#she ain’t just raw beef | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Two): Here In Night City

Notes: This one has been done for a while, I’ve been pretty busy and overwhelmed with school for a while, but I’ve been having some fun silverv shenanigans on my personal account and I figured it was time to post it. I’m not sure how I feel about it? It went through some heavy edits, so there might be some typos and issues with that, and writing a montage...is new territory for me...

Word Count: 14799

Chapter Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Casual Discussion of Suicide (its fairly common in Night City according to lore), Talks of Sex but nothing explicit

If you haven’t yet, you can read the first chapter here.

V fiddles with the frayed edges of her hoodie, following behind Jackie. The night air chills her skin as they walk. It's not far from the bar where he stops a building, among the shorter cluster of buildings in Heywood, in no way stretching up into the heaven like many of the buildings in Night City. Jackie has no hesitation, taking the steps two at a time and swinging the front door open. She moves to take her mask off, not wanting to risk creeping his mom out, though her bruises and blood matted hair won’t do her any favors.

“Ma! I brought a friend home!” He yells out, like they’re kids asking to have a sleepover and V finds herself smiling. V bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, looking around the living room, the little collections of knick knacks, little calavera skulls. The couch covered in blankets and the warm little cozy touches within the home.

“Jaquito!” A woman’s accented voice rings out, Jackie’s mom coming into the living room, “where the hell have you been!? I’ve been worried sick!”

Jackie’s mom is a woman somewhere in her fifties, if V had to wager a guess, with gray hair that falls down past her shoulders and blue eyes. There’s a softness to her as she looks at her son, something inherently maternal to her gaze. There’s wrinkled lines of worry around her eyes.

“Ay, I told you Mama, it was just biz. Nothing to worry about,” Jackie waves off his mother’s concerns.

“And your friend?” The older woman’s eyes land on her, she looks down finding a spot on the floor to focus on.

“Ma, this is V.”

Jackie turns to introduce her and V starts to look up, then his green eyes widen for a moment. It’s the first time he’s seen her without the mask, she’s realized, and she finds herself hyperaware of her features, worrying about how they’re being viewed. Her hands fidget and nerves flush her face. She’s not even this anxious when a hookup sees her face for the first time. The idea of a potential bedmate rejecting her is nothing compared to this visceral fear that her new friend and his mother not approving of her .

“Hi,” she signs, slightly stilted in her movements, feeling as if she might combust.

Her already awkward gestures completely freeze when she feels Senora Welles cups her cheek, fingers rubbing over the purple bruises on V’s skin. The touch is kind and warm, stirring up memories of V’s own mother. Memories of being a child returning to camp after hours of scavenging through a landfill or exploring the new land just for her mother to come look over her for every bruise or mark she may have collected.

“My Jackie drag you into one of his messes?” Senora Welles asks before V can go further down the slippery nostalgia slope. Fingers brush across the blood in the back of V’s hair, the worry etching the older woman’s expression only grows. The intensity makes the former nomad look at the ground, unable to maintain eye contact.

“It was a client, mama,” Jackie answers for V, “First night in NC spent bleeding out in a dumpster, second will be spent on the street unle-”

“Say no more. I’ll get you some clean clothes, you can use our shower, and we’ll get some food in your belly, alright?”

“Alright, thank you, so much,” V signs as Senora Welles pulls away. She doesn’t know what she did to deserve their kindness, but she’s thankful for it, nonetheless.

She’s given a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants once Senora Welles has shown her to the bathroom. It’s modest with a tile floor, stickers on the mirror and sugar skulls beside it. V catches sight of herself in the mirror and blinks at what’s looking back at her, she understands Jackie and his mother’s reaction now. While she suspected and felt what she may look like. But her reflection staring back at her confirms it. Purples, blues, and greens scatter across her face like galaxies over her skin. Her eyeliner has smeared and smudged around her eyes. Her hair is in tangles, darkening red flecks of blood staining the bleached blonde and dark brown of her roots where it sticks to her scalp the ponytail she tied it back in is now knots. She needs a cut and a touch up. But bleach may have to wait, when she tries to brush it out, it hurts, pulling at the not quite healed wound on her scalp and bringing fresh blood to the surface. She does the best she can for now before deciding it’s enough.

V triple checks the lock on the door, not out of distrust for the Welles, but her own paranoia and habit. Then she strips out of her clothes and takes out her hearing aids, stashing them in the medicine cabinet in hopes of protecting them from steam. She rubs at the reddened skin of her ears. She knows they’re necessary, but they chap and rub her ears raw after too long. There’s cream she has for it, that’s in her duffle bag, that was in her Rattler. She pouts at the realization before she turns on the hot water, stepping under it’s spray.

The hot water is a welcomed relief to her aching muscles, as she washes away the grime, she starts to feel human again. She scrubs the blood and mess from her hair, careful of her still tender scalp as she washes away the mess that was her first day in Night City.

V dries off and slots her hearing aids back in, they seem to still be dry. She throws on the clothes she was given. The shirt hangs off her shoulders and the hem hits at her knees, she gets the idea the shirt may be Jackie’s. She’s less sure of the sweatpants, they do sag on her hips and the legs go well over her feet, but with enough tightening of the drawstring they manage to stay up. Baggy, soft, and warm. If not for the still steady pain in her temples and the cramping of her empty belly, she could curl up to sleep. Her hair is still in absolute knots, so she ops for putting it up in a bun to save for a time in which she can handle combing through it. Then finally she leaves the bathroom, peeking around the corner.

“Chica, in here!” Jackie’s voice booms and calls her into the kitchen.

She pads her way in there, Senora Welles and Jackie are gathered around a table in the kitchen. He’s thrown off his jacket, showing the muscle shirt he wore beneath it. And despite having seen him all night, she truly feels like she’s seeing him fully now in the cozy lighting of the kitchen. Freckled skin, biceps the size of her head, a black and red tattoo on his wrist and forearm that’s cut off by a gold bracelet. The light catches off the cyberware across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He grins widely as his mother fills a bowl with chili, the grown man shoveling it in his mouth without waiting for it to cool, like an overexcited child.

“Over here, mija, take a seat and a bowl,” Senora Welles beckons her over.

V climbs up into a seat, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. Senora Welles fills a bowl to the top with chilli for her; the smell of the tomato, synth beef, and veggies making her stomach growl. She’s torn between gratefulness and feeling a bit like a mangy dog Jackie dragged in. It’s fine line between kindness and pity, she can only hope it’s the former rather than the latter.

“Thank you, so much.”

The second she’s done signing another thanks, she’s shoving chili into her mouth and its so good. Perfectly cooked and with a hint of spice. She nearly inhales the rest of her bowl, barely coming up for air as she gobbles it up. A second bowl goes by just as quickly, she’s pretty sure Jackie’s on her third by the time she grabs the second. She’s slowing down by her third, her stomach not quite bursting, and she’s willing to push it just to keep eating.

“Aye, you’re as bad as Jaquito,” Senora Welles teases, smiling as she calmly eats her own food.

“Sorry, its just really good…” V signs with one hand, still eating with her other.

“Told you my ma made the best chili.”

“Hey, what did I say about talking with your mouth full, Jackie!” His mother scolds him.

“V did it first.”

“I don’t talk!”

“See, she did it again!” Jackie teases when she signs again. V swallows her mouthful of chili and sticks her tongue out at Jackie. The joking around has eased some of the tension for V, Jackie still treating her like a new friend and not some sad sack he’s trying to help.

“So, V,” Senora Welles says after a few moments, “where are you from?”

“All of the everywhere, I think I was born in North Carolina? Maybe?”

“You’re a nomad?”

V chews her lip, the media talk about nomads is far from good, usually painted as asshole outlaws. Corps don’t like them. Corps own the media. So they make sure the media tells everyone that nomads are the violent assholes who refuse to fall in line, refused to sell their land, and then ran away to ruin everyone’s life when they lost the battle. Not that it stops them from lining a nomad’s pocket when they need work done. Which, granted, her own nomad family are…violent assholes and criminals, but that doesn’t mean they all are. And she doesn’t want to be painted with that same brush. And there are good solid nomad families out there, she’s met more than a few in Bakkers, Aldecaldos, and Red Ochre Clan; to name just a handful.

“Formerly, yeah, was hoping to make a new life here.”

“Your nomad family ain’t waiting for you?”

“Uh, no, just…no.”

Tears prick at the back of V’s eyes, threatening to shed as she thinks of her mom, put down in a med tent. The first time her father held a captive bolt pistol to the base of her skull, ready to kill her for her newfound disability. The way everything seemed to change when she lost her hearing. Her sister hunting her down like a dog, not caring who she has to shake down, what she has to burn to the ground; just to kill her on the order of their father. She bites down harshly on her lower lip, she doesn’t want to think about it.

Then there’s an arm wrapping around her shoulders, Senora Welles having stood up at some point, and now gently tucking V’s head under her chin. A gentle one-armed hug, not tight or all-encompassing but warm and kind, without pushing her.

“No worries, mija,” the older woman speaks against V’s skin, “you can stay here as long as you need.”

“Thank you, that means a lot,” V’s not sure if at the angle, Senora Welles eyes can translate her signing, but she squeezes the older woman’s hand, hoping it can be communicated through touch if nothing else. Appreciative as she is, there’s a small pit in her stomach, she’s already becoming a burden to someone new.

A moment passes and then Senora Welles gives a soft kiss to the top of her head before taking away the dirty dishes. V starts to gather it as well, she’s eating their food and staying in their house, the least she can do. If she’s going to impose for any length of time, she needs to make herself worthwhile to have around, to some degree.

“No, no, no, V. You’re a guest, go on and get settled in,” Senora Welles stops her before she can help any further.

“Uh-“

“C’mon, jaina,” Jackie gives a quick pat to her shoulder, “I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.”

She gets up from her seat, feet padding up the stairs after Jackie. He barely fits between the banisters, his wide muscular frame completely blocking her view as they move through the house. He takes her up to a bedroom, its not particularly big, and she can’t help but think he’s had it since he was a child. There’s fitness posters on the wall, weights that she imagines Jackie could juggle if he wanted, a vanity with a rosary, but it’s what stacked on top of one of the desks that catches her eye.

Two desks are flush against one of the walls, one with a large aquarium balanced on it. Vivid blue and white fluorescent lights illuminating the water. Only one fish swims through it, gray with a fin, like a mini shark. V can’t help the noise of excitement she makes as she bounces on the balls of her feet over to the tank, sitting in the chair at the desk. She wants a better look at this beautiful baby.

“V, meet Taco,” Jackie introduces her to the dwarf shark.

“I’d die for him,” she signs, with zero hesitation.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Heh,” she giggles at his response, “must have cost you an arm and a leg.”

“Think I bought him?”

V’s nose wrinkles as she laughs, hands forming words, “forbidden shark.”

V taps against the aquarium glass, getting Taco’s attention, she drags her finger back and forth across the glass watching the large fish chase her finger. Taco twirls and twists, trying to nibble at her finger through the glass.

“So, what happens tomorrow?” Jackie asks, bed creaking under his weight.

She turns in the chair, resting her arms and chin across the back of it as she shifts to face him. Jackie has sat down on the bed tucked into a cubby against a wall. Can he even fit on that bed? She’s still not even sure who’s sleeping where tonight, she has no intention of stealing the man’s bed, if anything she wishes you could buy him a bigger one to more comfortably fit him.

“Tomorrow? Gonna get my shit back, hopefully turn a quick profit off the cargo, and get myself a place. I don’t plan on making a nuisance out of myself, I promise.”

She’s thankful for the hospitality and as much as she maybe shouldn’t, she’ll take advantage for the night. But, she has no intention of leeching off of their kindness. They may be opening their door to her, but no one wants a mooch. She’s an adult and needs to take care of herself.

“Pfft, you ain’t no fucking nuisance, my ma’s probably just happy to have someone who’ll help with the dishes.”

“I don’t wan-“ she shifts gears mid-sentence, “you don’t help your mom with the dishes?”

“Eh, ya know,” he makes a vague wiggly hand gesture and scrunches his face up “it’s gross…” He shrugs.

“Of course it’s gross, you dummy! She cooks for you for god’s sake, the least you can do is help clean up!”

“I’m busy, okay!”

“Unbelievable.”

“Look,” he laughs, “ that, this was not the point, Chica. So, before you climb up my ass again… Lemme ask, what about the day after tomorrow? Day after that… you ice Sinclaire and then what? ”

“Hmmm,” she hums, tapping her fingers against the chair before signing, “I hate to disappoint but I haven’t come up with any grand plan since the last time you asked. ’

“Figured as much, you ever do any merc work before this?”

“Little things, smuggling jobs here and there, stayed out of cities so pickings were slim. You been doing it long?”

“Most of my life; work for yourself, live for yourself. Only way there is, if you ask me.”

“Probably be the easiest way to make eddies after I square away this cargo thing,” she admits, she never really put it into thoughts, but she always sort of assumed that’s where she’d end up once she landed in the city. The only other alternative would be some entry level job waiting tables or something and that might even be a pipe dream if they expect her to have cyberware or something resembling a formal education.

“Already got a fixer who likes you,” Jackie tells her, “and not to brag, but with me as your partner you’ll be getting preem jobs right out the gate.”

“Oh, so we’re partners now?”

“Don’t see why not, already know we work well together, I could use an extra pair of hands and you could use really any help you can get, and… ” he pauses for a moment, finding his words, “I just got a good feeling about this, ‘bout us.”

“A feeling?”

“Yeah, that the two of us could make to the top.”

She’s trying not to laugh as she sees excitement fill his eyes, like a child on Christmas. It’s not as if merc work is new territory to her, she’s taken odd jobs in the Badlands. But, it is sparser than in the city and mostly smuggling. She can’t exactly proclaim it’s her dream job or what she wants to do forever, but she can’t think of a damn thing else she’d like to do. Death has been nipping at her heels since she was nine years old, she hasn’t thought far ahead, hasn’t felt she had any right to.

And, she can’t really say she gives a fuck about making it to the top. Riches, fame, notoriety, being a legend. She couldn’t care less. She just wants to be in control of her own life, to feel like she has no restraints, and to build a life that has meaning to her. To be the person she wants to be, even though she isn’t quite sure who that is yet… She’s twenty, twenty-one this year, and she never even thought she’d get that far. Its hard to really expect her to know exactly who she is or what she wants.

But… could she really even get that far? Jackie seems convinced, but could she be capable of that? Is she strong enough? Competent enough?

“I’m talking the major leagues, V. The top of the top, the mercs who get the best jobs, are swimming in eddies; Night City legends.”

“That what you want?”

“More than anything. Raised in shit, told I’d never climb out, but I’m gonna prove ‘em wrong. Don’t you want to? Show every son of a bitch who put you down, looked down their nose at you, that they didn’t know shit?”

Her father and his words come flooding to her mind; told she’s weak, worthless, defective, not worth the lead to blow her brains out. And yeah, she’d love to prove him wrong. To be strong and show she’s capable. To know she can take care of herself, that she doesn’t need anyone else to be okay. She’d love to prove to the people who told her she needed to get her hearing “fixed”, that she’s not fucking broken. Even now, people like Sinclaire take one look at her and see her as gutter trash. She wants respect, the security that comes with it, not notoriety. Proving her strength, her capability, her worth by taking any job that comes her way is more than a little enticing, it’d earn her that respect both from others.

But more importantly, she’d like to prove that to herself. To know in her heart she really isn’t any of those things. That she isn’t a burden. To prove to herself that she’s capable of more than being a burden, more than meandering along to her father’s orders. For once she’d like for others not to look at her like cockroach and more importantly to be able to look at herself and see more than a waste of space. To finally feel right in her own skin, take that voice of doubt that keeps asking her if she’s enough, and crush it.

She could give a fuck less who knows her name, hell she prefers no one ever does. Its not the notoriety or fame. V greatly prefers being unknowable, between the mask and alias she’s a few blurry photos away from going full cryptid. And she likes that. If she keeps the mask on for business, keep work and personal separate with it, she could keep her privacy. Keep skeletons in her closet from coming back to bite her...

For so long she was told she was weak by The Herd. Weak for her disability. Weak for accepting her mother’s protection.

An outcasts among outcasts, thats what the sheriff said, and he didn’t know the half of it. Nomads the outcasts of regular society, raffen shiv the outcasts of the nomads, and her an outcast among the raffen shiv. An outcast from the outcasts of the outcasts. So unwanted by the world and even her own fucking body. There has never in twenty years been a place for her in this world. But maybe she’s finally found it, working her ass off with Jackie and showing Night City just what she can do.

“Lets do it,” she decides, she wants this, not to be famous or major leagues but to be untouchable, to prove a point, to take control of her life, to be more than anyone thought she could be, and to like what she sees when she looks in the mirror.

“Fuck yeah,” he shifts to face her fully, catching her hand in shake, his large fingers blanketing her smaller ones, “this is the start of a beautiful thing, I just know it.”

That night, Jackie sleeps on the couch in the living room, despite V’s constant insistence that she’ doesn’t want to take over his bed; his stubbornness wins out. And as he leaves to the living room she’s left with the weight of loneliness, of trying to sleep without the warmth of another beside her. It’s a dumb issue to have, keeping the world at arm’s length and keeping her walls up at all times, but needing a hug to sleep. Years of safety in numbers being beat into her head, sleeping alone feels like baring her throat for the wolves and expecting herself to find peace.

As odd, creepy, weird as it may be V takes advantage of the benefit that sleeping in Jackie’s clothes and bed has for her. Burying her nose in the pillows and blankets that smell like him, smell like another person, trying to convince her senses she’s not alone. Letting the smell of cheap cologne and some oil she can’t quite place soothe her. It used to be a band tee she stole from Ava, before…everything, though the scent has steadily faded over time, its still a source of comfort. And it was in her bag…in her car. Who knows if she’ll find it again…

Then there’s her pictures and the old polaroid camera she fixed up to take them. A little treasure she found rummages through a landfill out towards Oregon. Photos of her sister, her mother, and Ava; of her life before she had to run. Back when she still thought that a family that doesn’t want you was worth having… Pictures from her time on the road; her and Sabrina, the sweet group of Bakkers who sold her the Rattler, and just any place, sight, or person that managed to make her day or make a few days. Loneliness colored a lot of that time, but she made her memories, people she’s sure forgot her when she left but whom she’ll never forget.

Her mom’s guitar… the one thing she went back for the night she left, doubling back and breaking into her father’s tent for it when she realized she had left. Stepping into the lion’s den just to have it, she can’t play, she gave up on learning when her hearing went. But those early memories of sitting in her mother’s lap at camp with the guitar in her hands, small fingers callusing as they plucked at the strings….

And all of those could be gone. Every memory and memento could be gone for good because of one asshole. She digs her nails into her scalp and knots her hair, anger and anxiety pitting in her stomach, bleeding into each other.

She burrows into the blankets and pillows, trying to prevent her thoughts from wandering, though it’s fighting an uphill battle, trying to think of the name of every star she knows in alphabetical order if only to bore her brain into sleep rather than letting it race in circles. She’s somewhere between Meissa and Merga when she finally falls asleep.

And she awakes in the dead of night; chest tight and lungs struggling to get a deep breath of air. No nightmare this time, but a sense of panic and dread pumping adrenaline into her blood, making her heart race as she jumps out of Jackie’s bed. She checks the door, she locked it before she went to bed, she needs doors locked. And she knows she did, but she needs to check it. She locks and unlocks it, no windows to check, so her focus is only on the door. And she does that until the tightness in her chest ease, until she can breathe a little easier, locking it for the last time before walking away from the door. Security, safety, a paranoia that tells her to never feel safe. That the world has always wanted her gone and one day death will knock at her door for the last time.

Her body feels heavy as she wanders to Taco’s tank, the shark swimming in circles, V’s face bathed in the blue light from it. There’s still a shake in her hands, but her limbs are leaden as she sits down at the desk. She watches him swim and swish around for a few moments, sprinkling some of his food into the tank to watch him eat.

“Really wish I could hold you, right now.”

She speaks it out loud, softly to the swimming shark, needing to put her thoughts into the world but hands too shaky to sign worth a damn. Though they still ache and twitch to do so. After a few more moments of watching the mini shark swim, she crawls back into bed to sleep for the rest of the night. Thankful, that she doesn’t wake until morning.

The newly appointed merc is dragging when she wakes, as always due to her lackluster sleeping patterns. To make matters worse, her eyes are red and itchy, sensitive even in the light of the house. A flare up, autoimmune disease coming back to kick her ass for stressing and not sleeping. Her joints ache, swollen, as she groggily stumbles her way from Jackie’s bedroom, when a sweet smell hits her nose, stomach growling. She

Senora Welles and Jackie are at the table, she made breakfast of course, because she’s entirely too nice. On the table is a spread of french toast with cinnamon whip cream on top. Jackie already has a stack nearly as tall as V on his plate, half eaten.

Jackie yells out something, his mouth full, and she realizes the world is still quiet as his mother scolds him. Her eyes are too irritated and her mind too groggy for her to be able to competently read lips. She holds up a finger, asking them to wait a moment, and doubles back to Jackie’s bedroom. She grabs her hearing aids and contemplates grabbing her mask, just so it can translate for her.

Optic translations are pretty advanced for sign language, but they have limitations. Like people needing to look at the signer the entire time and name signs being essentially untranslatable since they’re personal to the signer. But she wants to eat and having to hold up her mask everytime she wants to talk is a pain. She turns on her hearing aids and leaves the mask behind, hopefully Jackie and Senora Welles will look at her if she has to say anything or she’ll just stay silent as she stuffs her face. Jackie raises an eyebrow at her when she comes back to the kitchen.

“Forgot my ears,” she signs, tapping her hearing aid, and flinching when it gives a bit of feedback in reaction.

“Ahh, well come sit your ass down, ma made tres leche french toast.”

“Thank you,” she signs to Senora Welles who gives her a soft smile.

“Something up with your optics, jaina? Looking red.”

“I don’t have optic implants,” she signs before pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Really? Guess that’d be why you don’t got lipreading tech and explain why they look like you rubbed peppers in them.”

“That’s just a flare up.”

“Flare up?” Senora Welles asks, concern darkening her expression.

“Autoimmune disease, some days my body hates me more than others.”

