seven nights with the leader of the Kim crime family, Kim Namjoon.

Taglist: @amordesiempre01 @jiminals @unadulteratedlyunique @parkmaeri @bbyjoonies @lilacsmoon @s0228 @kelitt @xxxanimangxxx @chogiyeol-utopia @atomickokorox @irenebutfancier

~     ~     ~

The drive was longer than she expected. Y/n figured the quiet man at the wheel would drive her ten minutes across town, if that, but before she realized the skyscrapers turned to oak trees and all she could see were country fields.

“Where are we going?” She asked. The man glanced back at her in the rear-view mirror. He looked like he could be related to the Kim’s.

“To the private estate. Out of town.” His voice was brighter and kinder than Y/n expected. Her stomach churned. What was Kim Namjoon going to do to her that required miles of privacy.

It was a full hour before the driver turned off of the main road and onto a dirt path. Rust colored debris flew into the air around the SUV. A grove of trees opened around the road and gave way to, what Y/n assumed was, the Kim Estate.

“Whoa,” The house in the clearing looked like something out of Clue. It was old and Victorian, built with red brick. It was massive. Large enough for twenty people to live comfortably. 

The SUV parked beside the front of the house. The glass of the door and the windows, yellow light illuminated the grass. The driver stepped out and walked around to open Y/n’s door. 

“You can follow me.” He said as Y/n stepped down. Until then, she hadn’t realized how young he was. Maybe only a few years older than she was. 

He led her into the manor. The inside was just as grand. Decadent rugs covered dark hardwood. It was difficult to place the wall color because of the hundreds of decorations. There were paintings, photographs, bookcases and sculptures covering every available piece of wallpaper. The only light in the main entry was an overhead chandelier. Thousands of diamonds, strung together, cast a warm glow. Stairs lined the left wall.  Directly across the room, an archway led to some sort of living room, but it was too dim to see. Instead of taking her up the stairs or  through the arch, the man turned to the right wall and knocked on large double doors.

He didn’t wait for a summons. The man opened the door and offered for Y/n to walk ahead. Fear raided her body, but she walked through the doors. 

The room was warm. A fire burned in it’s pit against the East wall, filling the space with the sound and smell of a campfire. A beautiful desk was cluttered with papers, files, pens, books and nicknacks. Again, Y/n couldn’t tell what color the walls were. Hundreds of books lined the wall shelves. They were obviously worn and read. Blue velvet chairs sat facing the desk and a large window. The room would almost be cozy, if it weren’t for the tall man standing stiff in front of the fireplace. 

The driver shut the door behind him. It slammed shut and made her flinch. He cleared his throat.

“Your guest is here.” The man at the fireplace turned to look. Y/n struggled to maintain a bored expression. She had heard about Kim Namjoon before. Serious, Intelligent, Dangerous. He was someone to fear. He had to be, being the head of the Kim Crime Family. But simple descriptions didn’t prepare Y/n for the man in front of her. He was incredibly handsome. Dark hair fell over his eyes. His skin was tanned and, by his collar, Y/n could see a thin, white scar leading up his neck. He was dressed in a dark grey suit as if he had just come from a business meeting. His tie was loose around his neck and his hands were shoved in his pockets, making him seem more casual than the situation called for. His features were soft, but his eyes were full of judgment and annoyance. He looked Y/n up and down. 

“You’re late.” His low voice deadpanned.

“Blame your driver.” Her voice came much calmer than she felt. His eyes flickered to the man that stood behind her. 

“That will be all, Jimin.” He said. The air shifted and the sound of the office door shutting echoed. Y/n clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to be left alone with this man. She didn’t want to be here at all.

“You must love your brother very much to come here willingly.” He didn’t move at all. He just stood and stared at Y/n with a blank face. 

“Less and less each day.” She answered, dryly. The corners of his lips twitched up. The fire roaring behind left him as little more than a silhouette. 

“You’re aware of the arrangement we made?” He walked to the desk and picked up a half-drunk glass of scotch. 

“Obviously.” Y/n spat out. Anger flared in her.

“And yet, you still came?” He raised his brow at her.

“What choice did I have?” She glared. Kim Namjoon knew very well that her brother's life hung in the balance. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig of the alcohol.

“Your brother had a choice.”

“You knew when you gave the loan that Jungkook wouldn’t be able to pay his debt.” Y/n sneered. Over the last few days, with the help of Jin, she had come to that conclusion. It was a known fact that the Kim’s kept tabs on the Min’s, and vice-versa. Kim Namjoon knew that Jungkook had been cut off from the banks and from the Min’s. Jungkook was broke and addicted to cards. Kim also knew his money would not be repaid. He wasn’t after a simple business transaction. He was after her.

The man grinned. “You’re smart.”

“Why?” She demanded. Her hands fisted at her sides.

“Why not?” He tilted his head. Y/n continued to glare and he sighed. “A chance to have a beautiful woman in my bed. And to watch Min Yoongi squirm.”

“Why would Min Yoongi Squirm?” She feigned. The annoyance returned to his face. 

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n.” The sound of her name coming from his lips made her skin crawl. “You think Yoongi won’t notice one of his closest friends is missing for a week?”

He had her there, but she couldn’t let him know that. “I think you overestimate my worth.”

“No. But, good try.” He smirked. With an air of playfulness on his face he looked even more handsome. His eyes travelled over her body, taking stock. He stepped closer to her and she jumped back in alarm. 

“What are you doing?” She asked. She cursed her wavering voice.

“Claiming my debt.” Kim Namjoon stalked toward her again. Her lips trembled. With her back pressed to the door, Y/n came chest-to-chest with the man.

“You’re evil.” She glared. Again, he smirked.

“Oh, come on, Y/n. You’re a young woman who spends most of her time in a bar.” His hand reached up and gently placed a lock of hair behind her ear. She flinched away. “I can’t be the worst to spend some time between your legs.”

Her mouth dropped in shock and fury crashed inside her.

“You would be the first!” A furious blush covered her cheeks. For the first time that night, she could see a chink in his armor. It made her happy. His eyebrows raised and confusion contorted his features.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Surprise.” Y/n smirked. Pressed this close together she could feel his breath dusting her face. His hands were pressed to the door beside her, caging her in. His face was unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he was about to kick her out or bring her to him. Surprisingly, he pushed away from the door and walked back to his abandoned drink.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?” She paled. Her remaining virginity was her one and only playing card. 

“Nope.” He said. His bored confidence was firmly back in place. “Some would say it makes you even more desirable.”

Y/n scowled. “Then what are you waiting for? Get it over with.”

He smiled at her coldly. “I haven’t had my dinner yet.” He turned back to the fireplace, but spoke over his shoulder. “Will you join me?”

“I’m not hungry.” She stared at him as if he’d just told her he had ridden a seahorse here.

“Pity, you’ll need your strength later.”

Horror filled her features as, on cue, the man named Jimin entered the office.

“Show Ms. Y/l/n to the bedroom, please, Jimin.” Kim demanded. Without a word, both left into the cold of the house. 

Kim Namjoon only wished he could see Y/n’s face when she realized her bedroom doubled as his.

~     ~     ~

The room was huge. Her entire apartment could fit inside. The walls were a bordered forest green with dark hardwood floors. A leather loveseat and a matching chair faced a flat-screen TV. A large, white rug covered the sitting area, bringing light to the dark room. A large mirror covered the interior wall. The far wall had two black doors, one leading to the ridiculously luxurious bathroom, one leading to a closet full of suits, shoes, and surprisingly, hoodies, t-shirts, and basketball shorts. The room smelled like the cologne from earlier. Y/n frowned at that. She felt surrounded by Kim Namjoon. The room was freezing, but the thought of climbing into the ginormous bed made her want to cry. The duvet was black with matching silk sheets. It must have been a king size, but it was hard to tell in the large space. Eventually, she caved and climbed in. With the sheets pulled up to her chin in the dark room, Y/n felt like she was waiting for a death sentence.

Fuck Jungkook, fuck gambling, and fuck Kim Namjoon. Not literally.

At the sound of the door opening, she shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Footsteps sounded across the room to the closet. Y/n cracked open one eye. The closet light illuminated Kim Namjoon's silhouette. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it with the rest of the suits. His back was turned to the bed. 

“I know you’re awake.” His voice broke the silence. Grumbling, Y/n sat up. She didn’t bother to ask how he’d seen through her. He turned to look at her. He looked wearier than he has a couple hours ago. His hair was ruffled and the top button of his shirt was undone. He walked to the dresser and picked up a plate he must have brought with him. She flinched as he came nearer. 

“Eat.” He demanded. The plate he offered had crackers, cheese, and grapes. Cautiously, Y/n took a couple crackers. She nibbled on them, but kept her tight grip on the sheets. Kim wandered away and leaned against the bed post. A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, casually. When Y/n finished the crackers he held out the plate again. Without thinking, she took a few grapes. She watched him carefully.

“You’re different than I thought you would be.”

“I can imagine.” He directed his gaze to the window overlooking a garden of wildflowers.

“Why are we here?” She asked.

“In this house?” He raised an eyebrow at her. As beautiful as it was, Y/n got the idea the house stood unoccupied most of the time. “I promised your brother no one would know about our transaction.”

Y/n rolled a grape in her fingers. “Not because you evil plans work better in the country?”

“Well, that too.” Y/n suppressed a smile, then cringed at herself. There should be nothing enjoyable about her situation. Kim Namjoon planned to use her as payment and if mental or physical damage came with that, so be it. Anger flared in her.

“Stop playing with me!” She glared. Y/n overdramatically threw the covers off herself. She threw herself back onto the sheets. “Get it over with!”

Silence filled the room again.

“Dear lord, Y/n, you desperately need some new pajamas.”

“What’s wrong with them?” She demanded. She looked down at the clothing. An old, stained Dartmouth t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. 

“Did you steal them off a homeless man?” He mocked. 

“What did you expect me to wear? Lingerie?” She snarled. His eyes crawled over her intensely and she knew he was imagining her in just that. Her skin burned from the observation. It reminded her just how horrible and disgusting the man in front of her really was.

“Take it off.” He said gently. Shit.

It was time. She could do this. Who cares if she wasn’t a virgin anymore. 

Slowly, she lifted the ratty shirt over her head and threw it on the floor. Then, she lifted her hips and slid off the sweatpants. Goosebumps formed on her bare skin. She was left in just white panties. She refused to meet his gaze. In the mirror on the wall, Y/n saw her exposed body with Kim Namjoon looming over her.

The room stayed silent until she couldn’t take it anymore. All he did was stand there, staring at her with pure hunger in his eyes. A muscle jerked in his cheek and his fists clenched at his sides as his investigation paused at her breasts. Her face burned in embarrassment. 

He stepped closer and slid his hand across her raised leg. The feeling of his hand on her made her want to pull away and hide. Every nerve in her body twisted and made her gasp.

“You’re beautiful,” He said in a hoarse voice.

“Do it.” Y/n begged. “Please, just do it.”

The minutes stretched forever before he moved again. Slowly, his face lowered to hers. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, then he turned his head and pressed his lips to her cheek. It only lasted a moment and then he pulled back, lifted the covers back over her and walked to the door.

“What-” 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I guess I’m not interested in martyrs tonight.”

#bts fake texts #bts fake chat #bts v #bts #namjoon social media au #smut #namjoon fake chat #bts smau #bts social media au #namjoon smau #bts jin #bts suga #bts jhope #bts rm #bts jimin #bts jungkook #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #bts series #bts smut #bts Kim namjoon #namjoon au #the seven nights #theunknowncryptid #romance #humor #angst #story #bts fanfic #fanfiction

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Alternative Action

I was feeling creative but I hit a brick wall with my other works, so I let @horsegirl1h pick out some prompt ideas for me!

Summary: You and Arthur get into an argument over your disregard for his request, and find a creative way to let off some steam.

Warnings: rough sex, slight D/S undertones, little bit of overstimulation

A/N: Aftercare is important!

The strong smell of whiskey wafted across your face, mixed with the rancid odor of the man’s personhood radiating off him. He had you pinned up against the wall in the alley, your wrists pressed uncomfortably tight on either side of your head. You attempted to keep your breathing even as his filthy mouth breathed on you.

“Yer r-real pretty,” the man growled drunkenly in a heavy Irish accent. “Better take ya with me…that way the rest of us have a piece o’ ya.”

You said nothing, keeping your face as calm as possible despite your heart pounding wildly in your chest. Struggling would only cause him to overpower you more.

He stuck his face to your neck, breathing in deeply. “Smell so nice too…” he pressed his body to you, clouding your senses with every tangible revolting feature of himself. You held your breath, swallowing a bout of nausea that overcame you. He smelled of an outhouse.

“HEY!”

The new voice called to both of your attention, and you saw a figure standing at the end of the alley, his face shrouded in darkness but you recognized him immediately.

With the momentary distraction, you brought your knee up to your opponent’s groin. He howled in pain and released you instantly, bending over. You launched yourself away from him, heading toward the silhouette with no hesitation. In the blink of an eye his hand raised, the glint of a revolver shining in the golden lamplight behind him.

He cocked the hammer back and pulled the trigger. You flinched as the shot pierced the air, your ears ringing. A second later the unmistakable THUD of a body sounded behind you. You needn’t glance back to know what had just happened.

And when you skidded to a halt in front of him, you needn’t look at his face to feel his anger.

“Let’s go.” He growled, turning on his heel toward the horse that stood waiting in the street. He mounted swiftly and held his hand out to you.

You hesitated. “But, my horse –”

“We ain’t got time.” He grumbled. “Get on now.”

---

The ride back was painfully quiet. Even with your arms wrapped around him, Arthur was tense the entire time. You could only assume the words he would have to say to you. You weren’t sure whether to speak up or wait until the two of you got back to camp.

Your mental question was answered when he veered off into the trees, coming to an abrupt stop. You’d just crossed the border into Lemoyne.

“Arthur?” You spoke timidly. “This ain’t camp…”

“We’re stoppin’ here for now.” He said shortly. You removed your arms from around him as he dismounted.

You didn’t ask why, but somehow you knew you were in for an earful. You slid off the back of his horse, biting your lip in anticipation. He faced the full moon, his entire figure tensing in the silver light. You watched as his thick hands flexed and curled. He took a deep breath.

“I asked you to stay in camp.” He spoke, his voice low.

You swallowed, releasing a shaky breath. “I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I just wanted to run to Valentine for a quick errand and –”

“And you nearly got yourself kidnapped!” he hissed, turning around to face him, his eyes glinting ferociously. “What errand could you have possibly wanted to do to risk your life like that?”

Despite your stomach churning with anxiety, you kept yourself from quaking. It was just days after the successful Valentine bank heist, however most of New Hanover was crawling with lawmen. He saw through your flimsy excuse immediately. “I…I heard Sean talking to Lenny about a possible lead. Unfortunately that lead is a regular in the Valentine saloon.” You answered.

“’Course Sean would…” Arthur growled to himself, pinching his nose between his fingers. “That still don’t give you an excuse to go, Y/N! You know every goddamn policeman in New Hanover are out lookin’ for us right now!”

“I know, I know,” you groaned, turning away from him to pace. “But – damn it Arthur, I get bored in camp. You know this! I can’t just sit around and twiddle my thumbs all day!”

“So instead of stayin’ in Lemoyne, you risk your neck n’ ours by goin’ back to Valentine?” he snarled. “What in God’s name was goin’ through your head?”

