#I PICKED UP HIS GUN AND STORMED THE PRISON FOR HIM!!!

[mokulule]

Almanac - Chapter 4

DP x DC Dead on Main First | Masterpost Note: I made a new masterpost to subscribe to over on my new blog where I organize my writing @mokus-invenstory. Links on the other chapters have been updated, I will still notify on the old post with updates.

Chapter 4 - October 21-22nd, Orinoids Meteor Shower

Training with Fright Knight was an experience.

Jason was no stranger to harsh training regimes, but it seemed like Fright Knight truly had no other duties to attend to. And maybe that was what ghosts did? Find the one thing they were good at and then do it for all eternity? It was exhausting, unrelenting.

Every day he went to the kitchen to find a plate of breakfast ready, thankfully it wasn’t the same thing every day. He wondered if it was courtesy of the Lunch Lady, but he never saw anyone else and the cupboards and pantry were empty.

The mystery of who and how human food came to be here itched at him but as long as the magical castle felt reluctant to even let him get to the kitchen in the first place (he’d yet to walk a path quite the same there) it was something he would have to leave unexplored.

He ate and then as he was done as if summoned Fright Knight would collect him and drill him until he dropped.

The knight treated Jason as if he’d never held a sword before starting basic at stance and simple attacks repeated ad nauseum, with the occasional cardio and strength building exercises. While Jason preferred guns, hand to hand combat and occasionally knives, it wasn’t the first time he’d fought with a longer bladed weapon. His general training meant he could pick up most weapons and use them successfully so he thought it was rather unfair - not that he was fool enough to raise that opinion, this wasn’t the first stern training master he’d served under.

And arguably he didn’t have much experience with medieval style broadswords. So he sucked it up and did as ordered.

There were no breaks throughout the day, no more food. You’d think it was a form of torture that he didn’t get to eat more than breakfast, but Jason, while he got tired, never got hungry throughout the day. Apparently he got the rest of his needs covered through energy diffusion or some shit - assuming he’d understood the king correctly.

His waking moments were repetitive, but he was not bored as such. Not that he was enjoying himself either, but he was busy, occupied. Training and learning new skills were never a waste - he had to tell himself that. But when he laid in the barren room, which he still considered his prison, in those short moments before exhausted sleep claimed him, horror creeped in; horror that this would be the rest of his life.

Another day another drill.

The weight of the practice sword in his hand felt as familiar as breathing after 9 days of non stop practice.

“You are becoming complacent,” Fright Knights voice boomed as always from everywhere at once despite him clearly looming right in from of him.

Jason tilted his head regarding the knight for a moment. He wondered how much sass he could get away with.

“Well you could give me a challenge instead of this,” he returned evenly.

Somehow Jason had the distinct feeling the knight was smiling unseen in the darkness under the helmet.

“Very well,” his voice rumbled like a storm in the distance, setting all of Jason senses alert at the coming threat. His grip tightened on the practice sword.

The knight turned and flew over to set aside the neon green sword he carried at his side in favor of a practice sword in the weapons rack by the wall. For the first time since Jason had seen the knight kneel before his king, his feet touched ground.

He stalked towards Jason, a weight and realness to him now as the armored shoes clanged against the cobblestone. The hair at the back of Jason’s neck stood on end as the air charged with his approach. Every instinct in his body told him to be afraid. Someone with less combat experience might have frozen, Jason picked his guard up and turned so he made a smaller target.

The cobblestone knocked his breath out and his sword clattered across the stones. His ears rang and he could already feel his left eye swelling from where it had met an armored fist. Above him a couple of shooting stars shot across the clear sky in rapid succession before the Knight stepped close. He loomed above Jason and for one horrifying moment Jason thought he would ram the practice sword through him, blunt tip and all.

Instead the knight held out a hand.

Jason wet his dry lips and took the hand. He was pulled unceremoniously to his feet.

“Did you notice what I did?”

Not only did Jason notice that twist Fright Knight had done that had sent his sword flying, he very much felt the way he socked him in the face.

“Yes.” Jason had not expected he’d be dueling something like a fucking Kryptonian, nobody that size had the right to be so fast. The trick to fighting Kryptonians and people of that speed class was more in anticipating their moves rather than reacting to them, and more importantly coming prepared with something to incapacitate them with. Jason had no clue what might be Fright Knight’s weakness, probably wouldn’t be so easy as to laugh at him.

The knight nodded at his response.

“Good, now to counter.”

He then walked Jason through no less than five possible counters, to what was apparently a rather risky move he’d done - had he been alive at least. The counters were well and good, but as long as Jason had no way to counter the speed, the knight could repeat the move at his leisure.

Not that Jason pointed that out. No, Jason practiced dutifully and found himself seeing the stars multiple times that day. He got very well acquainted with the cobblestone. On the seventh meeting with the ground, he thought he saw a glimpse of light from a window high above the courtyard. He could have sworn it was the king watching, but as he got back to his feet and looked back up the light was gone. Maybe it had just been a reflection, a trick of the light from one of the many shooting stars.

Still, reminded of why he was here, his mood soured. Yes, Jason had put himself in this situation, but he’d expected to die for his sacrifice - and maybe that would have been too easy an out, but he’d certainly not expected to be discarded, like the unwanted possession he apparently was.

Resentment curled in his gut. Poor little king never wanting to have been summoned having to take Jason as payment. It was clearly such an ordeal.

Jason snarled getting back to his feet and for the first time he went on the attack. Fright Knight seemed amused, which only egged him on. Jason reached for the All-Blades but of course they didn’t manifest, because in this stupid place not even someone named fucking Fright Knight counted as true evil.

He let Jason wear himself out, disarmed him again, and punched him hilt first in the stomach. Jason crumpled over the practice sword and slid down to his knees, gasping for breath.

The knight considered him for a moment, waiting to see if he would get up again. When he didn’t, he made a minute shake of his head.

“You have spirit, but your mortal trappings do you no favors.”

Jason couldn’t help laughing at that. What was he supposed to do? Apologize for being alive?

“Blame your king.”

Oo o oO

That night Jason dreamt of Gotham, or more specifically of Crime Alley. Dick was patrolling in Jason’s absence, but he didn’t know the Alley like Jason did. He didn’t know of the small shadowed nook in that building that made for a perfect hidey hole. He didn’t see the gun pointed at him, didn’t move until the shot rent the air.

Jason sat up in bed gasping and shaking.

It was a dream, it was a stupid dream. He fumbled automatically for his phone, before he remembered, there was no way to make sure. He was stuck in the realm of the dead. It was a dream, he firmly reminded himself.

Still he shook and couldn’t bring himself to go back to sleep. Dick’s shocked face haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

Gingerly he stepped out of bed. Clearly the order to keep Jason alive hadn’t kept the knight from beating him to hell and back. A particularly spectacular bruise mottled the side of his torso in purples and blues. From the twinging pain with every breath there was probably a few bent or broken ribs underneath that.

He walked to the bathroom, where he’d hung his clothes to dry after washing them in the sink. He reached out to touch them to find them cold and damp, a testament to how little sleep he’d managed. He shivered at just the thought of pulling them on, but he didn’t exactly have anything else to wear.

He couldn’t go back to sleep. He needed to move. That gun had been aimed for Dick’s head. It was just a dream, he reminded himself sternly. He needed to pull himself together.

Taking a deep breath he reached for his underwear first, pulling it on with a grimace. Disgusting was not a strong enough word, he thought grimly. He was cold and miserable by the time he’d finished dressing and trapped his damp socks in his boots and tied them.

Dressed, he left the room for the hallways, expecting the castle to give him a good walk around as usual - expect he’d barely walked down two hallways until a door revealed the kitchen. There was a cup sitting on the table in front of his usual place. Curious he walked over to pick up the steaming mug, he put it up to his nose and sniffed it. His eyebrows rose in surprise - hot cocoa.

He glanced around and like always saw no sign of the presence of anyone but himself. He took a sip and amended his earlier assessment with a hum of pleasure, this rich taste could only be hot chocolate. It sat warm in his belly and he found some of the restless energy leaving him. He sat down and allowed himself to relax. He held the cup with both hands and let the warmth seep into his fingers with a sigh.

Maybe the castle didn’t entirely hate him after all.

He sipped slowly, savoring the treat. The hot chocolate was good, it wasn’t quite Alfred’s but-

A wave of homesickness overtook him and he slumped forward in grief. Maybe Jason would manage to escape some day, but Alfred was not exactly young anymore. People died suddenly sometimes, even when they seemed healthy.

Jason wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t check on his family. Not Alfred, not Dick (it was just a nightmare!) or anyone. A mocking laughter haunted him as if from a distance, a memory wanting to drown him. He clenched his fits tight, he wasn’t back there. He was here, property of the ghost king, safe.

Unlike everyone else.

The Joker was still in Gotham. Still alive despite everything, a threat to everyone and Jason was useless.

He was a fucking idiot. He’d sacrificed himself willingly, but he hadn’t expected to have to live with the choice.

Did that make him a coward too? On top of everything?

He stood. He couldn’t sit here. He had to move. Before he knew it he was walking through hallways, uncaring where they took him. Left, right, nothing mattered. He just had to move. He didn’t know how long it he walked until he found himself, breathing heavily, in front of a stairwell. There was something familiar about it. His eyes were drawn to the path down. He’d never chosen to go down before. There was something down there. He took a step forward.

“Jason.”

He froze and spun around at the echoey voice. It felt like all the breath left his body, sucked into the gravity of the king.

Toxic green eyes flicked from Jason to the stairwell. Dark brows drew together in a frown, and the shadows suddenly seemed darker, deeper, like places you could fall into and disappear never to be seen again.

He floated closer. The pressure increased. Jason locked his knees to keep standing. There was a siren blaring in his mind, a scream lasting an eternity. Cold fingers touched his swollen eye soothingly and Jason gasped, a quiet little intake of breath into his burning lungs.

He wanted to move away. He wanted to lean into it. He wanted- He did nothing.

The gloved tips of fingers became the flat of a palm cradling the side of his face oh so gentle. Jason felt wetness in his eyes and blinked. He couldn’t handle gentle right now. His skin tingled and the swelling fell. The king looked at him, green eyes sad.

“Are you okay?”

Was he okay!? Jason ripped away, fury finally breaking the spell.

“The Hell I am!” In his mind Dick’s shocked face, a second from being shot flashed, “my family could be hurt right now, dying-“ a crowbar dragged across a concrete floor, a terrible laughter skittered across his senses, and every hair stood on end- “tortured.”

Jason took a step forward into the king’s space, snarled, “and I can do nothing!” into his shocked face. Playing at innocence, as if Jason’s words were a surprise. As if he didn’t know exactly what he’d done. He had changed the wording, acting like he’d done Jason a great favor. He chose to keep him here, useless, powerless.

He stepped back. Looked at the king with anger gone cold. “Killing me would have been a mercy.”

Jason braced himself for the worst. He’d said his piece. He expected an explosion, a onesided fight, for his brain to melt out his ears, something other than the hollow eyed gaze only vaguely looking in his direction.

The lights flickered and finally the king seemed somewhat present in his body. He looked at Jason with the most neutral face in existence.

“I shall relieve you of my presence, goodnight.”

He flew casually over to the staircase and went up. It was only then Jason snapped out of it.

No! How dare he!

He ran after him, but of course he was gone. The cursed castle made sure of it. Jason wanted a fight and he would not even give him that! He punched the wall with a frustrated scream that cut off into a sob.

“Shit.” He rubbed angrily at his eyes. He was fucking pathetic. Couldn’t even pick a fight right.

Oo o oO

Fright Knight found him in the practice yard, doing drills, sweaty and shaking from exhaustion.

“You are pathetic human, sit down before you fall down.”

Jason glared. “No.”

The knight promptly pushed him down on his ass. “Do not test me. I was tasked to keep you alive. Drink.”

A bottle of water was shoved into his hands.

Mulishly Jason did as he was told. It was only when he’d taken the first sip he realized just how thirsty he was and he had to force himself not to just chug the entire bottle in one go.

Fright Knight watched him with that detached disgust he had for mortal weaknesses, like the need for sleep or in this case sustenance. He was a fucking annoying, stuck up bastard, but-

“Why are you not evil?” Jason asked in frustration, too emotionally worn to consider whether that was a smart question to ask. If he had been evil, Jason could give him a proper fight. Let the knight try to phase through the All-blades.

When no response of any kind came, he looked up. It seemed he had rendered the knight speechless.

Slowly hesitantly the knight finally spoke, “You speak as if you’d prefer that I was evil, yet I was led to believe you are aligned with so called heroes.”

Jason scoffed and looked away. “Not a hero.”

Fright Knight floated down to sit crosslegged in front of Jason, his glowing green sword drawn and resting across his knees.

“I am the spirit of fear itself, I am neither good nor evil, I just am.”

Jason barked a short chuckle, of fucking course. Then, he explained the concept of the All-Blades to the knight; flaming magical blades fueled by the soul and blood of the wielder, only able to be summoned in the presence of true evil. The knight in turn looked very intrigued.

“I would have liked to match my Soul-Shredder to your All-Blades. A glorious bout that would have been…” the knight said wistfully.

“Soul-Shredder is the name of your sword?”

“Indeed,” Fright Knight chuckled maliciously in a way that ran cold down Jason’s back, an effect that was done on purpose judging by the greedy glow in his gaze. Jason felt fairly certain he feed on fear.

The knight raised the green blade between them and turned it to let Jason see every facet with obvious passion. “One cut from Soul-Shredder will land you in a dimension of your worst nightmare.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. No. He refused to think about it. He forced a half choked laugh, “and you claim not to be evil.”

The knight looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe if we had met in the previous king’s rule, we could have had a proper match.”

Jason frowned in confusion. “Why would who the King is matter to your nature?”

“Because human,” Fright Knight began, green eyes boring into Jason, “the King is the most important soul in the Realms. His nature affects the very air from which we get our energy.”

“Pariah’s reign was a dark time,” there was an almost nostalgic tone to his voice as he continued, “he sought to conquer, control and enslave and I was his loyal servant, as is my duty as a knight. But Pariah was so bad that having no king at all was a better option than him, and he was sealed away by the Ancients, even if it left the Realms stagnant and disconnected.”

He paused for a moment to let that knowledge sink in.

“Our Phantom is a king who never wanted to rule, and has actively avoided it. It has been amusing to see him grow into the role.”

“And as long a he doesn’t grow into a power hungry despot he will always be better than the last?” Jason asked bitterly.

The knight barked out delighted laughter at that.

“Make no mistake, mortal, Phantom is a good king now, but he is young, still changeable by nature. These years are crucial. But should the worst happen and my king become a despot, as you put it?”