“That what happen to your…?” Jackie taps his ear, rather than say it outright.

She nods, it attacked the inner ear most aggressively, completely destroying her hearing by nine. According to the clan doctor, all the times she complained about her ears hurting, dizziness, and ringing in her ears it’s because her immune system was aggressively attacking them. But, she was only ever told to walk it off, until inevitably the world went silent. It still flares up, deciding it doesn’t like the rest of her either. Her eyes are what worry her the most but what can she really do.

“There ain’t anything that can help with that.”

“Uh, heard medications can, but haven’t been to a doc since I was sixteen and I ain’t looking to break my streak,” she signs, unable to help the way she scrunches her nose.

She hates doctors. Her last experience with the clan doctor ensured she never wanted to deal with another, not to mention how many times she’s been told to pop by a ripper and just “fix” her hearing.

“Hmm, you got any chrome, V?”

“Nope.” she signs.

“Seriously, nothing?”

“Not even a personal link.” She shows the palms of her hands and wrists, thankful the sleeves of the sweatshirt lent to her cover the brand on her wrist.

“Hate to break it to you, V, but you're gonna need some chrome. Personal link, neural port, bare fuckin’ minimum if you wanna get by in Night City.”

She doesn’t answer, just pouting as she pours sugar and milk into her coffee, until there’s barely a hint of brown coloring. She isn’t against cyberware inherently and everyone’s choice is their own, but whether it’s the years of being told they’re cheap tools to make the weak feel strong or just her own discomfort with everything it entails, the whole thing makes her skin crawl. V already hates doctors and would rather dose up on bounce backs if she has to. She can stitch her own wounds, has before, whatever it takes to avoid them.

Add in the fact most cyberware is made and licensed by corps, no. Sure, black alley shit exists, but just the idea of a corp having the right to her eyes. What if they revoke someone’s usage of them, spy through them, confiscate them?

“Once your two finish your business, take her to Viktor,” Senora Welles tells Jackie, before turning to look at V, “he’s a good man, I’d trust to take care of anyone, mija. I’m sure he can help with whatever you need.”

“Okay, if he has your seal of approval, suppose I gotta at least see him.” V concedes, Senora Welles seems convinced this guy is good. Even if V decides to just try to go without, everything, it can’t hurt just to meet the guy.

“Vik’s one of my closest friends, he’ll take care of you, promise. Though, uh, keep taking your coffee like that, he might have his work cut out for him.”

“I like sweets,” she signs, shrugging before taking a drink of her coffee and another big bite of french toast. They’re incredible, cinnamon whip cream sticking to her lips.

“You might as well inhale sugar.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t.”

They finish up the breakfast, V stuffed with a good three or more stacks of french toast. Senora Welles begins to collect the dishes. And no, V’s not letting this happen again.

“We’ll do dishes,” she signs, starting to collect the plates.

“We?”

“No, no, you don’t have to, dear.”

“I insist please, you cooked, it’s only right for us to clean up afterwards,” she signs with one hand then looks to Jackie, “right?”

“Right… we’ll take care of it ma.”

“Thank you, Mija,” Senora Welles squeezes her shoulder, “I washed your clothes last night, I’ll leave them in the bathroom, once you two finish with the dishes you can wash up and get changed.”

“Thank you,” V signs again before taking the dishes to the sink with Jackie.

“One night here and you’re already the favorite, Jesucristo.”

V can’t resist giggling at the comment, smile on her face. They don’t talk much as they wash dishes, mostly because she can’t sign and clean at the same time. It doesn’t take long before they’ve finished up. V going to shower and change, then they’ll head to the chop shop Padre mentioned. Then it’s time to end Sinclaire.

“You ready to go, V?�� Jackie asks when she comes back changed, mask with her for when she’ll need it.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Me and V are headed out, Ma! Be back in time for dinner, promise!”

The pair leave the house and make their way down the steps. The streets are jam packed with people and she’s still not used to the crowd, cringing as she has to weave through them. Jackie doesn’t have a car and her’s is indisposed wherever it is. She nearly trips over a bag of trash trying to keep up with her new partner. Why is the city so dirty? V never even let the camp site get this filthy and these city people just toss their trash out on the street?

“C’mon, we’ll take the train down to the chop shop, see if they got your car first,” Jackie’s voice cuts her off because she can start trying to clean the street.

“I still don’t have any-”

“I’ll pay for us both.”

“Sorry and thanks”

“How many times have you said sorry or thanks since we met?” Jackie asks.

“I wasn’t counting.”

The station is already crowded and she’s cringing at the sight of two many fucking people. They fall in line, jacking in personal links, eyes glowing as they pay the fee then wait for the train. Mothers holding their children’s hands, homeless people with signs at the sides of the station, begging for eddies.

“Too many times,” he says jacking in his personal link, eyes lighting up as he pays for both of their rides, “this is what friends and family are for, chica.”

“To pay my way in the world?” She asks as they step into the crowded subway train.

The crowd is forced to part around Jackie, everyone offering his broad frame more space, as his sheer size demands it. No one moves for V, she has to step and weave around people who easily crowd around her small figure without a second thought. Is it just the size difference? Or something more?

She curls in on herself, shrinking as she maneuvers through people. Too many voices, layering together into cacophony. She can feel the warmth of everyone’s body, the stench of body odor and contrasting perfumes or colognes. She needs her own car, for sure, this is agony. She can’t do this daily.

“To have your back, mija. Besides, acting like world’s doing you a favor by letting you exist, a good way to get your neck stepped on.”

“But, you and your ma are doing me a favor. You gonna step on my neck for thanking you?”

They’ve come to a stop, Jackie finding a empty pole on the subway train to hold onto. She looks up at him, waiting for his answer, blinking expectantly. He’s not seriously suggesting she not be grateful, is he? She’s no stranger to faking confidence or having an attitude, she’s not exactly a goodie two shoes. But she’s not about to be rude to people who don’t invite the behavior. Usually.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?” She asks, migraine forming as she’s surrounded by noise.

“With those puppy eyes.”

“Those are just my eyes, Jackie.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Fine,” she decides, kill two birds, one stone, “I’m gonna put my mask on and turn off my hearing aids for a bit.”

“Why?”

“Too much,” she signs and gesture vaguely to the entire subway.

“Ah, not used to the city noise are ya?” He asks just before she turns off her hearing aids, sliding her mask in place. She breathes a sigh of relief, silence, glorious silence.

“Its...a lot, but in general, world has either been silent or at least had a mute button since I was nine. First time I got my hearing aids, I broke down in tears, felt like the world was screaming at me and that was in the middle of nowhere. I’ve gotten use to them and its not even necessarly the volume, its just that its not cohesive if that makes sense. Not that any sound is too loud, just there’s too many of them.”

“I think, I get ya, if it’s one thing drowning out everything else it’s fine. But, when you got twenty different things going on, it feels like your brain is going in every direction?”

“Kinda? It’s just too much, like the world on low volume.”

“Eh, have a feel you’re gonna be hitting mute on Night City a lot.”

“Yeah, I kinda figure.”

“Hmmm, probably should figure out a better fix than the mask too, can’t wear it all the time.”

“I mean,” she shrugs, “ideally everyone in the world would just learn sign language to accommodate me.”

“Yeah?” He laughs, apparently catching the joke, “Night City ain’t one for accomadating.”

“A person can dream.”

“Tell you what though, chica, teach me sign language, I’ll teach you, Spanish.”

“You got it, and once you know ASL and I know Spanish, we can learn Spanish Sign Language, or if you prefer Mexican Sign Language. Or both.”

“How many different kinds of sign language are there again?”

“Not sure, but I probably can’t count that high. I mean there’s several variations even in just signing in English.”

“Oh…”

“You have ASL which is the most common, you have Signed Exact English which has a lot more fingerspellng. You have Conceptually Accurate Signed English, also sometimes called Pidgin Sign Language which essentially uses ASL signs but follows word order and grammar rules from English. And-”

“I’m regretting this already.”

“Then there’s different dialects used within different parts of the deaf community, like-”

“Well, lookie there, it’s our stop,” Jackie cuts her off when the subway train comes to a stop and she’s smiling behind her mask, watching the way the gears in his head turn trying to keep up with this information.

V stays close to his back as he leaves the crowded train, taking advantage of the space the crowd gives him to give herself some space. The chop shop is just a short walk from the station and despite struggling to keep up with Jackie’s longer strides, they reach it without much issue. V making sure to turn her hearing aids back on before she enters the store.

“Can I help you?” A worker grumbles when the pair walk through the door.

“I’m looking for a Galena Rattler, nomad vehicle, red. Someone brought it in here.”

The worker scratches at the cybernetics etching his face, searching his memory for a moment before he finally speaks up.

“Had something like that come in a day or two ago, had a dog bobblehead on the dash?’

“That’s the one.”

“Bucket of rust was sent to the landfill as soon as it got here, probably scrapped by now.”

Her heart sinks into her chest, her first car, her fucking home for the past four or so years; gone. All because some asshole had to fuck her over. She wants to scream, cry a little bit, kick something.

“Sorry, kid, uh, I can get you the stuff we got out of it. About all I can offer you.”

“Okay…”

She nudges the floor with the toe of her boot, fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt as she waits. It isn’t long until the worker emerges from the back room with her dufflebag, the guitar case, and her dog bobblehead. V checks through, all weapons and first aid shit gone. But her holophone, her clothes, the clunky old little computer, her photos, and her mother’s guitar are all still there. Basically anything they couldn’t feasibly make a profit off of is still there. Photos mean nothing, a crappy landfill camera worthless, beat up acoustic guitar, and tech that dates back a good couple years don’t amount to much when you want cash. At least being generations behind everyone else has done her some good. Even if she still lost her car.

Most of her mementos were saved, but a pit still forms in her stomach at losing her car, essentially her closest thing to home since she left The Herd.

“C’mere, chica.”

Jackie wraps his arms around her smaller frame, large arms encompassing her, threatening to crush the air from her lungs. Unlike the one-armed hug from his mother, this is overwhelmingly affectionate, surrounded by his warmth. She tries to think back the last time she was hugged like this, probably by her own mother, when she was fifteen? V freezes in his grasp, arms awkwardly hanging at her sides before she brings them up to lightly pat at his back. Not quite able to commit herself to hugging him back fully.

“…”

“Aye, Santa Madre. Is that how you hug, V?”

She shrugs within his hold, unable to sign while being pulled so close to him. He pulls away, leaving only a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong with how I hug?”

“Everything, don’t worry though, we’ll work on it,” he tells her.

“You’re weird.”

“So,” Jackie switches gears, “Sinclaire, you got a plan yet?”

“Sinclaire lives in the penthouse of a megabuilding. Intel says he should be there today, taking a day off tricking nomads I guess. Need to get in, figure out where the cargo is, and gut Sinclaire.”

“Got a netrunner who owes me a favor, she might be able to get in the subnet for the building, trip the cameras and get us in.”

“Seriously, you wanna waste that favor on me?”

“Eh, T-Bug will help me out again, even if she says otherwise.”

Jackie rolls his eyes and pulls out his holophone, his optics lighting up bright blue as he dials a number, like many folks he has his phone hooked up to his eyes. .

“Hey, Bug, calling in my favor.”

V can’t hear the other side of the conversation, shaking her bobblehead as she waits patiently. Bobble bobble, the dog’s head bounces up and down.

“We’re trying to get into Megabuilding 12, huh…oh I got myself a new partner, she’s cool, don’t worry. Just need you to hack the subnet, get us access, kill the cameras. Can you do that for me?”

A smirk comes across Jackie’s face and he rolls his eyes, before looking to V, “Bug says she wants to be patched through to you, ain’t helping someone she don’t know. “

“That’s fine,” she signs, “I can sync my holophone to my mask just like optics.”

Her mask will display the person just like optic tech can, she has it set so her avatar displays instead of her face so all they’ll see is a picture of the same expression on her mask, and they’ll hear the AI voice as she signs. Jackie taps at his phone as he sends the call to V’s phone as well. Her mask lights up to let her know of the incoming call and she taps accept on her phone, a little video square shows up in the corner of her vision.

T-bug is older than V, most folks are, with dark hair shaved down nearly to her scalp and dark makeup surrounding her big brown eyes. A skin tight black net runner suit clings to what’s visible of her body.

“Hello,” V signs, letting the AI voice resonate through the connection.

“No face, no voice; the hell are you dragging me into Jackie?”

“Stop worrying Bug, V is good people, she just needs to get back at a client who fucked her over. You said you owed me one.”

“Fine, but this goes sideways and I’m frying you both.”

“Not sure you can fry V, but alright. Let’s get our asses moving.”

They opt to walk to the megabuilding, not to leave any trace of traveling out there. It’s not far out and before too long they’re standing before the stairs up to the towering building. Megabuildings are impressive to say the least, giant ecosystems in their own right, rows of rows of the same apartments until you hit the top floors and lower floors dedicated to shops. V tucks her bobblehead into her dufflebag and puts her bag down in a corner by the stairs along with the guitar case, preferring to travel lightly as they axe Sinclaire, she doesn’t need to worry about bashing a guitar into a wall while she’s taking him down.

“You play?” Jackie asks her after a beat of silence, eyes on the guitar case.

“No.” Her answer is flat, monotone through the translator, and she offers no other explanation.

“…talking to you is really gonna be like pulling teeth, ain’t it?”

“You asked a question, I answered.”

“Nah, nah, it’s okay, I spill my soul, let you in my home, my family, my bed; and you give me half assed hugs and one word answers, I get it, chica.”

“There’s nothing to get!”

“No worries, I got time, I’ll know you better than you know yourself, before you…well, know it,” his grin drops as he realized he said ‘know’ entirely too many times in that sentence

“Didn’t think that sentence through, did ya?”

“Shaddup, let’s get this asshole.”

T-bug’s avatar and quick flashes of technological info flashes at a camera as they enter the megabuilding. The imagery showing through to Jackie and V while none of the hundred or so residents buzzing around are any the wiser to what’s about to go down.

“I’m in the subnet, I can see you on cams and cut off the feed to security. Getting you penthouse access now.”

“Efficient as fuck,” V can’t help but sign, forever amazed at netrunners in general, let alone just how quickly T-bug has managed to take care of this.

“Don’t work any other way, besides Megabuildings have shoddy security at best, this is nothing.”

“Honestly, you could hack a toaster and I’d be impressed, this stuff is way beyond my comprehension,” V admits as her and Jackie reach the elevator, T-bug’s avatar just flashing before it opens for them.

“Your mask can work for scanning, get a cyberdeck and I could send you some quickhacks and daemons; set you up with the basics.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, never hurts to learn.” Even if she’s fairly convinced she’s too stupid to figure it out.

“So, V’s managed to win you over already?” Jackie comments, grinning.

“More like I’m trying to make sure you don’t call me over petty shit again,” T-bug insists, though there’s no real malice to her voice.

V leans against the elevator wall as it lurches into movement, screens playing the news around them. She smiles behind her mask as Jackie grins, winking before he responds to T-bug.

“You say that but you and I both know you like being part of the team, Bug.”

“Oh, brother,” T-bug says with a roll of her eyes and V can’t help but crack up, she can’t really imagine the two being fast friends; a loud energetic solo and a stoic netrunner. It makes her wonder how exactly they met or what favor T-bug might owe Jackie.

“On your toes,” T-bug speaks up as the elevator comes to a stop, “two guards outside the penthouse door, I’ll run a quick hack to distract them.”

“Get their backs to us and we’ll drop ‘em quiet, T.”

The elevator door opens and there’s a clanging mechanical sound that rings out on the top floor halls. Jackie and V stay low as they leave the elevator; turning a corner to see two of Sinclaire’s guards. They’re looking over a vending machine that’s began to spew energy drinks out on the floor. She suddenly wishes she brought her duffle bag up with her, if only to take advantage and stockpile some drinks.

They creep up behind them, V points at the guard at the left then herself, making it clear she’ll take him and Jackie nods. She gets behind her mark and lurches forward, snapping his neck with a crunch, feeling him go limp under her touch. From her peripheral she watches as Jackie crushes his target’s windpipe with one heavy press of his forearm. Two guards in a pile they stand up straight and make a beeline to the penthouse door. Jackie takes out his pistol, making sure its loaded, while V gets her own gun out, the one she stole from the 6th Street fuck.

“You get a peek inside the penthouse, Bug?”

“No more muscle inside, Sinclaire is in his office, its second door on the left going past the living room.”

“’Preciate it, T-bug.” V signs as the penthouse door slides open. Jackie and her have weapons at the ready as they go in.

Sinclaire’s penthouse is bougie as they come, more proof for her theory that rich people just have no fucking taste. Tacky and gaudy decorations in a lavish open room plan. The disgusting lack of taste nearly distracts from what he has that is of legitimate value; a bar stocked with expensive booze and a tv nearly as wide as a car.

“Doesn’t seem like Sinclaire was hurting for eddies.”

“That’s fine, plenty to sell off if he already moved the cargo.”

“Place giving you sticky fingers?”

“Mmhmm,” she hums as she rubs the dirty heel of her boot against the tacky zebra rug, satisfied when she leaves a smudge of filth in the white of it.

They move through the penthouse, finding the office door, Jackie doesn’t jump to do anything, instead giving her a nod. He’s letting her lead the charge, take care of her own business on her own terms and she’s beyond thankful for it. No desire to be subtle, V kicks the door in, slamming her boot into the door and watching it burst open under her force.

Sinclaire yells out, jolting at the sight of the two mercs bursting into his office. He’s still sat at his desk, hands raised in surrender as he looks at V, then his eyes drag over to Jackie. Staring down two barrels, he still finds it in him to sneer.

“V…see you managed to find yourself a friend in the trash.”

“Pair of crosshairs, both on ya, wouldn’t be mouthing off if I was you,” Jackie warns.

“Someone wi-“

“Already iced your muscle and got control of the cams,” V explains, smirking as his ego deflates, “the only way you’re getting out of here alive is if you tell me where the cargo is.”

“Seriously, all this over some ca-“

V cocks her gun and presses it to his forehead, finger on the trigger, held in one hand so she can still sign.

“Either I get the cargo or I get revenge; take your pick.”

“In the tank behind you.”

“Jackie.” She doesn’t want them to both turn their back on Sinclaire, slimy fuck that he is.

“What don’t trust me?”

She cracks her pistol across his cheek, the force of it knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor. V steps on his back, gun still pointed at his dome as she presses her weight down on him. The pale of his cheek starts to turn purple and she feels just a touch of satisfaction knowing she’s dealt him even a fraction of the harm he dealt her.

“Iguana, lesser Antillean I think,” Jackie calls out and with the new position she’s put Sinclaire in she’s able to crane her neck to see. A large tank with a bright green lizard, black around his face, and red spines down it’s back.

“What!?” Her voice comes out along with her signing, distorting and layering over the artificial one, unable to contain her temper as she looks down at Sinclaire, pressing her foot down harder on him, “did you try to kill me over a fuckin’ lizard!?”

“You got any idea how much that thing’s worth?”

She pulls her foot off of him just to grab his shirt collar, dragging Sinclaire back up to his feet. V keeps one hand wrapped up in his collar and uses the other to press the gun against his back. She shoves him, he tries to resist, but despite their size difference V is easily able to out strength him. The former nomad drags him through his penthouse and out the door, across the hallway towards a door. Jackie’s steps echo through the building as he covers her, keeping a lookout for any new guards that may show. She kicks the door open from behind Sinclaire, the flights of stairs greeting them, one’s going down and the ones that go up to the roof.

“T-bug, roof?” V asks, voice still distorted and echoing through the filter of her mask, unable to sign with her hand full.

“No muscle up there, you’re good.”

“Look, we can talk about this V, w-“

“Move.” She jabs her gun into the small of his back, emphasizing her point. Sinclaire marches up the stairs as she forces him upwards, they reach the final door that leads out and V kicks it open like she did the last before making him walk through.

The former nomad forces him out onto the roof of the megabuilding, cool air hitting her fevered skin. They don’t stop moving, V’s eyes trained on the edge of the roof as she pushes him forward. He babbles, utterances and insistence that they can work this out; but she’s pissed and he has to pay. He’s not going to get away with it, no one is ever going to get away with treating her like this again.

Sinclaire stops moving, feet cemented in place just before he hits the edge, still trying to beg for his life as he resists her pushing on his back and neck.

“V, please, please we can ta-“

His voice cuts to a scream as she shoves him as hard as she can with both hands, knocking him off balance and sending him over the side of the building. She watches as his body plummets; a low whistle ringing out beside her.

“Long way down, ya know I heard folks die before they even hit the ground on falls like that.”

“That’s a shame,” she signs, shaking her head, she wanted him to feel it when his head hits the concrete.

“Feel any better?”

“Yeah, lets klep the lizard and run before someone asks questions.”

“No rush, pigs will just think he offed himself, happens all the time.”

“Good to know.”

“Still wouldn’t throw yourselves a party up there, NCPD might come check the area once it’s reported.” T-bug warns over the comms.

“Yeah, in like two days, chill Bug,” Jackie assures her as him and V leave the roof, taking the stairs back down to the penthouse.

There’s a weight off of V’s shoulders as she and Jackie return to Sinclaire’s penthouse office. She hefts a little sigh as she sees the bright green iguana and she’s reminded of Jackie’s earlier comment, called it a lesser antil-something.

“You know a lot about iguanas?” she asks him, he has Taco after all, he seems to like fish and lizards.

“Ah, saw something about ‘em on the science channel,” he looks to the iguana, calmly sitting in it’s tank, “you come a long way, my scaley friend.”

She can see a softness in Jackie’s smile, and she can’t blame him, the iguana is adorable. Tentatively, V lowers her hand down into the terrarium. She nudges her fingers against the lizard, feeling it’s bumpy skin that’s been warmed under a heat lamp. It’s tail flicks against her just before it turns to knock it’s face against her hand, nuzzling under the touch. She can’t help but smile, signing with her free hand to Jackie.

“Yeah, I’d kill me for him too.”

Jackie laughs as the iguana latches it’s claws into her hoodie sleeve, before climbing up the length of her arm. She lets out a soft little exclamation as the reptile makes it’s way to her shoulder, burrowing itself into the junction where her neck and shoulder meet.