“I thought…I thought that I could get away with it!” you exclaimed. “Didn’t seem like a big job, something real easy to slip in and out of.”

“And yet to manage to find the only damn O’Driscoll in the joint!” Arthur snapped, throwing his arm in exaggeration.

“Well how was I supposed to know?” you argued. “Guy was so drunk he couldn’t even stand up straight!”

“Ain’t drunk enough to keep his hands off ya! Who knows what else coulda happened if I –”

“If you didn’t show up? I would have handled myself, Arthur!” you interjected, angered that he would even suggest such a thing. “You know that very damn well!”

“That still don’t make it okay for you to go n’ pull a stupid stunt like you got somethin’ to prove!” he yelled. “Jesus, Y/N! Sometimes you act like a child!”

“Well forgive me for wanting to do more!” you countered, throwing your arms in the air. “You risk your life every.day, Arthur. How is doing this any different?!”

Arthur stared at you incredulously, as if he was in blatant disbelief of the words that just spilled from your mouth. He stepped closer to you, his thick body appearing absolutely menacing. “I’ve been at this long enough to know when somethin’ ain’t worth doin’!” he bared his teeth, speaking through them with force.

You held your ground. As frightful as he was at the moment, Arthur could never truly scare you. You glared at him defiantly, your hands gripped so tightly into fists that your fingernails were digging into your palms. “Well it’s done anyway! I got the information I wanted regardless!”

“By bein’ –” Arthur stopped abruptly, turning his head away with an angered huff.

“By being what, Arthur? Stupid?” you demanded. “Is that how you see me? Because if it is, you might as well just say it!”

He snapped his attention back to you. “’Course not, Y/N! You ain’t stupid, but you’re reckless and irresponsible! I can’t always chase after you to make sure you don’t get killed!”

“I didn’t ask you to come after me!” you shot back.

“How many times have I saved your ass, Y/N?” Arthur countered. “More times than not I gotta –“

“Like I said, I didn’t ask.” You growled. “I’m NOT a child, Arthur. Stop treating me like one!” you turned around and stomped away.

“Where are you goin’?” he called after you.

“Walking back to camp!” you yowled, too angry to even turn around to answer him properly.

“Don’t be crazy, Y/N. We ain’t nowhere near camp yet!” he responded. You heard the underbrush crunch under his boots as he jogged up.

You hastened your steps, attempting to place more distance between you and him. “I’d rather walk than spend another SECOND speaking with you, Arthur.” You spat.

You heard him pause as your words hit him. At any other given moment you would have apologized, however you were too angry to really care at the moment. You skirted around his horse and made a beeline for the main road.

“Stop!” he shouted toward you. Within seconds he was in your path. “Y/N!”

You attempted to sidestep him, until his arms wrapped around you, promptly halting you in your path.

“Arthur!” you yelped, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me go!”

“I ain’t lettin’ ya wander off alone, Y/N!” he argued. “You can be pissed at me all you want, jus’ come back to camp with me.”

You’d managed to move your arms, shoving your hands against his chest to free yourself. With his larger and stronger frame, you only managed to force him to stumble back a step or two, just enough for him to release you. You panted heavily, staring wide-eyed at him. His partially opened shirt was slightly disheveled, the skin underneath nearly glowing in the moonlight. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his face a touch reddened.

Somehow, your mind had gone elsewhere in the fraction of a second.

“Now we can please –”

He never finished his sentence. You’d launched yourself onto him, crashing your lips to his in a heartbeat. His entire body stiffened completely in surprise for a few full seconds before his arms wrapped around you – to pull you back. Your eyes swiveled to meet his as his hands settled on your waist gingerly.

“What’re you doin’?”

Your hands rested on his chest, curling your fingers to ball the fabric in your palms. Your mind was spinning too fast. “Don’t speak, just kiss me!” you huffed, pulling yourself to meet his mouth again. His noise of surprise was muffled. He just stood there as if unsure what to do.

And so you helped him, pressing your body to his and rolling your hips against his torso. A small, choked groan rumbled in his chest as he finally responded to your advances, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His lips moved with yours, forcing them open. His heated breath mixed with yours as his tongue began to explore your mouth.

Your hands moved along his chest to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. You pulled off his suspenders, the tight bands constricting his torso from freedom of the fabric. He shrugged them off completely. Only a short moment passed when the strain of his pants became pronounced against your thigh. It only heightened your arousal as you brought your knee up to rub it against him.

He hissed into your mouth, his hips immediately bucking forward in yearning for more friction. You obliged by pressing your knee ever so carefully with more pressure. Despite the low moan he released, his own hands moved to your face, cupping your cheeks to pull from your mouth again.

His intense gaze met yours as he attempted to catch his breath. Beneath the lust that stood prominent, a moment of clarity shone through. “Y/N – why?”

“Do you wanna keep fighting?” You quickly asked, your voice slightly disjointed.

He didn’t answer you, his blue eyes smoldering brightly in the moonlight. The tense line set in his jaw told you he still held some frustration. He opened his mouth, though no words came out. Instead his hand slid to caress – no, grip your neck and yank you back in for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. A growl resonated deep, nearly animalistic in nature. His other hand fumbled with your shirt, nimbly working the buttons free of their confinements. The heat of his skin radiated through the thin fabric of your chemise.

His rough, calloused fingertips briefly slipped underneath to run along your stomach. A cold touch that made you jump slightly in surprise. He paid no mind to it as he worked on your jeans next, the heavy fabric falling to your ankles. You kicked them off along with your boots, only to lose your balance. Arthur grabbed you last minute and eased you down to the ground below. You didn’t object, peering up at him as he towered over you with a hungry glare. It sent a shiver down your spine.

He gripped your underclothing and tore them off with ease, exposing your naked body to him. He growled at the sight, pulling his fingers roughly across your breasts and down your abdomen to rest on your inner thighs, forcing them apart. Two fingers teased your slit, sparing no time in finding his target.

You tilted your head back, sighing out your pleasure while his feverish touch worked you. His fingers were rough, arrhythmic, unlike his usual calculated ministrations. He rubbed so hard that it nearly hurt, and you squirmed underneath his grip.

“Arthur –” you uttered breathlessly, reaching to grab his arm with a near vice grip.

He eased up ever so slightly, drawing out more pleasure than pain. He leaned over you, his heated breath tickling your ear. “Do you like it when I touch you like that?”

“Yes, God yes…” you moaned in response, your back arching to his touch.

“Louder.” He hissed into your ear.

“Yes!” you squeaked.

His other hand snaked up to grip your breast, squeezing the malleable flesh in his palm before pinching your nipple. “Louder.” He demanded.

“Yes, oh God Arthur, yes!” you shouted out, uncaring of your volume at the moment. A lewd squeal slipped past your lips once his fingers pushed into your entrance.

“Good girl…” he murmured before attaching his lips to your neck. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin with a sweet sting, ensuring he would leave his marks. His hand pumped in and out of you furiously, curling them to drag against your spot, prompting you to nearly scream.

“You drive me insane…” he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. His thumb pressed against your sensitive button of nerves. “You need to be punished, girl.”

Good Lord, you’d never heard Arthur speak to you like that before. Your face erupted in a deep blush, though you couldn’t even grace him with a proper answer as he wrenched a loud moan from you. An all too familiar sensation washed over you with your oncoming climax. Quick like a tidal wave, gripping every inch of your body as you trembled beneath him, calling his name out to the stars.

Once the last of it ebbed away, he pulled his hand from you, prompting you to whine in wanting more of his touch. He chuckled at your reaction, leaning back to unbutton himself free from his restraints. He stroked his length a few times, teasing you of the sight before he grabbed your legs, pushing them up by your head, stretching you in a way you hadn’t experienced before. His swollen tip prodded your entrance before he inched himself in. Your inner walls barely had time to accommodate before he slammed himself the rest of the way.

And thus begun his relentless fucking. He pounded into you over and over, wrenching out a cry from you. In this position you had nothing to hold, nothing to ground yourself from the way he abused your body. He stared down at you with a gaze so hot that you had to turn your head away, only to have his hard grip on your jaw.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he growled to you. “I wanna see your face.”

You obliged, answering with a broken whimper while fire coursed through your veins. “A-Ar –” you struggled to huff out, your hands gripping and tearing at the grass beneath you. “Fuck!”

“Look at you, too flustered for words,” he continued, his own voice slightly wavered while he piledrove you. “You deserve this, don’t ya?”

“Y-yes!” you whined, wincing as another orgasm was fast on the rise.

“Yes what?”

“I d-deserve this!” you mewled, groaning as your second climax erupted within you. “I deserve to be punished!” you uttered breathlessly.

“Yes you do.” He grunted, the hard look on his face faltering briefly as his own pleasure overtook him. “Goddamn…”

He suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty for a short second as he flipped you onto your stomach, bringing you up to your hands and knees. His hands greedily found purchase on your hips before he burrowed into you again, allowing no chance to recover. Furious waves of pure pleasure overtook you as you dug your fingers into the dirt, yowling out like a wild animal.

His grip on you tightened, hard enough to leave bruises. Somehow his thrusts become even stronger, fucking you so intensely you felt tears in your eyes. You blinked them away, allowing the pain to turn into more ecstasy. One hand left your hip to grip your hair, wrapping around his hand to pull your head back. You gasped, though it only heightened your arousal. His name passed your lips over and over, crying out wantonly.

His other hand soon released your hip, sliding around to your front to once again toy with your clit. With his rough grip he kept your ass flush with his hips, using the leverage to his advantage to force himself further. You trembled from head to toe, each sensation filling you up to build to your third.

“C’mon, princess. I know ya got another in ya.” His voice held command in it. Somehow it took hold of you, rushing you over the edge.

You’d squeezed around him tightly, releasing a yowl that seemed detached from your body. With a build and cascade more explosive than your first two, your entire being absolutely spent, your muscles and bones reduced to jelly.

And yet you couldn’t even get away. The overstimulation had you wriggling helplessly in his grasp, puffing out small whimpers and pleas for his release. “A-Arthur – please…” you groaned, tears beginning to fall as you stared up at the sky, your head locked in place.

He released your hair and raked his nails down your back, the sting making you flinch and shudder harder. Your arms collapsed underneath you, and your cheek rested against the cool ground beneath you. “Will you behave?” he questioned, his voice still low and dominating.

“Y-yes.” You mustered up as loud as you could. “I-I will!”

He groaned at your words, returning his hands to the curve of your hips to pull you back against him, driving himself in deep over and over in selfish pursuit of his own pleasure. You kept yourself still, enduring it for just a few short moments before his hips broke rhythm, his thrusts becoming shallower and shallower until he finally pulled out. His hot cock slid between your cheeks before you felt the trails of his seed paint your back.

You sighed in relief, your lower body collapsing to the ground, the cool grass and soil felt nice against your hot skin. The air was silent, only graced by the quiet attempts of the two of you catching your breaths.

You heard Arthur shift from behind you, the grass crunching as he groaned tiredly. Your heard turned to see him, his face red and his skin illuminated with a sheen of sweat. He’d flopped back into the grass, his large chest heaving up and down.

You pushed yourself up, though every muscle protested in you doing so, a subtle tremble wavering your body. You would be sore tomorrow. His eyes locked to yours, and you noted a softness in his face.

“You alright?” he breathlessly asked, gone was the beast of a man that had you just moments earlier. It was an entirely new side that you’d never experienced before.

“Fine,” you murmured, your mind still spinning from how rough he was. “I think…”

He sat up, a sense of urgency overcoming him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” his voice riddled with concern.

You shook your head. “Not at all…it was just…a lot.” You muttered.

He pursed his lips as his eyes scanned you up and down, as if to survey for any damage. “I took it too far…” he sighed, ducking his head sheepishly.

“No,” you immediately rebutted. “It’s just a lot, that’s all. You ain’t ever done that to me before.” You reached out to gently lay your hand against his cheek.

Your touch prompted him to slowly look back up at you. He didn’t answer at first, a full moment passing before he opened his mouth. “Ain’t ever had ya while angry before.” He murmured.

“I know,” you said with a small chuckle. “But I think it did us both good. Are you still angry?”

“Nah,” he gave a chuckle of his own. “But don’t go thinkin’ you can run off jus’ to get me to do this again. Bad enough I had to chase ya halfway across New Hanover.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hand from him. “Still didn’t ask you to come after me.”

He sighed heavily, giving you a dry look. “Are we gonna do this again?”

No, one round was enough. And the fatigue had sunken its hooks into you, further muddying your subconscious. You wanted nothing more than to wrap yourself in a pelt back at camp and sleep.

“You sure you’re okay?” he spoke again.

You’d realized your eyes closed, and you pulled them open to look at him. “I’m fine, Arthur. I’m just…really tired after that.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the expression telling you he didn’t truly believe your words. He sat up further and reached toward you, his hands now gentle on your waist. You didn’t object as he pulled you closer, though pausing to retrieve his bandana out of his pocket to wipe away the mess he left on your back. He then tossed it aside and pulled you fully into his embrace.

You practically melted in his arms, his warmth encompassing and comforting you. Everything that happened earlier dissolved into what seemed more like a distant memory now.

“I love you, as much as you drive me nuts.” He murmured, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

You giggled slightly, tiredly, smiling as your eyes closed once again. “I love you too.” You sighed.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x reader smut

[lit-base]

Family tree - Chap 1 [TMNT]

Family tree 

Summary: There was an explosion at the Central Bank, the turtles couldn’t interfere in time. Seven people had died and another twelve had been hospitalized, one of which had been Vern. 

As April O’Neil is investigating the case, she stumbles upon Felicia Cox, a writer who turns out to have had strong ties with the man and the criminal organization responsible for the bombing.

 Chapter ONE

 “Donnie, what’s the status?”

The electrical bzzzz coming from the ear piece let his brother’s voice through.

“He’s in the vault. I see blood on the floor, a woman, maybe dead? Can’t really say.”

Leo’s head snapped to the side, there were police cars upfront, Chief Rebecca Vincent barking orders, guns being drawn out of their holsters and strategic places urgently being occupied by cops. Blue and red lights were shining on the façade of the Central Bank and people were being ushered out of the way – curious passers by, thirsty for information.

“Keep us updated on his moves. Mickey, the vents.”

“Yeah… about that…” Mickey was already moving, a blur of orange and green, as he plucked the rack away from the vent entrance and disappeared inside. He was small enough to fit there and actually get to the vault in time.

“What about it, Don?”

“Yeah, so, it might not be a good idea, the guy’s picked the bomb from the ground…”

Leo froze and Raph clenched his teeth.

“I’m going after Mickey –“

“No, stay here. Don, what’s the fastest route to the vault?”

“The bathroom. Mickey, skirt around the lobby and make a left in a few seconds,” The youngest’s answer was immediate, “Ayay, cap’tn.”

Raph was tense and Leo could feel fire coming out of his nostrils. There was fear, there was reproach, but there was also some sense of this is the right thing to do, with all the risk they might expose themselves to.

“Raph,” his brother’s eyes were glued on the entrance vent, but Leo didn’t have time to snap him out of it. “Take this, I’mma talk to Chief Vincent and clear the zone. If this goes up in smoke, we need to save as many as possible.”

Handing his ear-piece to Raph, Leo patted his shoulders twice and took off in haste.