Fright Knight shrugged carelessly. “I will merely do as I have always done and that is to serve my king. I am the spirit of fear after all. It is only my concern now because my king wishes to avoid that fate.”

Leather creaked as the knight tightened the hold on his blade. He looked straight at Jason. Despite no mouth being visible, Jason had the distinct feeling the knight was grinning.

“We may yet have our bout someday.”

-

And that was chapter 4... nobody is really in a good place here? Except Fright Knight, he's having fun.

Comments are much appreciated <3

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#almanac #dp x dc #dead on main #warning for bad coping mechanisms #Jason is really not in a good headspace #neither is Danny #but he's not our pov character currently

[jellys-compendium]

Lovebug

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only, Minors DNI)

Pairing: Sinister!Vash x f!Reader Word Count: 7.9K Summary: You've been running for a long time, miraculously evading the destructive storm on your heels. But one fateful night you find yourself trapped and unable to escape the humanoid typhoon any longer. He'll make you regret running from him. Cw: blood, gun violence, side character death, noncon to dubcon, predator/prey dynamics, smut, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex, rough sex, p in v sex, gunplay, choking, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), cumming inside, dacryphilia, yandere, obsessive/possessive behaviour, manipulation, mind breaking, pet names, degradation & praise.

A/n: This is a dark fic. Read the content warnings before proceeding. If this sort of writing isn't your thing, please don't read! I will have a softer fic for Vash coming in the near future. Also, just a quick note that for narrative purposes , I decided to interpret Sinister!Vash as Vash turning evil (not as a separate entity).

The sharp scent of rust lingers in your nose. It couples with the muted dusty air and further serves to dry out your parched throat. Each time you swallow in an attempt to alleviate your thirst, it feels like sandpaper scrapes along your esophagus. Money be damned, you would trade every last double dollar you own for a glass of water right now.

Unfortunately for you, not a single one of the sheriff’s men had come to check up on your sorry state since you’d been caught, cuffed, and thrown into this dingy cell hours ago. They’d locked you in here and thrown away the key as it were. Guess you shouldn’t be surprised, given the bounty on your head.

Heaving a sigh, you lean back against the cold concrete wall of your prison, your movement causing the tattered and smelly cot supporting you to creak and groan. With little else to do, your mind wanders to the earlier events of the day.

How did you get yourself into this mess? 

You’d been so painstakingly careful to keep your head down and profile low in every town you had passed by for the last year. Not a single soul, let alone law enforcement, had ever suspected that you were the former partner of the legendary humanoid typhoon. So how is it that the sheriff of this backwater little town had you figured out the moment you’d set foot in his jurisdiction?

With a metaphorical fine toothed comb, your mind analyzes each and every interaction you’ve had since the morning, searching for clues on how you’d been discovered—but nothing clicks into place. You hadn’t spoken a whisper about your true identity, or about Vash, to anybody since you’d quit and run from his company of outlaws.

On top of that you were careful to cover your tracks, doing everything in your power to erase all that you were before disappearing into the night in a hail mary attempt at a better life—one that wasn’t tainted with lies and blood. 

A gnawing sorrow aches in your chest at the thought of your former lover, and you can’t help but reach up and rub over that hollow space under your breastbone. Deep down you still love Vash more than anyone else but…you will have no part in his cruelty.

You don’t know when it started, but Vash had changed into a person you no longer recognize. Gone was the kind gunman clad in red with a broken smile, and in his place emerged another person entirely. He was vicious, manipulative, and cruel. Taking lives without regard in order to get what he wanted. Within the span of a few months, Vash had truly transformed into the monster that the people of this planet fear him to be—and that had completely and irrevocably broken your heart.

For months you had feared that Vash would pick up on your trail and track you down in retaliation for your abandoning of his little group. But as the weeks stretched on, the suns rising and falling with each passing day, your nerves settled and you surmised that Vash must have had better things to do rather than chase you down.

‘He must have found someone else to warm his bed by now.’

The intrusive thought clings to your mind incessantly, and you desperately attempt to force it away with a shake of your head. No. You’d left that life behind, you’ve left him behind for a reason . 

Vash would have devoured you—consumed you whole and then spit out your bones if you hadn’t left when you did. The way Vash makes you feel is beyond anything you had ever experienced before. He’s intoxicating, addicting, seductive—a devil that beguiles you with sweet whispers in one ear, while holding the barrel of a gun against the other. 

For a time, you had lost yourself in his coils—exchanging your humanity for a burning desire that had scorched your body and soul. But before the humanoid typhoon could corrupt you completely, you escaped.

And…you ran.

And ran,

And ran.

Until that murderous, crimson eyed shadow that followed each of your footsteps surrendered to the sunshine above, and disappeared amidst the blistering sands of No Man’s Land. You were finally free, and although there is a dark and secret part of you that still longs for Vash, you know that you did the right thing.

Abruptly, a distant rumble captures your ear. Perking up, your gaze is led from the dark shadows in the corner of your cell towards the distant door leading out of the jailhouse’s cell room. Your body stills as the roaring commotion gets louder, your muscles sit taut as you listen and try to decipher the noises coming from beyond the bars.

You hear footsteps, shouts and— gunfire .

Gunfire, then screams.

Adrenaline kicks into high gear and you immediately get up from the stained cot, racing towards the door of your cell. Your cuffed hands grasp the cold bars of your prison as more blood curdling screams fill the air. Was it a robbery? Bandits? Or could it really be?

The monstrous possibility of what awaits just beyond that door sends you into a panic. Panting frantically, you use your entire body weight to rattle the bars in a foolhardy attempt to wiggle the cell door free. But of course, the iron door does not budge.

‘No.’ You ram your shoulder against the door.

‘No!’

Your arm screams out in pain as you use your entire body weight this time.

‘This can’t be happening! It can’t be him!’

“Sheriff!! Sheriff!!” You shout desperately. “Let me out! Let me out!”

The terrible thundering of gunshots and panicked commotion intensifies. Pounding footsteps race down the hallway and shake the floorboards just beyond the prison cell door. You shudder when you hear the terrified screams from the men warbling through the wood and concrete, sharp and horrifying but then—silence.

Oh god. They’re all…

Blood pulses in your ears, making you feel faint as the song of more bullets sings through the air. Even from your iron cage, you can tell the shots are precise—every single one effectively ending the lives of the Sheriff's men one by one. Within mere moments, the once lively jailhouse had become as silent as a graveyard. The only sounds you hear now are a single pair of creaking footsteps and…a song.

“Total slaughter~

Total slaughter

I won’t leave a single man alive…”

Oh god—it is him . 

Releasing the bars of your cell door, you frantically begin to look around the dim lit space. A bucket and the cot are all you have to work with. Shit.

The footsteps come closer.

“...La dee da dee die

Genocide~

La dee da dee dud

An ocean of blood…”

You detect a sound of heavy shuffling just outside and you look on, terrified , as the door leading to the jail’s cells creaks open. You freeze, legs nearly giving out from fear, but…it isn’t Vash.

Instead, into the room crawls a man—a man that you recognize as the Sheriff's deputy. He’s breathing hard, petrified little whimpers escaping his lips with each exhale. 

Trapped as you are you can do nothing but watch, wide eyed and horrified, as the man crawls into the room on all fours. His brown vest, white shirt, and slacks are covered with blood. More of it drips from his disheveled hair, leaving a gruesome trail of dark red as he shakingly makes his way across the floorboards and towards your cell. 

The deputy’s face is pale white and pouring sweat as he looks up at you…except he isn’t looking up at you. It almost looks like he’s looking through you.

“M–m–monster…h–he’s a monster.” The man whimpers, his red teeth chattering like tin cans in the wind. Trembling, the deputy reaches towards your cell door with a bloodied hand and his eyes finally lock with yours.

“H—help me.”

The sight of this man near death immobilizes you with terror, but as the man’s fingers wrap around one of the bars of your cell, the urgency in your gut magnifies, overwhelming the piercing fear inside of you. You have to try and save him. You have to.

Moving quickly, you squat down, reaching for the deputy’s hand, you grasp it tightly with yours.

“Give me the keys. Help me open the door so I can get us out of here.”

But the man doesn’t move. Instead he mutters and weeps, his voice strained and high with each incoherent syllable he babbles.

Frustrated and frantic, you bang your hand against the bars, hoping that the jolt will startle the deputy to his senses. 

“Hey! Are you listening?! Give me the keys or he’s going to—”

A piercing gunshot rings through the air and you leap up with a shout as the air rushes out of the deputy’s lungs. The deputy’s eyes turn dull, and you cry out in horror as his body jerks and then falls still at your feet.

He’s…he’s…

“Let’s begin…

The killing time” 

It takes all the courage you have left to lift your gaze and follow the blood stains left by the deputy. Eventually, your eyes land on a black pair of leather boots. Moving upwards, your sight lingers along the familiar dark blue coat tails—their ripped and tattered ends doused with fresh blood. Your attention moves up that infamous coat and finally lands on the face of the humanoid typhoon himself.

Vash the Stampede.

The outlaw’s crimson eyes stare directly into your own, shackling you in place more effectively than the metal cuffs around your wrists ever could. His eyes are intense as they focus on you, possessive and all consuming. It was only a matter of time before he found you, and you were an idiot to think that you could evade him forever.

As if agreeing with that very thought, a sly grin spreads across Vash’s handsome face. Like a ravenous wildcat who had finally caught his prey, the humanoid typhoon exhales a breath of relief and holsters his gun. 

“There you are.”

Vash approaches your cell and all you can do is silently watch as he bends down and yanks the ring of keys off of the deputy’s belt. Vash is methodical as always. Moving like a serpent in water, he never wastes a single movement. Each and every action of his is calculated and designed to lead him towards his ultimate goal.

And tonight, his goal is you.

Vash never takes his eyes off you as he slips the key into its slot with a poignant click. Then with a flick of his wrist the door unlocks, and Vash swings it wide open.

Your body’s response is immediate. Trembling, you retreat blindingly backwards until your body hits the concrete wall of your cell. Vash tsks, following your movements with inhumanly long strides of his own. It only takes a second for him to catch up with you—his body towering over yours once he closes that distance you were so desperate to create.

You jolt as Vash’s hands reach up and grasp your own, leather clad fingers lacing around your trembling digits as he lifts your cuffed wrists to his face. He leans down, and brushes his lips along the cold flesh of your palm, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. 

“Oh my poor little lovebug.” Vash sensually coos, his deceivingly soft and gentle voice echoing along the iron bars. “What have they done to you?”

Gods, you should be repulsed and terrified, but instead of turning your blood to ice, Vash’s touch causes your entire body to instantly be consumed by a sweet and agonizing flame. The cinders that linger in your heart reignite and burn tenfold at the touch of the man that you love so dearly.

“Lovebug.” 

Like a siren, Vash’s hypnotizing whisper lulls away your fear—enchanting you.

“So frightened. You’re shaking like a newborn kitten. Come here, let me hold you.”

As if the choice were yours, Vash pulls your body flush against his. You gasp as the familiar sensation of his strong arms wraps around you and overpowers your resolve. His warm scent, the feeling of his lips as he so tenderly kisses your cheek, the weight of his hands as they glide up and down your back in a soothing motion. All of it brings tears of turmoil to your eyes.

No…this can’t happen again.

“I’m sorry, lovebug. If I had known they would treat you like this I would have come for you sooner.”

Come for you? As in, Vash knew where you’d been this entire time?

Your mind reels at the realization. You had never escaped Vash’s shadow. Instead it had grown so large and widespread that you’d failed to notice it all around you. 

The people who let you on your way and turned a blind eye to your identity, those kind souls who had given you food to eat and a bed to sleep in when you were weary, even the men of this town who had arrested you as an accomplice of the humanoid typhoon. Every single one of them had been an instrument of Vash’s own design.

Vash places a final kiss upon your cheek. Pulling back, he smiles at your dumbfounded expression.

“Let’s get you out of these cuffs.”

Vash lets your hands fall, his fingers flicking through the keyring until he finds the one he is looking for. How Vash knows exactly which key to use, you are not sure, but it’s no surprise when he selects one and slips it into the cuff’s lock. He frees you immediately with a twist of his hand.

The metal cuffs fall to the floor with a resounding thud and your breath leaves you in a hiss as the dry hair hits your raw skin. But before you can soothe your own pain, Vash takes your wrists in his grasp, thumbs gently gliding over the reddened skin as he pulls you closer once more.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you feel Vash lean in, the heat of his body encompassing as his lips brush against yours.

“Have you learned your lesson? You won’t run away from me again, right lovebug?”

Vash’s sinister words send a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps erupt all across your flesh as the skin on your fingertips tingles. This man has orchestrated every part of your life for the past year without you even knowing about it. What are the limits to his reach? His cruelty? His obsession? How far will he go to claim you as his own?

In your silence Vash releases a heavy sigh, then places a soft kiss on your lips.

“I asked you a question.”

The words catch in your dry and tightening throat. You swallow, lips trembling as you try your best to speak.

“Vash, I—”

Before you can finish, pounding footsteps vibrate through the jailhouse, and it’s not long before four men appear in the doorway with guns drawn and their expressions terrified at the massacre laying at their feet.

The moment the men lay their eyes on Vash, the four of them let out a roar of fury.

“The humanoid typhoon!”

“You bastard!” 

“Kill him!”

But before the men manage to aim their pistols, four gunshots whistle through the air in rapid succession. You didn’t even realize that Vash had unholstered his own gun before the four men dropped lifeless on the floor.

A fresh wave of despair courses through you and your head spins as the humanoid typhoon—the diablo —reholsters his gun and returns his attention to you. His face is calm and unbothered, as if he hadn’t just murdered an entire building full of people.

“Now, where were we?”

Panic stabs through your chest, kick starting your fight or flight. You have to get away, you have to escape him. Being a murderer, an outlaw on the run, isn’t who you are anymore. You’d promised yourself that you would leave that life behind, no matter how much you wanted the man who’d seduced you into that life in the first place.

Clenching your fists to try and subvert your shaking, you start to move your body to the right, readying yourself to pounce around Vash and make a break for the door. But Vash’s scarlet gaze sees through your every move long before you even conceptualize it. He sighs, rolling his eyes before slamming his palm on the concrete by your head, trapping you in his reach.

Your body jolts at the vibrations of the impact. Then Vash leans in, hot breath on your lips as he whispers a dark promise.

“Don’t run, lovebug. I’ll make you regret it.”

No sooner had Vash uttered those foreboding words, more footsteps pound through the halls of the jailhouse. An irritated growl rumbles in Vash’s throat as he unholsters his gun once more and aims it at the door, hissing between his teeth.

“Cockroaches.”

Two more men emerge from the doorway and time slows as you watch Vash’s finger glide seamlessly towards the trigger.