“Awww cuddly fucker,” Jackie coos, smiling softly at V and her new snuggle buddy.

“He’s…probably worth a lot…” She slowly signs, unable to have much energy at the idea of selling him. V wants to make the money she meant to make, iguanas are rare, but…he’s very cute. And maybe she’s too much of a softie for animals.

“Yeah, a shame too, been wanting another pet, Taco’s got some age on him now…Had the name Manny all figured out too.”

“Are the two of you, serious?” T-bug comments, rolling her eyes in the holoview, “all of this and you want to keep the lizard?”

“I mean…I don’t want him to fall into the wrong hands,” V tries to defend herself.

“Iguanas have very specific needs, not just anyone can take care of ‘em,” Jackie adds.

“But you’re like, an iguana expert, basically.”

“Basically.”

“And I mean, if you and Mama Welles don’t mind having me around a while longer, I won’t need the cash right away.”

“Hell no, we don’t mind.”

“Just keep the damn thing and shut up,” T-bug scolds, sick of them trying to justify it.

“C’mon, let’s get Manny home and set up,” Jackie explains, unplugging the heat lamp so he can grab it along with the tank.

“We gotta keep him warm, right?”

“Yep, can’t let him get chilled.”

She nods, deciding to scoop up Manny and move him from her shoulder to putting him in her hoodie, hugging him close to her body over the fabric. V feels a bit like she’s cradling a baby, which isn’t terribly off base. Manny is now her child, she has decided. Jackie starts to carry the iguana stuff out of the penthouse, cutting through the kitchen with V trailing behind him.

V jumps and yelps, a loud popping noises and sparks flying out of a toaster as she walks past. She clutches Manny to her chest, the iguana clinging to her under her hoodie after the startle.

“Impressed?” T-bug asks, raising an eyebrow and V tries desperately to suppress her smile at the joke. A part of her mad that she was caught off guard by the trick, damn netrunners.

“I’m something, alright, scared the shit out of me.”

“Holy shit,” Jackie says with a smile teasing at the corner of his lips, “Bug making jokes, I must be dying.”

“Fuck off, cutting comms, now.”

“Talk to you later, Bug.”

“Hmm, maybe, we’ll see how I feel,” T-bug teases, “nice meeting you V.”

“Thanks again for the help, and the minor heart attack I guess.”

“Anytime.”

“I’m not sure if you mean the help or the heart attack.”

“Could go either way.” T-bug tells her before cutting communication, the woman’s face blinking from V’s mask. The merc laughs, softly at the exchange as she pushes the mask up onto her head. T-bug seems nice underneath it all, colder than Jackie, but most people are. The teddy bear of a guy is hard to compete with warmth wise.

She trails behind Jackie as the pair leave to the elevator. V leans against one wall of the elevator, against one of the bright screens that play ads, looking down at Manny tucked in her hoodie. He’s too cute. Jackie gives her a wink before he hits the button on the elevator and it lurches into movement.

“Once we get little mano here set up, we’ll head over to Misty’s.”

“Misty?” She fingerspells the name out, cocking her head to the side in question.

“My mainline,” he gets a dreamy little smile on his face, “mi amada, you’ll love her, she’s the sweetest thing”

“Oooooh~”

“Jesus fuck!” V yells out and jumps to hide behind Jackie at the sudden keening moan in her ear, holding Manny tighter to her chest.

“Pfff,” Jackie’s shoulders shake, before he busts out in laughter, clutching at his stomach.

Heat flushes up to V’s hairline as she sees the source of her distress, the screen she’d been leaning against now display an advertisement for Milfgaard some cougar website with a scantily clad older woman spreading her legs and moaning. She threw a man off a building and the scariest parts of her day have been a toaster and a porn ad.

“My god, you’re wound tighter than a clock, Jaina,” he teases her.

“Shut up.”

“We have got to loosen you up,” he tells her as they step out the elevator and back out the lobby of the megabuilding.

She carefully pulls her bag and her mother’s guitar case on her shoulders, making sure not to shuffle Manny too much before she trots off behind Jackie. There’s already cop cars pulling up behind the megabuilding as the two mercs disappear into the crowd.

Once Manny is settled in his tank next to Taco’s and V’s stuff is put aside in Jackie’s room; her new friend is pulling her back out of the house. He’s pure excitement accentuated by a wide grin as he shows her the city and god it has it’s problems, what place doesn’t, but there’s something to it. She could write a list of flaws from the corps to the trash, to the cruelty, to the poverty, and homelessness that run rampant there.

‘Hellooooo there Night City!’

But there’s an energy she can’t describe.

Night City has a magic to it, it’s the only way she can define it. Neon lights distract her from the trash that covers every corner. The constant thrum of music helping drown out the just as constant sound of gunfire. Something is magnetic and she understands why so many people are drawn to such a place.

‘Stanley, here with you and we got another day ahead of us in this city of dreams!’

She meets Misty; Jackie’s mainline in her candle lit shop for tarot readings and chakra realignments. The pair adorable as Jackie spins the blonde goth around in his arms. She says V has a nice aura but her chakras are misalligned, which sounds dumb to the merc, but Misty says it with such a sweet smile and V loses the will to tell her as much. Turns out the oil smell in Jackie’s blankets is diluted cedarwood oil that Misty gives him to keep away negative energy and aura blockages.

Misty reads her tarot cards not long after they meet, her cards frayed and worn, as she tells V what the hanged man card means. V doesn’t buy into any of it; but Misty is kind and earnest, the merc willing to entertain her eccentricities if only to say in Misty’s company. V learns her aura is a bright cyan blue, is given a chrysocolla crystal which provides energy for a fresh start, and lavender oil to encourage relaxation and sleep. How Misty knew her sleep struggles, she has no idea, but the lavender does help her relax so why look a gift horse in the mouth. She signs a thanks while tucking the rollerball of oil into her pocket.

‘Ooh, I love this town!’

V meets Vik the same day, trying to hide her nerves at being in a clinic as Jackie and the ripperdoc playfully punch at each other. He’s a sweet older man, tattoos and jewelry showing his love for boxing. He doesn’t even get mad the first time he tries to even look over her and she has a panic attack, accidentally kicking him in the groin, before the ripperdoc glove can even touch her. She apologizes like her life depends on it, hands aching by the time she’s done signing it. He laughs it off, laughs harder when she jokes about not getting candy for being a good patient.

The next time he tries, he stops himself. Face contorting when he’s able to get as far as a diagnostic report this time, seeming stressed by the results. He asks about her autoimmune disease, diagnostics picking up on her overactive antibodies. She can nearly see his heart sinking, like she’s his own child and not just a stranger who freaked out on his table one time. He’s horrified to know her condition has gone completely untreated, that her fear of doctors kept her from getting the treatment she needed. She doesn’t explain where the fear comes from, not wanting to recount her experiences with the clan doctor, the fear of having treatments done against her will. He warns her that while it’s not attacking her eyes or joints as aggressively, overtime and without any treatment it could take the eyes next, the muscles, the joints, the organs. Her entire body could with time destroy itself. Before he fathoms giving her implants, he puts her on immunosuppressants. Making her sure her health is stable, that her body has calmed in attacking itself . Only then, do they go back to the idea of installing cyberware, she even gets a lolly along with her shot and pills; Vik leaning into her dumb joke.

She takes the personal link and neural slots well, cyberdeck and the like added. But the idea of losing her eyes is too much, he says he’ll work with her. He works with her lot, both on the money and with her own discomfort. Vik doesn’t press a “fix” for her hearing, instead beefing up her hearing aids so she has more control over the volume and so she can tune it to police scanners; not that she has any intention of doing contract work for the pigs, but it’s good to know what they’re up to if nothing else. He doesn’t even get mad when she nearly breaks her personal link a day after him installing it, unable to stop playing with the damn thing.

‘Love it like you might love a mother who popped you out on the steps of an orphanage once and now stops to ask you if you got a smoke for her!’

In a few weeks he’s gotten her contacts that work like optics and helped her fashion a choker with the same AI translator of sign language; for when she chooses to ditch the mask. He also has candy, leaning into her dumb joke, and for the first time she feels like she can trust a doctor. And she doesn’t go anywhere else, even if she catches a bullet in Pacifica, she makes Jackie haul her ass to Watson to see Vik.

She soon learns that she and Jackie just work. There’s a synergy to their partnership, an understanding and balance that shows in their merc work. He’s stronger than her, knows the streets and people of Night City better than she could ever hope. But she’s stealthier, quieter, and cleaner in her work. She leads the charge when dropping targets quietly and he runs the show when they’re going in guns ablazing. Though he always tries to keep her safe, perhaps out of care and perhaps out of a sense of obligation. It’d be smothering if it weren’t endearing.

‘Every new day here, means another hundred new arrivals!’

It’s not all cherries on sundaes, the two don’t always get along and butt heads more than once. Mostly over gigs; money vs morality. She won’t take corp or cop cash, unless it’s stolen; they want work they can find some other gonk. Jackie says cash is cash, no matter who’s paying. She gets the pragmatism but can’t do it, shutting down a fixer the second she learns their money is coming from Biotechnica. Jackie isn’t happy, but he respects the call. They agree to disagree, if he wants to take those gigs, he can do them without her. He doesn’t take it in the end, she wonders if he doesn’t want to solo it or if she managed to get him thinking about where his money comes from.

“But only half these gonks will survive a year and that’s if it’s a good one.”

They find a steady routine and flow; working gigs, grabbing lunch with Misty and Vik, more gigs, dinner with Mama Welles, maybe a few more jobs and maybe hitting the bars to spend the eddies they just made. Regular trips to the black market to pick up some ammo and firearms. He has a date with Misty about every week, something V always takes the time to mock. But it’s all in good fun. Some night her and Jackie fall asleep on the couch in a heap watching movies, waking up with Mama Welles having thrown a blanket over them. Other nights she spends at a Kabuki motel, wrapped up in whoever she picked up at the bar.

She experiences her first braindance, loses a tooth when they sneak into the Riot nightclub, gets in another police chase, and sees her first pair of Mantis Blades when they’re coming for her head. V realizes Mama Welles runs the Coyote Cujo and gets better introduced to the staff there; including a busboy named Jake who finds his way into her pants quite easily.

‘And why do these peeps come to NC?’

And then a month has gone by and she has no idea where it went.

V spends her saved back money on a car before she rents an apartment; sick of using the train. Nothing like trying to move a dead body on public transit. Jackie helps her pick it out, the car sold to her by Padre, because every fixer apparently doubles as a car salesman. It only seemed right for her to buy from him and to get Jackie’s approval before she made the purchase. Her bobblehead sits on the dashboard proudly.

She helps Jackie pick out a new deck of tarot cards for Misty, spending an entire day browsing mystical shops before they find the perfect one. Misty adores them and gives the mercs readings as soon as she opens the box, feeling a connection to the cards.

‘Well, to be street samurai like Morgan Blackhand and Waylon Boa Boa!”

Misty and Vik hear her voice, no mask, for the first time on a sunny day after she accidentally launched herself down the stairs in front of the doc’s clinic in an office chair. Laughing as Vik asked her if she was stupid and telling him, “yes.” Because who is she to deny the truth?

In between gigs, Jackie drags her down to Jig Jig street, the most perverse section of Night City. Sex shops, strippers, and joytoys as far as the eye can see. He gives her hell for the way cheeks flush red, they’re there for fun and not business so the mask is off, she’s still not used to the brazen displays of sexuality a person finds in the city. But, despite her awkwardness, she’s far from opposed to it.

‘The greater the risk, the bigger the bounty!”

She childishly demands Vik and Jackie teach her how to box when she finds out there’s a club for it that they both attend. V manages to last a round with Jackie, but only by being fast enough not to get hit, taunting him until he gets a punch in on the second round and knocks her ass to the ground. He apologized a thousand times but all she could do was laugh. Misty has it on camera, as she should.

Misty shows V her little rooftop get away on top of her shop, her zen garden with plastic chairs where they can spend time together when they need a nicer view during lunch, Misty, Jackie, Vik, and V eat their Chinese food takeout or whatever they’ve decided on up there. Once or twice V finds herself going up there alone at night, just to take in the way the neon lights of the city hit the black sky. The city may have been named after its founder, but she finds it more apt to describe when the city is at its most beautiful.

She also gets to witness a rare spat between Misty and Jackie when she catches the merc’s dangling a target over the side of said roof to get information. Jackie letting go of the guy to try to apologize for ruining the aura of the roof; while V struggled to hold him up…and eventually dropped him. But Jackie bought Misty some sage to cleanse the roof, so all well that ends well.

‘Or so they say!’

Another month gone by like she blinked it away.

T-bug starts to work with them again, off and on. Jackie told her she only owed him a favor and didn’t work with him long term. But she reconnects, helping get them more jobs and helping the jobs run even smoother with a trusted security expert on their side. She teaches V how to use quick hacks, but the merc still prefers blades and baseball bats. Mostly just using them to blind folks before she stabs them.

She catches a bullet in Santo Domingo, a 6th street member trying to settle a score and she refuses to go to anyone but Vik. The merc holds her hand to her wound as Jackie drives them to Watson. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Vik mad, he patches her up but he scolds her for hours after, that she should have seen the nearest doc. That she could have died. And she has no excuse, but she knows she’d do it again.

‘But you can only be a major league player for so long!”

A gig drags V and Jackie out to a supposedly haunted old building; Misty tags along, nearly bouncing at the prospect of contacting spirits. V learns that Jackie is afraid of ghosts and spends the entire job trying to entice the supposed specters into eviscerating her. They all leave unscathed though Jackie looked on the verge of tears.

T-bug hacks a Militch training datashard at some point and V decides to try to play through it, interested in learning any new tips or tricks that could help her. The netrunning lessons are the most useful, Bug managing to help even an idiot like V figure out how to do some quick hacks and use daemons. She also gains a new appreciation for being called maggot by her friend. Bug definitely had way too much fun play sergeant.

During a job, Jackie and V hear a man yelling into his phone demanding to know if the person on the other end fucked his wife. They lose their minds laughing and lose the person they were tracking for a good hour. Misty and Vik think they’ve gone nuts when they spend the rest of the day mimicking the stranger to make each other laugh; seeing who can scream “did you fuck my wife!?” the loudest without shame. Jackie wins.

‘The faster you live, the faster you burn out!’

Vik catches her eyeing the projectile launcher system implant; essentially a rocket launcher that goes into the forearm. She’d love to have that sheer amount of firepower at will, plus unlike other weapon implants it’s only on one arm, less intrusive for the cyberware shy merc. The ripper offers to install it for her on credit and she nearly chokes, amazed that he’d be so kind, maybe he just trusts her when she says she doesn’t go to any other doc. But she refuses, not willing to take advantage of his good graces. Deciding instead to save up once she gets the apartment.

She meets Cecelia, a waitress at Tom’s Diner, an older woman with pretty eyes. Jackie nearly rolls his eyes out of his head when V starts flirting, giving her even more shit about V’s taste in older men and women after she gets Cecelia in bed. Along with Jake, she becomes one of her rare repeat bedmates. They’re both significantly older than the young merc, each with children, and not interested in anything deeper than rolling around in the sheets, after all anyone with eyes can see V’s not stepparent material. There’s no danger of them wanting more, so V’s happy to return to them when she wants something more familiar than a one-night stand.

‘If you don’t get a bullet to the brain first!’

Misty gets confused when V signs Jackie’s name sign, instead of fingerspelling it. Optics getting the translation off and muddled. So, the merc is left explaining the inability of optic tech to translate name signs due to their highly individualized nature. Jackie’s name sign to her is only that, his name sign to her. It’s not mind reading tech…yet. Her cheeks flush red when she has to explain that Jackie’s name sign for her is a combination of the sign for the letter ‘J’ and the sign for ‘brother. Fingerspelling J, then bringing that fist with the pinky out onto an “L” shape formed by her other hand. Jackie pulls her into a hug immediately after, nearly crushing the air out of her lungs. She’s less timid during this hug, he tells her she’s getting better, but it still needs work.

Vik, Misty, and Jackie take to trying to learn more sign language; letting V teach them whenever they all find a spare moment. Mama Welles even uses a few, picking them up from V and Jackie. The merc tears up, none of them are fluent, but they’re trying. Trying to learn for her and she’s so rarely had anyone care enough to try for her; her sister and mother the only one of the nomad family who knew it fluently, who took the time to learn. Ava learned a few then stopped bothering. Years of no one caring enough to learn for her, but even with all the tech in the world to get around it, they still try. She doesn’t explain her tears, and no one makes her, Misty just gently rubbing her back as they continue with the lesson.

Jackie helps her with Spanish in return, just as they talked about. Some things are intentionally taught to her, other just picked up. Pendejo is forever ingrained in her head. Though, a part of her wonders how much use it really will be, if maybe Jackie just likes that she has to talk during these lessons. She’s become more comfortable with talking with him verbally. It happens naturally, over their time together. That when it’s just him and her, she’ll find herself talking along with her sign language. But, she’s still tight-lipped when she ventures outside her new social circle. She doesn’t think she’ll ever have it in her to be completely verbal.

Another month gone…

“NC’s Legends! Know where you’ll find most of them?”

Taco passes away, the mini-shark was an older pet even when Jackie first got him. He knew it was coming, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. They hold a makeshift funeral for Taco, Misty and V hugging Jackie as he cries. Mama Welles makes his favorite foods for dinner and V stays with him through a movie night. It doesn’t make things magically okay, he hurts and he grieves the lost of his friend. But he’s not alone and they fall asleep on the couch in a heap. He spends the next night at Misty’s and V finds herself wishing that Misty and Mama Welles got along better, that they all could have been there to support Jackie that first night.

She knows he’s back on the upswing when they find an abandoned grocery cart and he offers to push her around in it. V calls it a dumb idea than promptly climbs inside. Jackie gets a long running start and heavy push of his foot before putting both feet up, letting them ride out the distance, giggling like children. Then they hit a hill and flip at the bottom of it, on the ground staring at the stars and giggling like concussed children.

At some point in the month a client invites them to an orgy after they drop off the goods they were asked to steal. V finally gets her revenge for Jig Jig street, Jackie’s face turning red all the way to the tips of his ears. He refuses and runs to tell Misty as soon as he can, as if even getting the invite makes him feel guilty. Jackie’s the only one who ever finds out about whether V went, a secret she likes to keep close to her heart.

V gets…acquainted with her first exotic partner, that is to say someone who’s had animal based body mods done. She’s seen the cat ears and tails and nearly got bit by a ganger with fangs; but the full anthropomorphic furry mods took her by surprise. Some people played Sonic as a kid and just never looked back, she supposes. Not that she can judge, she did spot the heavily modded bunny exotic girl across a bar and decide why not. It was an interesting night, the fur took getting use to, and she thinks the girl was a little sick of V petting her ears after a while.

Her and Jackie find an illegal firearms dealer, her best friend finding a pair of pistols he loves. They’re embellished with gold and he proudly brandishes them, spinning them in his hands and giving her a grin a mile wide.

And another month finds it’s end.

“The Graveyard.”

She’s fallen into the habit of using her mask during her work and using the choker with the contacts during her personal time. It keeps business a bit more separate and she feels more secure in the hiding of her identity this way, most fixers and clients don’t know what V looks like. not that she worries much about The Herd anymore. The days blink by faster and faster without her ever thinking that her former family might have an inkling of where she is. Despite the polluted air, she’s breathing easier.

There’s a few rumors among mercs and fixers about what her deal is, why she hides her face. From burns, cyberware gone wrong, to some mutated twin stuck on her head. She encourages them, finding each new crazy idea funnier than the last. Her favorite is just telling people she was born with a bad case of ugly and seeing their reaction. None of them are any the wiser when they pass her unmasked on the street, thinking her just some other Night City citizen and not the same merc.

“Matters not where you’re from.”

In her six month in Night City, she finally gets an apartment to herself. Not wanting to have spent half a year mooching off of the Welles family. Even if Mama Welles insists it’s no trouble, that she’s a delight to have around and her stress cleaning has done wonders for their home. She still can’t bring herself to spend the rest of her day living off their good graces. Mama Welles holds her face and kisses the top of her head before she leaves, making her promise to come see her again.

Her apartment is in a megabuilding in Watson, one of the worst districts in Night City, though better than Pacifica she supposes. She’s on the eighth floor, the buildings all get nicer the higher up you get and have at least twenty levels. It is far from grand but it’s hers. Jackie and Misty help her move in, as well as decorate. Putting pictures and fairy lights up over her enclosed bed, another strand of lights across the opening for it and over top of the shuddered windows. And install a sensor on the door that will make a bright red light shine if someone knocks, so she can see it if she has her hearing aids out. The apartment only comes with a microwave and vending machine as far as food goes, no kitchen or fridge. But there is a stash room for weaponry because guns are more important than getting to cook for herself. But beggars can’t be choosers, Misty even brings some purifying crystals and burns sage to keep the energy clean even if the apartment floor isn’t.

She gets to know some of her neighbors and people who run businesses on the services floor of the megabuilding. Wilson runs the Second Amendment gun store on the floor below hers, he’s a curmudgeon of an older guy who runs away most customers with his consistent yelling about respecting firearms. But he doesn’t seem to mind her, maybe because his yelling didn’t scare her away.

“Matter not where you start.”

Brooks is an enby with green cat ears on the floor above her sells V edibles, pot brownies and cookies whenever she has the spare eddies. It helps her sleep a little easier on nights where she doesn’t have a partner and eases some of her anxiety that still pops up every now and again.

The guy who lives in the apartment just below her own is a beat cop named Barry. Something she learns when she’s playing music with her hearing aids out, top volume so she can feel the vibrations rattling her bones and shaking the walls. It apparently shook his walls too and he came knocking on the door. She didn’t get a chance to read his lips when she answered the door, but judging by the drop on his face when she started signing, she suspects he might have been demanding to know if she was ‘fuckin’ deaf or something’. Despite his job, he’s an alright guy and they find themselves talking a few times after laughing off the exchange. If he quit, maybe she’d consider calling him a friend someday.

“What matters here is the walk you walk.”