With short breath and thoughts about the impending doom, the red-clad turtle put the device in his ear and growled, “Fucking hell, D... Tell me it’s not gonna go boom with Mickey in there…”

There was a pause on the other’s side, a few mechanical clicks and then,

“Raph… There are twenty people in the building at the moment, not just Mickey…”

“Relax, bruh, I’m almost above the vault thingy.” Came the youngest brother’s response, energetic but a bit strained, “This place is SO freaking narrow, you could barely fit a – yuck, this thing’s sticky... Hey, I think we could’ve tried the back door. I mean -” Pause, - “oaah, guys? I think you should see this…”

There was a deep breath and silence. Raph didn’t get it.

“What? See what? Donnie, what?”

People were swarming around the bank, the cops started pushing them back. Chief Vincent was nowhere to be seen, the doors to the bank were locked, there was a black van parked near the entrance and a guy in a thick fire-resistant suit gearing up.

“Erm… Raph, can you spot Leo?” Donnie sounded a bit too uneasy.

“Spot Leo? What’s in there?”

“Bruuuh, this guy’s craayzaay… Donnie, can you see what I’m seeing?”

Raph couldn’t make out what Donatello said, but there was some kind of wheezing and coughing and beep beep beep beep and, out of a sudden, someone shouted - Donnie, in his ear, panicked.

“Mickey, get back. Get back now!”

Raph felt powerless, standing there, guarding, waiting, unseeing, unknowing.

“What’s going on?! Mickey? What’s –“

_______________________

It was pretty simple. All he had to do was to go in, leave the package and go out. But curiosity pushed him to open it. And he knew he wouldn’t come out of this alive.

The door slammed close as soon as he entered the lobby. The sound of it reverberated through the circular room and caught the employees’ attention. They were sitting at their corner offices, but their eyes were on him. What was to be done next? He went on, his face to the floor, burning and sweating. It wasn’t fear in his veins, he wasn’t afraid of being later recognized, he worried about his mind going over their faces and giving it the opportunity to trace over the light in their eyes, the life still there and pulsing. He didn’t want to give himself the chance of regretting this, any of it. These were simple people, doing their daily jobs. They were serving their own society, the cradle that pulled them from their ignorant infancy and brought them to this dark day. They paid with their own time, patience, health for some monthly wage that would let them sleep soundly, that would give them their next-day-comfort and pleasures, that would keep their taxes and debts at bay. These were the lucky ones, luckier than those beneath them. They all knew that, next morning, they would come back here to do the same work, play along the same story line. They would probably get out of their cotton clad beds (pretty modest, as their role dictated), hurriedly eat a slice of bread and butter and dress up smartly in their mandatory service-clothes, which made them right for their customers’ eyes to look upon. They were all fighting for their next day in this rabbit hole – the single thing which kept them alive and managing.

So he went on.

The package hung heavily in the plastic bag, the smiley -Thank you, come again – white shopping bag; Its weight cut into his fingers, which were already printed with the stupid Thank you, come again cheap ink. Thank you, come again –

Come again –

Again –

This didn’t have an Again. Only this time, this moment, right now.

He wished someone would interfere; some suit would step in front of him, some guard would shout out, something, someone. But no one interrupted his course.

The black marble’s shine caught a distorted reflection of all the faces from the room. All of the employees went back to their jobs; Maybe they thought nothing of him, just another delivery guy with some head problems and a tight schedule which kept him on edge, teeth jittering and shoulders trembling. After all, he didn’t look like someone who would step over their threshold with anything else but delivering some pizza or stationery in their mind.

Their fingers went back to pressing keys on their laptops. Their eyes - back to the blue lighted screen, on which dozens of thousand of numbers cascaded, dollars and euros and crowns and pounds.

Some of the clients were still watching, though. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and took a fugitive look at the blond guard – young and tall – next to the door that led to the other room. The door to the room was high and wide, thick and most importantly, locked. He knew he wouldn’t be let through it, conscious of the holey hoodey and grease stained jeans he was sporting. He didn’t get the change to change his damp sneakers either, nor the gloves worn ragged from all his fence-jumping and brick rubbing he did. And his face… it was probably as bruised as he felt it, and maybe his eyes were bloody red, the left one more swollen that the other, his lower lip mostly cracked open by a fist he got that morning. The blood wasn’t pouring, though, it had dried up a few hours before and it was now throwing a spikey shadow on his chin. Some of his hair burnt his forehead. He was most probably looking like a walking nightmare.

A well-worn, but thick carpet lengthened across the floor, from the middle of the room and up to the door, and it occurred to him that it absorbed the sharp sound of steps. The soles of his sneakers drowned in the thickness of it. His legs suddenly felt like counterweights, countering the heaviness of his arms and head. It felt like he was crossing through a swamp. The room behind the door, they’d said. Box one-oh-seven. You’ll see it marked #107, easy to spot, on the upper left side, they’d instructed.

Suddenly, he became aware of a shadow pressing on his form.

“Can I help you?”

He heard her voice even before he could catch a glimpse of her face, and when he swirled around slowly, his shoulders stopped their trembling and slumped. His mind couldn’t register anything about her, except the fact that this, in front of him, was a soon-to-be-dead woman. Condemned and unwillingly unaware of her fate. Innocent. The punishment was hanging above his head like a scythe.

He cleared the lump in his throat and didn’t answer. Instead, he got to the door and pushed against it with might, under the guard and the office-woman’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, you aren’t allowed to go in there. Please show me your permit.”

I know, I fucking know. I shouldn’t even be here. It’s not fair. I’m not allowed to enter, neither am I to stop. I must go on, I must. Please, I must. I’m sorry.

From the other side, the door opened and out came one of the posh clients. He caught the moment and slipped inside, pushed the door close, brought the safety lock in its place. He was here. He exhaled. He was here.

There was metal in the air, there were safety deposit boxes all around him, up to the ceiling, along the walls and he sniffed them like a mouse that could smell its cheese.

But there was someone else inside the room.

Only then was he seen, the other person’s panicked tone brought him back to reality, to the place he was in and the package he had in his hands. The guard pounded on the door on the other side of the room, keys rattled in the lock, the safety shook and his knees nearly gave out.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? Who let you in?” Another guard, a woman.

And he smiled. She stopped speaking. The crack on his lip split open as he smiled, his mind started buzzing, his hand was on the woman’s neck and no other sound came out. He squeezed his fingers until hers dropped from her belt, and only when she gripped his hand with both of hers, did he drop the package and slammed her into the floor. Her head burst open on the impact, the shopping bag fell around the armed bomb, the alarm started howling but all he could hear were the buzz in his head and the beep beep beep beep beep of the bomb.

Still, there was some distance between him and #107 so he shook away from the unmoving guard on the floor and picked the package back up between his arms. 

beep beep beep beep beep...

He pressed the beeping cassette against the one-oh-seven, the magnetic core clicked and it remained attached. But he still kept his hand on it, feeling the vibrations. 

The buzz in his head laced through the beeps and he closed his eyes, stood still and waited for the blast to engulf him...

and suddenly, the beep beep beep broke into a thunder.

#TMNT #Bayverse #Leonardo #Donatello #Raphael #Michelangelo #Leo #Donnie #Raph #Mickey #tmnt fanfiction #TMNT 2014 #TMNT 2016 #LeoxOC #DonniexOC #MickeyxOC #RaphxOC

[lithugraph]

Ok I know y'all are thirsty for it, so I'm posting the first part of chapter 5 from The Book Smuggler here. There are still two more parts left to write. I've got the second part about halfway done. And I do feel bad it's taken me so long, I was on such a roll with this fic but this chapter was like hitting a brick wall because

Tilsit, East Prussia, 1863

The inn stood just off the market square, on a narrow street meandering carelessly down to the river. The plaster and timber frame sunk inward, as if the walls were in dire need of repair.  They probably were, thought Eduard, as he eyed the building apprehensively, the way it slouched against the ones surrounding it, as if they were the only thing holding it up.

He pushed his glasses up his nose.  This hardly seemed like a place his cousin would have chosen.  Himself, on the other hand...well, he’d stayed in worse.

Eduard dug the telegram out of his pocket and checked the address again.  It was right — this was the place.  He flipped the card over as if it could offer up something else — some other clue as to why his cousin was staying — in Tilsit, of all places — at an inn that looked ready to collapse in on itself.  But the back of the telegram was maddeningly blank.

Eduard sighed, adjusted the suitcase in his hand, and entered.

A surly-looking barman led him up a winding set of stairs to the top floor.  Eduard had to duck his head to keep from knocking it against the sloping roof. 

Tauras’ room was the third door on the right.

Eduard thanked the barman, then ensuring he was alone in the hallway, took a moment to compose himself — smoothing jacket lapels and flattening hair and cleaning glasses — and drew a deep, steadying breath.  Though they corresponded regularly, it had been a few years since he’d last seen Tauras. And though Eduard had no qualms regarding sharing his exploits in letters, he certainly did not want to look the part of a con artist thief.  He wanted to look every bit as respectable — as noble — as Tauras had.

Chin up, eyes down, mouth set. Eduard lifted a hand.  And knocked.

The face that greeted him, though, was not the one he remembered.

When they were boys, Tauras had been a field of grass on a summer day, warm and vibrant.  That spirit had since left him, and he just seemed...hollowed out.  Tauras was thin, his shoulders rounded.  A shadow hung behind his eyes — eyes that would not look at Eduard, but around him, through him. 

Eduard’s lofty guise melted at the sight of his cousin.  He set his suitcase down just inside the door and scooped Tauras into a tight embrace.

Air hissed through Tauras’ teeth, his shoulders tensed.

Eduard let go and stepped back, alarmed.  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  I’m fine,” Tauras said — and Eduard could not help notice the quaver in his voice, nor the pained look creasing his brow.

“No, you’re not.”

“I said I’m fine, Ed.”

Eduard studied him — the shadow lurking in his eyes, the subtle way his shoulders shifted up and down. He noted the shirt, the coarse cotton weave unlike the finer cloth he had last seen his cousin wearing. 

Eduard frowned.  “What happened to you?” he asked softly.

Tauras raked a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head.  “I need a drink,” he muttered as he shouldered past his cousin, descending to the bar below.

Eduard followed him down the stairs, eyes catching on the faint, rust-colored lines hatching across the back of Tauras’ shirt.

They sat at a small table near a window, the glass fogged from tobacco smoke and factory soot.  The city beyond looked just as dulled under a hazy summer sky.  The surly barman that had shown Eduard upstairs brought over two clay mugs of beer, all but throwing them onto the table.

“Welcome to Prussia,” Eduard said under his breath as the barman stalked off.  He picked up his mug, drinking a long draught.

Moments later, a young woman brought over two bowls of stew and a loaf of rye bread.  Eduard flashed her a smile out of habit.  She returned it, cheeks reddening as he gave her a swift, appraising look over, but she had nothing on her worth pick-pocketing.  He turned back to Tauras, who was idly stirring his stew.

“So,” Eduard said, “Tilsit. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?  Why the hell you’re here” — he glanced around — “in this hovel of an inn?  The last thing I heard from you, you were at the seminary.  And don’t you dare tell me you’ve come here to minister to these people.  I know priests take a vow of poverty and everything, but the last time I checked, they don’t dress like workmen.  You can’t lie to a conman, cousin.  Lies are what I do for a living, and yours are terrible.”

“I’m not a priest,” Tauras said quietly.

Eduard’s mouth settled into a thin line, his eyes blazing behind his glasses.  Corresponding for years in letters had made him forget just how obstinate his cousin could be.  Because letters could be edited.  That part of yourself you did not wish to show could be hidden, buried with words — or else removed completely.

“You asked me to come here,” he pressed.  “The least you could do is tell me why.”

“Is it wrong of me to want to see a familiar face?”

Eduard folded his arms. “Stop avoiding the question.” 

Tauras’ eyes drifted up to lock on his cousin’s.  Eduard felt himself shrink away at the look they held.  Tauras flicked his gaze around the bar, but they were its only occupants.  The barmaid had gone back to the kitchen, and the man was nowhere to be seen.

“I left the seminary, and I can’t go back home.  That’s all you need to know.”

Eduard scowled, drinking his beer.  It was just like when they were boys.  Tauras, the leader; Eduard, following his every word.  Tauras, the nobleman’s son; Eduard, the bastard-child-turned-serving-boy, following his master’s orders.  They would never be equals, no matter how much Tauras had promised it when they were younger.  Whether he knew it or not, Tauras still behaved much like the entitled boy he was raised to be, believing his word was final.

“You plan to stay here, then?” Eduard asked, a cutting edge to his voice.

“Yes.  I don’t have much of a choice.”

Eduard arched a brow, finishing his beer.  “Don’t you? You could have gone anywhere — Berlin, Munich— but you chose Tilsit and can’t even deign to tell me why.”  He pulled his bowl of stew closer, tearing a piece of bread from the loaf and dipped it in, watching his cousin.  “What does your family think, of you living here?”

“They don’t know.  For all I know, they still think I’m at the seminary, or — ”  Tauras broke off, shaking his head.  The shadow was back, behind his eyes.  He drank deeply from his beer mug.

“There are other Lithuanians here,” Tauras continued, as if to himself.  “I just need to make contact.  They’ll have ways of knowing what’s happening back home.”

Eduard’s eyes narrowed as he slowly chewed his bread.  Pieces of the puzzle were gradually falling into place.  “You’re talking as if...this is something permanent.”

Tauras looked at him a moment, as if disbelieving his cousin could really be that obtuse.  “I already told you: I can’t go back home.”

“No, I know that, but it’s just...I’m trying to understand — and help you understand — whatever’s happened, you’re on your own now.  Do you know what that means, truly?”

“Yes — “

“Then what’s your plan?” Eduard asked, tipping his chin back.  A challenge.  For once, he had the upper hand.  For once, his cousin would have to listen to him.

“I have money.  It’s not much, but it’ll support me until I can find work.”

Eduard shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as you make it sound.  Be honest with yourself — you haven’t worked a day in your life.  What skills do you have?  What experience?  You can paint and draw, play piano, speak four languages — that’s fine for impressing the ladies and gentlemen of society, but you’re not in that world anymore.”

Tauras bristled.  “I haven’t been in that world for the past three years, or have you forgotten?”

“I’d hardly count the seminary as useful,” Eduard retorted, “unless you plan to join a monastery.”

“You know nothing of where I’ve been or what I’ve done — “  Tauras’ teeth clacked together as he cut himself off mid-sentence.  He shoved himself up from the table.  “This was a mistake.”  He turned and stormed out of the inn.

“Shit,” Eduard sighed.  He adjusted his glasses and stood, tossing a few coins onto the table for their meal, then left to find his cousin.

Tauras was seated on the banks of the Memel, elbows resting on his knees, staring across the river.  He turned, hearing the crunch of sandy gravel behind him. 

“You always did like the water,” Eduard remarked, hands resting in his pockets.  “I remember following you through the woods to the stream when we were younger.  And Nanny finding us and scolding us every single time.”

Tauras bowed his head, a faint smile softening the hard edges of his face.  “She should have known not to sit on the terrace when she took us outside. The sun always made her fall asleep, and we’d always sneak away then.”

Eduard chuckled at the memory. He sat down beside his cousin. “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you back there.  We’ve always been honest with each other.  But something’s changed that.”

Tauras swallowed, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.  “It’s not your fault.  I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to see a familiar face.  I did — I do.  But seeing you — here — all of a sudden...it made everything seem too real. Everything that’s happened the past few days...it feels like it belongs to someone else’s life, not mine.”

“What has happened?” Eduard asked gently.