Against all reasonable sense, your body moves. Lightening fast, you launch yourself at Vash, grasping his wrist in your hands and pushing his arm upwards with all of your might. Your sudden movement takes the humanoid typhoon off guard, and the two bullets he had intended to place right between the men’s eyes whistle and lodge into the wooden roof above.

“RUN!”

Using your body to knock Vash off balance, you bolt for the cell door, leaping over the bodies on the floor as the two men in front of you turn tail and run as fast as their legs can carry them. 

Your lungs burn as you follow them, racing out of the jail as if it were about to be engulfed in a raging inferno. Following closely behind the men in front of you, the three of you eventually manage to scramble out of the jailhouse. The cool night air hits your face and you pause. The street is dark and empty, and the two men who had just run out before you were racing towards the light of the neighboring town. 

You desperately want to follow them, to find sanctuary in the safe bustle of a populated town square. But Vash has his sights set on you, and you know you’ll only serve to put more innocent lives at risk if you look for help now.

The sudden sound of eerie humming echoes through the jailhouse behind you. You turn, body trembling and eyes wide as you search the darkness. Then almost as soon as that strange tune had started, it stops. 

A cold shiver of fear tingles down your spine at the foreboding silence. Then out of the darkness you hear Vash shout menacingly, his voice morphing into an inhuman two-toned scream that you’d never heard before. 

It curdles your blood.

“MAYFLY!”

You bolt, stray tears blinding your vision as you scramble like mad down the dirt dusted path in the opposite direction of town. Your breath rushes in and out of you at record speed as you rush towards the abandoned buildings lining the town’s outskirts. If you could just make it there and hide yourself in the shadows of broken and discarded concrete, you might stand a chance. 

But of course, much like a panicked animal with no sense of direction, your path twists and turns as you mindlessly try to find a good place to hide—only to wind up trapping yourself in a dead end. An empty alleyway illuminated solely by moonlight.

“No, no, no!”

You prepare to turn on your heel to retrace your steps but the moment you spin to face the other direction, your body becomes paralyzed with shock. Vash is standing right behind you . Somehow he had silently kept up with you, hounding your steps like a hungry dog from the depths of hell.

Vash smiles.

“Found you.” 

The unearthly flash of his red eyes shines in the darkness before a rush of wind gusts through the night. It’s then that you notice a single distorted, black feathered wing adorning Vash’s back. It stretches magnificently in the moonlight and you notice a gleaming, razor sharp talon adorning the juncture at the top of those cascading feathers. Your jaw drops. You had never seen Vash with wings before.

Vash takes a single step forward and stops when he sees you tremble. He watches you closely, both of you bodies still. And in that quiet moment, your soul is drawn into those deep crimson pools.

Mayfly…mayfly… lovebug …

Inexplicably, the tension eases from your body, limbs becoming still as if every part of you were surrendering to its fate. A devilishly handsome grin spreads across Vash’s lips as he watches your defiant spark finally simmer into nothing but harmless embers.

“Awww, trapped yourself again, little lovebug?” Vash chuckles darkly, his tone mocking. “Poor, sweet thing. You always seem to wind up in a cage.”

Your jaw clenches. How could Vash say that, when he was the one who drove you here in the first place? When he is the very cage itself?

“Y–you murdered those innocent people.”

Vash exhales a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as the large black feathers on his wing bristle with irritation.

“Innocent? I’d hardly call them that.” The typhoon's playful expression falls and then darkens, and his voice shifts into a tone of dead seriousness.  

“They laid their hands on you.”

Before you can even blink, Vash is before you—a great shadow that looms and blocks out all light except that of the eerie glow of his gaze. Vash’s hands wrap around your wrists, squeezing the raw skin and making you gasp with pain. 

“They shackled you and locked you up in that cold, dark place. They hurt you, lovebug.”

Your molars sink into the inside of your cheek as you try to combat your cowardice with pain. You glare at the man before you, and spit out your next words like venom.

“Only because you had orchestrated it. You’re the mastermind here, not them.”

The sinister grin that pulls at the corner’s of Vash’s mouth confirms everything you had suspected. He truly is…a monster.

With a swift movement, Vash yanks on your wrists and jerks your body closer to his. You gasp, straining against him in vain. The heat that radiates off of Vash’s body slams into your skin as his single black wing swoops down to envelop you further. He’s warm—so warm—an ambrosia unlike any other.

“Clever girl.” Vash whispers before planting a chaste little kiss on the tip of your nose.

You shudder.

“Are—are you going to hurt me?”

Your question isn’t meant to elicit any sympathy, but Vash’s red eyes soften once he hears them and his grip around your wrists loosen. As if apologizing with his hands, Vash’s fingers circle and soothe your abused flesh.

“Oh lovebug, never. I absolutely adore you. I’d never let any harm come to you.” 

Vash brings your wrists to his lips, pressing hot kisses against your cold skin. The flames in your belly coil, reigniting as they are fueled by the rhythm of your heart. Vash is weaving his spell again, coaxing you back into that syrupy sweet web of deceit and rapture. 

And…you’re falling for it. Falling for him all over again.

“But,” Vash murmurs. His hot tongue slipping out of his mouth to swipe along your bruised skin. 

“You should be punished for trying to run from me.”

Air gusts out of your lungs as Vash pushes your body backwards. He manhandles you with ease before pinning your form against the frigid wall behind you. The claw at the juncture of where his wing bends pierces into the concrete with a terrible scraping sound and pins your wrists to the wall above your head, rendering you completely helpless.

Then, Vash’s nimble fingers undo the button of your slacks.

Jaw dropping, you cry out with rage, cursing Vash and kicking your feet against his legs as you try to fight back. But it’s as if you are battling against a tornado. Nothing you do phases him, and in one single, practiced movement, Vash rids you of your pants, leaving you in nothing but your shirt and underwear.

“Vash!” You screech, nailing him with another swift kick to the shin. “How could y–”

Words are stolen from your lips and your body completely freezes when you suddenly feel the glide of cold metal between your legs. You look down, and your heart nearly stops when you realize Vash has placed the barrel of his gun flush against your panty covered pussy.

The sound of Vash’s dark laughter turns your blood to ice. He leans forwards and presses his burning lips against the corner of your mouth.

“Ever played Russian roulette?” He whispers.

Eyes wide with panic, you turn your head to look at Vash—silently pleading for him to reconsider, to show you mercy and let you go. But Vash’s expression is calm and resolute.

“How about I make you a deal.” He muses. You watch, tense and breathless, as Vash’s thumb caresses the hammer of his .45 long colt. 

“If you can come before I get to the last bullet in the cylinder, we’ll consider your punishment served, alright?”

No. No, no, no, no.

“Vash, please—”

Brushing aside your protest, Vash presses the gun harder against your cunt, grinding the top of the cold barrel between your folds. You gasp sharply, arching against the icy friction as Vash pushes the gun further between your clenched thighs.

The rear sight bumps against your clit and you whimper as a rush of heat gushes between your legs. Vash grins at your reaction, thrusting the gun harder against your tender flesh. 

“That’s it, lovebug” Vash coos. “Feels so good doesn’t it?”

The hammer of the gun clicks, and you have to stifle a pathetic squeal before it can escape. Vash’s smile widens, eyes alight with excitement—then he pulls the trigger.

Blank.

Your body sags.

“One.” Vash purrs.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus singularly on your goal. You have to come before Vash gets to that last bullet. You have to.

Hot puffs of air leave you open mouth in desperate whines as you start to piston your hips against the barrel of Vash’s gun, rubbing your swelling clit and folds against the harsh metal at his command.

A pleased hum rumbles in Vash’s chest as the obsidian feathers above you shudder with delight.

“Yes,” Vash breathes, leaning down to sample your flesh. His sharp canines tease along the column of your throat, and the feeling of his hot breath fanning across your skin makes you shiver and mewl. Your pussy twitches, nipples hardening as you start to melt in his hands.

“Good girl.”

The cylinder of the gun turns and you groan, grinding your pussy harder along that metal length. All logical thought disappears as the intoxicating pleasure of Vash’s game overpowers your mind. Like a worm on a hook, Vash has you in his grasp—he always has.

Another click of the trigger, another blank.

“Two.”

Vash’s mouth latches onto your throat now, his tongue and teeth caressing and nipping your skin as his free hand rises up to grope your neglected breast, pinching and teasing at your puckered nipple with greedy fingers.

Lewd moans fall from your lips as jolts of pleasure ricochet through your body. A desperate plea of Vash’s name fills the air as you slick drips from your fluttering cunt, lubing up the gun between your folds.

“Mmmm,” Vash moans, pink tongue languidly licking at his bottom lip. His eyes are glued to the spectacle before him. 

“That’s it, rub that pussy, baby. You’re so fucking sexy.”

Vash’s gun clicks once more. Thankfully, it’s another blank.

“Three.”

Only three more changes remain, and one of them is deadly. Knowing this, your movements become more desperate, grinding yourself against Vash’s gun with fervor as sweat begins to pour down your brow and back. Your body trembles, and you try not to think about how you must look, humping Vash’s gun like a bitch in heat.

Oh god.  

You’re scared but you’re positively throbbing for Vash’s touch. You haven’t been touched once since you’d escaped his clutches, and despite everything that has happened and the new life you had chosen, you are still so foolishly in love with him.

The people of this land may have been the ones you have chosen to side with, but Vash is the only one in your dreams. Vash is the only one who can make you feel like this. He haunts you and corrupts you. Fucks you and devours you.

Vash is the diablo you just can’t shake.

Releasing your throat with a hungry growl, Vash’s mouth travels up to passionately kiss your lips. You moan wantonly, accepting his tongue with unrestrained lust as you attempt to arch your body closer to his. Vash’s tongue swirls in tandem with yours, groaning into your mouth as he readies another shot. You whimper against him, fingernails digging into his feathers.

“Vash…”

Click

Blank.

“Four.” Vash pants, his tongue plunging into your mouth once more, matching in time with the thrusts of his gun. Paradoxically fucking you brutally and sweetly at the same time.

Vash angles his gun upwards, teasing the metal shaft against your entrance. And gods, you know you should be terrified—fighting him tooth and nail for not only your dignity but your life. But as the now warmed and lubed metal of his gun plays with your entrance, all you can do is arch and moan like a whore.

An alluringly dark chuckle rings in your ears as Vash’s grip on your breast tightens. You gasp as he pinches your nipple and rolls it harshly between his fingers.

“Wishing it was my cock, lovebug?”

You shake your head back and forth, and Vash’s grin widens.

“Don’t lie, of course you are. You’ve always been such a dirty little slut for me.”

Vash pinches your nipple harder—a punishment for your little lie—and you cry out as the cylinder makes another round. This time, Vash doesn’t wait, he immediately pulls the trigger, eliciting a yelp of fear from the depths of your lungs. 

Sure enough, it’s another blank.

“Five.” Vash chuckles. He releases your breast, and you watch as his hand travels down to the front of his pants, palming the thick hot bulge that sits just underneath his coat.

“Oh, one more baby. You’ve been sooo lucky so far. Think you’re gonna cum before this gun blows your pussy sky high?” 

Your words tangle in your throat, so you elect to nod rapidly instead. Your teeth sink into your lip as you furiously rub your cunt along the length of the gun, purposefully catching your clit on the metal grooves at the base with each thrust.

Fuck. Fuuuuck.

Almost there. Almost there!

The cylinder turns one final time as Vash’s finger glides sensually along the trigger. He kisses you again, his tongue diving deep into your mouth, drinking in everything you have to give him. Vash swallows your scream, and then pulls the trigger.

…

Nothing.

Both your hips and the gun still, and Vash laughs gleefully at your confused and near delirious expression. He grins like a cat who had just eaten the canary, and then presses a tender little kiss to your lips.

“Six.”

Vash pulls the gun out from between your legs, the barrel glistening in the moonlight with your slick as he brings it up to your line of sight.

“Hmm, soaked it right through your panties didn’t you? What a little slut.”

Vash's long pink tongue snakes out from between his lips, and you watch—mesmerized and aroused to high heaven— as he licks the barrel of the gun clean. Vash’s eyes never leave you once as he purrs with satisfaction at your taste. 

When he’s finished, Vash holsters his gun then wraps that now free hand around your throat while the other lands heavily on your hip.

Your breath stalls as the fingers on your hip snake around and down into the waistband of your flimsy cotton underwear, body jolting as they slip inside and reach all the way down to your messy pussy. 

“Vash,” You whimper as his leather clad fingers toy with your swollen clit. 

“Vash…”

The wing that holds your hands captive disappears, and you sigh with relief as your arms fall and land on top Vash’s shoulders.

“Hold onto me little lovebug,” Vash coos, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“Fuck, you are so cute.”

Without reserve, Vash plunges two of his fingers into your sex. Your back arches, and you moan loudly as you wiggle your hips in an attempt to take his thick fingers deeper. You need him. You need him so desperately you feel like you’re gonna break.

Saccharine praise falls in hushed whispers from Vash’s lips as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting your g-spot as he thrusts into your sloppy pussy ruthlessly. The wet squelch of your flesh lovingly sucking his fingers echoes across the empty hallway—indisputable proof oh just how much you want him.

“So wet. Gonna come on my fingers, lovebug? Think I should let you?”

You nod your head frantically, legs straining as you stand on the tips of your toes, thrusting against his hand with a wild cry—your cunt pulses and then practically weeps into his palm.

“YES! YES! Vash—please, please, let me come. Pleeease. ”

Oh, fuuuck. You’re so close. You’re gonna cum, just a little more. 

Vash smiles that dazzling handsome smile of his as his fingers tighten around your throat, cutting off most of your air and making your head spin. Your cunt squeezes around Vash’s fingers as he thrusts them inside, only for him to bully your g-spot until you cry.

“So pretty when you beg, baby.” Vash coos, licking a fallen tear from your cheek. 

“But…”

His fingers slip out of your puffy walls, and you cry out with frustration, fists banging against his shoulders like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum.

But Vash just laughs at you, and before you can give him a piece of your mind, he slides off your ruined panties and hoists you up into the air. Your back presses against the crumbling wall as your thighs come to rest on Vash’s shoulders.

He’s so strong.

Monster…

Without delay, Vash’s mouth dives between the twitching folds of your sex, and you scream up into the starless sky.

God, Vash always knows just how to pull you apart. He always manages to find that frayed and loose thread of your willpower, wrap it around his lithe fingers, and then pull it oh-so-gently. The reward of watching you as you unravel before him must have been the sweetest euphoria, because he kept doing it. Again and again.

“You taste so good.” Vash growls hotly against your sex. 

“Admit it, no one can treat you as good as I do.”

Vash’s tongue flattens along your pussy, red eyes making contact with yours and holding you there as he slowly and sensually circles his tongue around your clit.

“They don’t know how to worship this pussy properly.”