Things in Night City are good, really good for her. There’s conflict and struggles along the way, she collects new scars. The bullet in Santa Domingo, a mantis blade catching her gut, wolvers skimming her back, and bit by a ganger with vampire mods just to name a few. Night City rattles and rolls her, some days she craves the clean air and open road of the Badlands. She’d be lying if she said otherwise. But there’s an ease in the city, in the people she’s found that make it feel like another home.

She’s laughing and smiling more than she has ever before. V’s able to joke and play around, find a sense of humor and excitement in her life rather than just fear. She’s free to do her merc work, set her own rules and still make a mark. Her and Jackie are steadily carving their place into the ecosystem of the city. She’s showing her strength, her capability, her resilience. She’s not defective, she’s a merc on the rise, a couple fixers go to. She’s got money in her pocket; a roof and food she got with said money.

And she’s got a family, a real one, not made of blood but love. At least she loves them and she hopes they’ve managed to find something in her worth loving. In a dirty city of neon, she managed to find her place in this world, not where she expected but she’s exactly where she needs to be.

‘In Night City, the city of dreams!’

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #fem v #silverv #johnny silverhand #jackie welles #i hope its not disingenuous to tag johnny when he hasn't shown up yet #can you feel the sun?#aidan becker #aidan v becker

12 notes · View notes

ashestoashesjc · 4 years

Text

A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend Take A Hike

Short Story 1/2/3/(4)/5/6/7/8/9/10

Relax. Relax. Inhale, exhale; you know the routine. This isn’t the first time you and Sett have been alone with unsuspecting humans. Just the first time where the goal has been for everyone to leave as alive as when they arrived. Simple.

Jen had texted the directions to The Goovenmeyer Hiking Trail, a public entrance to Goovenmeyer Forest, days before the planned excursion was to take place, and so Ulrick had just as much time with which to let his irrational worries ferment.

In the logical portion of his elixir and glyph-addled mind, Ulrick knew there was nothing to worry about. That forming normal, healthy friendships was good for Sett. Good for both of them. But a nagging splinter dug at a place he couldn’t reach.

He tried to disguise his busy hive of thoughts, but Sett, of course, caught on to the minuscule valley made from his dipping eyebrows, the tightness of a face steeped in sullen contemplation.

"You seem stressed,” Sett signed, retrieving a sealed, plastic package from his bomber jacket. “Beef jerky?"

"Where'd you get beef jerky?" asked Ulrick. He took a short pause. "And you don't eat?"

"Yeah, I know," Sett signed. "It's more for the atmosphere."

Sett stabbed one of the leathery sticks at his masked mouth, but seeing it fail to improve Ulrick’s mood, returned it to its pouch and put an arm around his shoulder.

“Really, what’s up?” signed Sett with his available hand.

“It’s stupid.”

“It never is.”

Ulrick let out a rolling sigh. He stood from their seat at the bench and paced about the entrance of the hiking trail. “Supermarkets in the dead of night, deserted movie theaters, dates on moonlit rooftops. I did those things to protect us, yes, but it was also because…” He looked to Ulrick. “I like when it’s just the two of us. I’m selfish that way.”

The mask covered Sett’s face, but Ulrick could imagine the goofy, tilted grin underneath from the light shining in his eyes. It urged half a smile out of him before his paranoia could steal back its throne.

“That’s changing now, and that’s fine, and I’m happy for you. But a small part of me can’t help but wonder…”

“Wonder...?” “What would they do if they knew?”

“Knew what?” came a familiar voice from behind them, where a small parking area accommodated an RV, the boys’ rusted red jalopy, and a newly arrived blue sedan.

It was Jen, followed closely by a backpack-lugging Diane, looking equally curious.

"That..." started Ulrick, feeling the vacuum of space closing in around him, sucking the air from his lungs.

"That we've never been hiking before,” Sett cut in with lightspeed fingerwork. “Didn't want you to look down on us rookies."

Ulrick could not have managed to look at Sett with more gratitude. "Cat's out of the bag, I guess."

"Ha! Don't you pink bellies worry about that. Everyone's a first timer once,” chortled Diane.

“Yeah, except you, Di. You were born an outdoorswoman.”

Exaggerating a shocked expression, Diane said, “That ain’t true! I was born a Led Zeppelin fan, and everything else has been window dressing.”

Then Jen snorted, not dissimilarly to the way Diane had when the four had met. Ulrick wondered who’d picked it up from whom.

“Well!” Jen said, clapping her hands together. “Di might have a compass for a brain, but I have something just as good.” She reached into a pocket of her explorer shorts and brought out a smartphone, plastered in psychedelic peace-symbol stickers. “A compass on my cell phone.”

“And I’ve read about a few sights off the beaten path that we’ve just got to check out,” she said. “Y’know, time permitting.”

“Oh yeah, wandering blindly into the unfamiliar wilderness. That’s never gotten anyone brutally murdered,” scoffed Ulrick.

Jen suddenly placed her hands on Ulrick’s shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes, her voice silvery and therapeutic. “I see you, I hear you, I feel you,” she said, each emphasized syllable accompanied by a gentle shoulder clap.

A stammered “Uh…” was the only response Ulrick could muster.

Turning back to the trail ahead, she began marching. “And we’re off!”

Irregular stone slabs acted as their guide into the forested incline, but it wasn’t long before they and the beaten path were old acquaintances. Really, it seemed like they’d forgone any path at all, intended or otherwise, as they squeezed past vine-twisted tree trunks, maneuvered around prickly poisonous bushes, crossed rushing, turbulent streams.

From the clearing at which they found themselves, the whispers of fast moving water could be made out. Jogging up to her position at the head of the group, Sett tapped Diane on the shoulder. “I’ll race you to the next stream,” he signed. Diane agreed with a haughty laugh as the two took off in a sprint. For having only a fraction of the functioning tendons, Sett kept up remarkably well but Diane’s calves were pistons. Jen and Ulrick shared in the rolling of eyes, and after they and Sett had all caught up to the race winner, their spirits were high. On their way over the stream in question, however - wide and deep, nearly a river - Ulrick’s foot missed its landing on the collapsed tree the group had fashioned into a bridge.

Before he had time to fully assess the situation or Sett’s hand had time to make contact with his, his mouth was flooded with water, and, as the remaining trio stood, frozen in shock, he was shooting rapidly down the violent torrent toward a sound of rushing water so massive, it took not a woodswoman to know what awaited him.

But it was their woodswoman, Diane, who ripped herself from her jacket, and dove into the frigid gnashing. Her legs beat with a polished verve that contrasted Ulrick’s desperate flails more strongly with every inch of the gap she closed. Then she’d passed him. Her legs kept pumping.

Only flashes of vision stolen between each blinding crash of the waves revealed to Diane the rock jutting up at her left. She paddled toward it as best she could, knowing she’d made it only when her hand was secured around firm granite.

She gasped for air, bobbed above and below water level, but managed to swing around with fingers outstretched nearly as far as they would go.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Now!

She grasped just the slightest bit further, used her legs to propel herself forward. For a microsecond, she was sure she’d waited too long, and then, almost in answer, felt her hand clasp around something bony and warm. “I got you!” she shouted over the scream of the rapids.

Diane, grip on the mossy boulder growing ever more tentative, soon found a hand around her own wrist as she and Ulrick were dragged, dripping and shivering, onto the gravelly shore.

The two gave haggard, drained, heaving breaths as Sett ensured they were entirely out of harm’s way, and Jen, sobbing, wrapped her arms around Diane’s neck.

“This better have been worth it,” Ulrick said when he was dry and warm enough to say anything at all. But when, at the supposed end of their expedition, Jen pulled aside a curtain of vines, what unfolded before them convinced Ulrick it just might have been.

Ahead, a narrow cavern, lined virtually floor-to-stalactite-riddled-ceiling with glowing, blueish-green mushrooms, tinted each of the four’s awe-stricken faces the very same alien hue. The spotted fungi curved up proudly from their places inset in the stony walls, as if to say, This is our home, and you are right to be astounded. And they were.

Their jaws were still slack as they made their way out of the small, magical cave, crossed the fallen tree over angry waves, avoided the alluring embrace of stinging nettle. It was by the third time they’d encountered the same twisty, knotted elm, however, that their wonderment had begun to give way to weary impatience.

"We're not lost. I know exactly where we are," Jen said, yanking free her phone from her pocket. She glanced at the screen for a brief moment and then announced, "We're lost. I have no idea where we are."

She turned the blank screen to the other three, audibly clicking the 'power' button. "My phone must have died."

“Don’t fret; there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way,” signed Sett.

“Your optimism is so refreshing!” Jen said with a happy sigh.

A ragged groan escaped Diane. "Why didn't you charge it last night?"

"Why didn't you remind me to charge it? You know I always forget. And you knew we were going on a hike, too. So irresponsible," Jen said, shaking her head.

"You!" laugh-shouted Diane before she took off to chase a now-squealing Jen through the isolated wooded area in which they found themselves until they’d run out of sight.

Ulrick rolled his eyes, "God, is that what we look like?"

Walking over and sitting next to Ulrick on a log, Sett lowered his mask, gnawed a piece of beef jerky, gave a series of loud smacks, and his head a shake. "Gffrrra rmmrrr. <Heck nah. We're way cuter,>" he spat, shooting out dried, fibrous bits.

Ulrick’s eyes squinted instinctively to avoid the meat spray. I love this man, he thought dreamily.

"Grgrrrgrr. <Wow, this really tastes better raw,>" he grunted, hocking grisly chunks onto the ground. He handed Ulrick the bag of dehydrated cow bits. "Grgrrr rgrrrRRr. <Here. Can't even look at them.>"

"But you know..." said Ulrick, depositing the package into a coat pocket. "Apart from almost going over a waterfall, ending up hopelessly lost, and getting poison ivy in places I’d rather not mention, this honestly hasn't been the worst."

"GrrrRr? <Great, even?>"

"Let's not get carried away."

Then, a scream. And not of the marital variety. A murder of crows poured out over the treetops.

Ulrick and Sett looked to each other, and then, at once, took off after the sound.

What they discovered upon following the shriek was a somewhat cozy recess, marred only by an edge of burnt, toppled trees, the result of a recent firestorm, and by an eight-foot behemoth of teeth and rage that now cornered a comparatively small Diane and Jen, the latter shaking in the protective arms of the former.

The bear hadn’t noticed their arrival and Sett, without making a sound, used the advantage to pick up a sizeable rock and sneak behind the foam-mouthed beast. He lobbed the stone directly at its head.

“What are you doing!” Ulrick whispered tightly.

Sett began signing, “While it’s distracted, get them--” but couldn’t complete the thought as a freight train concentrated in the size of a burly paw forced the words from his fingers and sent his body flying like a limp doll into the shattered, splintery remains of ruined trees.

The broken spikes tore through his chest; the bow of a vessel emerging through fog.

Like a marionette, strings severed, Jen instantly collapsed.

"Se--!" Ulrick very nearly screamed, before Di's hand clapped over his mouth.

"Bad time to scream," she whispered, eyes hovering between the bear and Jen’s supine, unconscious form.

Drool dripped in strings from the bear's growling, vibrating maw as it decided who it would first maul, and Ulrick's eyes zipped erratically from rock to branch for anything to offer aid or solace. But the only thing his eyes fell to were the bits of chewed jerky Sett had earlier discarded.

By the time the thought had wormed its way into his consciousness, he was already hands-deep in a jacket pocket. When the hand reappeared, it gripped Sett's parcel of 100% American USDA-approved beef jerky. Almost immediately, the bear was rapt.

“Go...” Ulrick said, collecting his indomitable fear and anger into a single swing, “...get it!”

And then the package was sailing overhead, deeper into the forest, a ton of muscle and fur and claw galumphing off single-mindedly after it.

The moment the bear had trudged out of sight, Ulrick and Diane were on the rush to Sett’s impaled, lifeless body. The jagged, wooden knives protruding through his chest were painted at their ends by a dark liquid that might have been dried blood, but for its smell.

“I don’t know if we should…” started Diane, but Ulrick was already beneath one of Sett’s arms, knees bent to allow himself leverage and traction. He shoved and heaved and grunted but barely did the large mass of man budge.

Sweat gathered in rivulets at Ulrick’s forehead as his strain and frustration and sorrow mounted. Each push of his feet left a deeper rut in the ground where there’d once been grass.

“Well?” he cried to Diane, still struggling, wet eyes reflecting the falling light.

Sighing at the futility of it all, she nonetheless took her place under the other of Sett’s armpits. And the two, though it seemed to take a small, tense forever of bone-fatiguing, swear-filled thrusts, hoisted free Sett’s immobile cadaver from the gnarled, blackened teeth of Mother Nature.

They’d laid him down on the ground, Ulrick himself sprawled out and breathing heavily, not accustomed to the extent of physical exertion, when Diane decided, without Ulrick’s notice, that Sett’s damaged clothes had to be removed, his wounds cleaned and dressed, if he stood any slim chance of recovery.

Ulrick looked up, but too late, and the expression stapled to Diane’s face as he saw himself through her eyes was one he knew he’d never forget.

"Look,” Ulrick said, standing but making sure not to venture any closer. “Let's get out of the forest alive and... I'll tell you everything, okay?"

Diane hadn’t peered up at him once since they’d dislodged Sett’s body from the tree, and she didn’t start now.

"Okay," she said at length.

Polaris guiding her path, alongside the occasional stop to confirm by way of western-pointing spiderwebs her directional accuracy, Diane led the wiped, half-unconscious quartet of hikers back, after an arduous trek through an unkind night, back to their fabled starting point, her carrying Jen bridal-style, Sett slung over her and Ulrick’s shoulders. Woodswoman, indeed.

"I'd hoped I would come up with a good excuse on the way here, or that we'd just die first, which would have admittedly been easier,” said Ulrick as they approached the entrance, feeling Diane’s eyes wearing down on him.

"And?” she said.

"And I didn't come up with a good excuse. There isn't one. You should know the truth. Sett's..."

A grumbling between them alerted them to Sett’s slow reentrance into the world of the conscious, though not of the living. Ulrick clasped Sett's face in his hands, the two falling to their knees. Sett smiled, the black muck smudged about his features like a Rorschach.

"I missed you, too," Sett signed groggily, bringing tears to the corners of Ulrick's eyes.

"Let's sit him down," Ulrick suggested, wiping water away, a streak of the muck lingering on his cheek.

As they began to lift him away, Sett craned his neck up to Diane and gave a weakly signed, “Thank you.”

On the wooden bench sitting outside the trail’s entry point, Jen and Sett were positioned next to each other, asleep, head resting on head; and farther back, inside the trail itself, where the trees loomed tall and close, where they couldn’t be overheard, stood Ulrick and Diane, the wordlessness tangible.

Crickets chirped listlessly in the background. Fireflies drew unplanned paths through humid night air. The absence of sound, of chatter, of life, meant to swallow them completely, make the unsaid forever unsayable.

When Diane, after a silent eternity, uttered, looking at no one, “I know what he is.”

Nothing moved.

“I heard about him staying underwater for goddamn near an hour back at the resort. I thought... maybe he's just good at holding his breath." Diane gave a short, mirthless laugh, seemingly at herself. "Then, today."

She paused, and after what felt like a long while, finally said, "That tree should've killed him, and we both know it. And that blood. That…” She stopped.

“Whatever it was, it wasn't blood...”

Pointedly looking to Ulrick, who couldn’t bring himself to look back, she said, “You wondered what would happen if we knew. Well, now I know. I know what he is."

Ulrick said nothing. There was nothing to say, and his silence was all the confirmation she needed.

"What I want to know is,” she said, tone betraying no particular emotion, “how you did it."

"What?” Ulrick said, looked up in confusion as if he’d heard the words wrong. “How I..."

"How you brought him back. I want to know how."

"It's... it's an ancient art. You don't just do it. You need years of training."

The response took a second of thought, and then, as if it’d been obvious, Diane said, "Then you do it. Bring someone back for me."

"That's... not a good idea,” Ulrick said.

She blew air from her nose. "Oh, but bringing Sett back. That was a good idea?"

"That was different,” Ulrick retorted too quickly.

"How?” She was then looking him gravely in the eyes. “How was it different?"

His gaze darted to the busy forest floor. "It... just was."

"Huh,” said Diane, a sound and a sentiment. As if the conversation had ended there, she turned and straightened her leather jacket.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Sorry I asked. Don't worry about it." At that, Diane began to make her departure toward the entrance and the parking lot, where only the red and blue cars remained.

"You…” said Ulrick to her back, unable to will himself to move. “You won't tell anyone about us, will you?"

Diane paused, pretended not to hear him and then continued to exit when, just before she left the small copse of trees forever to return to Jen, unawares, dozing peacefully on the bench, to her life, to her own devices, Ulrick called out.

"Wait," he nearly whispered, and Diane stopped in her tracks, not turning around. His fists balled at his side. "Okay... fine. I'll do it."

"I'll resurrect someone for you."

#A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend #A Necromance #short story #original #series #supernatural #wlw #mlm #queer #fiction

63 notes · View notes

redemptionbaby · 4 years

Text

The Altar is Calling| Arthur/Reader | pt.2

notes: you guys I think will get mad at me for this one lmao

word count:2569

summary: you and Arthur celebrate on your wedding night

“So, tell me about this would-be fiancé of yers, sugar,” Arthur said, his tone between playful and growling. You walked side by side in the autumnal forest on the way back to your house, hand in hand, and he swung your connected arms back and forth in amusement. He was clearly slowing himself down so you could keep pace with his longer strides. He had offered to summon forth some nightmarish steed for you both to ride, but you declined.

Strange as you were, you were uninterested in theatrics of that caliber.

“He’s. Uh, male. And has a face and some hair.” Arthur scoffed out a quick laugh.

“Ain’t nothin special, I’m guessin’? Or are you just tryna spare an old devil’s feelings?” Better yet, are you tryin’ to protect this sonuvabitch from me? “That’s awful sweet of you, buttercup, but I promise you I’ve heard worse.” Your face is unreadable, which is equal parts intriguing, irritating, and nerve wracking for Arthur. Really, you’re just paying attention to the leaves that crunch beneath your heels. You make it a game to try and step on the ones that look the crunchiest. You’re very good at it. Having to think of conversation to make, or recalling any of the identifying characteristics of your fiancé, is making you worse. Arthur, who is easily at least seven feet of demon beef, leans down to be at your eye level.

“Or maybe… you love him?” Arthur asks, eagerly awaiting the answer which could destroy him. Crush his blackened heart, shatter his damned soul like a crystal chandelier suspended by a rope in the crossfire of a heated sword fight. You stop walking and twitch your nose bizarrely.

“Chu!” You sneeze, rubbing your nose with a sleeve, still sniffling. Arthur pauses awkwardly, unable to say ‘bless you’.

“No, nothing like that. He’s nice enough I guess, but not at all interesting, you understand. I’m sure marriage to him would have been almost infuriatingly tolerable.” Arthur has only known you for a few hours, but he can already see why someone completely ordinary would bore you to tears. This relaxes him somewhat, because he isn’t boring... Is he?

A question begins to bud on the tip of your tongue when your house comes into view at last. Arthur slides his hand beneath your chin and tips your head up, his eyes roaming over your features in adoration as his sighs. This kiss he plants on your lips is soft, gentle, and almost overwhelmingly warm. Like the tender underbelly of some great beast, the kiss implies near fatal vulnerability just beneath the surface. So of course you kiss back. He parts from you with a smile behind his eyes, and calls to you in a low whisper. You’ve never heard your name spoken so kindly.

“Prepare yourself, sweet thing. I’ll be back come midnight to collect you for our wedding night.”

—————

Rehearsal was boring, but you were distracted, much to the displeasure of your parents and the staff. What did Arthur mean? Did he just want to hit it and quit it, or was this like, it? Were you going to pack your bags and move to hell? Not the most unappealing idea, given the current circumstances, you just would like to be more well informed.

Your rehearsal is concluded with a lot of aggravated sighing from everyone but your fiancé, who has his patient gaze affixed to you still. Despite everything, he kisses your hand innocently and bids you goodnight. You almost felt bad about being unfaithful to him, but was there really any faithfulness to begin with, when you didn’t feel much of anything for him? His parents would just find another girl anyways, one probably much more sensible and agreeable and normal.

After dinner and a hot bath, you retire to your room and change into your nightgown, which you’ve never really considered sexy, but you were on rather short notice and you weren’t sure what exactly to be preparing for. You aren’t really sure why you’re even thinking of this, as if what happened today wasn’t just a delusion of your hopeful romantic mind. Wouldn’t it be nice, though?

Being all warm from the bath, and your stomach full from dinner, you can feel yourself getting sleepy, and the clock is still a ways from midnight. Maybe if you sleep, you’ll dream of Arthur. Then again, when you wake up, maybe you won’t remember any of it.

————

A clawed finger traces over your cheek lightly, trailing down to toy with the modest collar of your nightgown and the little ribbon bow that adorns it. You really are such a darling thing. Innocent, sweet. Everything Arthur couldn’t be. Everything he’d been told he could never have.

Your eyes begin to open, and your gaze followed up the demon’s arm and shoulder, until your eyes meet his. His eyes are predatory and dark, but only as a thin veneer over his fears of absolute rejection. You were bound to him now, yes, but you weren’t mind controlled. He wouldn’t do a thing like that, no matter how lonely he got.

“When did you get here? In my room, that is.” You grasped his hand gently and brought it back up to your cheek. It was super toasty and nice. Arthur reveled in the contact and the pleased look on your face.

“This ain’t yer room, sweetness. We’re in my domain. Jus’ made it look like yer room so you’d feel comfortable,” he uttered, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it, in case you’d be mad. Upon closer inspection, the rosary that was kept hung next to your door was absent. It made sense that he wouldn’t recreate that detail.

“Is this my home now, too?” You asked.

“Only if you want it to be. I could return you to the world above if you wanted, too,” he sighed. “But you’d never be free of me. Not forever.” You rub your thumb thoughtfully, patiently along the underside of Arthur’s wrist as you childishly cling to his arm. He can’t tell if your comfort is out of affection, pity, or something else. But he knows what he wants for it to be.

The demon sits down on the bed, seemingly bigger than your bed at home, and you sit up to be level with him. Your nightgown is caught beneath you, pulling some of the fabric taut and flush against the swell of your breasts. Unintentional or not, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

You look up and see a sudden intensity in Arthur’s eyes, accompanied by an otherworldly glow. You felt compelled to ask your unsaid question from earlier.