Tauras looked at his cousin, his face stricken.  “I was caught, Ed.”

Eduard’s brow furrowed. “You mean like — like last time, when your brother — “

Tauras shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips.  “No. Nothing like that.  Though I’m sure I’ve only further disgraced myself, as far as my father is concerned.”  He picked up a rock, thumb brushing over its smooth, worn surface. “I’m a traitor to the empire.  I was arrested and punished as such.  And that’s what I mean when I say I can’t go home. If I do, I’ll just be arrested again — only this time I’m sure my sentence won’t be as lenient as a whipping and a train ride to Siberia.”

Eduard’s face paled under the waning afternoon sun.  His eyes flicked to his cousin’s back, to the faint marks on his shirt. 

Tauras’ shoulders shifted. “And that’s not even the worst of it,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at his cousin.  “I left the seminary and joined the uprising.  We thought we could overthrow the empire and get our country back.  It sounds so foolish to say now, but....”  His voice trailed away, eyes growing distant.  “It was such a simple plan.  We ambushed them, these Russians soldiers — my squadron did — and one of them was right there in my sights but I...I c-couldn’t — I couldn’t shoot him.”

“I ran, Ed,” he rasped. “I turned and I ran, and now they’re dead because of me.  I failed my country just as I failed my men.”

They sat in silence, listening to the steady trickle of the river as it gently flowed by the bank.   

“I tried to cross the border,” Tauras continued, voice thick, “but a Russian soldier recognized me — one of the ones from the ambush.  I was brought to the customs house in Tauragė and sentenced to Kara.  Needless to say, I escaped.  I hid in the back of a wagon and crossed into Prussia four days ago. Though...there’s a part of me that thinks I should have stayed — stayed and...finished my sentence instead of running again.  I owe my men that much, at least.”

Tauras let the rock fall from his hand.  Eduard placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.  Words of assurance, of comfort, clung to the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would do his cousin no good to hear them just now.  They would sound empty and trite compared to the immeasurable guilt Tauras sought to atone for.  Sometimes, the only thing you could do was sit with someone and watch the water.

.

.

.

Eduard went for a walk around Tilsit later that evening.  If Tauras did indeed plan to make this city his new home, they would need better lodgings. Eduard included himself in that measure because, as he told his cousin, he may have worn out his welcome in Chemnitz. Actually most of Saxony, really. So he set out, scouting the rest of the city to see where they might feasibly purchase accommodations.  Tauras told him of the money he’d managed to get from the estate.  Paired with Eduard’s share from his last con, they would be able to live decently for a few months.  But there was still the problem of work.  Tauras would need a job and Eduard would need to make contacts as soon as possible. Though he would need to use discretion — Tilsit was nowhere near as big as the cities in Saxony — and his cousin would not appreciate being run out of town after only having just arrived.

Most of the Lithuanian population clustered around the riverfront or around the Lithuanian church further inland. Eduard took this information back to his cousin, along with noting a few help wanted signs hanging in windows near their vicinity.

When he got back to their room, he found Tauras standing in front of the dresser mirror.  A basin of water rested on a table nearby.  Tauras had removed his shirt and was gingerly cleaning the cuts criss-crossing his back, shoulders tensing as he caught sight of his cousin, reflected in the mirror.

Eduard lowered his head, averting his gaze.  “Sorry. I...guess I should have knocked first.”

Tauras simply stared back — that same hollow stare from earlier.  All sound seemed to be sucked from the room, save for the steady drip of water from the rag in his hand as he squeezed it over the basin.

“I, um, might have something for that,” Eduard said, eyes flicking up to his cousin’s, then back down.

The tension eased from Tauras. He lowered the rag, giving a near imperceptible nod of his head.

Eduard went to his suitcase, his movements stiff, limbs feeling like they belonged to someone else and not him. He knelt and flicked open the latches, taking a moment to collect himself as he lifted the lid, uncomfortably aware of his cousin watching him the whole time.  There, resting on top, was a black leather case.  Eduard took it out and set it on the bed, making a quick rummage through it.

“You travel with a medical kit?” Tauras asked.

“I travel with everything all the time,” Eduard said, trying to keep his voice light.  “You never know when you’ll have to pretend to be a surgeon.” He spun around, holding up a roll of dressing and a container of salve.

The curiously amused expression Tauras wore as he watched his cousin shifted and became closed once again. Like a cloud passing over the sun, Eduard thought.

Tauras wordlessly approached and sat on the bed.  Eduard patted his back dry with a clean cloth and began applying the salve.  It had a woody smell, and he’d used it before to treat everything from scrapes and boils to eczema — much to his former patients’ satisfaction.  He often thought if he had been able to keep with his schooling, he would have liked to become a doctor.  A real doctor.  It was probably why he spent so many years watching and imitating them, pretending to be them — and stealing whatever medical instrument he could get his hands on.

Eduard applied the dressing once he was finished with the salve, his eyes catching on the small golden cross around his cousin’s neck.  He remembered the letter Tauras had sent him, almost a year after he had left boarding school.  They were both sixteen and Tauras was absolutely besotted with his best friend from childhood.  Eduard had already known this.  Had known long before his cousin knew it himself, from the way Tauras would talk of Feliks in his letters to Eduard.

“Do you still think of him?” Eduard asked, nodding at the cross.

“Sometimes.”  A sad smile passed over Tauras’ lips.  “I suppose I was lucky my father sent me to Kaunas instead of forcing me into the imperial army, like Feliks’ father did to him.” He reached up, closing his hand around the cross.  “Mostly though, I just hope he’s safe.”

And that’s it for now!  It hasn’t been fully proofed yet, but I hope you enjoyed it so far and I’m sorry for the long wait!  The rest of the chapter is in the works and who knows, maybe it’ll be up by the end of February??

#hetalia #aph fanfiction #my fic #the book smuggler #aph lithuania #aph estonia #aph poland #hws lithuania #hws estonia #hws poland

[sp00kworm]

The Devil’s Eyes

Pairing: (Older) Billy Loomis x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Stalking, Blood, Injuries, Murder, Knifeplay, Violence. 

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN LINK

--

An alarm. Billy dared to look up through the small window of his door as the lock chunked, signalling that is was locked and closed for the next few hours. He chewed at his cheek as the wardens started to make their rounds. Each room would be disengaged at one point, checked, and locked once more for the night.

“Fifteen fuckin’ years and it’s the same old shit, isn’t it?” Billy droned behind the door, smirking as the grouchy warden smacked his baton against the glass.

“Can it, Loomis.” He shouted as they turned and walked back to the end of the hall to search the rooms before his on the other end. He was last. He was always last. The man chewed his lip, fingers turning in the hand cuffs. He’d gotten out of the jacket for good behaviour. Doing what the big wig told him. Obeying every command made him grind his teeth, but for what it gave him, it was worth it. Access to the library was nice. He flexed against the cuffs, holding the book open with his thumb between the pages as they started their rounds. He ground his teeth again and flicked his tongue against the pin tucked between his gums and cheek before reaching up to pluck it out.

“Fuckin’ useless the lot of ‘em.” He grumbled as he pulled the hair pin free and set about undoing the handcuff lock, pushing it back, carefully pushing open the sections of the lock, one rotation at a time.

 Billy felt himself smirk when the first one popped free, his hand flexing before he undid the second with much more ease. The guards were next door and he hummed a tune as he reached for the cuffs chain and tugged, pulling the chain towards the bed as he turned his back to the door and pulled the hard back book back in his lap, the cuffs in his hand, a knot of chain wrapped around his fingers, as he waited for them to finish with mad old Tommy next door.

“What I wouldn’t give to read some fuckin’ Stephen King in this place.” Billy mused as he looked back down at the hard copy of The Hobbit and rolled his eyes with disinterest, clenching the chain in his hand as he waited, brown eyes following the words and not really taking them in. He reached to pull his hair back, slicking the dark hair backwards, the curtains of his youth forgotten about when he spent a year incarcerated. It was hard to maintain any real form of haircut. Slicked back suited him, as did the short beard over his face as well. They didn’t let him have a razor. They shaved his face. He had a little say over what they did. Still, he could cope. He would always cope until he found his way out of here.

 He decided, as the door opened with a clunk, that The Hobbit, really was the most boring thing he had ever read.

“Turn around, Loomis. Hands where we can see ‘em. Pills and room check.” The warden announced from the door, burning holes into the back of his uniform, “Loomis. Now.” The baton in his hand went with a crack against his other.

“Don’t you ever get tired of shouting, Louis?” Billy drawled, licking a finger as he turned the page, desperately trying to stop himself from grinning as his blood roared in his arms, tensing his muscles as the two of them took steps inside of the room.

One guard continued to walk towards him, boots thumping as he drew close to the edge of the bed, observing the chain still linked to the wall as he loomed over the man convicted of killing six people, most of them his classmates, “Hands or you get the rough treatment, Loomis.”

Billy turned to look over his shoulder, “What if that’s what I want, Louis?”

“Sure thing, asshole. We can wrangle you into that fuckin’ straight jacket again, see how much you enjoy that. Last time you didn’t stop howling and kicking the door for three days.” Louis grinned down at him, looking Billy in the eyes with arrogance he once saw in those football player’s eyes. That was before he dragged the knife through their spleen.

 “I don’t think I want to be in that again.” Billy hummed as they reached for the chain of his handcuffs. Two wardens. Not great odds, but against the alarm, he stood even less of a chance.

“Then comply, Loomis. No one likes playing your little mind games. Hands.” Louis growled, his temper reaching the end of its tether. He tugged the chain and Billy held his end tightly as he snapped the book in front of him shut with a thump. Louis frowned as Billy turned to look at him, pieces of hair falling over his dark eyes.

“What’s the worst way to die, Louis?” Billy asked with a grin.

“What the fuck…” Louis reared backwards too late as Billy reached for him with the chain, grappling the man tight by the throat before looping the knot he had made with his hand over the warden’s head. His breathing became strangled as Billy let go and tugged the other end.

“Strangulation is up there, Louis!” Billy roared.

The other man watched in horror before coming for him with the baton. Billy grinned before sidestepping and throwing him against the wall, the brick colliding with his skull. Stunned, he let the killer take hold of him once more, eyes rolling as Billy took him by the hair.

“Let’s see how your blood looks on the wall, huh?” Billy sneered before slamming the guard’s head against the brick. Once. Twice. A third time. His head split and bled with the fourth before Billy smiled with satisfaction at the blood pouring from his skull. Louis gasped in the corner as Billy reached and pulled the chain tight again, watching the guard go purple in the face.

“This is for fifteen fuckin’ years, Louis.”

 Louis went purple all too fast and Billy smirked down at his work as he pushed pieces of hair from his eyes. The eyes bulging from his skull was a new look. It suited him, he concluded. Billy admired it for a moment before heading for the door, spinning the handcuffs on his finger before slamming the door to his cell closed behind him. The locks activated with a great thud and he waved at the glass window, looking at the blood smeared on the wall once more before he walked away, smirking as he walked down the shadows of the corridor. The alarm was silent on the wall. Searches were finished. He had ten minutes before someone got suspicious and came looking for the other wardens. Billy walked to the end of the corridor and smirked at the window, holding the pointed clip of the cuff up to the moonlight before fisting it in his hand. He raised it before cracking it against the edge of the glass. The glass cracked in a webbed pattern but didn’t give. Crazy Carl screeched from inside his cell at the noise. Billy raised the point again and smashed his fist against the glass with a grunt, watching with glee as the webbing caved and the window to freedom opened. He paused to smell the night air before wrapping his fingers around the frame, gritting his teeth as shard of glass shredded his fingertips, before hauling himself upwards. Wiggling, he managed to pull himself out on his stomach, grunting as dirt mixed with the blood on his hands. An alarm sounded behind him and Billy scrambled to his feet, turning to flag the brick walls with his middle finger before he was off into the woodlands.

 Woodsboro wasn’t much different. Billy hid behind the sunglasses on his face as he watched the town from the front window of the new café. Fifteen years, and Woodsboro was the same sleepy town it was when he was younger. Eighteen and partying like any other high school student until that whore, Maureen Prescott, had slept with his father the year before his plan had come to fruitition. He rubbed at his beard as he sipped at the ice coffee in his grasp, enjoying the cool drink in the summer heat as he watched the world go bye outside of the window. The waitress sauntered over to deliver him his slice of cake, giving him a lip bite and a curious glance as she walked back towards the counter to serve the other customers queuing at the front. Billy watched her ass bounce out of the corner of his glasses before turning back to look out of the window at the bookstore.

‘Out of Darkness by Sidney Prescott’

He scoffed softly before picking up the small fork for his cake. He pushed pieces into his mouth as he watched the bookstore with mild interest. Everyone would love to hear her story, he was sure about that. The final girl. The girl that won. He doubted it was much of a read. All about mental anguish.

“Shits overdone anyway.” Billy scowled at the shop as he mutilated the cake in front of him, thinking on just what good it would do him to be back where he started it all. The cake was in pieces. He wasn’t fond anyway. He picked up the drink and tucked a single dollar under the plate for her annoying service, just for the spite of it, before leaving, the little bell jingling behind him as he went.

 The pavement outside was hot. It was getting to the beginning of summer now, and Billy adjusted the sunglasses over his eyes as he fiddled with the stolen wallet in his trouser pocket. A few people on the highway were unfortunate enough to run across him. Stolen clothes and various bank cards later, and he was back in Woodsboro, the cash in his leather wallet enough to last him a while if he played his cards right. Sidney didn’t live here anymore. He wasn’t at much of a risk of being recognised. At least not yet. He didn’t know if that Dewey was still running around pretending to play cop. He’d been sleeping in the back seat of the four by four in the meantime, but he’d kill for some form of hot water. If there was one thing he missed now. It was hot water and a shower. He needed to remedy his situation soon. With a huff he squinted up at the sun before moving back towards his stolen car. The plate needed swapping before it was traced, or maybe he would cut his losses. He pushed a finger against his bottom lip as he unlocked the car and sat in the driver’s seat, fingers playing, drumming on the steering wheel before he turned the wheel and shoved the gear stick a little too hard. The clutch groaned as he ignored the protest and swerved out into the road, heading towards the edge of town in order to dump his vehicle somewhere deep off the beaten track.

 The irony and simplicity of him returning to Woodsboro made him laugh as he launched the empty coffee cup out of the car window.

 Woodsboro at night was just as sleepy. Doors locked and curtains drawn. Billy pushed the sunglasses into his hair to hold the strands back from his face as he strolled down the streets, wondering and thinking. Wherever old classmates used to live, he drifted towards. A few were sold, different names on the letterboxes and others were empty, the windows boarded up and the families forgotten about. Billy walked past Sidney’s old home with a smirk, licking at his lips as he pulled the sunglasses from his head and watched the empty house for a moment. Black. No one moved inside. Whoever lived there was already in bed.

“All in due time, I think.” Billy hummed to himself as he continued down the road, watching the rows upon rows of houses with decreasing interest, until he stood by a familiar front lawn. On the outskirts of town, he could remember a few nights spent outside this house before he always scuttled down into the side of the picket fence, hidden by the tree and the garbage cans as he watched them peel of their shirt and get into the shower. It helped him get his rocks off many a night after Sidney pushed him away and told him she couldn’t. Stu sometimes lent a hand. He didn’t have either of them anymore.