“Vash,” You beg, throat tightening as you choke on your tears. “Please, let me come. I’m aching.”

Wordlessly, Vash laps your clit into his mouth, giving it one harsh suck before snagging it between his teeth. You cry out, fingers burning into his white locks as he releases you.

“There, there lovebug. Spread your legs wider. You can take my tongue for just a little bit longer, right?”

Begrudgingly, you do as he says, and Vash groans as you spread yourself open just for him. The humanoid typhoon dives in again, lapping hungry stripes along your cunt—spitting on your little hole and then collecting every drop of his saliva and your slick that he can gather before readily swallowing every drop.

“I haven’t tasted you for a whole year.” Vash growls against your folds, the tip of his nose rubbing forcefully against your clit and making you see stars.

“It was torture being without you.”

Vash begins to thrust his tongue into your sex, sloppily eating then sucking your throbbing flesh into his mouth. With his body, Vash passionately coaxes out every hidden little secret you’d buried deep. You scream with rapture in his hands, more tears falling freely down your face as you rapidly unravel in Vash’s hands.

“Vash, don’t stop! Please, please, I’ll do anything! Anything you ask! Please!”

But just as you’re about to reach your climax, your pussy clenching sweetly around Vash’s talented tongue, the heat of Vash’s mouth slips away.

The wail of despair that is ripped from your throat echoes pathetically into the desert air.

Vash chuckles at your anguish, giving your pussy one last cheeky lick before lowering you back to the ground. 

The moment your feet touch the floor, your body sways, unsteady and dizzy from the unfulfilled pleasure that Vash had ransacked through your body.

But Vash holds you steady as he pushes his coat to the side and unbuckles himself. Your half hooded eyes fall to the place where he’s touching but before you can catch a glimpse, Vash positions you facing the wall, ass out and hands up—bracing yourself. 

You shiver at the loss of Vash’s warmth. Your trembling doesn’t escape Vash’s notice, but before he decides to comfort you, Vash gives your cunt a healthy slap.

You shriek, tossing a fiery glare at him over your shoulder. Infuriatingly, Vash gives you a flirtatious wink before pressing his body flush to yours and draping himself over you. His black wing and blue coat envelop you and shield you from the moonlight above.

“Cold?” Vash’s hands wrap around your waist. “You’re trembling.”

You don’t respond, your lips pressing together into a thin line as you push your body backwards, rubbing your pussy against his bulge with a wordless demand. You want Vash’s cock. You want him to soothe your ache, to fill you up and make you forget your own name. 

Vash exhales a pleasured sigh as you rub yourself against him, his hands moving from your waist to circle around your back. He traces your spine with the care a sculptor shows his masterpiece. Vash’s scarlet gaze drinks you in with awe as you arch needily under the pressure of his fingers.

“Don’t worry, lovebug. I’ll keep you warm from now on.”

The sounds of rustling fabric and the satisfying pull of a zipper elicit a flicker of heat in your core. You look back, a moan falling from your lips as you catch a glimpse of Vash’s perfect cock. He’s achingly hard, his beautiful pink head leaking a gorgeous, glistening trail of precum down onto the globe of your ass.

Licking your lips, your gaze captures his. Even in the dim light, you can see that Vash’s cheeks are flushed as he breathes heavily.

Then, without so much as a word, Vash leans back and shoves every single inch of his throbbing cock inside of you with a single thrust.

Your head flies back as you scream his name in ecstasy. Without missing a beat, Vash reaches forward to grab a fistful of your hair, and the two of you moan in unison as Vash begins to rut feverishly into your sex.

“V-Vash! Vash! Vash!”

Your bodies straining and hips trembling, Vash bears down on you like a storm, claiming every inch of your soft flesh with indiscriminate and unrelenting hunger. The slap of his hips forces your body forward, and you brace yourself against the crumbling wall with all your might as the typhoon ravishes you from the inside out.  

It’s not long before your orgasm builds up again. Fuck, you’re so close—twitching and milking Vash with each brutal thrust inside your walls. And Vash knows how turned on you are . He can feel how your slick insides squeeze and massage his cock desperately, the pounding of your heart under his fingertips, the delicious gasps of pleasure he pulls from the depths of your depravity.

And with one more savage thrust you finally come, screaming and quivering as your body succumbs to wave after wave of unimaginable, white hot pleasure.

But Vash doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your orgasm, holding your hips steady as he keeps pounding into you from behind, using you like a fleshlight for his pleasure.

“More.” Vash growls, fangs nipping sharply against the skin on your back. 

“Give me more!”

You gasp for breath, fingernails scratching against the deteriorating concrete as your pussy squeezes down on him, helplessly barreling your entire body into another orgasm even as you finish the last. The cry of pleasure you release is guttural, primal and sinful as your cunt pulses around Vash's cock once more—desperately sucking, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth.

Vash stills for a moment, moaning openly as he savors the sensation and sight of your helpless body at his mercy. Vash’s chest burns with satisfaction as he feels the pleasure rolling off your skin. Pleasure that only he can give you. 

With a jerk of his body, Vash pulls his cock out of you. Then in a swift series of movements he pulls you upright and turns you around to face him. Your legs are practically jelly and utterly pliant to his whims as he hooks his arms under them and hauls you up in his arms. In response, you wrap your arms around Vash's neck and bury your face against his chest.

Vash buries his cock inside you to the hilt again, and your toes curl as you wail from the overstimulation. Surprisingly, Vash’s thrusts start slow, grinding into you languidly as you whine. The humanoid typhoon hushes your mewling sobs while he fucks you, pampering every part of you he can reach with his tender kisses—like the calm before the storm. It’s not long before Vash grows impatient however, and his pace rapidly quickens as he gives in to the raging lust inside him.

You.

His obsession.

His lovebug.

He’ll never let you go again.

“So good f’me.” Vash moans, fingers digging into your ass as he bounces your harder and faster on his cock. The lewd squelches and ring of cream that forms at his base the evidence of your sinful yearning.

“Gonna make you scream and squirt all over my cock, how does that sound?”

Vash’s unrelenting pace doesn’t falter as he chases your shared highs. You are powerless as you’re pulled into the undercurrent of his desire. Vash slams his dick inside you and his thick and demanding cockhead collides with your cervix. 

A surge of both pain and pleasure knocks the air out of your lungs as you’re sent tumbling into yet another powerful orgasm. Vash grins, utterly pleased with himself as he watches you cry and sing your anguished pleasure in his arms. Then, as if all this weren’t enough, a single large black feather slips between the two of your bodies like a snake, and begins to toy with your clit.

You scream.

“Come again.” Vash commands.

“Vash! S-stop!” You cry out, fat tears filling your eyes as drool falls from your lips from the overstimulation. God, he’s ruining you.

“I–I can’t come anymore! I can’t!”

Vash slams you against the wall, stabilizing you against it before one hand reaches down to pinch your clit, while his other hand wraps around your throat and squeezes.

“I’m not asking you. Come on my cock, now .”

Vash thrusts his shaft pitilessly inside you, the head of him ramming fiercely against your g-spot again before plunging all the way inside you. Your body can’t take it, the pressure between your hips releases, and you howl like an animal as your pussy pulses and gushes, squirting all over Vash’s cock as you come. 

An unabashed, obscene moan falls from Vash’s lips when he feels the rush of your pleasure in liquid form.

“That’s it, my perfect little slut. Sooo perfect. Look down and watch your pussy make a creamy little mess for me.”

And Vash still doesn’t stop. He continues to pound into you, fucking your through your orgasm yet again. He’s determined to thoroughly and irrevocably break you. And as you cling to him for dear life, the words that Vash had spoken earlier that night ring loud and clear in your mind.

“Don’t run, lovebug. I’ll make you regret it.”

You should have listened, but it was too late now.

Near delirious and exhausted, you practically fall limp in Vash’s arms, but Vash doesn’t let you tap out. Not yet. He pulls your head back, forcing you to look him straight in the eye, then he whispers,

“You are mine, do you understand? Your thoughts are mine. Your body is mine. Your pussy is mine…”

Vash slams back inside you with a force that nearly has you passing out. Then, he seals his lips with yours, tongue swirling and consuming everything he can reach.

When Vash releases you, you gasp for breath as his pace resumes.

“Your heart is mine.”

You swallow, your mind nothing but pleasured static and love drunk fog as you stare at him. That devilish smile returns to Vash’s face. He truly is incomplete without it.

“Admit it, lovebug.”

Your body trembles and in a desperate attempt to relieve yourself of this torture, the words escape you in a rush.

“Yes. I love you, Vash.”

Vash’s entire body shudders as he purrs at your confession. His dark wing drapes over the both of you as he claims your lips with yet another passionate kiss.

“Atta' girl.”

Surprisingly, Vash’s pace slows to a gentle grind. Slowly and languidly he rubs himself inside of you, as if he’s savouring you like a worshipper at a temple. The final orgasm that you share isn’t explosive like the ones you’ve had before.

It’s tender and sweet, washing over the both of you in gentle waves. Vash releases the softest and most beautiful moan as he comes, kissing you breathless as he fills you up with wave after wave of his hot cum.

For a brief moment, you wonder if this is the first time Vash had found release after you left. Had you been the only one to…

As your climaxes subside, harsh pants fill the air. Both you and Vash melt into each other’s arms, utterly destroyed and exhausted. Your sex throbs with a terrible ache, and to help relieve some of your tension you wiggle your hips, sliding Vash’s cock out half way in an attempt to get a breather.

But Vash growls, and shoves his cock all the way back inside you, grinding up against your cervix and making you whimper.

“Keep it all inside you, lovebug.” Vash murmurs softly. 

The humanoid typhoon claims your mouth with one more toe-curling kiss, and the two of you moan, slowly indulging in one another’s taste. Sucking and licking, until finally you have to pull away for air.

Vash pouts, but then he pulls back, electing to admire your love drunk expression instead.

“Didn’t you know?” Vash whispers, leaning back in to rub the tip of his nose against yours. 

“Lovebugs stay connected to their mates for life.”

You pause and digest those words. While they may seem romantic on the surface, deep down you see the foreboding promise they hold. Pulling away from Vash’s pampering, you respond.

“Lovebugs don’t live long. They die right after they mate.”

It’s Vash’s turn to pause, his expression quizzical as he looks into your eyes. But after a few beats, a sickeningly sweet smile spreads across his lips. It’s the kind of smile only a god of death could have.

“You’ll be the exception.”

divider source

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun maximum #trigun fanfiction #trigun x reader #vash x reader #vash x you #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash the stampede #vash smut #trigun smut #vash the stampede smut #jellywrites

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter thirty four

close to home | chapter thirty four

plot: the reader and her group meet a friend, and arrive at Alexandria

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 2,484 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!!

You slept like you never slept before. You didn’t care if Daryl was mad at you; you didn’t care about what happened. You laid down next to him and slept. When you woke up the following day, he was still there. But it was time to get the barn in order, and you begrudgingly moved to help Carol get your supplies sorted. 

It was quiet while everyone worked, and you enjoyed it. You kept glancing over at Daryl while he cleaned his bow, and every now and then, his eyes met yours. You weren’t entirely sure, but you felt he was coming around. Maybe you didn’t ruin your friendship after all. 

“Hey…” You heard Maggie say. You hadn’t seen her this morning yet. “Everyone… this is Aaron.” 

You grabbed your gun, quickly clicking off the safety and pointing it towards the stranger beside your cousin. You walked forward slowly and took your place beside Rick and Michonne while Daryl went to look outside. 

“We met him outside. He’s by himself.” Maggie said. “We took his weapons, and we took his gear.”

“Hi,” Aaron said. 

Just then, Judith started crying, and Carl took the baby. 

You watched the stranger as Rick talked with the stranger. Your gun was still raised. It was automatic. You were always by Rick’s side for moments like this. He trusted you with his life, with his children’s lives, and it was something you didn’t take likely. You were his cover, and if this stranger made one wrong move, you’d kill him. But Daryl was closer and might beat you to it. 

When Aaron started talking about his community, you felt the tension in the room. The idea of a community was appealing to you. It was something you’ve been dreaming about since the prison fell. But this was too weird. This didn’t feel right. 

You looked over Rick’s shoulder as he looked through the pictures. But you couldn’t tell if they were legit. He looked clean-cut like he was held up somewhere good. But it was weird. 

Rick seemed to think so, too, because soon Aaron was on the ground, and you, Daryl, and Maggie worked at securing the stranger. Rick had everyone else go on watch. 

You stood by Daryl as the man woke up, and the conversation continued. You learned he was with another person, and the storm separated them. You were doubtful, but Michonne voiced her hopefulness. When she volunteered to check it out, you stepped forward and were about to volunteer, but Daryl grabbed your arm and pulled you backward. He shook his head no when you looked at him. 

You rolled your eyes and looked away, listening as Rick randomly picked a few people to go with Michonne. Before long, they set out to look, and you went to stand watch outside. 

An hour later, you were all back in the barn. Aaron’s story checked out, and you listened as the group tried to make a decision. 

“We need this,” Michonne said, “So we’re going, all of us. Somebody say something if they feel differently.” 

“I don’ know, man. This barn smells like horseshit.” Daryl said. 

Rick looked at you, “(Y/N)?”

You glanced at Michonne and Daryl before nodding. “I’m with them.”

Rick nodded slowly. “We’re going.”

***

You left at sundown, precisely as Rick wanted. You’d eaten a decent amount of the food from the RV and were feeling good. Abraham was driving the RV with Rosita up front, and the rest of the group was scattered among the RV. 

Rick, Michonne, Glenn, and Aaron were leading the group in a different car, and you were relaxing on the soft cushion of the table. Tara sat across from Maggie, and Carl was next to you. Tora was somewhere sleeping, and for once, you felt at peace. 

A deck of cards was spread out, and you carefully hid your cards against your chest. 

“(Y/N), got any fives?” Carl asked you, trying to peek at your cards. 

“No, go fish,” You nudged him away. 

You glanced at Maggie and saw a small smile on her face. Ever since the news of the community, she seemed better. And you made her play, and you could tell she was enjoying herself. 

“Oh, shit!”

Everyone turned to look ahead, where a small herd of walkers had spread out on the road. Rick’s car was driving right through them. The RV halted to a stop. 

“We can’t go through up.”

“Let’s double-check,” You said, “Try to get ahead of them on the other road and meet at that intersection.” 

***

The rest of the night proved eventful. After doubling back, Abraham spotted a flare. But it wasn’t your people. It was one of Aaron’s, and he was injured. You and Daryl made the call to bring him on the RV, and he ended up telling you about a safe house. 

You, Daryl, Rosita, and Carol cleared it, but Abraham stood watch. After clearing it, you helped the stranger get comfortable and then had the rest of the group wait in the other room. With Daryl on watch outside, you sat with the stranger and checked over his injury. 