“Why was your altar in the woods, waiting for someone like me?” He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, as if attempting to summon emotional strength. He wants this to work. He wants you to know all of him, and for him to know all of you. And this is as good a start as any.

A long time ago, I was in love with a human woman, and she was in love with me, or so I like to believe. Despite how different we were, and the worlds we came from, we were in love. So we chose our favorite spot in the woods for a little ceremony, a ritual that would tie us together forever. I said my vows, but when it came to be her turn she wouldn’t look me in the eyes. I should have seen it coming from miles away, but I ignored the signs. I just wanted to be happy with someone.

She knew that I would not and could not join her in the mortal realm and give her the life she wanted. She said that it didn’t bother her, that she still loved me, but I don’t think it ever stopped weighing on her mind. She left me at that altar. Donned a silver rosary so that any contact I tried to make would burn me. I still have the scars from trying. In the end, she decided we were too different after all.

Arthur waited for something. Pity, disgust, admonishment, anything. But all he felt was the gentle and smooth flesh of your hand, almost cool against his warm skin, cupping his cheek and going up to tangle in his hair and stroke one of your thumbs over his blackened horns. How you knew that would comfort him was a mystery.

————-

Your scent engulfs him as he buries his face into your hair, you smell wet and wild and woodsy, like spices and potpourri alongside the scent of a rotted log turned over, one with an entire ecosystem of newts and worms and beetles subsisting on fresh, rich soil. You smell of the death that sustains life, and it endears you to the demon all the more. In you he finds the sense of love impending— of a love that hasn’t yet bloomed, but even so he can imagine it clearly. It’s intoxicating and tear-jerking.

He looks at you with softness undefined when he asks:

“This—what’s between us. Do you feel it too?” His skin burns pleasantly beneath your palms. “I feel it— I feel it so goddamn much I could die!” He doesn’t have to explain what he means. It’s an all encompassing and infinite fire between you two. One that burns with potential and promise, like your life to this point has been waiting, and your real life has just begun. Though it may be dangerous, you can’t refuse it.

“I feel it, Arthur. I do.” The way you utter his name like you’re coming off of a high note, like it’s been practiced in your head, shoots straight to his loins. There’s a growing urgency in your voice, and he feels his body screaming for him to respond to your needs, regardless of whether or not you know of them. The adoration in his eyes betrays the depravity he feels.

His hands are large, warm, and calloused. They cup your cheeks as Arthur leans his entire body into you and kisses you like he’s trying to devour you. His hands trail down to the swell of your throat, the curve of your waist, the meat of your thighs, where he grips and pulls you into his lap unapologetically. Your quiet and restrained mewls are going to be the death of him. He grits out your name.

“Baby. Angel. Tell me you want this. Tell me that and I’ll be yours.”

“Arthur, I want this. I want you.” The moment you finish he pushes his mouth against yours so hard you can almost hear your teeth click together. His mouth is raw on yours, with animalistic amounts of teeth and tongue, with passion. You feel a few hot, wayward tears against your cheeks, and you know you’re not the one crying.

The demon parts, looking at you for approval as he places his hands at the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up over your head when you nod. Your underthings are not removed with the same grace, as they’re sliced apart by the delicate work of his claws. There’s a ravenous fury in him, but he pauses to appreciate every curve and mark and pocket of fat on your innocent body, nervousness radiates off of you in waves while you tremble under the heavy weight of his gaze, clearly trying to stay brave and keep your eyes on him.

“You ever been intimate with a man before, darlin’?”

“No. I’ve only ever been kissed--”

“By who?” He blurts out, unable to contain his budding jealousy.

“Just friends. Playmates when I was young, but I fear I know just about as much now as I did then,” you trail off, averting your eyes as you submit to embarrassment. Arthur’s fingers delicately cup your chin and guide your gaze back to him.

“A virgin bride, then, how cute,” he croons, a gleam of something sadistic in his eye, but gone in an instant. “I’ll take care o’ you, promise. You’ll never know pain from me unless you wish for it.” He presses his forehead to yours, gently.

“My wife. My beautiful, sweet, strange little wife…”

The word strange had never sounded so lovely to you. It had, for as long as you could remember, made you unmarriageable and discomforting to others of your class. It was something that people called you behind your back with quieted giggles.

But coming from Arthur, it made you feel special. Like it was something wonderful no one else could have.

Your awareness returns when one of his hands finds the curve of your breast, toying with one of your nipples while he gently bites and sucks the other. His hand travels further, reaching your ass and grabbing, pulling you even closer-- right up against the bulge under the simple cloth he wears. You get your first taste of delicious friction as he begins rutting against you fervently. He thumbs your clit while he latches onto your throat, smiling at every choked moan and breath you release at the new sensation.

You soon find yourself laid gently on your back, the curtains of the canopy on “your” bed closing, much of the light going with it, but Arthur's eyes and patches of his warmest skin, like his palms and across his nose, have a faint light about them, as well as beneath the cracks of his horns.

______________

Arthur grips your thighs and guides you to wrap your legs around him as he leans forward and over you. There’s an intensity behind his eyes that’s frightening, and yet you can’t look away. His hand comes back to your cheek, and everything stops.

“What do you want?” you’re not sure what he means. The way he says it makes it seem so much deeper than just permission for sex. Tears form at his eyes once more, and they drip onto your cheeks.

“I’ll be anything for you. Just say what you want, and that’s what I’ll be.”

An idea strikes you. A thought that made your eyes widen enough for Arthur to pause and worry. Your palm comes up to his cheek and you can feel his hot tears run down your arm. The mortification— the scathing and paralyzing fear of rejection has the demon choking down a sob. That rejection seems imminent and inevitable, with the pitiful display he thinks he’s cultivated. Who would want this? A broken down hell creature, battered and torn away from all that is strong and all that is beautiful. You would never—

“You don’t have to be ready for this. I will still have you. I will still want to be here. Relationships aren’t based in the realization of fantasy—,” you move your hands down his body to his waist, where you gently guide him from atop you to lay on his side, face to face with you.

“This is not a play, you have no part to fulfill. You don’t have to be anyone or anything but you.”

He hates for you to see him this way, but he would feel even more pitiable and ashamed turning away from you. You scooch closer, wrapping your arms around him and pressing light kisses to his face.

Sobs turn to full on wails, and yet you don’t let him out of your loving hold.

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #writing #drabble #demon au #au #arranged marriage au

113 notes · View notes

aforrestofstuff · 4 years

Note

I'd like to know if you have any cooking skills headcanons!! Like, from who's able to make a absolute meal to who burns microwaved instant noodles.

I’ve done a few individual headcanons about cooking before, but I think it’s time for a refresher. You could call this... the main course.

Okay, enough of that bullshit. Here’s the hcs. Thanks for your ask, anon! ❤️❤️💞

Disclaimer: this shit is crack as fuck because I have very strong feelings about cooking lmfao. FOH don’t interact.

Tornado of Terror: She’d find a way to burn ice cream, honestly. She tries so hard (by god she tries) but her meals always come out as a convoluted mess with ingredients that have no reason being together. She eats her steaks well done and boils hamburgers. It’s a nightmare. She doesn’t really spend too much time in the kitchen, however, because she knows she sucks at cooking and because of this, makes 90% of her diet consist of takeout. But if she did spend more of her day cooking, she’d probably discover the recipe to meth accidentally. It’s that bad.

Silverfang: Stubborn old grandpa way of cooking. He’s got a handful of recipes that have been passed down for generations and he’s gonna carry those fuckers to his grave. When Garou was living at the dojo, the little bastard would try to make some changes to these recipes and Bang had to will every molecule in his arthritis-riddled body to not RKO this kid (not really, Bang wouldn’t hurt a fly). But I digress. He’s a decent cook, knows all the fundamentals and all of that shit.

Atomic Samurai: Can’t cook or bake for shit although he, of course, talks himself up like he can. The extent of his cooking knowledge is only within the realm of “shit you can roast over a campfire when your cheap ass can’t scrape together enough coin to pay the electricity bill”. But now that he’s got that S-Class paycheck and three other disciples to freeload off of, they pretty much cater to his every food-related need. He’s useless in the kitchen. Utterly fucking useless.

Child Emperor: Doesn’t know how to cook (little bastard ain’t even tall enough to reach the stove imo) but luckily he’s got that PHAT BRAIN so he can easily just build a Gordon Ramsey bot 3000 to replace his incompetence in the kitchen. His diet consists of Dino nuggets and microwaveable noodles so it’s not like he’s doing the world a great disservice by not learning how to cook properly.

Metal Knight: Same as Child Emperor except he’s a rich bastard and programs his bots to make that fancy shit with only the finest ingredients. He’s got enough cash from doing black market tech trades and building up his robo-army that this motherfucker could snort caviar for fun. He’s a real pompous asshole about it.

King: His mom taught him to cook a few things, nothing serious. He’s one of those dudes that doesn’t really know how to make much, but the few dishes that he does know how to cook are fucking BOMB. He’s got a cast iron skillet for making pancakes and everything, bitch is already halfway to being a chef himself. Other than that, however, he’s a ramen monster. His blood is practically pre-packaged bone broth.

Zombieman: I’ve said this in a previous hc but he’s a damn good cook. One problem though: he only knows how to make single servings of everything because he eats alone almost all the time. He specializes in meats. Bitch is a carnivore. He bought himself a set of those 500-dollar butcher knives so he can carve up cuts like a monster. He hemorrhages cash into fancy wood chips so he can get that smoky flavor juuuuust right. He’s got an Outdoor Chef setup on his patio. My mans is living the DREAM.

Drive Knight: He can eat but does he really need to? His cooking expertise is popping a new battery in. There you go.

Pig God: Oh my god if this man’s kitchen isn’t Michelin-Star quality. He eats a lot and he cooks a lot, it’s only natural. He’s got an indoor grill and pot chandelier and buys industrial-sized buckets of pickles and roast beef by the cow and— okay he just has a lot of food, alright? And he’s got that PHAT S-Class paycheck so my boy probably has a whole walk-in fridge just to put all the fucking food he eats. Bonus points if he hires a dishboy to work and a contractor to implement a three-sink dish station with “Clean-Rinse-Sanitize” stickers slapped on the steel, lol. But yeah, he cooks for 500 people at a time because he eats enough for 500 people at a time. Gotta maintain that figure, you know what I’m saying?

Superalloy Darkshine: He has. Oh my god— he has a full shelf dedicated to just. DOZENS OF JARS of whey protein. He has two blenders: one for fruit smoothies and one for protein shakes. His kitchen? Spotless. He knows how to cook and he eats like a bodybuilder (because he is one, duh) so he’s got that fridge STOCKED at all times. He cleans like he’s getting paid for it because nothing feels better than wiping down a gas stove until that bitch is spotless. However, his taste is garbage. He can throw down in the kitchen but does it taste good? No. Sometimes the ultra-healthy alternative to something isn’t always the greatest. He’s grown accustomed to putting zucchini in his cakes and almost damn well likes the texture of it, but don’t invite this guy to the potluck because he WILL show up with a vegetable nightmare that’s sure to make even vegans gag. Sorry bud, but nobody likes soy bacon.

Watchdog Man: furry ass.

Flashy Flash: I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he’s pescatarian. He grew up on a coastal town before being sold of to the ninja village like a goddamned carpet and now fish is the only meat he eats. His cooking ability is about as good as one would expect from a homesless ninja. Like Atomic Samurai, he can throw it down over the campfire and still find a way to make a decent dish (in both presentation and taste) despite having limited knowledge and resources to work with. Bitch can whip up a five-star meal with some branches, a fish, and half a carrot like it was second nature. That’s about it though. He’s useless in an actual kitchen.

Genos: It’s canon. He’s a housewife. He only knows how to make the select few dishes that play an integral part in Saitama’s diet, though (because Genos can eat but he doesn’t really need to, so he only does it when he and Saitama are sharing a meal). Those dishes include things like: actual garbage. He cooks shit food. It’s not his fault. Saitama just eats like a fucking twat. There’s rats that live in the dumpster outside the restaurant I work in that have a better diet than him. Genos just works with what the poor bastard’s got and has gained a pretty mediocre grasp on cooking because of it. If he wanted to, though, he could easily be the best chef in all the land. Too bad he’s more focused on being an ultra-powerful speed demon.

Metal Bat: Tries his absolute best to cook healthy meals for him and Zenko when he almost always resorts to just popping a frozen pizza in the oven and calling it a day. I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he eats his shit BURNT. Bitch like his steak well done, his yolks grey, and his chicken vaporized. The only exception to this is sushi because there really is no other way to enjoy it other than having it raw. Trust me, though. If there was a way to burn the fuck out of sashimi while still having it be sashimi, he’d find a way to do it and like it. But yeah, as I said: he sucks ass at cooking. He’s tried the tutorials, he’s bought the skillets, he’s sharpened the knives, but he just can’t fucking do it.

Tanktop Master: Same as Superalloy. They bond over gross-ass ultra-healthy recipes that only they enjoy. The Tanktop Gang loves him but they always kindly refuse to eat over at his house because they know he’s gonna try to make them ingest a broccoli loaf or some shit. He’s not too strict about his diet, though. He’ll chill out and have a pizza every once and a while, but only when he’s hanging out with the homies.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: He has a job in prison where he helps out in the kitchen for seventy-five cents an hour, but that’s about the extent of it. He’s got the bare basics down and could put together a decent meal for date night if he really tried (and had a damn kitchen to work with). On top of that, he can throw down some tasty prison food recipes, hand-crafted from the brick box itself. Ramen pad Thai, anyone?

Amai Mask: he’s rich as fuck, why does he need to cook? Bitch hired a chef and now all he does it drink skim milk and eat food from the top shelf. He couldn’t fry an egg if his life depended on it. Poor bastard doesn’t even know what a whisk is. And don’t even get me started on how much of a slob he is. The ten-minute process of making a single plate of spaghetti will have his kitchen in such a disgusting state that it’ll take him and a trusty Mister Clean Magic Eraser five hours just to clean it up. That is, if he even has the basic human decency to pick up after himself. He’ll probably just hire someone to do for him and then tip them a crisp 100-dollar bill for their troubles, only to make an even worse mess tomorrow.

Iaian: I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but yes: he can cook. It’s nothing special. He’s got a suburban dad sense of cooking where he, like King, can only make a select few dishes but makes those dishes taste magical. He’s got 0 utensils and shit kitchen to work with (because Kami’s place is probably like, centuries old on account of him still being a Samurai), but boy can Iaian whip up a feast like no other despite all that. It’s all protein-packed flavor bombs that look simple in comparison to, say, Zombieman or Metal Knight’s food, but it still tastes good all the same. Kama eats off of his plate all the time and it used to annoy him but they’ve grown so close that they might as well share forks at this point.

Okamaitachi: Can’t really cook, but they are a baking god. I don’t know much about baking but I know they’ve got a cupboard dedicated to their plethora of sourdough starters. They buy yeast by the pound and make enough bread to feed entire armies some days. Whatever the gang doesn’t eat, they donate it to the local homeless shelter and make it a habit to go out of their way performing good deeds that don’t always involve sword fighting (something Kami insists he instilled into them via his teachings— which is bullshit. Kama is just naturally good-hearted and sweet).

Bushidrill: Can’t cook or bake for shit but like Atomic Samurai and Flash, can throw it down on the campfire. Don’t let this man near any turkeys or pigs because he will spitroast the fuck out of them.

Fubuki: Okay, not only is she a great cook but she’s as dogmatic as a coked-out head chef. She and the Blizzard Group sometimes cook together in her massive kitchen (she poured all of her measly paycheck into it because by god, if her apartment doesn’t have a kitchen fit for a chef then it’s not worth living in), and she’ll be barking orders like a damn crow. She’s got the two-grand knife set, cast-iron everything, bronze accents on the sink, and the ability to deglaze a pan without starting a fire. She’s a natural. If she cooks for you, then that’s how you know she likes you. All in all, her food tastes and looks great. She’s a bit low on funds on account of being only Class-B, so she sometimes takes little shortcuts when plating her dishes, like using celery leaves in place of parsley and all that jazz.

Saitama: I’ve already said that his diet is absolute shit and part of that is due to being poor, but I will show mercy and say that he’s a decent cook. He only makes what he knows he’s gonna like and doesn’t leave any room for experimentation unless his budget allows it (which isn’t often). His kitchen only has the bare essentials. Genos has offered to buy him more equipment and even renovate the damn thing for him but Saitama refuses each time because then he’d have a bigass kitchen just for making a poor man’s omurice, and that would be a waste. His talent, though? Making a perfect omelet. He can fold the egg like a sheet with no tears and no brown spots. It tastes heavenly.

Mumen Rider: Ultra-safe in the kitchen. He doesn’t even own a knife sharpener because he’s clumsy enough to know he’ll cut himself the moment he even tries to use it. His pot handles all have coverings and he’s watched all of the food safety and fire safety videos out there. He could give a goddamned seminar on it. Food-wise, he’s a decent home cook. Nothing special. He does, however, share Superalloy and Tanktop’s nasty habit of over healthy-ing everything to oblivion and making it a tasteless, vegetative mess. It doesn’t matter if you invite him to the potluck or not because he’ll bring a cauliflower pizza anyway and y’all better fucking enjoy it or he’ll start crying.

Sonic: The same as Flashy Flash, minus the pescatarianism. He’d butcher a pig without blinking an eye, and often uses his katana in cooking (even though it poses like, 87 different safety hazards and is most definitely health violation). He can forage quite well and has taken a liking to wild mushrooms and berries over the years. It’s gotten so natural to him that he now knows by heart the specific time of year in which the wild berries are ripest, and which species of salmon inhabit certain streams on any given day.

Garou: Would burn water. End of story. His cooking is so bad and dangerous that everyone thinks he’s an arsonist when he really just starts fires on accident. Don’t let this fucker near a stove, for the love of god.

81 notes · View notes

petitprincess1 · 4 years

Text

Good Evening Ch10 (Let’s Kill Tonight)

AO3 Link Summary: Alastor goes to wreak some havoc at the warehouse on two unsuspecting guards. How fun :) Words: 2,155 Warning:Warning: Mild gore (at least I think it's mild), violence, blood, amputation (not detailed), death, gun use, burning, and implied cannibalism. ~~~ Alastor had used the backdoor to leave outside of the house, since he heard Charlie getting interrogated by her mother and knew that Lilith seemed to be a shrew lady. The last thing he needed to do was be caught by her, since he knew that she was much more aware than she appeared, especially if Lucifer was any indication. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were fully aware of all that he had done.

No matter, this was something that could be dealt with on a later date. Plus, he wasn’t dense. The creole left a note explaining that he had left something in a previous motel that he stayed in or possibly at the Happy Hotel. Whether or not, they’ll believe it is nothing that he had to worry about at the moment.

Alastor went into his car and looked at his phone, seeing if Husk had responded to him. The man had been around Angelo the longest and may know his password, especially since he’s in charge of keeping track of the guests. Granted, he would be making grand assumptions about his Anthony, but...they were necessary at the moment.

A vibration on his phone caught his attention and Alastor checked the message.

Husker: Why the fuck do you want to know his password? Alastor: Ah! You do know it! Thank goodness that you remain one of my, if not the most, predictable of my friends, Husker. Also, that information is unnecessary. Husker: Any info from you is fucking necessary. Now, what the fuck do you want with it? Alastor: Nice to see your vocabulary remains as limited as usual. If you must know, the ethel had gotten attacked recently and I need to get into this phone. I need to know who hurt him.

As he pulled up into the hotel, Alastor didn’t receive another text from Husk. He assumed that it was going to take a bit more persuading, but he ended up seeing Husk walk up to the car. Al rolled his window down and was about to give a cheeky comment, but Husk tossed a torn piece of paper into the car. He huffed, “Shut the fuck up before I change my mind about you givin’ a shit about anyone. Just leave me out of this. I don’t need to be wrapped up in your shit again. Also, do what you gotta do now and give me the phone afterwards.”

Alastor pouted, “Awww, but what if I need more information?”

The older man rolled his eyes and said, “You won’t. You never were one to forget. ….I’m only doing this for Angelo, not for you. I figured he would be in some deep shit hearing about Val’s death. Just...give them hell.”

The creole grinned coldly up at Husk and chuckled as he typed in the password, “Oh...I plan to.”

Alastor parked his car into the forest nearby and saw an abandoned warehouse about a couple of feet away. Luckily, the plant life was so thick and unkempt that it kept himself fairly hidden. He moved as close as he could without causing too much rustling and saw that there seemed to be at least two people on guard. Seeing them speaking to each other, Al hummed as he moved closer to the miscreants to hear their conversation. The creole truly hated being left out of the loop.

Once he was close enough, he listened to the tanned one complain, “...I’m just saying, man. There ain’t no point. Why do you think it’s just us? No one wants to come to some damn forest. They’re all busy with their, like, ouija boards and...switches...and, I don’t know, jeweling. Stuff like that...look, I got kids, man. I don’t want to waste time with this shit.”

The one that was greying glanced at him and sighed, “You’re a fucking moron. Also, just because there hasn’t been anyone, doesn’t mean that no one will be here. Plus, you think Tony’s family is gonna let Vox off easy. Ya saw how he was when he left. Barely was able to walk. It was surprising watching him start driving-” That was more than enough to assure Alastor that he was making the right decision, not that he had any doubts.

He went back to his car and opened up his trunk. Luckily, he had brought his bag, but he only planned on using his knife for this occasion. No need to set up traps, much harder to clean up the mess. There’s always a stray drop of blood that you always miss. Not to mention that it’s absolute hell to clean in-between the teeth of a bear trap. Al closed his trunk- no, he slammed his trunk as loud as he could, instantly making him hear the two get alerted. Just to add extra flare, the brown-skinned man tossed rocks in two different directions to gain more attention.

Alastor listened to the two whisper to another and scarcely watched them walking toward the forest. Luckily, the woodland was already so dense that he barely needed to hide. These people were just making it so easy for him ~~~ The greying haired man was slowly walking around the woods with a hand on his pistol, ready to pull out his weapon whenever it was deemed necessary. Other than Vox and Val’s crew and a few other associates, no one knew about the location. Well, the forest was pretty well known, but hardly anyone in Eden would go near it. He assumed that it was probably a bunch of kids, thinking that they might be brave or searching for an urban legend or whatever.