 Billy reached into his stolen jacket and rooted around in the pocket to distract his mind from his foiled plans. The lighter was expensive, and he looked it over curiously before flicking the flint and looking at the flame. He jumped when the light in the bathroom switched on and ducked behind the old tree, brown eyes peering around the corner of the trunk to try and catch a glimpse of who lived in the house now. The glass in the window was frosted now, double glazed with a vent in the corner to remove the steam of the shower. He watched and squinted at the blurry figure in the bathroom. If the record store owner still lived here, then it would be his kid, the very same one he watched undress night after night. Billy looked at his watch. It was the exact time when he used to hide here and watch you shower. He chewed his lip as you peeled off a shirt and leaned over to turn on the hot water. Billy ducked down the side of the house after that, peering into the back window. Every other light in the house was off. He grinned as he pushed his fingers under the sliding window, drawing the wooden frame upwards. It was almost too easy.

 The kitchen was silent as he climbed inside, pushing plants on the window ledge to the side as he tugged his legs inside. He grunted when he smacked his injured hand down on the tiles and hissed under his breath as he deftly wrangled his legs inside, hopping over the top of the sink and tap to land in the kitchen. A knife block sat in the corner by the microwave. Billy licked at his bottom lip as he walked over and took the largest kitchen knife, admiring the glint of it in the light from the window before he edged his way to the door and peered around. Nothing. The clock on the wall ticked as he strode through the dining room and towards the stairs, flicking the knife between his hands, catching it as he listened at the bottom of the stairs. He looked at the carpet to see if the wood underneath would give him away. The shower was still running. Billy put his weight on the first step and waited. Nothing. There wasn’t a creak. He continued upwards slowly, putting one boot in front of the other as he continued upwards, checking his weight against each step as he continued to the top of the staircase. At the top he paused and looked at the light underneath the bathroom door before opening the door across from it.

 The pyjamas laid out on the bed suggested that this was the room he was looking for. You even had the old walk in wardrobe he remembered. With a mild observation he reached for the handle and slid it open before pushing the clothes apart and nestling himself between them, closing the door to hide himself as he peered through the slats of wood and waited. He clenched the knife in his hand tightly as he heard the water shut off and your music move from the bathroom and into the room. The door creaked open and Billy breathed quietly as he saw the towel wrapped around your body. You dried your hair off with another little towel and dropped the other after rubbing the water off your skin. Billy pushed his fingers against the handle and inched the wardrobe open quietly under the guise of your music. He stood there, knife in his hand, white shirt stained with mud from your plants, jeans slouched on his hips and boots twisted into the grain of the carpet as he watched you dress, covering inches of skin he used to dream about marking.

 As though the thoughts in his own head were too loud, you turned around, top clutched to your front as you caught sight of him and opened your mouth. Billy stood and waited for the scream. Your voice caught in your throat as you saw the knife clutched in the man’s hand. Billy raised a finger to his lips, shushing you around his smirk as he reached forwards and snatched the top away from you. The man pushed his fingers greedily against the skin of your neck as he shoved you. You were sent flying against the bed as, at last, a strangled scream escaped your throat. The killer followed you, thighs snapping tight against your hips, pinning you against the bed, his hand snatching your wrists to pin them back.

“Please! Please don’t!” You cried, turning your head away from the mocking sneer on his bearded face.

“Fifteen fuckin’ years and everyone in this shithole of a town has forgotten what I look like.” Billy snapped, pushing the knife close to the skin on your neck, watching it indent under the pressure of the blade. He didn’t cut you yet, just held the edge there as a warning, “It didn’t take any of you long to move on, huh? To forget about the killer. They all do that…and the killer always makes his grand reappearance.” Billy’s dark eyes traced downwards, looking at the hot skin of your chest before he traced the knife downwards and cut a trail over your rib when you flinched.

 It clicked as his brown hair slipped forwards and flopped over his eyes in curtains, his smile full of teeth as he watched blood drip over your hips.

“Billy?” You asked breathlessly, holding yourself still in case he cut you again for another flinch under the cold steel.

The knife came up to pat your cheek, “Very good, baby. Been a long time since high school, huh?” He smeared your blood over your jaw, wiping the blade of the kitchen knife clean with a hum of enjoyment, “Fifteen years...” He observed dreamily, “It’s like Michael fuckin’ Myers. Breaking out of the sanatorium to satisfy his lust for blood. Except in his version he burst into the closet and got his eye mutilated. Maybe that makes you Laurie?” He pushed the knife downwards under the waistband of your bottoms, poking the point upwards for fun before he traced it back upwards, digging it against your stomach, “This is even his weapon…Maybe I’ll cut your throat and pose you with a pumpkin for fun like the sick fucker he was?”

“Michael Myers isn’t fucking real, Billy.” You snapped at him as he pushed the knife back against your throat.

Billy sneered, “No he isn’t.” before leaning over, close to your lips, his hair tickling your face, “But I sure fucking am.” The knife pushed against your throat again as punishment. Billy didn’t take kindly to your attitude.

 You pushed your hips upwards and squirmed, earning your arm a cut as Billy admired the colour of the blood on the blade, wiping it on your other cheek as he wondered what he was going to do with you.

“Where’s your old man?” He took the knife away with a dark look.

“He’s been dead for three years.” You replied with a swallow as Billy ran that over in his mind.

“So, you’re all alone?” He smiled at that discovery and hummed before leaning over and slamming the knife into the mattress by your head, “Then I think we can come to a…” Billy leaned close so your lips brushed as he spoke, “Little agreement, you and I.” The knife glittered in the corner of your eyes as he pushed his nose against your hair and breathed deeply.

“What sort of agreement?” You asked. Billy didn’t seem to hear you.

“To think. I used to watch outside by the garbage cans and get my rocks off to you and here we are.” He licked at your face, swiping the blood from your cheek, “I get a new little partner in crime, and you…” Billy pushed bloodied fingers around your neck, his breathing quick as the adrenaline howled through his bloodstream, “You get to stay alive, baby.”

 You closed your eyes as he pressed a single, bloodied kiss to your lips before blood and spit dripped past his lips, dripping over the cupid’s bow of your lips and back down your cheeks as he grinned, white teeth stained pink. Billy took a shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair to try and calm his heartbeat and stop himself from acting out as you looked at him shyly. His hands flexed, smearing blood between his fingers as got back off the bed and took the knife.

“Come on, baby. Take me on a tour of your place.” He came up behind you as you stood up, “Lets see what horror movies you have, hm? Maybe I’ll let you have some fun if you got the classics.”

#billy loomis x reader #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x gender neutral reader #billy loomis x you #ghostface x gender neutral reader #ghostface #billy loomis #scream #scream 1996 #scream movie #scream (1996) #slashers #slasher #slasher reader insert #reader insert #alternate universe #au #ghostface x you #horror #gore #blood #injuries #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic

[booksandseventeen]

School Project pt. 2 ☼☀

Warning: angst 

☼☀Week 4

For once, he couldn’t wait for school to start. He wasn’t surprised to see that her desk was empty, but this time, it felt more...permanent. Now he regretted all those times he ignored her during class, only talking to her during those late night adventures. 

When it was just the moon to hear her words and see his idle touches. He had tried calling and texting her but all his calls went to voicemail and his messages unanswered. His leg jumped up and down throughout the class until finally the bell rang and he told Tadashi he would meet up with him later.

“um, excuse me.” he stood in front of the teacher, she looked up at him and shuffled the papers on her desk. 

“how can I help you, Tsukishima?”

“my...partner for my project, I was wondering if you knew when she would be back.”

“oh! that’s right, i’m sorry Tsukishima I forgot to tell you that she recently moved. If it’s no trouble you can continue the project by yourself and I can give you an automatic half percent to start with.”

She moved. She moved and didn’t tell him.

“do you know what school she transferred to?” he asked, feeling his blood begin to boil. She never mentioned it once. 

“one second.” the teacher turned to her computer and began to type away. “hmm...strange, but I don’t see her enrolled in any school at the moment.” the teacher smiled and looked up to him, “would you like another partner?” 

Tsuki stared at the screen, her smiling school picture staring back at him, she was holding up a peace sign. “no.” he heard himself say. “I don’t want another partner.”

During practice he was more stoic than usual and after he left straight away, where? He had no idea. But his head was a jumbled mess, did those 3 weeks mean nothing to her? Sure he hadn’t been the nicest but he thought....he thought that maybe they could have.... 

He shook his head angrily, he was a fool. To let himself be pulled into her little game. He would forget all about her, forget about the project and those late nights where the moon casted her face into a pale painting and that damn oversized hoodie.

He walked and walked until he came to an abandoned pool, dirt and moss clung to the edges and the slides had residue that he didn’t want to know what exactly it was. The pool was eerie, strange, and had a sense of calm that he knew immediately she would have be drawn to.

Slowly, he walked among the abandoned equipment, clouds passed in front of the moon causing him to stumble every now and then. 

And that’s when he saw it. 

A piece of paper fluttered in the wind, tied to a rusty beach chair with a piece of ribbon. He grabbed the paper and unfurled it. His eyes ran over the paper, reading it 3 times before stuffing it in his pocket. It was a paragraph written for the project, he recognized her handwriting:

“Did you ever wonder, why abandoned places look so sad, much like the people who live there”

She was still doing the project for him. 

Now he only needed to beat her to the next location.

 ☼☀ Week 5

The following days had him staying up later than usual, researching places in Miyagi that she might deem interesting and narrowing it down to only a few, he only had one night to try and catch her. He was staking everything on a saturday night. 

He hated that his heart sped up when his phone went off, hoping it was her, hoping to hear the music in the background and then she would ask to meet her somewhere. 

Saturday came around and he pulled on his jacket and snuck out. The night was different without her, almost like the moon knew she wasn’t with him and so the moon refused to show him the way, clouds obscuring the silver light. 

He biked for almost two hours, and when he finally came to the next spot he braked and looked out before him into the bowl shaped valley below.

Okama was known for its large crater where a lake resided in, its surface color changed naturally throughout the day, and at night, it almost seemed like a deep purple. 

Tsuki stood at just the lip of the valley. Something caught his eye. A light dipped in and out of view, and he knew it was her. It had to be

He ran down the trail, twisting down towards the lake, rocks tumbled down the side of the walkway but still he ran. He didn’t know what he was doing, chasing after a girl he had only known less than a month, but the way she had felt in his arms was like he was melding into something greater than himself.

Finally, finally, he had made it to the lake and to the spot he had last seen the light, he walked a few more feet and stopped. He bent down and held up her hoodie, he looked around and saw her joggers and shoes.  

“no...”

He turned towards the surface of the lake, still as a mirror. 

“HEY!” He called and began to take his shoes off. His mind was frantic, his heart beating so wild that it actually pained him. 

He saw it, if he had been looking anywhere else he would have missed it. Two bubbles popped on the surface and without thinking Tsuki dove in. 

It was like diving into a glacier. The water hit him like a brick wall and he had to come up for air. He looked around calling her name. He dove back under, trying to see through the murky water, he stayed under as long as he could. He didn’t know how long he dove under and under again. Until his fingers were numb and it took every energy to kick back up to the surface

He yelled into the valley, anger bubbling up inside him as he hit the surface of the water with his fist, tears flowed down his face as he screamed her name again and again. 

He never saw more bubbles.

Exhausted, he crawled back onto the bank and laid down next to her hoodie.

It still smelled like her. 

The moon shone down on him, shivering, as he reached towards his phone and called 911. He could barely speak. He finally told them his location and hung up. 

And that’s how they found him. Laying on the bank, her hoodie clutched in his hand and tears rolling down the side of his face. 

It took them almost 3 hours to drag her body out. He looked away when the first scuba diver emerged. His last memory of her wouldn’t be like this. 

The moon had known her all its life, was it crying too?

 ☼☀ The Last Week

It was fitting, that on the last day of their project that he would be here. Sitting in front of her tombstone. She would have hated it. 

He thought back to the ceremony, the whispers around him. He had brought Tadashi, his friend only now realizing how close you two had been. 

“She was never the same after her sister died.” 

“Refused to sleep is what I heard.

“she just....Couldn’t take it anymore.”

She had so many opportunities to tell him. To tell him why she wouldn’t sleep. He could have helped her, held her....Loved her. And he knew deep down he would always love her, the part of her that called him in the middle of the night because she knew he would pick up. The part of her that laughed in the darkest parts of the night and fell asleep on his shoulder under the stars. The part of her that made him better, happier, that realized things were different in the dark. 

He once remembered thinking that he thought she was most peaceful when her eyes were closed...he wished he could take it back.

He made a promise to himself right then. That he would give everything his best, like how she did during the last month of her time with him. He was grateful, he realized, that she had chosen him to spend her nights with. He wished he had been enough, and perhaps if they had more weeks together, months, even years, things would have turned out different.

He draped her favorite jacket over the tombstone, she didn’t like to be cold, and kept her hoodie. It fit him perfectly. 

A reminder, that into the darkness she went, the wise and the lovely.

☼☀

Pt. 1

This was based off the book and movie “All the Bright places” highly recommend!

ummmmm i’m so sorry! But let me know if you guys would be interested in alternate ending? One not so sad obviously!

#hq #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyū!! #tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #tsuki x reader

[shannygoatgruff]

Big Scary Love

(Header made by the talented @flowers-in-your-hayr​)

For @a-mess-of-fandoms​ Kayla’s 1K Writing Challenge: Prompt #20 (prompt in bold in text below)

Characters: Ivar || Ubbe

Genre:  Romance

Warning: None

Rating: PG

Summary: A little brother seeks approval as he’s about to make the biggest decision of his life.

A/N: I was supposed to have written and submitted this one-shot for @a-mess-of-fandoms​​ months ago, but I suck! I have struggled with this thing so much. I have literally rewritten it 19 times. I don’t know why one-shots are so hard for me. The only have to be one scene, but I struggle with did I choose the right scene, how much do I want to say about it, did I find resolution? Needless to say, I was never happy with anything I wrote. It still didn’t turn out exactly as I hoped, but it’s close.

Congrats on your many followers! I’m sorry I’m so late.

Big Scary Love

Lothbrok’s Bar and Grille sat approximately two miles south off of exit 131B  between Kattegat and Hedeby. 

Established in 1990, the bar was built from the ground up by the Sigurdsson brothers, Ragnar and Rollo, as a place where the blue-collar people of both towns could get a good meal and stiff drink. It was also the place where Ragnar’s sons had grown up and naturally where they chose to carry on the childhood tradition of their monthly family game night. 

Dating back to when Bjorn first taught Ubbe and Hvitserk how to play Go Fish, when they were the ages of 6 and 4. respectively, the boys would meet at a table in the back of the restaurant to play games. It helped keep them close, especially since Bjorn lived in Hedeby with Lagertha and the other boys lived in Kattegat with Aslaug. But, the bar was in the middle, on neutral territory. It provided a place where they could all gather and remain close when distance and the common dislike between the adults threatened to tear them apart.  

Almost thirty years later the tradition continues at 7:30 pm on the third Thursday of the month. Bjorn and his wife Gunnhild, Ubbe along with his wife Torvi, Hvitserk and his girlfriend Amma, Sigurd with his boyfriend Kalf, and Ivar who vowed to start bringing his girlfriend, Cami, would gather, at the table in the back left corner, to play the game of choice according to whose name was next on the chalkboard. 