“How’d that happen?” You asked.

“Oh, it was a tire.”

You nodded and pulled up his pant leg, looking at the bruises. He winced with every touch. “The bruising suggests it’s broken. I can wrap it and set it if you have anything.” You said. 

He nodded towards his bag, and you grabbed it, finding a medkit. As you got to work, you looked back up at him. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Eric, thank you, by the way.”

You nodded and looked over your work once it was done. “We took Aaron’s supplies. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He shook his head, but you could tell he was lying. “I’ll get you something.”

It only took you a few seconds to grab him some water and canned stew. You gave them to him and told him to holler if he needed anything. Then you checked on everyone else and went to find Daryl. 

He was pacing in the dark alley outside, and the warm air hugged you as you stepped outside. He looked at you for a second, nodded, and then continued to pace. 

“I’m sure they’re okay,” You said.

“I know.”

You sighed and crossed your arms. “Can we talk?”

Daryl paused at your words and turned back to look at you. “‘Bout what?”

You swallowed and took a few steps toward him. “About the kiss. About yesterday.”

“Don’ need to. I get it.”

“No Daryl, you don’t… I wanted…” You couldn’t find the right words to say. You didn’t want to throw him your heart and have him reject you. You didn’t need any more heartache. 

Daryl sighed loudly and shook his head. “I get it. You thought you was dyin’, I was there.”

You immediately shook your head and stepped towards him, trying to find the words to explain how that wasn’t true when you heard Rick’s signal whistle. You turned towards the end of the alley and watched a few figures appear, and Daryl whistled back. 

You sighed, thankful that the rest of your group turned up unharmed but stressed after your conversation with Daryl. You knew this was going to be a long night.

***

Despite the pictures, Alexandria wasn’t precisely what you expected. It looked so cookie-cutter from the outside. Even standing at the gate, everything looked like it was out of a photograph or a movie. The grass looked trimmed, and the houses were huge. Without the huge walls surrounding you, you would’ve thought you stepped into a time machine. 

You were all to be interviewed first by the group leader, Deanna. Rick was the first to go, and you all were instructed to wait. You thought this was a colossal waste of time and were irritated while waiting. You felt incredibly unsafe and were itching for the gun you’d given up. At least you had your machete. 

Rick’s interview didn’t take that long, and then Michonne was called, and then you. Deanna’s house was clean and orderly. It looked like how you used to keep house. And you felt like you didn’t belong. You were covered in sweat, dirt, and blood. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you. Rick and Michonne told me a lot about you. I hear that you are one of Rick’s right-hand men. Well, woman. And you come with a cat. Please, sit.” She said with a smile. “Do you mind if I tape this?”

Her words were so abnormal. They reminded you of a past so far away you barely remembered it. But you sat in the chair anyway and looked at the older woman. 

“How did you end up with Rick?”

You glanced around at all the books in the room, and Tora walked around the room suspiciously. “I, uh, Daryl actually found me. It was just me and Tora, the cat. He brought me back. Maggie’s my cousin. We reunited that way.” 

Deanna smiled, “That must’ve been quite the miracle. How long ago was that?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. Early spring of this year? How do you have all this?”

The community leader explained to you what this place was, how it got here, and how it was still standing. You thought it was all bullshit, and they had luck dripping out of their asses. 

“What did you do before?”

You glanced at her. “I was a dog trainer.” 

She laughed, “Well, we only have one dog here, and she’s well-trained.” You tried to force yourself to smile out of politeness, but you couldn’t get it. “What is your role in the group?”

“I went on runs; I hunted with Daryl. I don’t know. I did whatever Rick needed me to do.”

“That’s very respectable, (Y/N). I like you. You call it how you see it. I like that in a person. I’m very excited to get to know you, and I hope we can talk more later.”

You took that as a cue that the interview was over and stood. She escorted you out, and Aaron was waiting for you. “I took Rick and Carl down to the houses you’re all given. I can show you the way.” He smiled at you. 

You glanced back at Daryl, who was next on the list. He started shaking his head, and you knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted you to stay here. But you shook your head and looked back at Aaron. “Okay.”

***

Rick was standing in the kitchen of one of the nicest houses you’ve ever seen. Tora trotted alongside you, immediately going to investigate the area. 

“How was your interview?” Rick asked. 

“I didn’t tell them I have medical experience,” You said, looking around the room. “I wanna wait. Figure them out.”

Rick nodded, "I’ll tell the others.”

“This place is nicer than my old condo.”

“It’s nicer than my old house. Come look at this.”

You laughed as you walked over to Rick and watched him turn the sink on. Your eyes widened, and your mouth parted. You looked at Rick in disbelief, and he laughed. He grabbed a glass and filled it, then handed it to you. 

“Did we die last night?” You asked, looking at the mircle in your hand. “There’s no way this is real.” You greedily drank the entire glass, and then pushed Rick aside to have another. 

“The cabinets are stocked with a few things. Deanna didn’t tell me about how the place rations.” Rick said. 

As you drank, you looked through the cabinets. They were full of such ordinary things. Plates, bowls, glasses, cookware, salad bowls, mixing bowls, measuring cups, and tupperware. Everything looked brand new. There were some canned goods in one of the cabinets. You were amazed at what you saw. 

“How is this place real?” You muttered to yourself after finishing a second glass of water. “Where’s Carl?”

“He’s looking at the rest of the house.” Rick nodded towards the stairs. 

You set the glass down and headed towards the stairs, still in complete disbelief. 

***

After you took inventory of the upstairs with Carl, you both decided it was time to shower. He took the bathroom off the second floor while you took the grand bedrooms. You found some fresh clothes that looked like they'd fit and spent forty-five minutes under boiling water, scrubbing down your body. 

You used every soap that was in there. Washing your hair four times and your body five. You used a razor to shave your underarms and legs. Then you rewashed your body. After, you wrapped yourself up in fluffy towels and grabbed one of the toothbrushes that you’d found in the bathroom drawers. 

A knock on the door sounded, and you opened it to find Michonne. “I heard there were showers.” 

You laughed as you brushed and moved aside. “It was amazing.” You tried to say through all the toothpaste. 

Michonne didn’t hesitate to strip and get in the shower--it’s not like nudity amongst the women in the group was rare. Especially when it came time to wash up in creaks, which you hadn’t done in what felt like years. 

“I forgot to get clothes,” Michonne nearly moaned from inside the shower. You laughed after rinsing your mouth. 

“I’ll get you some. There was a bunch.”

You heard many voices and knew most of the interviews were probably done by now. Your group was exploring the house, and you realized you’d stepped into the hallway closet in your towel. 

Maggie passed by you with Glenn, and she asked about the showers. You told her where the bathrooms were as you dug through the old boxes of clothes to find something for Michonne. 

“(Y/N)?”

You turned to look at Daryl, whose eyes raked over your body. You felt heat burn at your cheeks as you finally grabbed something for her. 

“I know, you’ve never seen me so clean before,” You joked before walking away. 

After giving Michonne her clothes, you quickly got dressed. Your hair was still very damp when you saw Rick checking outside the house. You slipped into your boots and walked out to meet him. Both Daryl and Carol were there. You ignored the blush on your cheeks when Daryl met your eyes. 

“They’re right next to each other, but…” Carol said. 

You crossed your arms and looked at Rick. He’d shaved his beard and looked years younger. 

“They took our weapons and are splitting us up,” Rick said. 

“Yup,” Daryl said. 

“We’ll all be staying in the same house tonight."

#daryl x y/n #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #twd #daryl twd #daryl x you

[kittycatlukey]

Warning ~ Slight NSFW Content. Contains TWD Spoilers.

🏹Meeting Daryl Dixon For the First Time🏹

-When you and Daryl first met, it was at the prison. You came with your partner, Michonne, leaving Woodbury.

-He was obviously wary about you and Michonne, as he would to any newcomer.

-When you and Rick laid Michonne on the floor to help get her patched up, in walked in Daryl.

-“Rick, who the hell are they?”

-“Sword Lady and Firecracker” You spat, reaching for your hidden Smith and Wesson as Michonne tried to snatch her katana from behind Rick. “Don’t force my hand.”

-“Hey, hey, put the gun down. We’re not gonna hurt y’all unless you try somethin’ stupid first. Alright?” Rick attempted to calm you and Michonne down while he kicked her sword further away. “Hand me the gun.”

-You reluctantly gave Rick your handgun.

-“Y’all wanna tell us your names?” Rick questioned, helping Michonne stand.

-“Y/N and Michonne.” You told Rick, Hershel, Carl, and Daryl. Your partner glared at you. “Michonne, we’ll earn their trust if we’re honest.”

-“You’re a dumbass, Y/N.” Michonne rolled her eyes, still gazing at Rick with eyes full of hatred.

-“Whatever.”

-Some time passed by— a few months since you and Michonne joined Rick’s group. All of the members of the group had trusted the two of you, all except Daryl…

-And since you were one of the most skilled members of the group, that meant Rick assigned you and Daryl on runs together. Most of the time you two being alone. On other occasions, it’d be you, Daryl, Rick, Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne for larger supply runs.

-“Aw that’s real great, Rick. Forcin’ me ta go onna run with Firecracker.” Daryl would scoff, storming off in the opposite direction, tugging his crossbow on his shoulder. “I’d rather go ‘lone.”

-“She and Michonne have earned their places here. They contribute.” Rick would retort. “You have to look out for each other. Besides, you gotta learn to get along. My decision is final, Daryl. End of discussion.”

-Daryl would grumble in response, but wouldn’t say another word.

-As you and Daryl rode on his motorcycle, you got the nerve to ask him something you’ve been meaning to ask for a while.

-“Daryl, why do you hate me?”

-“I don’t.”

-“But you act like you do.”

-“I just don’t trust ya. That’s all. And I ain’t polite ta people I don’t trust. It ain’t nuthin’ personal.”

-“Well, what do I have to do to earn your trust? I’ve done a lot for our people.”

-“My people. Not your people.”

-You scoff. “Whatever, Daryl.”

-And on that particular run, he begins to trust you more. Why? Because you saved him. You saved him from a walker that nearly took a chunk out of his neck.

-You two were in a grocery store. And you had gotten excited about finding baby formula for Judith. “Daryl, I found some formula for little asskicker.” Then you turned around and seen Daryl already looking at you with a smile on his face, oblivious to the walker behind him. “DARYL! BEHIND YOU!”

-You had pulled out your Smith and Wesson, immediately putting a bullet in the walker’s skull.

-“Daryl, you ok?” You scurried up to him, dropping the baby formula and your gun, instantly enveloping him in a hug. “I almost lost you,”

-“No you didn’t. I’m here, I’m here…” Daryl gulped, his heart racing. “Thanks.” And he let go of you, taking off in the other direction. “Don’t forget to pick up the formula.”

-The ride back to the prison was silent.

-But that night wasn’t…

-You and Daryl had guard duty that night up in the tower.

-And let’s just say… you made the first move and one thing led to another…

-You had kissed him and he pushed you away with no hesitation.

-Daryl’s face fell at the realization that he had pushed you.

-“I’m sorry for all tha shit I’ve put-cha through these last few months. It’s just— shit, I think I was tryin’ ta avoid my feelin’s towards ya… But that kiss… you didn’t mean that did ya?”

-You nodded your head. “I… I think I… like you, Daryl.”

-And Daryl grinned. It was the same kind of smile that you seen in the grocery store when he was looking at you.

-Daryl grabbed your hips, pulling you close to him. He smashed his chapped lips to yours, an angry tension turning into a lust-filled one. He had pulled away, licking his lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

-“Don’t stop now.”

-“Trust me, I ain’t, darlin’.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon edit #twd daryl #daryl x you #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #twd #rick x daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl fanfiction #daryl fluff #daryl dixon fluff #twd prison #twd preferences #twd imagine #daryl dixon drabbles #how you meet daryl Dixon #y/n x Daryl Dixon #rick grimes #merle dixon #shane walsh #michonne #carl grimes #judith grimes #glenn rhee #maggie greene #beth greene #hershel greene

[dahliarose2]

KINDRED SPIRITS - PART 6

summary: carl comes to the sanctuary on a mission, which just so happens to be the same mission as you; kill negan. chaos ensues and an escape is made

daryl dixon x reader

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

You steadied your breathing as you rested against the door, allowing yourself to smile. Seeing Daryl, being able to hold him, gave you the push you needed. You were going to put an end to this, at the right time. You quickly pulled a dress on that you thought Negan would like, needing him controlled for this to work. You did your makeup and hair at a rapid pace, before picking up your book, the one holding the knife within his casing. You waited patiently until he got back. Just as he stormed into the room, you pretended to put your book away, closing the cover to place it next to your spot on the couch. "You're back," you beamed, but he didn't seem to smile back as he usually did,

Something had happened. You stood from the couch, putting your hand out to move towards him but he stepped away furiously making you halt your movements, watching his demeanor confusedly. He alternated between his serious expression and a scoffing laugh, as he licked his teeth in amusement, pacing in front of you. "W-what's wrong?" you built the courage to ask, unsure now if your fear was put on or not. "Oh. A lot. A lot is wrong, angel," he seethed, stopping his pacing to look at you, smiling evilly. You stared back at him with wide eyes. "I just had a run in with that little cowboy kid out in the yard. Turns out he managed to slip past 2 of my soldiers and hid in one of the vans," he yelled, waving his arms around, making you nervous as one of his hands was still holding Lucille,

"And he pulled a gun on me. He pulled a gun on ME," he raved, gesturing towards himself in disbelief with a scoff. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you heard him say that Carl was here. You worried if he was okay or not. You didn't have to worry much longer, before you heard the door slam open behind you, revealing Carl with his arms being held behind his back by a Savior as he thrashed around, before his eyes landed on you, eyes blowing up in surprise. You mirrored his expression, scanning him up and down worriedly. "Y/N?" he muttered incredulously, relieved to see you but not so much under the circumstances. "Put him here and get out," Negan yelled, pointing to the couch opposite you, as the Savior obeyed, quickly running out the door, locking it behind him after seeing Negan's rare irate state,

Carl was sitting furiously on the couch now as you stood parallel to him still, trying to get closer to Negan to attempt to calm him down. "And Carl here, is not the only one who took a little trip today. I've heard you've had a busy adventure today," Negan whispered now, venom laced in his voice as he watched you struggle to answer him, trying to come up with anything to absolve you of the accusations thrown at you. When you said nothing, staring at him dumbfounded, he laughed loudly, making you and Carl jump. "See Dwighty boy told me a few stories from today. Apparently," he yelled, now pacing back and forth once again, "he saw you skulking away from Daryl's cell after he got back from his mysterious run today,"