Normally, they were told to shoot whoever trespassed, no matter the excuse. However, if they were just kids or teens, the man had no problem with just letting them go with a warning or even threatening to shoot. He was a part of the mafia, but he wasn’t a monster.

The grey haired man jumped at hearing rustling in a bush nearby. He took his gun out and didn’t take the safety off as a just in case. He called out, “Alright, come out slowly and you won’t get a bullet in tha…” He trailed off as a bunny came hopping out from the bush and its little nose twitched up at the guard. The man chuckled, leaned down to the bunny’s height, and whispered, “Hey, don’t worry, buddy. I ain’t Elmer Fudd. You’re safe with me.”

The grey haired man placed a finger to his lips and shushed the rabbit, causing the little guy to bounce away. He gave another laugh as he pocketed his gun and turned to go find the other guard, just to suddenly let out a gurgled, cut-off scream as a knife got embedded halfway into his throat. He trembled as blood slowly came out his mouth, while he choked, staring at a mixed man with a wide smile on his face.

The guard placed a hand weakly onto the well-dressed attacker’s wrist and was about to pull, but the attacker chided, “Ah-ah~! I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It’s actually far more damaging to pull the knife out, since it tends to cause even more damage. Not a lot of people know that~”

He then winked at the greying man and sliced further up his throat, until he got to the bottom of his chin. The man’s tongue flopped out from the large gash in his throat as blood poured down his neck. Alastor was quick to place his jacket on the forest floor to catch the blood that poured out of the victim’s throat. The guard uselessly tried to stop the bleeding by weakly covering his throat and forcing his hanging tongue back into his mouth.

Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, it did absolutely nothing and the man almost fell to the ground. Thankfully, Alastor was there to help settle the guard onto the ground and slowly placed him onto the jacket. He hummed as he grabbed the jacket and started to drag the man through the forest with one arm, looking at his knife with the other. Al gave a small lick to the blood and small bits of skin on the blade.

He muttered as he licked his lips, “Not bad. A little greasy, but that doesn’t mean it has to go to waste. Why, I bet your tongue would be great in an omelette. Using the right spices, you can easily make it taste like beef! What a wonderful treat to say “thank you”!”

Al kept going on and on as he dragged the dead man back into the warehouse. ~~~ The other guard came walking back into the warehouse when he saw smoke coming from a window. He just assumed that the man put on the large furnace to stay warm. It was pretty cold, after all. He called out to the other man, “Artie, you here? I didn’t see anything! I’m guessing it was just a squirrel or…”

He trailed off and dropped his gun when he saw Artie lying on the ground on a jacket with his throat flayed open, exposing many ligaments, veins, and large chunks of meat. There also seemed to be Artie’s tongue inside of a container that had bloodied water inside of it. The guard covered his mouth and was about to turn to run, but he let out a loud scream as his achilles heel got sliced, rendering his foot useless and making him fall to the floor. He whimpered as he tried to quickly crawl away, ignoring the agonizing, searing pain on his heel and the sound of light, quick footsteps near him.

Alastor walked in front of the guard, causing the crawling man to look up at him. The guard whimpered, “P-Please, d-don’t kill m-me!”

Al crouched down and hummed with a large smile, “Well, you know, I would love to do that, but you hurt someone I really cared about. I-I mean, if you did this to send a message, then...message received” he took the knife out of his pocket and stabbed it through the man’s arm, causing him to scream in pain and tremble more on the ground. Tears ran down his face as his screams made his throat raw.

The guard whined, “Pl-lease, I-I didn’t d-do anything! I-I-I didn’t e-even be-eat the fa- Gah!”

He cried as he got a punch to the face, which that pain paled in comparison to anything else. The creole’s smile grew wider to an almost insane degree as he practically growled, “Don’t...finish that word.”

Alastor looked up at the furnace and huffed as he grabbed the knife and yanked it out of the guard’s arm. The man bit his lip, trying not to cry out more. He gave shuddering whine and tried begging again, “P-Please, don’t kill m-me! I have k-kids, m-man, and a-a wife. I-I swear, I did n-nothing to th- ..An-nthony! Please!”

The creole ignored him as he stuffed the corpse into the flames of the large furnace, breathing in the smell of the quickly burning flesh. He was about to turn to the other man, but jumped as a loud bang happened behind him and felt something graze his cheek. Al blinked as he slowly turned to the man and saw him turning to cock the gun, struggling with his injured arm. He quickly walked over to the guard and stomped on his slashed ankle, snapping the bones and causing a loud wet tearing sound to reverberate throughout the warehouse.

Before the guard could do anything, Alastor grabbed the gun and tossed it away. He huffed, grabbing the man’s uninjured leg and began dragging him away, “I was thinking about letting you live, since I don’t particularly enjoy harming children or hearing their annoying cries. However...now, I need you dead for attempting to kill me! I mean, how rude.”

The guard pleaded as he dug, “No! PLEASE! DON’T! HEEELP! HE-” He got cut off as Al picked up the man and tossed him into the fire on top of the slowly burning corpse. His smile got smaller as it turned more into a relieved one, feeling a sense of catharsis at hearing the guard’s blood-curdling cries as he struggled to get out of the flames.

The creole closed the door to the furnace and left the door open to allow the wonderful aroma of burning cowards stretch throughout the place. He hummed along with the guard’s futile cries, took the tongue in the container, and any evidence that was around, he placed it into his bloodied jacket.

He could leave the tongue at the front entrance, but why leave any clues. Alastor wanted them all to never know what will happen next, just like how his dear Anthony went in unaware. He didn't get to kill the people he was looking for, but it certainly was a start. Al smiled, “Very entertaining, indeed~”

65 notes · View notes

kinktae · 4 years

Note

How dare you bitchin!jungkook ?! HOW DARE YOU ?!

very NOT spoiler free bitchin’ 8 asks under the cut

Y/N SUPPORT GROUP

deliciouslydisturbed365 said: I just read chapter 8 and holy fuck I’m nauseous. Poor Y/N 😭

queen-emon said: What the literal FUCK man, I just read Bitchin 08 and like im so broken. I never ever consider Y/n and I to be the same person but this time I felt like we were the same person both getting our hearts crushed by the man we loved so dearly. I AM NOT OKAY WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME! THIS IS SO NOT GROOVY :(

Anonymous said: Me🤝y/n Repressing our emotions

madjammil said: I am legit crying. Poor y/n! I cannot believe Jungkook slept with Kiri! My heart is broken. I thought these two were finally getting together and he goes and does this dumb shit! Smh. Aside from that, your writing was amazing as always! I love this series so much!

YARA BULLY JK PETITIONERS

Anonymous said: omg i can’t believe jungkook is rly going to get his dickie chopped off 😍😍😍 deserve! can’t wait until yara finds out

Anonymous said: Ignore jk, y/n!!! Gosh she deserve so much better than a fboi who only cares about how he feels physically!! Ahole to the max and I need her to slap him! Yara can join along the slapping game!! But srsly he needs to learn his words alone can’t mend this and I hope y/n doesn’t give in so easily cuz he deserves cold shoulders from her for a very long time and don’t just rely on charms to get his way. Ik he was trouble from the start 😔 y/n dear don’t worry you deserve better

casualxexistence said: So 👉👈 um like is there like ANy chance that we get to see our baby yara’s reaction to this 🥺🥺🥺👼 bc um well I would kinda love to see her hand both jk and kiri there asses bc they aren’t gonna hAVE ANY AFTER SHE FINISHES WITH THEM RIP

Anonymous said: dude, what if y/n hooks up with tae and starts beef between jk and him while yara bitch slaps kiri….. dude bitchin’ has such good drama theories wtf literally anything is possible at this point

Anonymous said: if yara doesn’t punch kook can I punch him? Not as the oc I meant like me BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK

forvever-ddaeng said: I keep rereading this last part like it’s somehow gonna change or it won’t make me sad the more I read it but it’s having the opposite effect and now I want Yara to beat Jungkook’s ass smh

Anonymous said: WTFFFFFFF YARA GONNA HUNT DOWN AND KICK JUNGKOOK ASS FOR HURTING HER BABY

JUNGKOOK ANTIS:

Anonymous said: what the fuck is wrong with bitchin’!jungkook does he think with his dick i wanna kick his ass

Anonymous said: why jungkook would do something like that if he likes y/n? i would be so mad at him too like… isn’t that kind of cheating? he didn’t say if he was back together with his ex but he slept with her so that must mean something, she probably thinks it means something. he was really stupid

omgtaehyungsmullett said: i know jungkook fucking with me, dammit 😡

Anonymous said: I DONT UNDERSTAND WHY WOULD JUNGKOOK DO THAT WHY

ausjeons said: Jungkook what the fuck!!! I could slap you silly after reading part 8 😪😩

Anonymous said: Team make jk suffer for awhile and then be able to patch things up with the oc 🤝

Anonymous said: I read ch8 last night and this weighed heavily on my mind all day like why is jk such a hoe? Like how could he just sleep with Kiri just like that. I think these children are very confuzzled with their feelings. After he slept with Kiri, did he rush to y/n bc he knew this was the end of their “relationship”? One last passionate banger goodbye 😟 my 💔 broken heart

Anonymous said: I ain’t even sad. I’m full on rage mode. WHO TF GAVE JK THE AUDACITY , THE ABSOLUTE BRAWN TO STICK HIS DICK IN KIRI AND THEN , NOT EVEN A FULL DAY LATER ( cuz yk that would be farrr too gracious ) WITHOUT A WARNING , WITHOUT A FRICKING GOOD MORNING EVEN , GOES TO FUCK OC AND THINKS THAT’S OKAY???? Good to know OC and whatever his relationship was with her was worth less than a nut😒

Anonymous said: i’m actually sad… like wow. i really expected him to go back, i really did. but even though i knew it’d happen, it still hurt, y’know? i think that made it worse; knowing that he’d go back to her in the end… shit’s fucked up, really. great job writing it. i could literally feel the emotion from this one.

Anonymous said: Bitchin ch 8…..oh wow the smut was so nice and fluffy but wtf JJK messed up big time. Honestly I don’t think he deserves oc after this. She deserves someone who isn’t so unsure of his feelings that it takes getting back together with and sleeping with someone else to realise it. If he really liked her, he wouldn’t have slept with Kiri.

Anonymous said: “ArE YOu MAd?” Srsly what brand of clown juice is Bitchin JJK drinking?

Anonymous said: TAE AND Y/N HOES BRO ENTER THE NEW SHIP FUCK JK

cchristinnaa said: Jk really did yn like a pocket pussy huh

Anonymous said: HOW COULD JUNGKOOK OH MY GOOODDDDDDDDDDD literally men aint SHIT….. the part where y/n said you got what you wanted from me🥺🥺🥺🥺 I FELT THAT ugh i love the angst

Anonymous said: Hope jk dieS from jealousy next ch. And regrets it skdhdhd :( jk. Hope they get their sht 2gether soon or im gon 😷😖😭

diortae said: me: *explaining to bitchin 8 jk why he’s a dick for calling Y/N his “pretty girl” immediately after fucking her raw the morning after he slept with his ex*

jk: well, you know what they say. hindsight is 20/20

me: KINDA SEEMS LIKE REGULAR SIGHT SHOULD HAVE CAUGHT THAT ONE

Anonymous said: JUNGKOOK IS ABOUT TO MEET THESE FISTS UP CLOSE THATS ON GOD THAT DUMBASS LIMP DICK BITCH REALLY FUCKED UP

Anonymous said: I HATE JJK HES AN ASS FOR GG DOWN ON 2WOMEN HE CAN JUS F HIMSELF RN

Anonymous said: JUNGKOOK IS GONNA GET HIS ASS BEATEN UGHSHHSKDHXJSJ MOTHERFUCKER WHAT? WHAT??? THIS BITCH IS A RIDE OR DIE AND UR GOING AFTER FAKEASS KIRI REALLY? FOR REAL I THOUGHT UOU WERE BETTER THAN THIS BUT NO ALL MEN DO IS LIE LIE LIE

Anonymous said: the way i closed the tumblr app when i saw jungkook saying “kiri came over last night”

Anonymous said: alright we beating jk’s ass @ noon 😤

Anonymous said: WHY WOULD JUNGKOOK DO THAT TO OC LIKE WHAT I AGREE WITH OC HE USED HER AND THAT MAKES ME 😡😡😡😡😡

Anonymous said: BITCHIN PART 8 WTFGGGG MY HEART Do be Hurting . i’m going to beat jungkook up !!!!

betysotelo18 said: It’s been a few minutes since I read part 8 and I can’t stop thinking about what could happen next… the meanwhile F U jeon Jungkook, you did wrong

Anonymous said: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! I CANT 😭 WHAT SHOULD I DO WITH THIS CHAPTER HUUUU JUNGKOOK WTFF BRO…….. my heart is breaking for them. Why can’t they just date already wkxbdbbdjdjdjdjdjdj this is onky misunderstanding right? and thankyou for the new chapter sis hihuhihih💕💕

Anonymous said: im shocked i dunno who i hate more rn you or jungkook. my heart is literally SHATTERED he better fix this or else im traveling to the 80s just to kick his ass 😭🤬

Anonymous said: never want to punch jungkook in the face like i wanna do right now

Anonymous said: JUNGKOOK WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUCK 🤬 for the love of god rose why do u did that to me i wanna die

Anonymous said: ROSE WTF WAS THAT MAN !!! my heart it hurts and like wtf jungpuke!! Why would he do that to reader !! why would he sleep with kiri and then sleep with reader ?!? Like go siekkeksjdjejjejdbehhe i wish i can put in reaction pictures in here

CUTIE PIES

Anonymous said: Omggg thank you so so much for this chapter, for the whole fic. Thank you for sharing it with us. You are a great writter. Seriously! I just love how every chapter is so intense. Not only the smut is amazing but every detail, every action, the whole plot, all of the dialogues. I actually cried at the end I love how I can really feel everything. All the emotions. Ah and they’re so cute!!! But why was JK so weak? Even if that’s what you wanted since the beginning… I thought- BOY WTF??? :’( But seriously this is the type of thing I love, I am WEAK for this. The slow burn, the oblivious idiots that love each other but keep suffering thing. And you write it so well. Your mind!!! Your talent!!! I love it. Thank you, for real ♥♥♥ I’m antecipating the next chapter, but already sad that it’s almost ending :((( I’m gonna miss this a lot. Anyways, take your time, baby. And have a nice day! ♥♥♥ (Sorry for bad english btw)

tinievmin said: ROSE. IM IN PAIN. I FELT THE BREAKUP BETWEEN YN AND JUNGKOOK. IM SO SADDD. But not related to the plot, your writing is ART. You always make it flow so well aND WOW!!! I don’t have enough words to express how much I love your works

AND FINALLY, AN INTELLECTUAL

Anonymous said: kiri is a bitch i said what i said

#ask

43 notes · View notes

reddogf13 · 3 years

Text

Raw nerves ch 7

Pennywise x Beverly

summery: 7 years after pennywise tricked those kids into thinking they won, he unintentionally explodes a gas pipe. he wakes days later to discover hes being treated by Beverly. too weak to even walk he is forced to live under her roof. questioning her reasons for keeping him and why none of the other losers have come to end him. without knowing, the two join a path to heal each other.

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language and gore

previous chap: Raw nerves ch 6

next chap: Raw nerves ch 8

_____________________________________

~ch:7 Life of the party~

Shaking her head. “just amazed to see everything labeled as paid.” pausing to stare at the newspaper. Clearing her remaining tears away.

In large bold letters the heading read: MAYORS COMPUTER EXPOSED EXTREME ABUSE

the article underneath going into detail how mayor tom rogan left his laptop open while he was answering questions for his upcoming campaign. News men passing by discovering a open computer file filled with extreme sexual abuse of his power. Hidden cameras in his bedroom filming multiple girls being brought in. showing tom giving threats of blackmail if they didn't have sex with him.

Tom was tracked down by police in his limo after leaving the diner he owned. After Tom shoved his driver out of the limo there was a short car chase. The limo slipping off the road to crash in a river. Police rushed down only to discover Tom had fled on foot and is now on the run from police. His whereabouts are unknown and he is to be assumed dangerous and to not be approached.

At the bottom of it all was contact information for victims to call a report in or to give a tip of a sighting.

she asked the clown standing nearby. “were there any videos of me?”

“there were, but they won't ever see the light of day. Unless you want to get involved.”

“i don't. I never want to deal with tom again.” crumpling the newspaper with Tom's mayor photo on it. “what happens now? What about the diner and the house?” she questioned.

“the house is fully yours. He won't be able to prove otherwise. The diner is not set yet, it'll be open a little longer, unless you want that to be yours too.”

“mm, I did like the diner as long as Tom wasn't around. I'd hate to see it close down and becoming just another empty building rotting away in Derry.” picking up the end pages of the newspaper to look at the wanted section. “this town can't afford to lose any more businesses.”

“i can give you whatever you'd like. You don't have to search the wanted ads.”

“i know that, but I want to. Before the whole tom mess I wanted to get into fashion. If I am going to do that I don't want to be flung straight to the top. It's funner to actually build for it. Earn your way there where you can relax in knowing it's all yours and wasn't just a gift of sorts.” looking over the paper. “i wanted to make something that would last. Something to build up for myself without working in somebody's shadow the entire time I am “on top”. i don't know exactly where to start though. I am really tired of secretary work, but I hardly know the industry.”

“i can get you into fashion college courses. Would you like to start there?”

“yeah, that sounds like a good way to hop in.” smiling as she set down the papers. Getting up to go change into work clothes. Allowing pen to tag along to work as long as he stayed out of trouble. Entering the office she discovered he redecorated it for her. Nice and clean with a new desk plaque shining her bright golden name off. All of toms things thrown into the dumpster out back.

Smiling over all the new furniture to breathing in the fresh smell of paint floating around the room. “never knew this office could be so nice. Feels like I can do stuff in here now.”

“not have to worry about bumping something that could get you screamed at later.”

“definitely that.” sitting down into the office chair.

“What will miss owner's first task be?” halfly joking around.

“major upgrades that toms been badly neglecting. We only have one stove barely working. And an oven on its last legs. The whole diner needs new carpeting and better upholstery that's not held by duct tape.” sighing at thinking of all that needed replacing. “fixing things here was like pulling teeth when talking to tom about it. Never could push either for fear of pissing him off.” sitting back up to search on the desks computer. “how do people know I own the diner now? Have I “always” had it?”

“You and Tom were co-owners, but he had the bigger share. Up until now with his arrest upcoming. All the shares belong to you now. Don't worry about any money accounts, they won't empty.” he informed.

“good, I'll need all I can get.” beginning her search for new kitchen supplies outward into business re-decorators. Spending almost her whole work day in the office. only stopping for a small lunch break to snag a meal in the kitchen. Returning back to the desk to eat a light salad that came with a side of beef stew. Letting pen claim the soup as long as he drank it away from the computer.

she was happy to leave at a reasonable time since forever when the work day finished. Satisfied that she got so much done today without being harassed by tom. Closing up the place before walking back with pen to drive them home.

“what did you get done on that computer?” he asked.

“ordered new stoves, ovens, kitchen cookware sets. Ordered all new booths, chairs with tables with a appointment to set them all up. Trash all the old junk. Painters and carpet replacers were also appointed. The outside signs will be repaired. Won't have a possible lawsuit anymore from the giant letters hanging on by a single nail.

Got in touch with the more local farmers and butchers. Tom always wanted the more expensive stuff out of town. Even though it was junk and mostly rotten when it got here. This will be a great helper to keep other businesses afloat in this small town.”

“you really like helping others don't cha?” he chuckled.

laughing back. “Pfft, you of all people should know that.”

“if you do get high in the fashion industry. What will you do then? Still have the diner or sell it away?”

“mm, don't know. I don't think I'd be able to give it much attention then. I'd still like to help people somehow. Maybe help fund small businesses to get back on their feet? Lead some rally for a new cause?” she shrugged. “i don't know.” parking the truck up into her driveway. “can't believe I am making it home at six. Tom always forced me to stick around way past eight. I have so much free time, what am I even gonna do? Can't start dinner yet.” heading inside.

The clown not too far with an idea. “i know how to pass the time.” hugging her from behind to kiss along her neck.

“hungry already?” she giggled.

“just a round of fun this time.” scooping her up into his arms to carry her into the bedroom. Kissing her the entire way before setting her down on the bed.

Her needing him to pause for a moment. “let me put these away.” she chuckled in putting away her name tag and car keys. Barely closing the drawer when she was pulled back over for more attention. Covered by kisses and licks around her neck to down her chest.

Clothes popped open to reach more bare skin for him to enjoy. Moving down to slip more clothing off her. Licking up her inner thighs for the final sweet tasting. Licking lovingly at her entrance to slip his tongue in. licking deeper each time for a far better tasting of her soft walls. Her lengthy moans bringing him up from between her legs.

Covering her with himself as he wedged his hips between hers. Hearing her let out a lovely hum against the steady grinding he was working into. Letting her hands travel up to pull away his clothes. The silk falling away with little resistance against her pulls. Hands rubbing across his muscled body to wrap over his shoulders. Distracted by the deep tonguing kiss pushing her back into the bed. Gasping at his girth squirming in to fill her for the fabulous friction.

Relaxing back to enjoy his firm thrusts pushing her further down into the bedding. Hands grasping along his arms and shoulders out of need to place her hands somewhere. Making it easier for her he flipped her over. Wrapping his arms around her waist to grip her hips to aim himself deeper. Picking up his pace to keep going. Burying his face into her neck to breath her scent in. driving him wild in breeding his female without any more competition.

His hot breath building moisture over the back of her neck. Licking the spot he gently bit into. Lessening any red marks he may have left. Cautious about how strong his bites were in not wanting to hurt her. Each time he did he got another heated scent of excitement from her. Losing himself as he shoved deeper off his inner instinct screaming him to while he could. His rod coiling up on itself to lock within her ready to release its load.

Swelling as the two reached their peaks. A thick warmth filling Beverly's core while she lay limp under him panting for air. Picking most of her into his arms he flipped them over. Giving her better breathing space as she laid on top of him.