Watching the door, Ivar’s brows raise when he recognizes his older brother cross the threshold. Slowly, he continues to organize the colorful money so that all the faces aligned in the same direction and before placing it back in the bank. A quick nod acknowledges the fact that Ubbe is headed to the bar to get a drink before he takes a seat at the large table in the back corner of the room, already set for the brothers’ monthly game. Tonight’s game is his pick, Monopoly.

Ubbe shivers slightly, trying to knock off the outside chill as he brushes the fresh snow from his black wool pea coat. As he approaches the bar, he removes his gloves and smiles at his younger brother. “Hvitserk,” he sings, clasping the younger Ragnarsson’s hand before drawing him into a manly hug, “How’s it going, brother?”

“Pretty good,” Hvitserk answers patting his brother on the back with a smile, “What are you doing here so early? We’re not supposed to meet for another,” he looks up at the clock built into the ship’s wheel on the far wall, “hour.”

“Ah,” Ubbe puts one his foot on the wooden rungs of the bar stool and balances his weight on his other leg while he plays with the coaster, “Ivar asked me to meet him here early.” He looks over his right shoulder toward the table in the back and holds up a finger to his youngest brother and then points to the bar to ask if he would like a drink. “Do you know what’s up with him?”

“He probably wants you to help him cheat,” Hvitserk explains as he takes the towel from over his shoulder and wipes down the side of the bar to Ubbe’s left. “The usual?” He prepares two drinks, when Ubbe holds up two fingers, for both of his brothers. “Oh, Angrboda just made a huge pot of Helga’s seafood stew.”

Ubbe’s eyes light up as he nods his head, “That sounds great. I’m fucking freezing. Send over a large bowl with bread, yeah?” He knocks on the bar twice, as is customary, before picking up the glasses and makes his way to the table.   

Ubbe sits the drinks on the table and smiles cheerfully, “Hey, baby boy.” He walks around and hugs his brother’s head before leaning down to kiss him on the top of his hair, “How you doing, kid? You good?” Receiving a pat on his forearm, he playfully pushes Ivar away before flopping down on a chair beside him.

“Hey,” Ivar answers watching his brother sit, holding an awkward smile on his lips, “thanks for meeting me early.” He takes a look out the window at the falling snow covering up his uneven footprints on the sidewalk, “It’s getting bad out there?”

“Nah, not really. Should have a good covering come morning, but nothing too bad.” Ubbe picks up his glass and takes a drink, stretching his lips across his teeth as the sour taste of the vodka gimlet settles on his tongue. He takes note of the way his brother is arranging the game pieces and watches for a moment before he speaks, “So…what’s going on? Why did I need to meet you here before the others?”

Ivar takes a sip of the Guinness Stout and picks up the Chance cards to arrange them all in the same direction, “Well, uh, Ubbe. I wanted to talk to you, about…about, Camille.”

“What about her?” Ubbe isn’t sure where this conversation is headed. He’s only met her a handful of times and she seems nice enough, though he’s not sure she’s the one for Ivar. There’s no reason for him to feel that way, it’s just something in his gut that says the relationship will be short-lived. 

“So,” Ivar takes in a deep breath. Having rehearsed his speech for the better part of the day, he struggles to remember to pace himself and breathe, “You know we’ve been together for a little over a year now and things are going in a really good direction with us. She’s moving in with me. We’ve even talked about looking for a small house together.” He looks up from the game box to gauge his brother’s reaction. Unable to read Ubbe’s face he continues, “I want to ask her to marry me.”

Ubbe coughs down the gimlet that gets caught in his throat as he swallows. He sits back in the chair and leans against the backrest folding his arms across his chest. He tries to keep his mouth closed to let his brother finish but the words start to spill out his mouth, “Oh, Ivar,” he chuckles, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” 

“Why because she’s Afro-Latina and not Viking? I thought you of all people would understand that our differences don’t matter to me. Hell, I’m different, and it didn’t stop her from wanting to be with me,” Ivar defends.

“Of course not, brother. I’m not a dick,” Ubbe places his hand on his brother’s arm to calm him, “I only meant that she’s your first girlfriend. I get that you’re excited, and everything is still pretty new with you two. But, you don’t have to run out and propose to the first girl that you -” he raises his brows and ducks his head to signal Ivar what he’s talking about. “You will have lots of relationships. You will meet a ton of beautiful women that will blow your mind in bed. Hell, you might even want to marry them all. We all know Bjorn tries to,” both brothers chuckle at that, “but it’s not necessary.”

“You don’t understand, Ubbe.” Ivar interrupts, “it’s not like that.”

“You don’t understand, kid. Bjorn will never release your shares from this place before you’re 30. Especially not if he knew you would be just turning it over to some girl and knowing you it would be without a prenup. Without the interest on that trust, what will you do for money, huh? Work for Hvitserk?” He raises his brow at Ivar while ignoring the flash of anger in the younger man’s eye. “Rollo and Father put every dime and ounce of sweat they had into this restaurant to give us a legacy. You are too young to remember, but there were nights when Father would not come home because he was here laying the foundation, brick by brick. There were also many times when Mother had nothing but soup to feed us all because there was no money to buy meat; father spent it all to see his dream come true. His dream was for us to have a better life and we did. When he died, we all got a piece of this place and the money from it is for our future.”

Ubbe blinks his blue eyes thoughtfully at the younger man beside him, “Besides, baby boy, you are so impulsive – as soon as you get an idea, you jump on it. You don’t always think things through. Have you really thought about this?”

“When Bjorn decided to join the Army and go to war, we didn’t tell him he couldn’t go. We let him go live out his dreams of being one of the Avengers. And was Hvitserk being impulsive when he decided that he wanted to take this place over after Helga died? He did not know the restaurant business. Liking to eat and running a restaurant are two different things, but none of us tried to talk him out of it?” Ivar rolled his eyes and slammed the game cards onto the board, “We all rallied around him and pooled our money together to help him remodel this place how he wanted. We promised that even if he fucked up we would pitch in and help keep this place afloat. My money is here, too. I should be able to have it if I want it.”

“But, Ivar…”

“I’m not finished, Ubbe,” Ivar runs his fingers through his long, loose hair and pulls it over to one shoulder, “When you decided to marry Torvi, a woman that had three children that weren’t yours, did any of us say anything? No. We could see that you loved her and that she made you happy and that was enough. And Sigurd? He was scared as hell to tell us about Kalf, but in the end, it was fine, because he’s our brother and we support each other. But why not me?”

Ubbe takes another drink and sets his cup down silently. He regards his little brother and smiles at him softly, “Because you, my little Ivar, are my baby brother and I don’t want you to get hurt.” He squeezes Ivar’s shoulder lovingly, “I have always looked out for you. I have been your legs since you were a child. You are a part of me, brother, and I must protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from love, Ubbe. She’s my big scary love,” Ivar’s eyes drop bashfully as the blush stains his cheeks.

 “Your what?”

“That’s what we call it – big scary love. You know that love you feel all the time, but sometimes you wake up in the morning and you just say to yourself, ‘I love the fuck out of this woman?’ It’s that love that after a year I still feel fluttering in my chest when I hear her ringtone and why my world spirals out of control when I see tears in her eyes. And she loves me that way, too, Ubbe. I mean, look at me,” he opens his hands in surrender, “In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find someone who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you. Well, she does. She loves me like that and so much more. My legs, crawling around, breaking bones, the pain, my temper...hell, she loves me despite those things. To her, they are just additional sides of me to love.”

Ubbe listens to his brother, trying to keep the tears that threaten to spring to his eyes at bay. He can hear it in Ivar’s voice that he is truly happy. Now, he regrets not getting to know Cami better, but he admits to himself that he did not think that their relationship would last. “I am happy that you found love, Ivar.”

 “She’s pregnant.”

Ubbe unintentionally holds his breath as he tries to think of something else to say, but no words will come out. Why can’t Ivar see what he’s doing? This is all the more reason for him not to make this mistake.

“That’s not the reason why I want to marry her, though.” Ivar smile doubles in size as he thinks about the prospect of becoming a father, “I’ll admit the idea of having a baby is like…fuck! But, I want to marry her because I want to make her my family. I want it all, Ubbe; a family of my own, with her. She’s it for me.”

 “So, what do you want from me?”

With a shrug, Ivar relaxes, “Your permission? Your blessing? Congratulations? I don’t know. You’ve always been my favorite brother – I guess I just want to know that I’ll still have you in my corner. I don’t give a fuck about the money from the restaurant. If Bjorn wants to be an ass and tie it up for years, so be it. I’ll get a real job and stop living off of the family name. The only thing I want is Mother’s ring. I want to propose the right way…and maybe you in my corner.”

Ubbe cups one hand around Ivar’s cheek and gives him a few hits, “My baby brother has finally grown up!” Leaning in, he places his other hand on Ivar’s other cheek before pulling his face toward him to kiss him on both cheeks, “You’re going to be a father and husband! I’m so proud and happy for you! Of course, I will stand up for you, brother. All I have ever wanted was for you to find your own happiness.” Ubbe can’t stop the laughter coming from him as he notices Hvitserk coming over to the table. “And it would be my honor to give you Mother’s ring.”

“Sorry, it took so long. Porunn was late for her shift again. Know any good people needing a job? I could use some help around here.” Hvitserk says, sitting the bowl of soup on the table. He looks at his brothers and smiles at them laughing like loons, “What are you idiots up to?”

Ubbe gives Ivar a knowing smile as he hugs him around the shoulders. “Nothing. Just our brother here has some wonderful news to share tonight when the others arrive.”

Nodding, Hvitserk punches Ivar’s arm and picks up Ubbe’s glass to toast, “Well, to whatever your news is, Ivar,” he clicks glasses with his youngest brother and finishes off Ubbe’s drink. “I’ll get you another, Ubbe.” As he turns to walk toward the bar, he yells over his shoulder, “And you’re not banker during Monopoly tonight, Ivar. You always cheat!”

 Tags:  @youbloodymadgenius​​​ @idea-garden @kol--mikaelson​​​ @mooniemouse​​​ @didiintheblog​​​ @waiting4inspiration​​​ @tempt-ress​ @where-beauty-goes-to-die @crazyaboutmotleycrue​​​ @oddsnendsfanfics​​​ @geekandbooknerd​​​ @ivarthebloodyking​​​ @honestsycrets​​​   @xbellaxcarolinax​​​  @zuxiezendler​​​ @inforapound​​​​  @a-mess-of-fandoms​

#big scary love #ivar lothbrok #ubbe lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ubbe ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok fic #ubbe lothbrok fic #modern ivar #modern ubbe #vikings fanfic #vikings fandom #shannyland #kayla's 1k challenge

[lobster-tales]

Power and Control - Zutaraang Holiday Exchange

This piece is a gift for @ithinkicanwritesometimes ; Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Available here on AO3. 

Summary: Superhero AU. Katara, better known as the superheroine Rivulette, has been missing for 24 hours. Aang, working as the superhero Avatar, and Zuko have finally found a lead, one that takes them to a new villain. Senator Zhao, a corrupt politician, has discovered that spirits are not creatures of myth, and he intends to use this information for a deadly purpose.

The thief’s feet skidded against the slick pavement as he turned, so fast he nearly lost his balance. He glanced back and saw blurs of orange and red, gaining quickly. The man gasped for breath as he ran, eyes flickering desperately across the silent shop fronts. He saw an opening and bolted for an alleyway.

Just as he entered the dark corner, his foot caught on a stray cobblestone, and he crashed to the pavement with a cry.

Before his body had stopped, two hands seized the front of his black coat, lifting him to his feet. The man grunted as his pursuer slammed his back against a brick wall.

“When I say freeze,” a low voice growled. “You freeze, thief.”

The man stared at the orange cowl, a sky blue arrow pattern curving over the hero’s skull and aiming down between the stormy eyes. A tremor ran through him, but the criminal snarled through his fear, “Let me go, Avatar!”

“Tell me where she is, Sang-jin.” There was an unusual coldness to the hero’s voice. Sang-jin had heard Avatar speak before from news clips, briefing sessions in murky basements. The superhero was a kid, a goofball, though Sang-jin and the others in his gang had been warned not to underestimate Avatar’s power.

The person pinning him to the wall now seemed like a completely different man. There was no trace of mercy in his eyes, no quips in his sneer.

Avatar pulled him back and slammed his body against the wall again. “Where is she!”

Sang-jin gasped and clutched Avatar’s wrists with his calloused hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Another figure came into view behind him. The man was slightly shorter, his features illuminated by a flame blooming from his gloved palm. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Sang-jin.” His unmasked eyes flickered in the light, his left singed with a scar the size of a fist.

Sang-jin frowned. “Hotman?”

“No, my name’s not- It’s Zuko, okay? Just Zuko.” The hero scowled. “Just- start talking.”

“Now.” Avatar lifted him against the wall so that his feet dangled above the pavement.

Sang-jin’s eyes widened as he stared down, glancing quickly between the two heroes. “I- I don’t know! He never told us-”

“Who is ‘he’?” Avatar said.

“I- I can’t,” Sang-jin sputtered. “He’ll kill me if I say anything-”

“And we’ll kill you if you don’t,” Avatar said in a low tone.

“You-you’re bluffing! You’re superheroes, you don’t kill people!” He looked to Zuko, who looked startled by Avatar’s statement.

“Avatar, wait-”, Zuko murmured, stepping forward.

Avatar ignored him. “That was before you kidnapped our girlfriend.”

Sang-jin blinked at him. “What do you mean ‘our’- Ahh!”

Avatar’s palms grew hot, scorching the fabric of Sang-jin’s coat. “Last chance, thief. Where is Rivulette?”

He yelled as the heat burned through his clothing and pierced his chest. “The docks! She-she’s at the docks! Pier 41!”

Sang-jin collapsed to the ground. He patted the edges of the flaming fabric, whimpering as Avatar removed a zip tie from his belt. “Now you’ll let me go?”

“We’ll let you live,” Avatar said, snatching the thief’s wrists and binding them together. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

The heroes left him beneath the streetlamp, hands and feet bound waiting for the police. The two launched into the air, soaring above Republic City. Avatar stretched out his arms in front of him, his body carried by the wind while Zuko was propelled by blasts of flame beneath his feet and hands.

The city moved beneath them, headlights from traffic streaming between the concrete buildings. They flew above the curved roofs, neon signs mingling to create a hue of pink and blue. Zuko looked past Republic City to their destination: the docks of Half Moon Bay, the sea stretching beyond in a black abyss.

He glanced to his left. Avatar’s form was rigid, his brown eyes focused and unwavering despite the circles beneath them. Zuko cleared his throat. “So, any ideas on who he’s working for?”

Avatar shrugged. “Don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.”

Zuko stiffened, training his eyes on the horizon. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “So are you… good?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Avatar asked, mouth sour.

“Just that you were kind of intense back there.”

Avatar said nothing. The wind whipped past them. A police siren echoed in the distance.

“I mean, you kind of threatened to kill that guy, Aang.”

He jerked at the sound of his secret identity. “I didn’t mean it. You know I’d never-”

“I know, but you were pretty convincing.” Zuko considered him. “So?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He glanced at Zuko, and when he saw his unyielding expression, Aang sighed. “I know it was intense, but I’m just…. Frustrated. I don’t get it, Zuko. No note, no ransom… Nothing. This is our first lead in 2 days.” His voice got quieter. “Anything could have happened in that time… Katara could be hurt, or worse, she could be-”

Zuko banked around to stop him mid-air, the two hovering in place. “Aang.”

Aang bowed his head with a grimace. “What?”