You gave him an innocent look, trying to tug on his heart strings, if they even existed. "You really believe that, I would nev-" you began to defend yourself, before he suddenly threw the barbed bat across the room in a raging outburst. You flinched cosiderably now, your hands shaking as he trudged towards you, stopping in front of your face. "Tell me the truth. Did you pay our little prisoner a visit?" he shouted furiously, as all fear you had dissipated almost instantaneously. You couldn't help yourself as you smirked in his face. "Yes," you spat out, watching as his face fell, some part of him believing Dwight had been bluffing. His dismayed look only lasted a moment before his hand swung behind him, backhanding you forcefully,

You were sent to your knees from the blow as you yelped, your cheek stinging. You didn't care. You would've done the same thing a million times over. "No!" Carl yelled, standing up moving towards you, in a fit of rage, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed heavily. Carl had always acted as a brother to you and you had always treated him like your brother. Before he could get anywhere close to you, Negan had swiped Lucille off the floor, pointing it at his head. "Woah there cowboy," he teased, chuckling at his reaction, as he tipped Carl's hat slightly with the bat. Carl glared at him, standing up straighter in an attempt to look more intimidating. "I might have to set a few more examples toward the people in your group so that this type of shit doesn't happen a second time," Negan threatened, as your face paled, wanting to yell at him, beg him not to,

You pushed yourself off the floor, standing up now, wiping a small trickle of blood that spilled from the corner of your lip. "You're not gonna touch her again, and you're not going to kill anyone in our group. I know that, and you know that. Because if you were going to, you would've done it already," Carl grunted, moving right up to Negan now, making you nervous for him. Negan licks his teeth slowly, staying silent a moment, gazing up and down at him, taking in his protective demeanor as you did, still shaking from the shock of the hit and the slap itself. The tension was palpable as you tried not to even breath too loud. "See, I thought I told you, Carl," Negan started in a menacing whisper, looming over him, "threatening is a no-no." With one swift movement, he had grabbed Carl's forearm before either of you could say anything, watching as he dragged him passed you to the door, opening it to throw him forwards towards the Savior guarding the door, who grabbed him as he thrashed and squirmed around, not wanting to leave you alone with Negan,

"Get him downstairs into the truck. We're going to take a little road trip to our good friends in Alexandria," Negan clammered loudly as you watched Carl disappear from your view as Negan shut the door. You stared at the door still in disbelief, feeling tears well in your eyes at the thoughts of what would happen to both Carl and the Alexandrians when we went to visit him. He walked towards you, circling you slightly, like a predator looking at it's prey dangerously. Though you didn't even look at him, tears flowing freely now as you stared at the floor. Negan tutted disappointedly as your head whipped around to look at him through teary eyes in shock. "Such a damn shame. 2 people paying for your actions today, and neither of them are you. The irony," he laughed evilly as he sauntered towards the drink cart against the wall, back to you now,

Your heart raced at his statement, tears stopping now. "What did you do?" you seethed, as he giggled at your tone. "Well as soon as I introduced Carl to our humble abode, Dwight told me all about the mischief you got up to while I was out. Daryl of course kicked up a bit of a fuss once I told him what I was going to do to you as a consequence of your actions. As I said before, he's smitten for you. Dwight just silenced him a bit, can't have him having little outbursts like those. But now I know that hurting him is a better idea. Keeps you in line a bit more. So Daryl will be paying for your grave mistake for a few days to come for sure anyway," he explained wickedly, knowing this was making you angry. Your chest rose and fell in fury as you thought of Carl heading back to Alexandria, God knows who taking the flack for his and yours own missions today. Then you thought of Daryl getting tortured again because of you,

'Not anymore,' you thought to yourself, your fists clenching in fury as you watched him pour his drink now, his back to you. A thought spurred into your mind through the anger that was coursing through your veins. Before you could stop yourself, your hands had moved slowly and carefully to pull the knife you had hid in your book, clenching it in your strong grasp, eyes landing on his back. As he ranted about what he was going to do to Daryl to punish him for your actions, it only fuelled you on more, as your breathing quickened, your chest warming, as if there was a ball of fire contained in it. You couldn't hold yourself back anymore. You narrowed your stare, walking up behind him. It was now or never,

Through his ranting he hadn't noticed you stepping to stand behind him now. In a split second movement, you brought your arm back, lip trembling with the animosity of a wild animal, thrusting the knife forward, driving it towards his back to stab it through his heart, but you were stopped. Your adrenaline started to deplete, the energy you were stimulated and controlled by dying down. You came back to reality, feeling his hand grabbing your wrist as your tears that were unknowingly in your eyes the entire time, spilling down your face as your mouth slacked agape, wondering why the knife hadn't impaled his skin. You stared down to see that in the quick movement of him turning to stop your attempt to kill him, you had managed to get a lick of your own in, seeing a slice on his bicep,

Negan had looked up from his finished drink to see the reflection of you with the knife in the shiny metallic bucket of champagne and ice that sat on the drink caddy. You had never seen Negan afraid before now, as he hastily swiveled just in time, to stop you, firm grip holding the wrist containing the knife now, glancing down at your fierce expression, both of you standing completely still. Once you realized that it didn't work, you attempted to push the knife forward again, it only being mere centimetres from his heart when he stopped it. But his grip tightened even more so easily pushing your hand anyway. You blinked through your tears as his expression darkened making you fearful. He gazed down at the sting he hadn't noticed from his arm, seeing blood pouring through where his thin leather jacket had been cut, in a straight slice on his muscles. He looked at you, clearly enraged,

With his anger, his grasp on you worsened as you yelped, his grip getting tighter and tighter until it became too much, your face contorting in pain as you finally relented your hold, the knife clattering to the floor with a crash. You gazed into his eyes, unsure whether you were still enraged, upset, scared. You were all of those things anymore. You had blown your chance. His face still stood in shock, eyes darting to the steak knife, to the now open book showing a hidden compartment, and finally to your face. His breath hitched before he shook his head, mouth upturning in a vicious, devil-like grin,

Finally he moved, pulling you towards the door with his grip on your wrist. You gasped at the sudden movement, as you could do nothing but follow after him, trying to keep up as he pulled you down flights of stairs fiercely, meeting a few Saviors whose eyes widened at the shock. You watched the lights blur as you tried to focus anything as you were dragged through hallway after hallway as he stormed ahead of you, holding you in tow, tugging you a bit harsher as he walked. "You know, I really hate to do this, sweetheart. You're so hot but you're so unhinged at the same time. If you didn't try kill me just now, I'd almost be attracted to it," he laughed, his amusement slightly back after his surprise subsided, trying to act as though he wasn't still reeling from your twist in behavior,

You said nothing, still struggling to keep up, before you turned a corner, seeing the cell doors that you had seen only hours before. Once they came into your view, you stopped walking to which he turned around, not seeming phased by your frightened look. "C'mon," he urged teasingly, pulling you harshly as you started tugging away now, trying to escape him. "No please. No!" you screamed out, "Please. Stop. Don't." but he passed you no heed as you reached one of the doors now, one of the Saviors unlocking it now upon a nod from Negan. With one swift move, he tugged you back slightly to all but throw you into the cell, falling to your knees,

Before you could turn to stand up and move to the door, you saw his smirking face as you were faced with the cold steel door now, darkness flooding your vision, except for the slight line of light shining in from the bottom of the door, seeing the shadow of his two boots standing there, the two infamous boots that you had seen during the line-up as you attempted to escape his gaze, looking down. You slammed your hands on the door now. "Negan. Let me out. Please," you cried out, knowing there was nothing you could do to help yourself or Daryl from behind a cell door. He only chuckled in response. "No can do, princess. You'll be serving your sentence in there. Trying to kill me? Not cool," he stated coolly, resentment now evident in his tone, furious that you had almost gotten the upperhand on him,

"Please, I'm sorry I-" you cried out, before you were interrupted by him tutting. "Apologies aren't gonna work right now sweetheart. I have to go take a spin to Alexandria right now. We'll take more about this little outburst when I get back," he replied smugly, as you heard him walk away, giving up on shouting for him to come back, knowing he was leaving no matter what. You collapsed to the floor onto your knees, letting your body wrack with sobs as you cursed yourself for ruining your one shot at freedom for Daryl,

Negan strolled down the hallway with 2 Saviors flanking his sides. As he sighed loudly, his stress heightened by the 2 situations that had just unfolded, making his way through the facility. As he turned the corner, Daryl came into his vision from where he stood, mopping, eyesight deadset on the floor as he remained stoic. Dwight stood aboce him, crossbow held in front of his body as he watched him. Daryl's hands shook as he struggled to stay standing upright after the beating he had taken from Dwight and 2 of the other Saviors, wounds littering his face and bruises covering his body under the dirty sweatshirt and sweatpants. "Daryl," Negan drawled dramatically, putting his arms out mockingly, "if it isn't my favorite prisoner." Daryl stopped his task, but his head still hung low, refusing to look at Negan,

"Listen, I saw how worried you were about Carl earlier. So I've decided to take him home. Safe and sound," Negan offered, fake sympathy in his tone, as he pointed out the window to the van he was on his way to as they spoke. Daryl only stared back at him, nonverbal, jaw clenched. Unsatisfied with his lack of reaction, Negan swung Lucille in his hand, moving closer towards him. "Unfortunately, I can't say the same for my wife. See, I heard about the little frolic you had in secret earlier. I mean, she went a bit crazy on me when I confronted her about it. I just don't know what happened. You've got yourself one psycho bitch, Daryl," Negan laughed, as he barely got the last few words out, as Daryl lunged for him, being stopped forcefully and quickly by the 2 accompanying Saviors,

He grunted as he was pushed to the floor, held down with his arms behind his back, not giving up despite his wounds combined with being outnumbered. "What the fuck did you do to 'er, jackass?" he yelled furiously, thrashing around on the floor. Negan crouched down now, smiling widely at his tantrum. "Oh she's just in time out right now, just until I get back from my trip to Alexandria. Don't worry, I'll have good chat with her when I come back," Negan whispered, as he stood back up just as Daryl tried to launch himself on the ground to him again, almost successfully, but the two soldiers caught him just in him, tightening their hold making him wince as the bruises he had were poked and prodded by their grip,

"Dwight," Negan calls out, with a wide smile, as Dwight perks up now, "I think Daryl needs a time out just like his little girlfriend." Dwight nodded as he hauled Daryl up, pulling him towards the direction of the cells, leaving the mop and the bucket discarded on the ground. Negan told the other 2 Saviors follow them for good measure in case he tried anything stupid as Daryl didn't take his gaze off of Negan. "You touch her and I swear to God," he yells as Dwight shoves the shaft of the crossbow into his abdomen making him hiss and grunt in pain, all the while Negan laughed, waving at him as he was hauled away, before strutting towards the van outside, getting in beside Carl, who sat there with a livid expression,

Daryl was thrown into his cell as he punched the wall, running his hand through his hair worriedly, annoyed that you had been caught, that you were being held in a cell somewhere. He wracked his brain for ideas as he sat down, sliding down the wall, his bruises and scars practically screaming at him as he groaned from the pain, clutching his side where he had just been hit. He was slowly getting angrier and more uncontrollable as he tried to think of what to do to help you, to save you. But he was helpless to do anything, allowing a few stray tears to fall down his face as he sat in the darkness,

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

MEANWHILE.....

Your tears had stopped now, as you leaned against the wall, staring into the dark abyss for what felt like hours, but might've only been minutes. You weren't sure anymore. You worried for Daryl, for Carl, for Rick, Michonne, Rosita, all of the Alexandrians as you felt sick to your stomach, uneasy in your thoughts. Suddenly, you heard the lock click making you gasp in shock as the door swung open, light flooding in, as you lifted your hands to your face to shield your eyes from the bright fluorescent light and the incoming person. You pushed yourself further back into the corner of the cell, as you heard them turn on the light, your eyes adjusting now, before stepping in to close the door, just the two of you now,

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," you heard a woman's voice whisper, not wanting to frighten you any further. At the kind voice, you tilted your heard up seeing a woman in a black dress, as she slowly crouched down to be at eye level with you now, sitting herself down. "My name is Sherry. Negan told me to come in here and patch up your lip before he left," she said with a slight smile, trying to make you relent your tense position on the floor. Slowly, realizing she wasn't any sort of threat and not holding any weapon, unless she planned to strangle you with bandage, you relaxed your shoulders, letting your arms fall to your sides,

She gave you a certain look, asking if it was okay to come closer, to which you nodded, not so hesitant anymore. You sat there silently, as she began to wipe at your cut from when Negan had struck you. You eventually built up the courage to say something now as her delicate touch carressed your skin. "W-who are you?" you asked, but after seeing her perplexed look, you continued, "I know you said your name was Sherry. I mean. I meant what are you doing here? Are you a Savior too?" Sherry laughed lightly, though she didn't mean it to sound mocking, as she looked at you who didn't laugh along with her. "I'm one of Negan's wives. He might've mentioned you weren't the only one, right?" she asked gently, as you nodded. "Yeah he um, he told me about yous," you replied, a little more easygoing now, as you let yourself smile a little, feeling guilty for being so hostile towards her, though smiling was difficult as she disinfected your cut,

"Me and the other girls were dying to meet you. It always feels comforting to know there are more just like you. But Negan told us we weren't allowed," she explained, with a bummed expression. You felt a bit happier at the thought of having someone who felt just like you next to you. "Are you here by choice?" you asked. "No, more so coerced into being here," she answered with a shake of her head, looking disappointed. You nodded, as you sat in comfortable silence as she stitched up your cut, hissing in pain on more than one occasion. "I'm sorry, I'm almost done," she'd apologize, as you gave her a small smile. Once she had finished, she packed up the stuff she had brought. "I better go back to the others," she said regretfully,

Before she could stand up, you grabbed her hand, tenderly, hand shaking slightly. She looked at you with concern. "Wait," you blurted out, as she nodded, sitting back down from where she was crouched. "What's wrong?" she asked genuinely, you almost cried hearing the first ounce of real care or sympathy you had heard since you had arrived. "I need your help. Please," you begged as she sighed remorsefully. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help you escape, even if i wanted to," she confessed, squeezing your hand slightly to show you how much she wanted to aid your escape, but couldn't, as sorrowful as she felt seeing your condition. "You're being heavily guarded. I'd never be able to slip you past them without getting you caught," she reasoned, sorry she couldn't help,

"What if there was someone else you could help. For me," you pleaded, as she nodded ready to hear you out. "Daryl. My- my um..." you started, not even knowing what to call him after so much confusion, "my friend. He's in a cell just like this one." Sherry's face dropped and her skin went pale as it was your turn to look at her worriedly. She looked down, and you noticed how her eyes filled with water, puzzled by this. "You know Daryl?" she asked just above a whisper, so much that if it weren't for her being so close, you wouldn't have heard her. "Yeah, why?" you questioned warily now as you looked at her. But it was only then that you looked at her properly, your heart dropping,