“comfortable?” he teased.

“soon as I catch my breath” she smiled through her panting. “getting home early is going to be much more exciting from now on.” kissing him.

Returning the kiss. “I'll be happy to keep that way.”

“i am sure you will.” jokingly shoving him. “Time to start dinner for me. I bet you're too full to hunt anything.” moving to get up to redress.

“wait don't – ow!” cut off by her accidentally yanking on his knot still swelled in her.

“shit, sorry! You okay?” attempting a gentler try at removing him. Slipping him out by hand doing no good. “Are you stuck?” she asked.

“Yes, we’re knotted for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“15 minutes.”

“15?! shit, looks like I am waiting for dinner.”

“could order pizza.” he laughed.

laughing along. “pfft, I ain't answering the door like this.”

“Ah, I can help you cook. Need only a bit of maneuvering.” rising them both onto their feet.

“this feels sooo weird.” shivering at all the shifting she was feeling from him. Grabbing the blanket off the bed to wrap them up. Along with a shirt to fully cover herself. Helped down to the kitchen to make a meal in one small cooking area to not move so much. Settling on relaxing on the couch to eat instead of at the dinner table.

“So what are the new mayor's plans for the town?” he asked from nowhere.

“what? We have a new mayor already?”

“yes, you.”

“me?!”

“Yes, why not? You want to change things for people. It's the best position in the meantime before you really get into the fashion business.”

“ … yeah.” she agreed on a bite of food.

“most of Derrys bad state was to keep my hunting secured. Don't really need it anymore. Tomorrow morning you get recognized into office. And your first political party later in the night.”

“ugh, political parties are the one thing I am not looking forward to.” taking another bite of food.

“I can think of a way to make them exciting.”

“You always have an exciting plan Mr. clown.” feeding him a small bit of steak. “So what is your idea? Or is a simple guess all I need to figure it out?”

“some of both. I am sure you can guess, but I do want to make it into a challenge.”

“oooh.” already turning interested in what he planned for the party. Dinner passing by they both headed for bed. Beverly taking time to carefully pick an outfit for tomorrow morning.

The next morning she made herself look nice and clean for the presentation. Driving down to the town square before the official announcement would start. The clown by her side going unnoticed by the crowd gathering to congratulate her. Talking with various groups and how they were doing. Gaining an idea of where she should start on changes. Called up to the stage to be announced her new position. Small interviews of how she feels and what she may plan. Then it was the start of a small celebratory party with catered meals served. When the fun was over she headed back to help at the diner.

Getting started on removing furniture for the appointed painters and carpet replaces. Chucking the broken down kitchen appliance to clean out the place thoroughly. Readying for a new appliance set to be moved in. by closing time the kitchen looked brand new. The rest of the diner needed only for the new furniture to arrive the next day. The Ticket system no longer relies on just a pen and paper drop off. Now all automatic on a portable menu the servers carried table to table.

“today's really been busy, but so satisfying. Are you finding it fun?” asking the clown as she closed up the refreshed diner.

“all that meat at the party sure was. My main course will be at the political party though.” he teased.

“sure it will be.” she teased back. Hopping into the truck for a temporary rest at home before the party. Refreshing herself in the shower and into another nice outfit. “You gonna tell me your exciting plan now?”

“nope, later into the party.” he grinned.

“better not do something weird.” gesturing him to follow back to the truck.

“oooof course not.” hopping into the passenger seat.

During the party he didn't say anything. Letting her speak with a bunch of people first for small interviews. It was when she was standing around looking bored did he then step in. “ready for the exciting challenge?” speaking behind her as she stood around with a small glass of wine.

“mm, your big challenge?” asking with interest.

“yeees.” he nodded.

“finally figured one out?” she joked. “what is it?”

“Your goal is to stay in the party as long as possible.”

“i am going to be honest and say that's not very exciting.”

“my goal is to grab you at some point and knot you. I knot you I win.” smiling at the bright red blush Beverly turned.

“how am I supposed to win? Suffer through the party until it ends?”

“yes. Do you accept?

“yes. … but we are definitely not having some invisible sex in the middle of a crowd. Got it?! You'll have to get me in some closet first or something!”

“All the more challenging for me. Catch you soon.” he left with a wink.

Hiding himself around the large town house hosting the political party. Watching Beverly pull the smart move of talking more between crowds. Avoiding any closets or pantry's he may try to snag her into. He'd have to get creative on this particular hunt. Gazing over the various rooms for a trap he could set up. Figuring something out, although when he sprung it he'd have to check with her. Slipping away to the shadows to stalk over to his lunging position.

Watching Beverly travel about the room. Chuckling as she looked over her shoulder now and again to try spotting him. He waited and waited for his moment. For her to wrongly step a bit too close to the table of snacks and drinks. Making her mistake when she reached to grab some water after her wine glass. Surprised when she was yanked under the clothed over table. Entirely unnoticed by anyone else in the room thanks to the clown.

“gotcha!” he gloated while Beverly was left stunned in his arms.

“you grabbed me under the snack table?!”

“yes, can I have my prize here? Nobody can see with the table cloth touching the ground.”

“ugh! … yeah, but be careful.” pushing on his face teasingly. “You haven't won anything yet either.”

when he got the go ahead he was quick to get her clothes off. Slipping his upper ware off to comfortably lay her on. Providing some soft fabric to lay against rather than hard flooring. Kissing and licking over her chest to gentle licks up to her neck. Grinding into her hips for her to feel his squirming length. Slipping some moans from her he needed to cover her mouth. Not wanting too much noise sounding from under the table. Keeping one hand over her mouth while his other removed her lower clothing.

Shifting himself for firmer friction between her legs to excite himself faster. Taking a hold of one of her legs to hike over his hip when he thrusted in. shallow thrusts turning deeper each time to reach his winning goal. Drool building within his mouth over the filling pleasure he was receiving. Holding back on rutting hard and deep becoming a slow losing battle. His instincts took over to knot her deep for a large breeding amount of cum.

His length twisting up for its final faze. A sudden grip at his base releasing the load way to early. Half of it spilled out onto the floor in a puddle. Realizing after that Beverly had grabbed his base to firmly squeeze a release from him early. His knot going limp in exhaustion after such a surprise. Beverly took her chance while he was stunned to slyly slip away with her clothes. Rejoining the party wearing a smirk on her face for the rest of it.

He huffed. “I'll let her have this one.” laying there satisfied either way. Relaxing in hiding up to the party's end. Meeting back with Beverly out in the truck to head home. “like the challenge?” he asked on the drive back.

“mhmm, especially since I won.”

“beginners luck.” the two chuckled. “that trick won't work the next time.”

“bring it on clown.” She happily challenged for the next party.

Parking the truck in the driveway to head inside. Beverly needed another shower after those events coating her a little. He clothes keeping it hidden during the remaining party. Pennywise laying in waiting for her like he had before. Not letting her get in bed before he pulled her down against him. Arms tangling around her to hold her close in a warm embrace. A peaceful rest coming on to them, but not lasting through the night.

Pennywise woke to a strange scent. Rising up in bed on alert to what it was. Waking Beverly from her sleep at his stiff movements jostling her in his arms.

“what Is it?” speaking through her sleepiness.

“there is a strange male outside.” growling aggressively over the intrusion.

#it (2017)#pennywise #beverly marsh #pennywise x beverly marsh

2 notes · View notes

joshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh · 4 years

Text

Magia Record episode 5 was really great! Lots of fun action against this particular Rumour, and again with that nice Inu Curry juice making the whole thing feel surreal and fucky in the best of ways. Not really any clearer on Ui’s status but hey better idea of Mifuyu at least, old friend of Yachiyo’s who she’s sort of struggling to move on from and accept the disappearance of. Kinda parallels yet contrasts with Homura actually, Yachiyo trying desperately to move on from her old connection with Mifuyu as opposed to Homura, desperately holding on to a connection with Madoka even across timelines, where that original Madoka is long gone. So that’s pretty cool.

And then they drop doppels on us, a bit earlier than I expected but I don’t actually know where they are in the game so maybe this is right in time, and fuckin Giovanna looks absolutely sick as fuck yo! Cause obviously in the game they’re coming from atop a chibi-Iroha’s head and looks kinda chibi-ish itself, but nah here we deep in that Madoka style and it looks fucking badass, raw as shit when it destroys that rumour too. And we got hair-down Iroha from it too who looks super pretty, what a babe. Loving it.

I don’t really know what’s actually up with doppels myself since, hey, haven’t read the game’s story, but they do make a note of having Kaede unleash hers post-credits as well. This probably wasn’t necessary since Iroha alone gave us the idea, but having Kaede do it too at least makes it immediately apparent that it’s not just an MC thing, and moreover they don’t really frame it quite like a surprise when Kaede does it since hey, they’ve already surprised us by doing it with Iroha, no need to try that again. I mean obviously it’s still a mystery to everyone involved what doppels actually are, so Kaede herself is surprised, but it’s not like a shocking reveal to us or anything, so uh, cool.

By the way, Iroha’s doppel is actually stopped by our fucking girl, Mami Tomoe! She’s absolutely fucking badass as always, absolutely dominated her scene in a way that makes it very fucking clear that, hey, Mami’s fucking good at her job, she has experience with other magical girls and y’all better watch the fuck out. But then she’s also good so she warns Tsuruno that Yachiyo probs has some secret beef she ain’t telling anyone about, and honestly that’s a little unearned, I don’t see how Mami gathered that, but to be fair it’s more like, a guess Mami made that’s probably correct and that she told to Tsuruno since Tsuruno wasn’t being confrontational, and so Mami felt she was looking out for her. Fair enough I suppose. God it’s fucking, such an incredible feeling having new animated content with Mami in it.

I don’t know if we should expect a major amount more from her though but then like, maybe, who knows. Given the aforementioned Kaede appearing alongside Momoko and Rena, i.e. setting them up for another important appearance where they’ll have the opportunity to develop, maybe the MagiReco anime’ll actually keep the cast fairly small, and give who we have met a lot of time to breathe. I mean we’ve still got a few to meet that are in the OP and I seriously doubt’d be cut from the anime, Felicia and Sana aren’t here yet and the Wings of Magius are also missing, sans maybe Kuroe, but then she’s been MIA since episode 1 too. Lots of places for this to go, and I’m really looking forward to seeing more.

One last thing I want to mention is that after her whole doppel shenanigans, Yachiyo takes Iroha into her home for a bit, where aside from worrying about feeling intrusive in the first place, we get a really nice contextualising line from her, and not much attention is drawn to the line but there’s a good amount to extrapolate from it that sort of just, expands on Iroha’s feelings. Namely after being told she can stay over, she goes to bed, and then before she can sleep, she just says to herself “I have school tomorrow! Oh wait, it’s a Saturday”. Not much to it, simple slip of the memory really, dumbass thought it wasn’t Saturday lmao. But I read it as like, she’s so used to being alone now, and she feels so intrusive now that she’s staying with someone else for even a single day, that that thinking it was a school day next, she was subconsciously looking for an excuse to leave, to not be intrusive. And since I know there’s gonna be some found family sauce between her, Yachiyo, Tsuruno, Felicia and Sana, well by god do I think that’s just a really great line that’ll make the found family payoff really resonant.

Very good episode, very good show. I am so fucking happy that Magia Record isn’t coming across as a lame gacha adaptation whatsoever.

#pmmm #magia record #1.2.20

23 notes · View notes

belladonnaandulriched · 3 years

Text

amped and wired, part two | chapter eleven: kill or be killed

“Alright, gang, listen up,” Mrs. Hamilton started once we had arrived back at Black Orchid.

“Danny!” Scott exclaimed when he saw him standing next to me near the front door.

“Hey!” Dan followed up.

“What happened to you?” asked Charlie.

“I went to find a phone and got lost!”

“He also found a clone,” I chimed in.

“Yeah, Danny here found a clone and she malfunctioned,” Mrs. Hamilton continued, unfazed by it all. “And so Lars put her outside and she literally had a meltdown. We came here to check on all of you to make sure you're alright.”

“Yeah, we're good,” Scott replied with a sigh of relief and a glimpse over at Frankie and Charlie. “We were just about to come on over to Joey's place to do the same thing.”

“We were about to get something to eat, too,” Charlie added. “The three of us and the girls, too. Just head on over to the grocery store and fill up the fridge in the kitchen again.”

“Mrs. Hamilton offered us coffee, though,” Danny pointed out.

“We're out of that, too,” Frankie confessed with a shrug.

“Well, let's get on it then!” Mrs. Hamilton declared. I looked over at Lars right as he had this look on his face like he was about to barf or something. “Actually, I'll go forth with it.”

“Are you sure you don't want Joey and me to tag along?” he asked her.

“Oh, Lars, that's real sweet of you. But I'm sure I can get it just fine, though. I'll be right back, too.”

“She really can, Lars,” I assured him. He sighed through his nose and the look on his face was one of disappointment. Mrs. Hamilton doubled back outside to the cold, and I returned to the front room there, just as Scott asked us about Maya.

“She looked like a regular human,” Danny elaborated, “with blood and guts and bones—but she also had a tiny little bit of neon inside her. Like—she was a robot, a clone, sure... but she was made of skin and bones like a regular human.”

“Remember when we were down in the City and Frankie ran into that one clone?” I recalled.

“How could we forget...” Frankie's voice trailed off as he took a sip of water.

“Complete and utter bloodbath,” I said.

“Yeah, it was like that there, too,” Danny continued. I looked over at Lars as he had this look on his face like something ate at him. His eyes were large and he shifted his weight a lot in that single spot. I still had no idea where the bathroom was in that strip club, either.

“Hey, Lili—” Louise called from the kitchen. “Oh, hey, guys.”

“Mrs. Hamilton went to the supermarket,” Danny told her. “She'll be back.”

“Okay, okay...”

“Joey?” Lars called to me.

“Yeah?” He had backed up to the hallway, right to the entry way there

“May I have a word with you in private, please?”

“Uh, sure?” I turned to Scott, Danny, Frankie, and Charlie, all of whom looked at me, puzzled. Lars ducked away into the hall; before I stepped in there myself, Scott whispered my name. I looked back at his raising an eyebrow at me, to which I shrugged at him. I thought about the secret between me and him as Lars led me up to that loft on the next floor.

I could hear him breathing hard and heavy as if he had been running a mile. He stood before the bed closest to the door with his back to me.

“Close the door please,” he advised me. I did, and then I tucked my hands into my pockets.

“What's wrong?” I asked him. He sighed through his nose but never turned around. “Lars? What's wrong?”

He then turned around and looked on at me with a solemn expression on his face.

“Have a seat,” he gestured to the space on the bed next to him. I took a seat there and then he followed suit. I could only think about the secret between me and Scott as I examined his somber expression and his hands right in between his thighs.

“Is this about this room here?” I asked him.

“No, no, no—but I need to get something off my chest, though,” he started. “And I trust you the most, too. Because it is—” He cleared his throat and stifled another belch in there, too. “It's—pretty significant. I wanted to tell you when we had a moment alone but I never could find it because either one of us had to do something or Mrs. Hamilton or someone was within earshot. I don't want her to know this, and I never wanted her to know about this, either.”

I knitted my eyebrows together. “What is it?” I asked him. Surely, it couldn't be that serious.

He fetched up a sigh and closed his eyes.

“Surely, it can't be that bad, Lars,” I assured him as I inched closer to him there on the bed. He and I had broken the ice between us already: whatever he had to share with me perhaps couldn't be so awful as he believed. Or so I believed.

“It is, Joey,” he blathered with shakes of his head. “I fucked up. I fucked up bad. So ungodly bad.”

“What did you do?” I moved my head in closer to his.

He bowed his head.

“Lars?” I lowered my voice to a near whisper. “Lars, what did you do.”

“I killed her,” he confessed with his eyes still snapped shut.

“Who, Maya?”

“No. My wife.”

I gaped at him. He opened his eyes and lifted his head at me.

“I killed my wife.”

I almost gagged. “W-Why?” I sputtered; I felt nauseous.

“To protect her. You know everything I said was true, except I left that part out. I didn't like how stressed she was getting.”

“So you—you—you fuckin—”

“Put a rope to her throat and yanked back. And then—because I knew I was going to catch hell for it—”

“Catch hell?!” I stammered, and I almost choked on my own spit at that. “Lars, that's the fuckin' least of your problems. You know that, right?”

“I cut her up and began eating her,” he blurted out. I stopped.

“What,” I said.

“I cut her up and began eating her. It was the only way out—out of it. I ate other things on top of her to rid of the taste from my mouth. But yes—I am eating her.”

“E-Eating,” I sputtered; my stomach turned so much, I thought it was going to twist itself around my spine. He opened his coat and took out a little plastic Tupperware container with a smooth black lid. Crammed inside was some sliced meat that resembled to roast beef, albeit raw given it was bright red. And then I realized what he was talking about.

“Ohhhhh—” I scrambled back from him towards the foot of the bed. For all I knew, he had marinated it in her blood.

“What?” he asked me, completely nonplussed. “It's not going to hurt you. It's like sliced lunch meat. It's a bit stringy and tough in some spots so I took some of the more tender meat for the road.”

“What the fuck, you're still eating her?!” I shrieked.

“Shhhh!” he hissed at me with a finger up to his lips. “Keep your voice down!”

I clasped a hand over my mouth and the two of us glanced over at the door for a good long minute. Silence out there. Nobody came. I lowered my hand.

“You kept eating her?” I demanded in a hushed voice.

“There was just—a lot. Too much too soon. I had a feeling I was going to be here a while so I took some of her with me. I sliced her up fine and then added some salt and pepper for flavor, and then put her in the oven. The rest of her is in a freezer behind the supermarket here in Oswego. I offered to come along with Mrs. Hamilton over there because I forgot today was trash day. Completely forgot about it.”

I looked on at Lars' body. And then it made sense. The belching. The fact he was heavy. HE'S BROUGHT A DEAD WOMAN HERE WITH US, GOD DAMN IT!

“Well,” I swallowed and kept a hand to my stomach, “what do you think we should do?”

“That is my worry,” he continued with a concerned look on his face, “that I am unable to get there in time before the remainder of her carcass is tossed away and I'm dead meat.”

“Dead meat along with her,” I felt so sick.

“Except I won't get sliced up.”

“You sure about that?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Memories of the warehouse hit me, too. I could only imagine what the foray would be like if someone killed their fucking spouse and the punishment included getting sliced and diced into fucking lunch meat to comprise of clones of Maya. At least, that was my imagination. I had no idea what the goal was all about, if Candace's journal was anything to go by.

“Lars? Joey?” Charlie's voice called up the stairwell. I gasped.

“Shit! Put it away!” I told him with a gesture to the container.

“I don't really comfortable putting it back in my coat, though!” he insisted.

“You think I feel comfortable seeing that fucking thing out in the open?” I demanded as the sick feeling returned to my stomach. “Put it away!”

“You put it away!” He shoved it towards me.

“No! I feel sick to my stomach just looking at it!”

“It's in fucking Tupperware, Joey—it's not like it's going to jump out at you!”

“It's your fucking wife, Lars! Container or not, I ain't touching lunch meat made from your fucking wife!”

The door opened and Charlie stepped into the room. Lars still cradled that container in his hand and I was clear on the other side of the bed. Charlie looked at the container with his eyes widened a bit.

“What the hell is that,” he asked in a low voice.

“Charlie, close the door,” Lars told him.

“Why?”

“Don't question it, Char, just do it,” I told him. Charlie stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

“This is—my—secret stash of—pastrami,” said Lars at a slow pace.

“Why didn't you say anything, man?” Charlie asked him with a chuckle. “I love pastrami, and I know Joey does, too.”

“Best sandwiches—ever,” I stammered as I struggled to keep my composure.

“Right next to meatballs!” Charlie added with a twinkle in those beetle like dark eyes.

“Because—Mrs. Hamilton doesn't care for it too much,” he continued. “And it's been in my coat so it's not very cold.”

He shook his head. “That's alright. Can I have a piece?”

I swallowed and lowered my gaze to the container. Lars peeled off that lid: we were met with a smell that reminded me of fresh cured lunch meat. He made her and kept her preserved, just to be put on a sandwich.

But then Charlie took the first slice from the top and stuck it in his mouth. I thought I was going to barf right there.

“What the hell, Lars,” he said with his mouth full.

“What's wrong with it?”

“Nothin',” Charlie assured him; I could see the sinews of blood and tissue on his teeth. “But why'd you keep it a secret, though?”

“Because, like I said—Mrs. Hamilton doesn't care for it too much.”

“Really? Because the first night we were here, she made us roast beef and potatoes and she gobbled it up like it was nothin'.”

“She probably only did it because she didn't want you guys to feel lonely,” Lars assured him. Charlie nodded and then he turned to me as he picked his teeth with his nail.

“Joey, you okay? You look like you're about to pass out, dude.”

“Oh—he's still kind of spooked from Maya earlier,” Lars told him as he put the lid back onto the container.

“Oh, no, hey! Keep that open! I'm gonna see if Scott, Frankie, and Danny want some—that was good.”

“I think Mrs. Hamilton might be getting something for us in a bit here, though,” he insisted.

“True, true... and you both know how the three of them can be when there's a secret stash of goodies abound.”

“Absolutely!” Lars chirped.

“Yeah...” I moaned. Charlie picked at his teeth a little more.

“The one complaint I have is it's a little bit stringy,” he remarked with a knitting of his eyebrows, “and it's a little more chicken-y than I like. But otherwise, that's about it and I kinda get it, too, 'cause you had it hidden away in your coat. As for myself, I'm gonna get a drink of water...” He then doubled back and headed out of there. Lars let out a low whistle and I lay down across the foot of the bed, down on my back.

“I was not expecting that,” he confessed; he then turned to look at me. “And before you ask, Joey—what was I supposed to do? Tell him that I have my wife in this container here?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed as I brought the backs of my hands to my forehead. I closed my eyes to ease the sick feeling inside my stomach but it was useless: I kept seeing Charlie just... just... eat it. Without question. I should have stopped him, but then again—what was I supposed to do?

“You know, it's just hard to do so,” he continued as he lay down on the bed next to me. He set the container on top of the mattress, right between our heads.