“You said you could handle it.”

“I can,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m just-”

“Distracted?” Zuko raised an eyebrow at him. “I know you’re worried about her; I am too. But the best thing we can do for her is stay on track.”

“Okay, Zuko, you don’t have to lecture me,” Aang grumbled.

“I’m not lecturing you, I-” Zuko searched his tired eyes, attributing the attitude to his lack of sleep. Usually, Aang was the one reining him in; Zuko felt strange being on the other side. He sighed, asking, “Promise me you can handle this?”

“I already-”

“Promise.” His expression softened. “Please.”

Aang paused, then muttered, “I promise.”

Zuko reached for his hand, taking his limp fingers in his own. “Let’s go get our girl.”

Aang looked to their interlocked hands, relaxing slightly at the touch. He glanced up at Zuko. “Whatever you say,” he smirked faintly, “Hotman.”

“Oh, come on!” Zuko was too relieved at Aang’s return to normalcy to be angry, but he feigned annoyance anyway as they resumed their flight. “Not you too! I get enough from the news.”

“I think it’s good for you to have an alias. What about your secret identity?”

Zuko waved a hand over his scarred face. “What secret identity?”

Aang’s laughter was weaker than usual, but Zuko was glad to hear it after days of silence.

***

The heroes descended towards the boardwalk, gliding past the warehouses. “Pier 37…” Aang muttered to himself. “Up there!”

Their boots thunked against the wooden dock as they approached a door to the warehouse. Aang went first and examined the padlock. “Locked.” He sighed. “Katara never taught me how to pick locks.”

“She taught me.” Zuko stepped forward. “Move aside.”

Once Aang was out of the way, Zuko pinched the lock between his fingers. He let go of the metal, clenching his fist as flames erupted from his hand.

The small explosion caused both heroes to stagger back. There was a smoldering window of shattered door frame where the lock had once been. Aang’s mouth hung agape as he stared at Zuko. “She didn’t teach you that!”

“Nah,” Zuko said, wiping ash off his sleeve. “I just had to get you to move.”

“What if someone heard?”

Zuko shoved open the warehouse door. “Pretty sure we lost the element of surprise when you decided to wear orange.” He indicated the building’s interior. “After you.”

Aang grumbled and moved past him, igniting a small flame in his hands as he entered the darkness. Zuko followed, fire blooming from his palm.

The structure was held up by steel beams, the open concrete space holding nothing other than a few scattered crates. The heroes took a long glance around the room, before Zuko huffed. “Empty. Sang-jin lied.”

“Wait.” Aang knelt, fingers tracing along a line on the floor. His hand stopped at a small metal loop that rose from the concrete. “What about this?”

“They probably used it to tie down cargo or something. There’s nothing here; let’s get-”

Aang tugged on the loop, and the floor shuddered. Along the line, a door began to swing open, rising to reveal a staircase. The passageway led to a concrete hall, illuminated by strips of warm lights that ran against the tops of the walls.

Zuko pressed his lips together. “Lucky guess.”

Aang smirked and gestured to the stairs. “After you.”

They entered the passageway, cautious but curious. The labyrinthian path twisted left and right, finally opening up into a large, rectangular chamber. Rows of lab equipment, computers, and various other pieces of technology lined the walls, casting an eerie ultramarine glow from the screens. In the center of the room, a raised platform stood, surrounded by a circular drain below and a blue curtain from above.

“Hello?” Avatar called, tensed and ready.

“Avatar,” a man’s voice echoed from everywhere. “Welcome, I’ve been expecting you for some time.”

The heroes searched the room with their eyes, but saw no one. “Who are you?” Avatar asked.

The voice ignored him. “And Zuko: the prodigal son himself. Or should I say, Hotman?”

Zuko grit his teeth. “You shouldn’t.”

“Show yourself, coward!” Avatar snarled, no longer in the mood for games.

After a pause, the curtain shifted, and a man stepped into the light. His gray hair was pulled into a topknot much like Zuko’s, beard curving beneath his cheekbones and flaring out at the jaw. His muscles were visible even beneath the black suit, a red flame pattern embroidered along the lapel. He stood at attention, arms behind his straightened back, his face composed with an underlying smirk.

Zuko’s eyes widened. “Councilman Zhao?”

“Senator,” Zhao corrected. “I was elected into office last spring.”

When Avatar clenched his fists, a vibration rumbled through the stone floor. His brown eyes bored into Zhao’s as he said in a low voice, “Where is she?”

“Don’t get your cowl in a twist, Avatar; Rivulette is alive and safe.”

“Then show her to me.”

“You know,” Zhao said, ignoring him. “Kidnapping her was not an easy feat; any one of you pose such a threat that it would have been impossible to convince her…”

Six cylindrical nozzles dropped from the ceiling, hanging several feet above their heads. Six more rose from the floor around them to mirror the ones above, surrounding the heroes inside a hexagonal shape. The nozzles sparked with electricity, a loud zap resounding as lightning burst between the nozzles on the floor and the ones hanging from the ceiling. The power caused the heroes to collapse, falling to their knees. The jolts eased to create electric bars, trapping them in a cage.

A grin played on the corner of Zhao’s lips as he approached, gloating, “... but eventually she listened to reason.”

“What is this?” Zuko gasped, keeled over.

“It’s an electro-magnetic field, of sorts. While these bars resemble electrical voltage, they’re actually created from something much more... Unreal.” Zhao paced in front of the glowing cell. “You see, Avatar, I have been tracking you and your little hero squad since you started this endeavor ten years ago. After all, there are so few who have the genetic makeup to bend the elements, especially in these harrowing times. I’m especially intrigued with your ability, Avatar, to control all four. Alas, after several crime scene investigations, I was only able to recover one sample of DNA: Rivulette’s.”The corner of his mouth twitched into a sly smile. “Or should I say, Katara?”

Avatar and Zuko remained silent, their eyes glaring daggers into Zhao. The senator shrugged and went on.

“I’ve spent months researching her genes, trying to find what it is that gives her such raw power. I kept getting so close to the answer, but never was it in my grasp, until the day I decided to take a study break at the library.”

“Who takes...” Zuko muttered, “A study break… at the library?”

“It was there,” Zhao continued, ignoring him. “That I discovered the truth, the source of her incredible power, of all your powers.”

“And what’s that?” Avatar asked through gritted teeth, though he already knew the answer.

“Spiritual energy.” Zhao grinned menacingly. “I discovered information that you likely know already, that our world is not what it seems. There are spirits all around us, and long ago, we humans had a connection with these spirits that allowed us to tame the winds, move mountains, and calm the seas. But as time went on, we slowly realized that this spiritual link kept us from our true potential. We severed ourselves from the spirits for the growth of our kind. And yet, though the spirits have dwindled in number and power, many still exist today. Some of them have good or at best, neutral, intentions, but a great many more are in a perpetual state of vengeance. They are angry at the humans for conquering and subjugating this world, for building cities and empires on the graves of gods.”

Avatar listened to Zhao’s words. Nothing that the senator said was new to him, but his fury only grew as the secrets of the spiritual world were laid bare.

“I realized that if I could recover these existing spirits, I could redirect their power.” Zhao turned his attention to the electric beams containing the heroes. “In fact, this containment unit was only made possible with the help of a particularly vicious eel spirit.”

Avatar’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you saying?” he asked, terror creeping into his voice. “You’re… you’re killing spirits to steal their power?”

“Not killing so much as draining,” Zhao clarified, moving to the technology lined wall. He pressed a button, and the wall at the far end of the room, behind the raised pedestal and blue curtain, fell away. Avatar and Zuko stared up at the revealed aquatic chamber, where several creatures swam in lethargic circles. The drained ocean spirits swirled inside the chamber, their fins and spines grey with pallor.

Avatar’s eyes widened in horror. “You… you’re a monster…” He struggled against the weight of the energy, rising from the floor despite the force pushing his body down. “You have to stop this, Zhao... You’re messing with forces you don’t... understand.” Zuko moved behind him, also fighting against the voltage.

Zhao raised an eyebrow at Avatar’s strength. “Ah, you do know of the spirits; I thought so. However, I assure you that I understand them far better than you, Avatar, which is why I will use them to take control over this pathetic city, and then, the world.”

“You can’t!” Avatar forced himself to stand, hunched over while he panted through the effort. “Trust me, Zhao... the energy of the spirits... can’t be controlled! This won’t go the way you think it will!”

“Stay down and let me finish,” Zhao said, pressing another button. The electric bars thrummed more intensely, and both Avatar and Zuko cried out as their bodies were pushed to the ground once more. “I’ve run enough experiments with their energy to know that the easiest method of control is through a host. Not just any host, however, one who already has enough spirit energy to be manipulated.”

Zuko and Avatar exchanged glances, realization dawning on their features. They both turned and uttered, “No…”

“No,” Avatar said again. “You… you didn’t…”

Zuko growled, “What’s underneath the curtain, Zhao?”

The senator smiled arrogantly, savoring the moment. “Do you really want to know?”

“Show us!” Avatar yelled, fists clenched.

“If you insist.” Zhao lifted his hand and yanked on the curtain. The fabric fell with a whoosh, cascading down around the raised platform. In the center, a vertical cylindrical tank held Katara’s unconscious form. Her brown hair splayed in the water, mouth covered by an oxygen mask that wove towards the ceiling of the chamber. Wires plugged in to various places on her body, weaving over her torn, azure supersuit. A small monitor beside the tank blinked with every beat of her heart.

“Katara...” Avatar tried to hide his relief at seeing her alive, but his eyes flickered back to Zhao. “What have you done to her?”

“Nothing yet,” Zhao said almost gleefully. “I thought it would be best to wait for you two, to get a true understanding of her power.” He stepped back, behind the tank, and placed his hand on a lever. “After this moment, she will no longer be Katara, or Rivulette. She will be host of the sea spirits, a combination of their energy combined into one vengeful force. She will be-” He shoved the lever down. “Ayakashi.”

The ultramarine lights of the lab flickered on and off, sparks racing along the wires that connected to Katara’s body. A luminescent liquid flowed into the tank, and her limbs began to tremble. Behind her, the aquarium thrummed, the sea spirits picking up speed as they swirled in a panicked state.

Katara shuddered, fingers clenching and unclenching as the raw energy surged through her veins. She gasped and opened her eyes, the usual blue pupils holding a storm of flashing bolts. Katara lurched forward, hands pressing against the glass wall as she cried out beneath the oxygen mask.

Avatar and Zuko could only watch in silent horror; they tried to reach for her, forgetting that their limbs were still weighed down.

Energy continued to pour into the tank, obscuring her from view. A loud humming noise escalated in volume, louder and louder until the sound was unbearable. The glass of the tank began to crack. Only then did Zhao pull up the lever, but the power was too much for the small laboratory. The tank shattered, water pouring from the broken glass. The emergency system recognized the liquid, and the lights shut down. The room became enveloped in darkness, cold silence save for the water slowly spilling down the drain.

Avatar realized that their electric prison was gone, the bars evaporated in the blackout. His fingers felt along the wet floor until he touched Zuko’s elbow, seizing his arm and helping him to his feet. Before either of them regained the energy to ignite a flame, the backup generator sputtered on. Two dim crimson lights flared on either side of the doorway where the heroes had entered, casting triangles of light towards the floor. Two more lights activated beside the first, and more followed as the red glow traveled down the walls and toward the shadowed pedestal.

Soon, the room was faintly illuminated in a reddish glare, reflecting off the surface of the damp floor. A dark figure stood hunched in front of Zuko and Avatar. Two eyes opened from the being’s skull, glowing a solid ultramarine as the body stirred.

Zhao’s voice echoed throughout the room, and they both realized he had disappeared. “Now, Avatar, we’ll see who is truly in control.”

Ayakashi lifted her head, long brown hair hanging wet around her shoulders as her hands sparked. She took a lurching step towards them.

Zuko leaned towards Avatar, muttering, “Still think you can handle this?"

Blue electricity burned along Ayakashi’s arteries, her teeth bare as she pulled her arms back. Water from the burst tank stirred at her feet in violent ripples.

Avatar stood at the ready, hands lifted in front of him. “Nope.”

Her hands gathered the water into two waves on either side of her, energy flickering angrily as it zapped through the liquid.

Zuko widened his stance, flexing his fingers as warmth returned to them. “Me either.”

Ayakashi released an eerie scream, then attacked.

#zutaraang #zutaraang holiday exchange #aang #atla #atla fic #fic #ithinkicanwritesometimes #zuko #katara

[ladyoutlier]

Nothing too original but: Some first date / first kiss would be lovely! Oh and also Crowley in cute panic mode when Aziraphale finally catches up to him romantically.

Read on AO3

It had been seventeen hours and 42 minutes since Aziraphale had told Crowley that he loved him. The demon would have the time memorized down to the second, but he had been too stunned by the returned declaration of love that the second, and quite a few more, had passed before he had regained his composure.

And after that moment, time had slipped away. Ooey gooey, mind-melting, light-headedness of having 6000 years worth of pining finally pay off would do that even to Satan himself. Y’know, if Satan ever found himself in that position—which was far from likely, although no one really knew who the Antichrist’s mother was. Crowley was exceptionally vulnerable to it, but Aziraphale did that to him. Made him lose his composure, even if it usually was only internally.

At some point the sun had risen, and a night full of talking about things Crowley never thought he would say out loud had passed. At roughly eight sharp, Aziraphale had suggested that Crowley go off to water his plants and meet him back here at his bookshop at three. Perhaps they would spend the afternoon somewhere. Perhaps Hyde Park. He didn’t say first date directly, but they both knew that’s what it was. They had their own wordless way of speaking that only a millennium or two of frequent interactions could create.

Crowley did not water his plants at his flat. There was so much more to do. Planning. Oh so much planning. How did dates even work? He had his fair share of seduction jobs in the past, but those didn’t really follow up with an ongoing relationship. Dates were practically as foreign to him as Heaven itself. You dress up for them, yeah? But a park was hardly a place to sport a penguin suit. Bring flowers? That’s a thing. There’s a whole language to that though. Certain flowers mean specific things, and as big of a plant enthusiast as Crowley was, he had no idea what meant what. Ask a flower person? Botanists? No, they were called florists. There had to be one of those nearby. Did he have time for that? Surely. Worst case, he’d miracle himself some more.

Would it be too cheesy for him to play “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” on the ride? Yeah, probably. He really should’ve thought this out more. Well, he did. Quite a lot over the centuries. But all those thoughts found themselves submerged deep within himself to face tortures worse than the most vile punishments of Hell. He could vow for that.

If he had known that he actually had a shot with Aziraphale—that one day they’d be actually be going on a date together—maybe he would’ve let those thoughts play out a bit more. If he had properly started preparing for this as early as the Wall of Eden, he’d probably be a whole lot more confident and a whole lot more calm right now. He couldn’t stop pacing around.

Maybe flowers were too cliche. Too puppy love teenager mushy rubbish. But a gift was necessary. That’s what these things were all about. A thank you for giving a horrible demon a chance. A symbol of love. Yeah, that was still weird. Aziraphale really did love him. Wow. Isn’t that something? Might as well have dumped a bucket of holy water on him because that thought alone melts him into a pool on the linoleum.

He could always steal that book back from that American girl with the glasses. Aziraphale had really liked that thing, although he probably wouldn’t be all that happy with him immorally acquiring it. AH! If his heart could calm down for just three seconds, he could think a bit clearer. Maybe he’d just get rid of it. Not like he needed it after all. But that wouldn’t be very nice. Not that he wanted to be nice. Just he wouldn’t even be here without that infernal organ.