"It's... you," you stated in disbelief, recognizing her as the woman who had been with Dwight when they had stolen Daryl's bike and betrayed the two of you in the forest that time. She was Dwight's wife. The wife of the man who had and still was torturing your husband, who had killed your friend Denise, who ratted you out to Negan about going to see Daryl, the very reason you were in here. Your shock had shifted to anger and Sherry saw that as she she gazed at you pleadingly, as she watched you put 2 and 2 together in your head. "You-" you started to yell but her hand flew to your mouth, covering it as you went to push it off. "No, please, just hear me out," she begged, as your chest rose and fell heavily, angrily,

You remembered back to her kindness only moments ago, stitching you up so gently, when you both didn't recall who the other was. You held onto that delicateness she had shown to a complete stranger, calming your breathing as you forced yourself to realize that she was nothing like her husband. You nodded reluctantly as she waited a moment, before slowly removing her palm from your mouth, keeping her hands in front of her. "I don't support anything that Dwight has done, I promise. I've tried to tell him to stop torturing Daryl when he didn't need to. He didn't listen. I'm not like him," she practically begged, sorry in her voice as she urged you to listen,

You dismissed her with a 'pfft,' not believing her sob story as you tried to pull your hand from hers, but she held it tighter, placing her other hand on top of yours to urge you to believe her. "It's true," she insisted, as your anger melted away, knowing deep down that she was genuine, as you tried not to punish her for the actions of Dwight. "Prove it. Prove to me that you're not like him. Help me. Save Daryl," you answered, a bit more kindness in your voice now as you held her hand tighter. She contemplated for a moment. "If that's what it takes. I'll help him. I promise," Sherry assured, as you looked at her gratefully. "Thank you," you acknowledged, as you smiled at her to which she reciprocated it as she stood up,

Before she left, she turned around to you, her smile gone for a moment. "I am sorry about that time in the forest. Truly," she apologized. "It's okay," you whispered with a smile, as she was grateful for your forgiveness. She turned the light off, closing the door, leaving you in darkness once again. You smiled to yourself, hoping that Sherry could get Daryl out of here somehow. You didn't care what happened to you now, as long as he was safe. You finally let yourself doze off now, sleep coming to you much easier now that you knew Daryl could escape,

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

MEANWHILE....

Daryl sat in the murky cell, unsure how much time had passed since he was thrown in there. He couldn't steer his thoughts away from you as he worried where you were, in what kind of a state you were in. Just as his stomach felt uneasy again, thinking of you, he heard a sound next to him. He looked over to see a piece of paper being slid under the door. He glanced at it confused for a moment, before picking it up. He read the words 'go now,' feeling something on the back of the page as he flipped it over to reveal a key taped to the back,

Daryl's heartrate quickened, knowing this was somehow your doing. He wondered whether he should go looking for you in the cells, unsure which one or on which floor you were even in. He thought that it may have been you slipping the note under the door, and that you had made your way out or were in the process of making your way out of the Sanctuary. If he couldn't find you outside, he'd go back looking for you. He smiled as he thought of you, somewhat amazed by your resourcefulness since you had gotten here, though he had always known you to get your group out of sticky situations very often, with walkers or even with people. You were a problem solver,

He stood up quickly, wanting to reunite with you as he listened for a moment, hearing it was clear. He opened the door carefully, before darting down the hallway, stopping to look around corners occasionally, dodging Saviors eye contact in a few near misses as he nearly got caught a few times. He was halfway down the final hallway, before he heard footsteps and 2 voices approaching. His heart dropped as his eyes darted around, landing on a door, opening it slowly, hoping there was no one in there; there wasn't, as he shut the door behind him, breathing out a sigh of relief as he heard the voices and steps get quieter and quieter,

His gaze landed on a jar of peanut butter as his hunger overcame him, not eating a proper meal in days. He scarfed down a few licks before pulling his uniform off, to pull a different set of clothes on at a rapid pace. He moved around the room, placing a baseball cap on his head to further his disguise as he looked around, as his eyes landed on a wooden figurine that looked familiar; Dwight. This was his room. Daryl's face hardened as anger coursed through his veins. He was going to kill him somehow. Daryl huffed as he moved to the door, opening it and peeking out stealthily, seeing noone. He took his chance, running out of the room, being as quiet as possible as he saw the exit in view,

A container of steel poles stood beside the door, and he hastily grabbed one, clutching it in his fist, as he swung the door open, squinting slightly at the sun as he closed it. His tired eyes scanned the yard, looking between the vehicles, trying to spot you. His heartrate accelerated as he continued to search for you amongst the cars and the motorbikes, wondering why you weren't here. Maybe it wasn't you who had written the note or orchestrated the escape; but if not you, then who? He wasn't leaving without you. Just as Daryl turned to make his way back into the Sanctuary, he heard a gasp come from behind him,

Daryl had whirled around in an instant, his expression darkening as he saw 'Fat Joey' standing there quivering, raising his arms in surrender. Daryl walked towards him menacingly. "W-whoa, please. I'm just trying to get by, j-just like you," he sputtered nervously. Daryl didn't hesitate, swinging the pole to deliver a harsh blow, then another, then another, then another; until he was dead. He wasn't sure how long the voice had been calling, but he heard someone calling his name through his attack. He expected it to be you, standing there, calling out for him. His head whipped up however, to see Jesus standing there, eyes widened in shock at what he had just witnessed Daryl do,

Daryl dropped the blood-covered pole to the floor, storming towards Jesus, who stood back in fear. "Where is she?" Daryl grunted as Jesus' mouth opened and closed in confusion as to who Daryl was talking about. "Who are you t-" Jesus began to ask calmly, trying to steady Daryl's anger. "Y/N. Where is she? I ain't leavin' here without her," Daryl yelled now, Jesus' eyes blowing up in anxiety even more, not wanting Daryl's shouting to alert the Saviors and draw them out here. He was focused on getting back to Alexandria somehow when he had found Daryl, not even supposed to be here if it wasn't for Carl, and now he was determined to get both of them back in one piece. "She's in the car already. I came to find you," Jesus lied, hoping Daryl would believe him,

Daryl breathed a sigh of relief, but not for long, as he rushed towards the car that Jesus had pointed at. In his flurry, he threw Jesus the keys that had been stuck to the piece of paper, knowing he was in no fit state to drive with his wounds. Jesus caught them, clambering quickly into the driver's seat as Daryl jumped into the passenger seat, closing the door, quickly whipping his head around to look into the backseat, seeing it empty. Before he could say or ask anything, Jesus took his averted gaze as his advantage, slamming the butt of his gun into Daryl's temple harshly, effectively knocking him out as he slumped onto the seat,

"Sorry Daryl," Jesus apologized, even though Daryl was passed out, "better to save one person than get all three of us caught. Jesus knew that if they had gone back in there for you, not even knowing where you were, with zero backup, yous would have never made it out of there. Jesus drove speedily back to Hilltop, occasionally stealing a glance at Daryl, to make sure he was still passed out. He dreaded to think what he would do to him when he woke up. He just had to get back to Hilltop before Daryl woke up

PART 7 COMING SOON ;) let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 hope you enjoyed!

TAGLIST: @onlyheretoread2 @lothiriel9 @iheartyouyou

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #twd #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Luck and Stubborness

** I dusted off my laptop, and with rusty writing skills, managed this **

Being held hostage and the aftermath ...

************* Everything seemed to be moving slow. Her breathing, the gunman’s foot falls, the blood dripping from the gunshot wound inflicted only moments ago on the hapless, helpless bank teller whose hands had been shaking so badly she couldn’t work the key to the cash drawer.

She saw everything with a clarity she’d never known and given the crawling passage of time, she had every opportunity in the world to study the red color of the fresh blood, the gleaming gray marble-patterned granite of the counters, the one ray of sunshine angled across the room, late afternoon prediction of rain delayed until further notice.

She could feel the hairs on her arm move with the subtle breeze created as the gunman paced before them; she could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, thoughtlessly counting down, in steady rhythm, her impending death; she could taste the bitter adrenalin in the back of her throat and swallowed accordingly, only to find a sizable lump sitting there, waiting to create either a gallon of tears or a crescendoing scream.

She’d talked to her mother last night, shared gossip, made plans, told her she loved her before hanging up and then calling back because she’d neglected to tell her ‘good night’ as well. At least her mom would know and have no regrets of angry words or harsh toned judgements should she not make it to the next Sunday dinner.

Mulder had been on his way to pick her up, take her to the dentist, the novacaine she would inevitably get always gave her a headache and she preferred not to drive that way. She’d walked to the bank from work to deposit her check and he was going to meet her out front once his meeting had finished.

She’d seen him through the front doors just as the first shot had sounded to get their full attention.

She’d prayed he wouldn’t storm the doors and fall victim to bullet number two.

The gunman, stopping his walk, told them all to get on their knees. Scully dropped like a rock, her kneecaps cracking on the hard slate-tiled floor. She should have felt pain but she did not; she only felt the fear that one of her fellow prisoners wouldn’t adhere quickly enough and she’d see the second body fall in under nine minutes.

Nine minutes.

How had only nine minutes passed? Unlike Oregon, where nine minutes had gone by in a literal flash, these nine minutes had dragged on for millenia, minimum.

Bullet number three caused body number two, this one beside Scully, covering the side of her face with a splatter pattern of warm sticky blood. She hadn’t caught up to reality yet and wasn’t sure why the man beside her was now dead but she realized she’d better begin to pay better attention.

Moments and decades later, she’d lost track of the clock after they’d been moved to the other side of the bank, she heard the gunman talking on a landline cordless to what had to be the police. Mulder must have called them immediately from the street. He was out there, trying to get in, trying to save her, trying to …

The fourth gunshot echoed off the walls and victim number three, another teller, found the ground.

They were down to six now, two employees and four customers.

And then the strolling legs stopped in front of her, “who do you work for?”

She’d been asked that earlier, when one of the other hostages had been told to pat everyone down and hand in anything of interest. The man had mouthed an apology when he found Scully’s gun and turned it over. The gunman had asked then, in a screaming fit, who she worked for and replying ‘security for the Air and Space Museum,’ he had let it go.

Now, wracking her slugging brain for her answer, she hesitated a moment too long and was pulled out of line for her trouble, yanked by her arm, falling flat on her face, being pulled back upright with a shoulder pop that would ache for weeks–provided she lived long enough to feel it–, then spinning to face him, the whole time being screamed at, “don’t lie to me! I’ll kill you if you lie!!”

“Security. For the history museum.” The moment the answer left her lips, she realized her error and before she could take another breath, his hands were groping her, searching then finding her badge, which the original man had neglected to mention when his hand skimmed over it in her inside pocket.

That man’s head exploded moment’s later, then, as the body lay twitching a few feet from her, Scully realized her gun was now in the madman’s hands, and swallowing hard, she answered his quiet question of, “who do you work for?”

“FBI.”

And that’s when everything shifted from low gear to high, the swearing, the gun waving, the pistol butt connecting with her cheekbone in a spectacular crunch, the searing pain, then one gun pressed into the bone above her left eye and her own gun pressed above the right, “I should see if I can use you to get what I want. Sure as shit, an FBI agent ought to get me a little more; then again, might be fun seeing what’ll be left of your head once I fire both of these.”

She was going to die.

Shutting her eyes, she asked God one final time to please let it not hurt and to take care of her family and Mulder before sighing out a small breath and letting go, accepting the inevitable and removing herself from any connection to it.

Her hair moved as the bullet flew past her and, given the gunmen had, for a split second, been leaning over for a closer look at her, it cracked his skull wide open.

Some sharpshooter had been waiting for a clear shot and had taken whatever he could get, even if it meant singeing off some of the hostage’s hair. Scully wasn’t going to argue.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mulder was the second person through the doors and the first to slide to a stop on his knees beside her, scramble around to get in front of her, his hands on her cheeks, thumbs by her ears, holding her head steady to look at him, “Scully.”

She wouldn’t open her eyes.

“Scully. It’s me. Can you look at me, please?”

With effort, she shook her head.

“Scully … Dana … Honey, I need you to look at me.”

Shaking it again, she managed to get her hands up to grip his wrists, nails digging in.

He moved his forehead to hers, knowing she’d recognize the gesture if not the voice, “Scully, please, I need you to look at me right now; I need to know you’re back with me; I need to know that you’re alright.”

Her eyelids fluttered, opened once, caught sight of him, closed again, “it’s not my blood.”

Whispers couldn’t cut it right now with all the chaos surrounding them, “what?”

Voice an octave higher, “it’s not my blood.”

One mystery solved, he moved on to another, “you’re already bruising up. Did he hit you?”

Single nod.

“Fist or gun?”

Back to near silent words, “gun.”

“Okay. We’re going to the hospital. Can you walk?” Mulder started to stand, to help her up but when she didn’t budge, still kneeling amidst the insanity, he went back to her level, “can you walk?”

“He had … he had two guns aimed at my head.” Finally opening up her eyes to look at him, blue rings thin around dilated pupils, “are you sure he’s dead?”

Leaning forward, he kissed her quickly, “I promise you, he’s dead. His head’s in two pieces behind me. Humpty Dumpty will not be put back together again.”

Scully reached out, one hand on either of his arms but trying to stand, she cried out, her left leg twisting under her, “fuck.”

This she said loud and clear but everyone ignored it, except for Mulder, “what hurts?”

“Knee. He made us … I dropped down on it.”

“I can carry you.”

Already checking out of the whole situation, she shook her head, “just help me up.” Finally standing, gingerly testing her knee and finding it holding her weight, she didn’t know what to do or where to look, but, on accident, her gaze landed on what remained of her captor, and her stomach turned, “I need to go outside.”

Without question, he put one arm firmly across her back and under her arm and half-carried, half-guided her through the crowd, telling uniforms with questions that they’d have to wait. Outside, however, was no better, cameras, reporters, news vans, and tourists all craning to see who was the first to come out.

She should have stayed on the damned floor.

“Go back in! Go back in!”

He knew the feeling and turning them, he split the difference and sat her on one of the benches in the foyer, out of the roving eye of the media but a double set of doors away from her personal hell.

“Scully-”

“Just … just don’t talk to me for a minute .. just don’t say … just don't say anything.” Her hand was on her forehead, finding it still sticky with someone else’s blood but not knowing anything else to do at the moment, she kept it there, rubbing the two spots the gun had pressed against, with thumb and pointer fingers.

Her other hand was clenching and squeezing the air in a random configuration of digit  twisting, nail digging repetition and not able to handle it, Mulder reached out, touching her wrist, “let me see.” Taking the hand, he wrapped his two around it, bringing it up to his mouth and bumping his lips over and against each knuckle and dip in turn.