“'Cause there's a lot,” I said.

“Right. That's why when Mrs. Hamilton was in the shower, I was able to unload on you like that. Seeing as she will be back within time, I had no time to explain it to him.”

“You still could'a said sump'n.”

“Like what? 'Oh, hey, Charlie, there's human meat in here. Don't eat it.'”

“Explain it real quick to him—maybe?”

“Nah, he would never buy it. There's too much. Besides—he already ate it.”

“What're we gonna tell him now?” I asked him.

“No idea. But I hope we can be able to tell him, and also Scott, Dan, and Frank, too. I killed my wife, ate some of her, and then fed a little piece of her to Charlie.”

“At least you didn't make a pie with her,” I pointed out.

“Well...” His voice trailed off.

“Oh, God, Lars, don't tell me.”

He lowered his gaze to the container.

“Don't fucking tell me you made a fucking pie of her. What the fuck.”

“No... it's not like that,” he corrected me.

“What do you mean?”

“You say 'pie' like—” He stopped with a look at me dead in the face. And then I realized what he was saying.

“Oh,” I breathed out. “Oh—dear—god—you're tellin' me that—that—right there is—” I gestured to the container, to which he nodded his head.

“Let's just say I, uh—” He cleared his throat. “—um—wanted to taste her a little more one last time. Make love and dance with her—eat her ass, too. Some of her ass is in there, too.”

I thought back to earlier, when in my own kitchen, I stuck my tongue inside of Mrs. Hamilton's lips, and I could only assume how Charlie would react when someone told him that he ate out Lars' wife. I swallowed as another wave of nausea swept over me, followed by a wave of confusion. I didn't know what to think or say right then. Except—

“So, let me get this straight,” I started, “you—killed her and then started eating her because you were afraid of getting caught.” I rolled my head over the top of the covers to look at him.

“Yes.”

“Is that why you and I never got caught when we took that one dead clone to the hospital?”

“Actually—I was hoping you would ask me about that at some point. We didn't caught because my wife knew Maya. It's like a de facto knowing of her. We didn't get caught because the assumption was that I knew her and you helped me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that all the shit that's going down in New York City has already come upstate.”

“Why didn't say anything, though?”

“Because I killed my wife. I went through all that because I needed a means of proving to myself that I killed her for the best.”

“Dude, you fucking killed her and made her pussy into lunch meat and fed it to Charlie,” I scoffed.

“I am aware, Joey,” he insisted, vehement. “I also did it and wanted you guys to get into it because this is New York. This whole shtick is centered within New York. When my wife was alive, we came here often—and not just because Metallica is close to Anthrax, either.”

I then lifted myself onto my elbows and gaped at him.

“Are you saying you burned down Anthrax's studio down in the City?” I demanded.

“What? No!” He scrambled upright himself.

“Well, you said you wanted us to be a part of it, too,” I pointed out with a nod of my head. “I just made the assumption that that was what you meant.”

“Joey, do you remember our discussion about assumptions?”

“Pfff, how could I forget?” I rolled my eyes.

“I didn't burn it down—but I think I know who did, though.”

“Who?” I asked him.

“Candace.”

“Candace? Why would she do that?”

“For the exact same reason. I wanted you guys to be a part of it, and I guess she must've read my mind and nudged them out of it herself.”

I thought about the candles in that one room in the warehouse. The muttering nonsense as she shoveled those pages into her mouth. Of course!

“Joey? Lars?” Frankie that time.

“Yeah?” Lars called out.

“Mrs. Hamilton's back! Could you guys come help us?”

“Sure thing!” He returned to me.

“What do you think we should do with it?” I asked him.

He then raised a finger at me. He took the container off of the bed and ducked behind the side.

“Oh, jeez, Lars, don't put it there!” I scoffed as I realized where he had put it.

“Why? It's a good spot and there's nothing underneath here. Doubt the three of them will take a look under here at any given point.” He then stood up and held out a hand for me. The skin was clean so I reached for it and stood to my feet next to him.

“Not a word,” he told me in a low voice.

“Like I'm gonna go around and be like 'hey, Lars has a container full of his dead wife stashed under the bed',” I cracked. He rolled his eyes and led me out of the room. The two of us made our way downstairs, where we were met with Frankie, Charlie, Danny, and Louise.

“Where is Mrs. Hamilton?” Lars wondered aloud.

“And Scott?” I added.

“She broke down a couple of blocks away,” Frankie explained as he put on his jacket. “Scott already walked down there to make sure she's alright. That piece of shit car, man...”

I adjusted the lapels on my jacket as I followed them outside to the blustery cold. It got so cold so fast and I knew the lake effect was upon us again. The sick feeling in my stomach was replaced by a pitted feeling. A pit sinking deeper inside my poor stomach.

Something was going to happen. I could feel it.

Indeed, we didn't even get a block away from Black Orchid when I caught the sound of the garbage truck up the block. I turned to Lars and the worried look on his face; Frankie, Charlie, and Danny were right in front of us, and Louise lingered behind us, so Lars couldn't say anything to me right then.

But he could break into a run across the street.

“Whoa, hey, Lars!” Frankie called after him. “Where ya going, man?”

“Lars!” Charlie followed up given Lars didn't look behind him. “Lars, what's the matter?”

I glanced behind me to make sure no cars were coming. I darted across the cold blacktop after him.

“Joey!” Danny called after me. The soles of our shoes echoed over the pavement as I chased after Lars. He leapt over a row of evergreen bushes to a stretch of short dead grass and cold dirt. On the far side of it was one of the side streets leading to the main street. I spotted the garbage truck up ahead at the corner, ready to hang a left.

I knew where he was going. I knew exactly where he was going.

He might have been big but he was an athlete like me: but I was also more active than him and I did more moving around on a hockey rink. I caught up with him but I didn't stop him. Instead I ran alongside him.

“The place?” I asked him, out of breath.

“You know it!” he declared as we ran parallel clear across the dirt. I could hear Mrs. Hamilton's convoluted Pennsylvania Dutch accent behind us as we made our way to the street.

But that truck was faster than us. They reached the back parking lot before we did, but I was determined to reach it first as we crossed the street. I was the fast runner.

Right.

I tripped on a flat piece of sidewalk and fell ass over teakettle into a bush.

“Joey!” Lars shouted. I rolled over onto the branch right as he leapt over me. My chest swelled as I struggled to catch my breath. I spat out a few pine needles and I turned my head to see Frankie and Charlie running towards me. I coughed a little given I ran so hard and fast just then that it did a number on my lungs and my throat. I crawled out of that bush and onto the grass, and took a seat there to catch my breath. Over the roar of the trash truck, I wondered where Lars had run to. I wondered where Scott was given I didn't hear his big Queens accent with Mrs. Hamilton.

“Joey!” Frankie called out to me once they came within earshot. “Joey, you alright?”

“Oh yeah—I've done worse before,” I assured them.

“He may be skinny but he's tough,” Charlie added. Mrs. Hamilton and Danny ran up the sidewalk right then; I couldn't hear a thing they were saying given the trash truck made too much racket with the dumpsters behind the supermarket. But once my breath was steady, I climbed to my feet and stepped through the bushes to the pavement.

Lars hurried up to me right then with a flustered look on his face.

“What happened, Lars?” Mrs. Hamilton asked him. “Throw something away by accident?”

“I didn't make it,” he confessed to us, but actually me in a low voice. “I did see some poor bastard crawl inside one of the dumpsters and then the truck took him—away...” His voice trailed off. We were silent.

“Oh, shit,” Charlie sputtered.

“What's wrong?” Mrs. Hamilton asked him.

“Where's Scott,” I said aloud.

“Oh, shit!” Charlie exclaimed; I thought back to what he said it being trash day.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” Lars screeched. He turned to me with a worried look on his face. “I knew this was going to happen!”

I shook my head at him. “Huh?!”

But he didn't reply. Instead, he peered about the parking lot like a lost child.

“—Scott!” Charlie shouted. “Scott! SCOTT!”

1 note · View note

sapphires-and-gold-fics · 5 years

Text

Fictober Day 14: “I can’t come back.”

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF / Indiana Jones

Characters: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth

Notes: Adapted from Raiders of the Lost Ark, some of that script used, but mostly not. Also Marion's bar in Raiders is literally the Raven Saloon so how could I not???

Additional Notes: No, really - I literally could not stop myself.

Read on AO3

xxxxxxxxxxx

A huge raven, inexplicably with three eyes, is mounted behind the bar on the usually lively Three-Eyed Raven Saloon in the middle of nowhere, north of the wall. Wildlings and men of the Night’s Watch huddle here nightly from the cold, mingling inside where outside those doors they would be mortal enemies - or at least, certainly not friendly on most days. Most of their differences were settled long ago.

Behind the bar is Brienne Tarth - thirty, straw-blonde hair, scarred, eyes blue enough to rival a mythical white walker, and tall - very tall. She’s no-nonsense at best, and a pain in the ass at worst, but the patrons appreciate her. The one time a wildling tried to bring up some beef with the Night’s Watch, she had physically removed all of those involved herself. She was built - she would joke, when she joked, that it was from being a barback for the original owners - the Starks, long gone - but really she had just been made that way. And physical exertion had kept it up.

Brienne had just finished kicking the last of the drunken wildlings out for the night when she noticed one last patron huddled over a tankard at the far end of the bar. Exasperated, she walked toward him with purpose. “Hey you, you deaf? It’s closing time - this ain’t the Long Night, get the--”

Jaime looked up from beneath the brim of his hat and smirked at her - gods, it was good to see her, and Brienne stopped short, shocked.

“Hello, Brienne.”

Then she hit him. Knocked him right off his stool. Just like he deserved. He sat up, his smile infinitely wider.

“Nice to see you, too.”

“Get out.” She wasn’t smiling.

Jaime held out his prosthetic hand in defense while using the other to boost himself from the ground.

“Take it easy, I’m looking for your boss.” He wasn’t. But he thought she’d be easier on him if Sansa was between them when he asked her for what he’d come for.

Brienne snorted. “Well, you’re a year too late. Sansa’s dead. Arya too”

Jaime was stunned. Six years ago he and Brienne had promised to help Catelyn Stark’s girls find their way back north. And then Catelyn had died and the situation had gotten dire in the city, so he’d sent Brienne to do it - to find them, swear her sword to them as it were. He thought she’d be safe. It was as much for their sake as for hers. He hadn’t parted with any of the Starks on the friendliest of terms, but this was distressing. He perched back on the righted stool and leaned heavily on the bar. “What happened?”

Brienne shook her head. “There was an uprising north of here. Something to do with their brothers. They never found them but… word is they’re dead. They didn’t come back.”

She turned back to the bar and popped the cap off of a cheap whisky bottle. She didn’t want to think about the Starks. She didn’t want to think about how Jaime had cursed her by sending her after them, and how they had in turn they’d dragged her up here to the north and then vanished.

“Why are you still here? Why not go back to Tarth, or at least somewhere that’s not… this?”

She shrugged, throwing back a second shot, “I can’t come back. There’s nothing for me. Besides, this? It grows on you.”

Jaime looks at her, shivering. Remembering how her skin would pink and freckle even more in the sun; now her freckles seemed to be in hiding, her skin pink from the cold. Always pink with her - one of the most feminine things about her. Under his gaze, she blushed, and Jaime ticked off in his mind a third shade.

“I’ll tell you something, Jaime. I hated you for sending me after them alone.” She swallowed hard. “And I hated leaving.” Momentarily she softens, but then the hard shell is back. “I always wished you'd show up some day. But why now?”

Jaime toyed with his sleeve before answering her. “I need Oathkeeper.”

Brienne’s eyes go icier than ever; the truth of his visit stung. She swung for his jaw again, but he caught her; his false hand wasn’t much of a defense, so she was able to slap him with the other. Her stomach churned at the idea of using his weakness - something he only had because of her - against him, but that’s exactly what he was doing now to her. “You asshole. You know what you did to me, to my life? This,” she gestured to the bar, to the raven, “is your fault. And now you’ve come to take back… no.”

Jaime swallows hard and releases her hand, which he hadn’t realized he was still gripping. “I never meant--”

“You sent me away --”

“You were very capable.”

“I was in...” She stops herself and takes a sip straight from the bottle.

“Brienne… maybe if we could work together…”

“Why start now? You didn’t care about working together then. You only cared about sending me on a fool’s errand.”

Jaime sighs. “I could pay you for it - for the sword.”

The ice in Brienne’s stare turns to flames, and she bites out her words, “I. don’t. Have. it.”

“You don’t -- well where is it?”

She shrugs. “Lost track of it. It was just an old sword.”

“Just an--” Jaime huffed out a sigh of exasperation. That sword was priceless. He’d given it to her because… well he’d never admitted it to himself but he’d given it to her because he was worried sick she wouldn’t be able to protect herself and the girls otherwise. He’d given it to her because a warrior needed a weapon. He’d given it to her because it was the thing he had most treasured in the world, apart from her. Sending her with it was like sending his heart with her. But clearly she hadn’t gotten the symbolism. Jaime’s shoulders deflate, defeated.

“Gods you look… what is that look? Desperate? Sad?”

Jaime smirks at her good-naturedly, despite his disappointment. “I can only say I’m sorry so many times. I’m truly glad to see you, Brienne. On my honor.”

Brienne snorted. “Your honor. Like before?”

That stung.

“You know why I did what I did.”

She had the grace to look ashamed now. “Yes, I know.” Then, “Come back tomorrow.”

“Why? You said the sword was lost.”

“I thought you said you were glad to see me.”

“I am.”

“Then come back tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have something for you.”

Jaime shook his head with a grin - so maybe she hadn’t lost it. But she was skittish and distrustful. He understood that. He understood her better than probably anyone. Better he come back for it. He nodded, getting up off the stool. “I trust you, Brienne. I always have.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Now where have I heard that before?” He sets his hat on his head and tips it to her, and turns to go.

“Jaime, wait.” Her voice is huskier and raw from the whisky, and Jaime felt it like an arrow to his groin. “C’mere.”

Jaime turned back to face her. “Bossy, aren’t you?” and started back toward her.

“You liked me bossy.” He reached the bar and leaned against it. “Kiss me, Jaime.”

Jaime looks into her eyes, bright blue pools he’d often wanted to drown in. He raises his knee onto the seat of the stool and pushes up so he’s kneeling, steadying himself with his good hand, his body leaning over the bar and up, to reach her. He kisses her gently, her lips firm and soft against his, but when he pulls away she looks as if he had ravished her - the splotchy blush spreading across her freckled skin - maybe a fourth shade. He wished he could untie that scarf at her neck and see it spread it further. But she leaned back and away from him. “Now get out.”

Jaime grinned. “Tomorrow, Brienne.” She just nodded. He climbed down, replaced his hat, and walked out.

Brienne stared after him, and then took another sip from the bottle. She loosened the bright blue scarf at her throat to reveal the fading pink of her blushes, and above that a gold chain with a bright red jewel hanging at the end of it.

On the other side of the wall, directly behind the raven, she keeps an ancient sword that she would often practice with, out of the sight of others. The grip was a little worn, and one of the jewels had fallen from the shoulder not long ago, and she’d hung it around her neck to remind her of him. The steel never seemed to dull. One hardly used swords these days, but Brienne was oft alone and felt safer knowing how to defend herself. After all, that was half the reason Jaime had sent her away with it - she knew that. And now he’d come to finally take it back.

She moved toward the fire in the corner, examining the glint of the light through the jewel, wiping an errant tear from her eyes. Then she removed the chain from her neck and went back to the kitchen where she wrapped it gingerly around the grip. She rarely took the thing off - only when cleaning so that it wouldn’t catch on the crates and snap off.

When she walked back into the bar, there were four strangers standing in the doorway. The tallest of them - about her height - approached her while the other three spread out across the bar. One of his men was almost as wide as he was tall, and bald; another had a crazed look in his eye and wore a pink and green paisley beneath his wool coat; the third was short with thick black hair, and his muffler barely concealed the fact that he was missing half of his nose.

“Good evening, mith.”

“The bar’s closed.”

“We are not thirthty.”

“What do you want?” Brienne thought quickly - there were plenty of bottles she could crack over their heads. Chairs if she needed to. And there was always the sword in the back room. Either way, they were between her and the door, so she could not run for Jaime.

“We want the thame thing your friend Mither Lannither wanted. Thurly he told you there would be other… intherethed partieth.”

Brienne shook her head, nothing the positions of two of the tall man’s companions, along the side walls.

“Ah, the man ith nefariouth. I hope for your thake he hath not yet acquired it.”

If she could only get to the back room she might be able to hold them off, or at least blockade herself until help could arrive.

“I don’t have it. But I know where it is.”

Vargo Hoat’s smile faded, and Brienne felt a chill run down her spine. She considered breaking for the door, but she decided to go a route that might get the men into a central location; she was strong but against four clearly strong men, she wouldn’t stand a chance unarmed. Better to have the bar between her and them. She gestured to the stools and poured the whiskey she’d been drinking into a line of shot glasses. “How about a drink?”

One of them lit up at the suggestion, but the lisping man gave him a look that said they would stick to business. Vargo shook his head.

Brienne went to Plan B. “Well then why don’t you come back tomorrow. I’ll be able to get it by then, and you and me and Mr. Lannister can have an auction.”

Vargo sneered and snapped his fingers.

Brienne had forgotten about the fourth man.

Her arms were pinned behind her back before she could flex a single muscle. The man shoved her into the bar and one of the others pulled her across it so that she was lying on her back, with her arms pinned down. She flattened her feet against the wood and attempted to buck them off, but Vargo was already holding her ankles, and he held her down firmly.

“An aucthion ith not pothible. Let uth thow you the kind of deal we’re uthed to making.”

He nodded at the man left not holding her, who opened his horrible mouth for the first time in Brienne’s sight, and she knew she had to fight harder. The man’s teeth had been filed to points, and as far as she could tell, he had no tongue. His doughy hands were on her shoulders and she thought she might pass out from his breath as his face got closer.

Suddenly there was a loud crack - the door had burst open and snapped at the hinges as it slammed against the wall, followed immediately by a shot. Biter went down as his companions turned toward the door. Brienne turned too, and the sight of Jaime’s silhouette in the doorway at that moment was almost enough for her to forgive him then and there.

Things moved very quickly then.

Vargo climbed off of the bar and ducked behind it, pushing Brienne over and onto the ground, landing on Biter’s back. She withdrew and crouched beneath the front of the bar as Jaime attempted to shoot at one of the other men. Bullets flew from both directions, but Jaime was able to dodge behind a table and out of harm’s way. Brienne knew that if she could get into the back room, get the sword, she could do some damage. But as it was, she was in the way. She quickly checked Biter’s person and found a blade tucked into his belt. She clutched it and crawled around the bar, as flat to the ground as she could, bullets flying over he heard.

She encountered the noseless man first, and jabbed the knife into his leg. He howled and jumped from the spot nearly taking Brienne and the knife with him. With that movement, he was caught in the crossfire, and he stumbled across the room, landing just in front of the fireplace with his last breath, his hand landing in the flames and smoldering.

His sleeve caught fire, and Brienne used the distraction to dive behind a table. The air was quickly thick with smoke, and she could hear shouting coming from behind the bar, but she could see neither Jaime nor her attackers. The fire began to roar and she saw flames licking at the furniture and the curtains, moving steadily toward the bar.

Another shot rang out, a cry from behind the bar, and suddenly a breeze passing her as one of the men ran for the door, leaving thick drops of blood behind him. She couldn’t tell which of them it had been, but with only one more left inside, she stood a better chance of reaching the back room before the whole place went up.

She heard Jaime scuffling on the floor nearby, and suddenly he was crouched next to her. “Brienne, we have to get out of here!”

“Not without the sword!”

“It’s here?”

She nodded and looked around the table carefully. But her head was too far cleared of the edge, and Jaime pulled her back just as another shot rang out, gripping her against his chest protectively, good arm crossing her chest, bad arm at her waist. “Forget it! I have to get you out of here!”

She shook loose from him, immediately wishing she hadn’t had to. “Cover me!” And she bolted for the kitchen door. A couple of shots rang out, but none of them near her. She dove inside and slammed the door shut behind her, pressing against it to keep the last man out, but she was not pursued.

She climbed up onto the counter and lifted the sword off of its hangings. Outside the door, she could hear the fire spreading getting louder. When she looked out the square window, she could barely make out Jaime and another man fighting. She wrapped the belt around her waist tight, placed the chain around her neck again, the jewel secure under her tunic, and threw on her heavy coat, checking the pockets to make sure that her essentials were still there. Then she reopened the door.

She saw the man land a punch on Jaime’s jaw, striking him down, taking a pair of stools down with him. When the attacker stood over him, she could see that it was the wild-eyed man. She must have made some sound for he spun to face her, eyes crazed. She knew the fire would reach the bar at any moment. She had no choice. She had to play her only card. In a flash, Oathkeeper was snapping through the air and through the man’s heart. Before his knees hit the ground, she had grabbed Jaime’s ankle and was pulling him out of the ruined bar.

She dragged him through the snow, rounding the corner of the square just as the fire reached the bottles in the bar, igniting them soundly. Jaime coughed and twisted away from her and yanking her to the ground. He sat up and ran his false hand over his hair, looking around for his hat which was nowhere to be seen. Then he realized he was still holding her sleeve, and released her. “You could have been killed.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I… Brienne…”

“You burned down my bar.”

“That’s… “ he looked up at her, her eyes were shining - she was upset but not that upset. They were sparkling. She could have been blushing a fifth shade under his stare but it was too dark to tell. He could only see her eyes, and the light of the fire glinting off of her hair. And something else - he reached up, his fingers brushing the hollow of her throat eliciting a familiar gasp as he looped the chain around his finger and slid the necklace loose. The jewel was shining, catching the moon and the firelight at once.

“Is this…?”

She nodded and pulled away, tugging the blade out from under where she had landed.

“You’re a marvel, you know that?”

She smirked and laid it across her palms between them.

“And now I’m also your goddamn partner.”

#braime #brienne x jaime #jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #indiana jones #indiana jones au #raiders of the lost ark #or raiders of the lost ARC when you think about it #and i do #ao3 #ao3 link #mine #braime au #adaptation #i can't stop myself #put me back together

27 notes · View notes