He could pull a Van Gogh but instead of an ear just give Aziraphale his whole heart. Two problems solved: the irritating beating and the present. Problem with that was that Aziraphale already had his heart.

He needed something with weight to it. Something that showed Aziraphale both how long and how much he loved him. Something one of a kind, but not flashy or showy. Aziraphale wasn’t one for things like that.

He had to have something that fit those qualifications. He kept quite a few souvenirs over the centuries. But did any of them—oh. Oh, he had the perfect thing.

*

“Hey boy where do you get it from

Hey boy where did you go?

I learned my passion in the good old fashioned school of loverboys”

“Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” did end up playing on the drive although Crowley swore the disc he picked wasn’t a Queen album. The demon was really glad that he had red hair because that certainly helped hide the pink tinge the tips of his ears had taken.

Aziraphale had been silent regarding the song except for a brief “Lovely tune, isn’t it?” before going back to talking about all sorts of things Crowley could listen to all day. The angel could be talking absolute bollocks, and he would still hang on every word.

Although Hyde Park wasn’t nearly as lovely as St. James’s Park, the change of scenery was very much appreciated. Plus, a new location very much fit with the theme of them being on a new level of their relationship. Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves on a nice bench in front of the river. An enormous tree rested in the middle of the path beside them. It seemed that instead of disrupting the giant, the humans had simply built around it. One of the rare examples of their environmental consciousness.

Of course, no appropriate first date at the park would be complete without a picnic lunch, and Aziraphale had thought of just that. He ruffled through his basket, which Crowley had called grandmotherly, and pulled out a few cucumber sandwiches. It was a light lunch, but for one, they didn’t actually need to eat, and two, they were likely to find themselves at some place for dinner in only a handful of hours.

Whether or not Crowley was one for eating was no one else’s business. It was also no one’s business how he ate if he did. As such, whether or not he actually ate the cucumber sandwich and how in that case it was devoured, remains a mystery. All that is known is that said sandwich was gone before Aziraphale had gotten halfway through his which wasn’t that surprising considering that the angel is a horribly slow eater.

“You know, this river’s called The Serpentine,” Aziraphale said, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “Thought you would find that amusing.”

Crowley leaned onto the back of the bench and scoffed. “That why you wanted to go here?”

“Maybe.”

Crowley grinned. The mood was playful. The atmosphere was calming. They had a nice lunch. There wasn’t a human in sight. Everything was grand. If now wasn’t the time, when was?

“Got you something, angel.”

The demon reached into his jacket and pulled out something wrapped in a silky black (for what other color would it be?) cloth. Aziraphale eyed him with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he took the gift. As he unwrapped it, Crowley turned to look out over the oddly named river. Still, thanks to his sunglasses, his eyes were on Aziraphale.

As the last of the fabric fell away, what was left behind was a small display box. Like one a person would use for a scientific sample of a raw gemstone. Through the see-through lid of the box, the angel could see a chunk of white stone. It wasn’t natural or glittery in nature. No, it looked man-made as if it once belonged in the entrance of a grand bank.

“Thank you, dear.” He turned the box over in his hand. “Although I do think I’d be a bit more appreciative if I, um, knew exactly what it was.”

“‘S part of the Eastern Gate.” Crowley stretched out on the bench. The more relaxed his posture was, the more he could pretend this was an everyday occurrence.

“Oh, Crowley. You don’t mean Eden’s Eastern Gate?”

“Course I do. Was where I met you. Place was collapsing after Adam and Eve got evicted.”

“Do think that was your fault, love.”

“I merely offered them an alternative. Entirely their fault they chose it. But anyways, figured God didn’t care much for the upkeep of the place considering that the wall could hardly be serving a purpose crumbled down, so I took a brick.”

“And you’ve managed to carry it around for quite literally all of time?”

“Well, not on my person but yes. It’s a good memory. Part with you I mean. The rest was pretty bland.”

“And you’re just giving it to me?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I? Don’t need it anymore now that I got you.”

Someone else might have not been able to tell whether Crowley’s remark was meant as a compliment or not, but to Aziraphale, who knew the demon’s tendency to give nuanced comments of admiration, it was dreadfully obvious what he meant. One does not simply have something for 6000 years and just give it up like it’s nothing. Aziraphale doubted there even was anything else left of the Wall of Eden besides this piece. Centuries of weathering and erosion would have ensured that. This was more than a time capsule. It was all that was left of the beginning. The only thing that could bring them back to their first moments together. And Crowley had given it to him just like that. The angel only regretted that he had nothing to give the demon in return.

“I’m at a loss for words. This is so sweet, Crowley. I really just can’t believe you’ve been holding on to it for all this time.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Aziraphale found himself doing something he very much wanted to but didn’t actually tell himself to do. He leaned over to the demon, still cupping the box in his hands, and kissed him right on the cheek. “Thank you.”

If Crowley thought his pink ears in the car was bad, he should’ve had a mirror for this moment. His complexion rivaled that of Satan’s in the red department. Somehow his sunglasses found themselves slid down the bridge of his nose. He was quite literally petrified. Maybe not as much as last night when his relationship with Aziraphale had started, but it was a close second.

“Too much?” Aziraphale asked, hesitantly.

“Do—do it again,” Crowley fumbled out as his mouth began to work once more.

“Gladly.”

The angel pulled him into another kiss, but this time, instead of landing on the cheek, it met with his lips. One would think that after 6 millennia of longing, nothing could live up to that desire. One would be very wrong. 

They held each other in a kiss that went on and on. Hands became involved, and they bound together as if they were always meant to be one. A shard of Eden was the only thing between them. And what happened next? Well, that’s their own personal business.

#Good Omens #Good Omens fic #Ineffable Husbands #my writing #asks #alittam

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 3

Skies and the crew get to Opportunity and run into someone interesting.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Chapter 9

           Two technicals speed through the Dust, beneath the night sky. Piled into one are Maya, Axton, Salvador, Zer0, Gaige, and Krieg. In the other is Lilith, Mordecai, and Brick with the Crimson Raiders trained skag, Dukino, hanging out the window, his maw open in delight.

           They soon arrive on something suspicious: a mound of destroyed machinery, still smoldering in the sand. It’s barely recognizable as a vehicle. They pull over and Dukino sniffs the destruction, whining as he looks around in confusion.

           “She destroyed their vehicle,” Lilith declares, “she’s trying to keep us off the trail.”

           “So what now?” Gaige asks.

           They watch Dukino’s odd behaviour for a second. He keeps looking from one direction to the other, like he can’t decide which way to go.

           “Looks like she could’ve gone towards the northeast or southwest,” Axton observes, “guess we just gotta pick a direction.”

           “Ellie’s place is over that way,” Maya points out, “maybe she saw something.”

           Everyone agrees and gets back into their vehicles. They arrive at Ellie’s in a few minutes and walk into the junkyard. The large woman greets them right away.

           “Hey, guys,” she chimes, “how’s it goin’?”

           “Could be better,” Lilith replies, “Ellie, have you seen anyone suspicious lately?”

           Ellie gives her a blank look. “Yer gunna have to be more specific.”

           “We just found out Skies the Bodyguard is still alive,” Mordecai clarifies, “we’re trying to find her.”

           “Ah, so the skag’s outta the bag, huh,” Ellie sighs, “yah, I knew already.”

           “What do you mean, you know?” Maya questions, everyone looking at her incredulously.

           “A while ago I found someone passed out in tha desert,” Ellie explains, “I brought ‘em back to the garage and didn’t realize she was Skies until she told me. I was ready to kill her but…”

           “But what?” Maya asks, “did she attack you?”

           “Nah, the exact opposite. She didn’t try to fight back or resist. She just sat there and…waited. And-I dunno. I couldn’t do it. She just looked…broken.”

           “Tina said that exact same thing,” Brick muses.

           “Well, she ain’t broken now,” Axton points out, “and she kidnapped Claptrap.”

           “And that’s…bad?” Ellie questions.

           “It’s the principle of the matter,” Lilith says, “Ellie, did she come back recently?”

           “Yah, not long ago her new friends came lookin’ for a car,” she replies.

           “And you just gave it to ‘em?” Salvador asks incredulously.

           “They needed help. And I trusted her friends, not her,” Ellie clarifies.

           “Did they say anything about where they were going?” Lilith asks.

           “‘fraid not. Just that they were going to Sanctuary for help.”            Everyone sighs with defeat.

           “Okay, well, there was still that other direction her scent went,” Gaige points out.

           “Yeah, let’s go,” Axton nods and they start to head out.

           “Lil,” Ellie calls after them, grabbing Lilith’s attention. “If I was wrong about letting Skies go, I promise I’ll make her pay myself.”

           Lilith hesitates with what to say for a second. “Don’t-don’t worry about it, Ellie. I don’t blame you. I know you would’ve killed her if you thought it was right.”

           Ellie nods and Lilith leaves with the others.

           They return back to the destroyed vehicle and continue on towards the southwest. Soon, Skies destination makes sense as they arrive at the train station.

           “Lynchwood,” Lilith grunts, “of course.”

           “Ay, the trains have power,” Salvador observes as everyone gets out of the vehicles.

           “How did that happen?” Axton asks, “last time we were here, the whole town was dead.”

           “She must’ve restored power somehow,” Maya muses.

           “Least now we don’t have to walk,” Mordecai grunts as they climb aboard the train.

           “Let’s hurry,” Lilith orders and they ride the train to Lynchwood.

           Meanwhile, Skies and the others have just fast traveled to Opportunity. They appear one by one in a bedroom, which at one point was probably lavish and opulent, but has since been destroyed and looted.

           “Nice place,” August comments drily.

           “Too bad we missed the party,” Sasha adds.

           Skies leaves silently and approaches the window in the destroyed den. From here, she can see the destruction that was wrought upon Opportunity after Jack’s death. The buildings are all intact but many of the windows are smashed and even from this distance, evidence of past gunfights is clear. It looks nothing like the golden beacon Jack dreamed of.

           Skies stares out solemnly until she senses Vaughn approach.

           “You okay?” he asks.

           “Yeah,” she replies and turns away. “Come on. We gotta go into the city. I don’t know what’s in there, so be ready for anything.”

           Everyone draws their weapons and start to leave when Claptrap cuts them off.

           “Wait!” he says dramatically, “I would like to say something.”

           “What, you need permission?” August scoffs.

           “Skies saved me from a skag attack earlier today,” Claptrap announces, “this has forced me to rethink my opinion on her. Therefore I have decided, she is no longer my enemy and as thanks for saving me, I will protect her with my life!”

           “Oh um,” Skies stammers, flabbergasted, “that’s…okay. Thanks…?”            “Now, let us continue with our quest!” he declares before rolling away.

           “Hey, nice,” Vaughn smiles, nudging Skies as they follow. “One of the Crimson Raiders has accepted you.”

           “Yeah,” she sighs, “guess I gotta start somewhere.”            They leave the tower and cross the bridge to the city proper. It’s eerily quiet; not even the growling of skags can be heard in the distance.

           “Oooh I hate this kind of silence,” Skies groans as she covers her ears, like that’s gonna help. “Reminds me of the time I spent alone. Maddening. Suffocating. Somebody say something to drown it out.”

           “You seem to be doing an okay job,” August comments.

           “I can’t believe how empty it is,” Sasha remarks, “I thought this place would be crawling with bandits.”            “Yeah, it is odd,” Vaughn agrees.

           “The controls for the bridge on the other side were destroyed,” Skies explains, “it wasn’t mindless destruction either. It was clean, like they knew what they were doing.”

           “Maybe the Crimson Raiders want to keep people out,” Vaughn suggests.

           “Maybe,” she agrees, slightly unconvinced.

           Skies leads the group to Opportunity Square, to a building that used to be locked with a keypad. The door has long since been destroyed, allowing the group free access. Inside used to be a surveillance room but that too is ruined.

           “This isn’t gonna work at all,” Sasha says angrily, gesturing to the broken monitors.

           “Relax,” Skies grunts and goes up to an empty wall, placing her hand against it. A large scanner appears that scans her whole body before a secret door opens up.

           “Whoa, cool,” August comments.

           “This lab can only be accessed by mine or Jack’s bio-signatures,” Skies explains as they go down a set of dimly lit stairs. “That’s why I know it’s safe. No one can get in here.”

           They enter a simple room with a large computer against the right wall, a couple of cabinets and shelves, a table, and a fast travel station across from them. But none of this is what stops them in their tracks. What does are the clothes sprawled out around the floor and the pile of fresh fruit on the table.

           “It…looks like somebody’s been living here,” Vaughn muses.

           “That’s impossible,” Skies argues, “no one should be able to get in here but me.”

           “This drake fruit is fresh,” August points out, “this hasn’t been here since Jack died.”

           “But…” Skies trails off, rubbing her head in perplexity.

           “Whatever, no one’s here now,” Sasha says impatiently, “let’s just find Fiona and Rhys already. Claptrap, can you hack the computer?”            “No problem,” he chimes and rolls over to the monitor. Sasha, Gortys, and Loader Bot follow him while August, Vaughn, and Skies mill about the room.

           “Vaughn, seriously?” August groans as Vaughn bites a piece of fruit.

           “What, I’m hungry,” he shrugs.

           Skies ignores them as goes over to the clothes. She picks one up: an old Hyperion sweatshirt with rips and stains. Everyone on Helios had a shirt like this- even her.

           “But it definitely looks like his size…” she mutters.

           “Bad news, guys,” Claptrap says, catching everyone’s attention. “Server’s down.”

         “What?” Sasha barks as she stares at the large blue screen. “Skies, you said this would work.”

           “Aw son of a taint!” Skies snaps, throwing down the shirt. “I was really hoping Jack would have this place on a separate server. Shit, shiiiiiiit!”

           “What now?” Vaughn asks.

           Skies groans loudly, clearly agitated. “Well…there’s one more place we can go. I know it’s on its own server but…augh, it’s a pain in the ass though, for so many reasons. I really, really didn’t wanna go there.”

           “Well, we got no other choice,” Sasha points out.

           “Yeah,” she sighs, “okay. The only- well, not only but a major problem is that we need Jack’s voice and bio-signature.”

           “Aw, man,” August groans.

           “Maybe we can put together a voice modulator,” Vaughn suggests.

           “No problem,” Claptrap chimes, “I am able to customize my voice and I have many instances of Jack speaking in my memory banks.” He’s silent for a second before speaking again, sounding exactly like Jack. “How’s this?”

           Everyone stares at him, bewildered.

           “Perfect, right?” Claptrap asks.

           “Good god, that’s unsettling,” Skies cringes.

           “But it should work,” Vaughn adds.

           “Yeah,” she agrees, “now we just need his bio-signature. Maybe we can find something in his old office or at Lynchwood.”

           “Gross,” Sasha comments.

           “Let’s go, team,” Claptrap declares.

           “Please change your voice,” Skies begs, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I like your normal voice better.”

           “Aw thank you. Er, I mean.” He’s quiet again before speaking in his default voice. “Thank you!”

           “Alright,” she sighs and turns to the door. “Let’s go back to Lynchwood-.”

           She stops as she turns the corner and comes face to face with Handsome Jack.  

#borderlands #borderlands 2 #tales from the borderlands #borderlands fanfiction #borderlands au #myart #myocs

[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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