Skinner didn’t help by suddenly appearing, having been at the bank since Mulder had raised the cavalry some two hours earlier. “How is she?”

Mulder looked up at him, “not real good.”

“Can she answer some questions?”

She had drifted off again, blocking out pain, blocking out fear, blocking out everyone around her. It took Mulder saying her name three times and finally tightening his hold on her wrist to get her to respond, “Skinner wants to know if you can answer some questions. No one else is in any shape to talk.”

One, two, three deep breaths in and out, she mashed every feeling, every ounce of herself down before finally looking at Skinner, who was by now crouched in front of her, “what do you need me to tell you?”

It took another ninety minutes for her to finish her account of things. Mulder was, by then, crawling the walls, itching to get her the hell away from all this … get her someplace quiet, safe, get her off the adrenaline that continued to course through her veins and show itself in her still dilated eyes. About to step in and tell them all to go to hell, Skinner announced she was done and turning to Mulder, “I suggest you get her to a hospital.”

Belaying that order with her own, “Take me home, Mulder,” she stood and walked slowly towards the outside doors, where the crowds had thinned somewhat.

“She needs to see a doctor.”

Mulder could only shrug, “it’d be easier to bring the hospital to her. She’ll go if she needs to and I sure as hell can't make her go before then.” Scrubbing his face with his hands, Mulder gave his boss one final look, “make sure no one bugs her for a few days.”

“Let me know if she needs anything.”

Nodding, he headed after his partner, who, once he caught up with her, never even noticed he was there.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

“Are you sure?”

By now, she was down to nodding, the quiet car and Mulder’s hand on her arm serving to slow her heart and begin to empty her system of the fight or flight drug that she’d been flooded with since the moment she saw the stranger’s gun. Her eyes kept slowly shutting, stuttering back open, unfocused closing yet again.

He had just asked for what would be his third and final time if she’d like to go to the hospital, just to have them check her out.

“Where do you want to go then? Your place or mine or your mom’s?”

“Mom’s at Charlie’s tonight with the kids.”

Executive decision to go to his place, simply because she was going to be asleep way before they got to hers, he navigated around corner and down straightaway, his hand on her wrist the whole time, until he parked once again.

Getting her upstairs was easy, but she stopped just inside the front door, quiet but unmoving. Skirting around her, he locked the door then, hand on her upper arm, “are you awake enough to go get changed, then go to the bathroom so I can clean you up?”

Her eyes were rolling again as she watched the room fade and reappear, drift sideways and back upright, wobble and calm, “what?”

Repeating himself, he added, “I can help with whatever you need.”

“I need clothes.”

She managed to undress and redress herself while he went and found a bag of frozen vegetables for her face. Hearing her footsteps towards the bathroom, that’s where he headed, finding her seated on the closed toilet, staring at the wall. Without a request for permission, he soaked a washcloth and began cleaning the blood from her face, avoiding the blossoming bruise on her possibly broken cheekbone. Pulling crusty bits from her hair, he told himself they weren’t brain fragments but simply clumps of dried blood.

Finally, as clean as he was going to get her, he focused on her bruise, holding the towel-wrapped bag to her cheek, noticing not so much as a wince from her when the cold met her skin. Taking one of her hands and placing it so she could hold the bag herself, he then wiggled up the pant legs of her/his pajamas to check on her knees.

Two large bruises were forming, the left knee looking swollen as well. Catching her eye, “how are they feeling?”

She had to think about it but eventually an answer of ‘I don’t know’ came back.

He didn’t dare touch them in case one of the kneecaps was cracked but that would be a problem a minute, an hour from now. “Let’s get you in bed then. I think you need to lay down.”

“Couch … please.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Complying with the couch request, he settled her in the corner, legs propped up on pillows on the coffee table–pulled forward to accommodate shortness–, blanket tucked around her, head resting where the cushions met. “You hungry?” Hand still holding vegetables to face, he could just make out her head shake of ‘no’ so he continued, “Would you mind if I eat?”

“Go ahead.”

Sandwich in hand, he carefully sat on the opposite end of the couch, back to the arm so he could watch her. He stared quietly while he ate until Scully finally shifted her eyes in his direction. He expected her to yell at him for staring but instead, she stared back, eyes blank and flat. Not about to push her yet, he waited, swallowing his last bite, then shifting a little to rest his head on the soft back of the couch, never blinking, never deviating from her gaze.

Ten more minutes they sat like this until Mulder reached his hand out, “time’s up for ice. I don’t want to freeze your face off.”

Surrendering the now malleable bag of barely frozen peas, “I’m going to need a haircut. The sharpshooter bullet singed off some of my hair.”

He’d smelled the burning hair when he got to her in the bank but hadn’t said anything, “I didn’t realize you knew what happened.”

This avenue of thought died then and there for another, “was I really in there almost two hours before … during …” she couldn’t find the end of that sentence but Mulder understood.

“Yeah. Longest two hours of my life.”

He had the kind of eyes that women locked onto, vibrant green to muted hazel depending on light and mood. The first victim has an emerald green pin whose color had mesmerized her, made her think of him, thank God he wasn’t inside, thank God he wouldn’t be hurt. His eyes now, however, were paled to dark sea glass, shadowed by the gathering clouds and graying skin of exhaustion.

“Scully?”

The room was noticeably darker than it had been a moment ago … or was it an hour … would time always work like this for her from now on? “What?”

“You haven’t blinked in five minutes. You okay in there?”

“Time isn’t working.”

He sat up, concern instant, “what?”

“Nine minutes felt like a lifetime in there, then two hours passed, I only started looking at you a moment ago and you say it’s five minutes.” Swallowing hard, she could feel her hands beginning to twitch, “something’s wrong.”

Thinking back to the aftermath of August Bremmer, “the shock’s setting in. Tell me what to do.”

Her hands were beginning to jump and she was getting cold. Forcing her memory to sort through med school detritus, “I need to lay down. Put my feet above my head.”

Mulder did as told, gently sliding her legs around and then her body down the smooth leather. Legs over the opposite end of the couch now, he then covered her with the blanket once again, running to fetch his comforter as well. Once she was buried, “do you need any water?”

A sheen of sweat had broken on her forehead and he could see the blankets move as her hands rattled and shook, her arms joining in, “no. I … just hold my hand.”

Doing more than that, he first found her hand, holding it under the covers and against her belly while his other hand reached up, stroking her forehead back and forth with his thumb, palm resting on the top of her head, “do you need a hospital yet?”

His hand shook with hers.

“No. I’ll tell you if I need to go.”

“Well, I’m reserving, right now, the right to override you if I get too freaked out.”

Quiet for a minute, he noticed that she visibly turned green, then grey, then white. Already moving for the trashcan by his desk, he had it beside her just as she leaned sideways, the words ‘sorry’ passing her lips before the vomit did. Sitting up before the second round shook her soul, she leaned over, back arching, pain in her face exploding, knees protesting, pulled shoulder pinching, blood vessels breaking across her face and chest.

He had to swallow hard to control his own gorge from rising.

But he held her thigh and the can in front of her, waiting until the universal all-clear sign of head nod/lean back/I need to get away from the smell shift in posture. Once she’d made it all the way back to cushions, he stood up, “I’m going to go clean this out. Will you be okay for a minute?”

Suddenly, exhaustion took over, and opened her eyes to find him, feeling empty and drunk and weightless, “can you get me to bed first?”

Really wanting to clean out the nastiness in the can in his hand, he set it on the coffee table, reaching out to help her, “yeah. Hand me the comforter on your way up.”

Shuffling her to the bed, he got her in, thick covers back in place, and thankfully, her hand shakes back down to minor twitches. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he leaned in, “do you still feel sick?”

“No.” Her eyes were already closing, “just come back when you’re done.”

Kiss to temple, he went and cleaned up, trying his best not to puke himself while he scrubbed the can. Finally, all clean, he went back to the bedroom to find her fast asleep. Setting down the can, he retrieved the book he was reading, opting to quietly climb up beside her on the bed, hearing the faint sounds she was already making in the back of her throat, the nightmare already forming in the forefront of her mind.

She’d be awake soon enough.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It came out of nowhere, the lightning unnoticed but the booming clap of thunder loud enough to shake the room. He jumped at the sudden noise, but Scully bolted up, arms flying out in both directions, catching him on the chest with one while smacking the edge of the nightstand with the other. Shaking, eyes tightly squeezed shut, she began moving her lips in what took Mulder a moment to figure out … she was whispering the ‘Our Father’ as she quaked, caught in a waking nightmare.

“Scully, it’s me.” His voice was barely louder than her offered prayer, and he said it again, “it was just thunder. It’s just me and Mother Nature, I promise.”

No response, so he reached over, tentatively scooting to sit beside her, legs vee-ing around her, hand running lightly up her arm, mouth on her shoulder, “I’m right here. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, I swear.”

If that sank in, he didn’t know but soon, she turned her head to look at him, her cheek swollen, skin bruised and tight, “is it still today?”

“It’s only been about a half-hour since you fell asleep so yeah, it's still today.”

Taking in deep breath after deep breath, she scooted out of bed, away from him, her knees protesting as she tried to stand and ended up leaning on the mattress, shoulder a dull ache. The breaths came faster now, her fist pounding the pile of covers, “God Dammit! It needs to be tomorrow so this can all be over and done with!”

He moved to sit in front of her, pressing her hands against his thighs, “it’s not going to be over for a long time, you know that.”

“I just want today to be over …” switching from anger to heart wrenching sobs, “I just want today to be over. Just … can it be over? Please?”

“The only way to do that is to go to the hospital and get those ‘happy’ pills they like to give people for pain.” Critical look aimed at her, “why don’t you want to go? Just get checked out?”

Defeat was now evident and as the fight left her, however miniscule it had been, she made her way painfully back onto the bed, “because they’ll make me talk to someone. Skinner will need to know and he’ll call in the trauma psychologist and they’ll make me talk to them about what happened and I don’t want that and I don’t need that right now and I just want to sit here with you and,” her voice wavered, “just be here with you.”

Tapping his index finger against her foot, “give me two minutes.”

He reappeared with a granola bar, a spoonful of peanut butter, a bottle of Ibuprofen, and a glass of water. Taking charge, he held drugs and water out to her and after she swallowed without argument, he unwrapped the granola bar, dipping it in the peanut butter, “eat this. It’ll settle things down.”

Not sure she cared which way was up anymore, she did as told, handing him the empty spoon a minute later.

Taking it, he set it on the side table, “why don’t you come back out to the couch and we’ll find something to watch and we can watch for lightning so we’ll know when the thunder’s coming. We can prop your legs up like before and if you’re upright, maybe your face won’t hurt and while we’re out there, I’ll hold you really tight and nothing will be able to get you and you can sleep if you want without worrying.”

Honest to God, she relaxed a little, “that was a lot of ‘and’s.”

“Just come on.”

They first perused the weather channel to find that storms were lined up one after another until well into the wee hours of the morning. Forewarned, Scully gingerly held the refrozen peas to her face, “what would you like to watch?”

“You.”

He said things like this at times, just to mess with her and it worked, half a genuine smile ticking up the unswollen side of her face.

He then grinned himself, “or we could just flip through until we both agree?”

They did and as the next storm knocked on the door, they watched reruns of ‘I love Lucy’ and ‘Three’s Company,’ interspersed with ‘The Flintstones.’ The rain and thunder made it loud at times, the TV no match for the lashing of wind and water against the windows. She searched for and found his hand under their blankets, holding tight until she came back to reality, to the understanding that he was still there, the only one in the room, the one who would never hurt her.

Once another episode of whatever had ended, Scully reached for the remote, clicking the TV off, sending them into relative darkness and quiet, the latest storm having rolled past and the next not here quite yet. By now, she had her head in his lap, lying on her side, pillow between her knees to relieve the pressure on the now noticeably less swollen but still painful joint. Given the pillow under her head, her face was still elevated, the drugs having kicked in to bring all her pain down to manageable, except for one …

Mulder’s hand had been playing absently with her arm, running up and down, starting at shoulder and moving to wrist, in slow, steady rhythm …

And it took a moment for him to realize she was crying.

One sniff gave her away.

Moving his hand from arm to neck, he began stroking his thumb over her ear, behind, along her jawline, not saying a word, waiting on her for all eternity if he must.

It didn’t take quite that long.

“I gave up … at the end. I never tried to fight him or overpower him and … I gave up at the end.”

He hadn’t expected that.

“What do you mean, ‘gave up’?

She didn’t move to blow her nose or swipe at fast falling tears, instead gripping his thigh, kneading muscle, “in those last seconds, with both guns to my head, I asked God that it might not hurt too badly; that he would take care of you and my family; and then I just … floated away.”

“Floated?”

“I said goodbye to my life, then, accepting that I was going to die, I retreated.” Rolling to her back, carefully, painfully, she looked up at him, eyes still streaming, “I watched him pointing the guns at me from outside of … myself.” Going quiet for awhile, thinking, debating, the tears slowed while Mulder watched her, studied her, before she continued, “I saw the body on the floor on the other side of the counter, I saw everything … from … above. I think … I think maybe God was already taking me but then decided to shove me back in my body once the bullet left Harper, it was Harper, right?” Mulder nodded, “Once the bullet left Harper’s gun.” Shutting her eyes, another tear ran out and down through her ear to disappear into her hair, “am I crazy? The FBI trauma guy would have gotten that out of me and I can’t …you’re the only one I could ever tell that to.”

A few moments later.

“Mulder?” She slowly sat up, fear in her eyes, “why are you looking at me like I’m crazy? You’re not supposed to do that.”

“I’m not. I promise.” Standing, he motioned for her to lie down again, pillows back in place, then, kneeling beside her, “you didn’t give up. You accepted your fate. They are two very different things in my opinion.” Toying with the flyaway hairs framing her forehead, “you’re kind of running in familiar territory right now.”

In the decades she’d lived through today, she had forgotten about Bremmer and that field, “What did you think about?”

“At the end or the whole time?”

“Both, I guess.”

Shifting his other arm up beside her so he could rest his head on his hand and continue touching her, “at the beginning of the walk, I thought about your laugh and how it always makes me smile, and as I kept walking, I thought about you in that blue dress you have hanging in your closet, and by the time I was kneeling in the dirt, gun hovering, sweat pouring off of me, all I could think of was that one time I danced with you.” He didn’t look embarrassed at his declarations, statements of fact more than deep confessions, but he turned pink anyways, slight shrug and smirk, “can’t control what goes on in your head.”

They had somehow missed the lightning, and the corresponding thunder made her jump, whimpering when her teeth clenched together and put pressure on her cheekbone. Leaning forward, he ran his lips lightly over her forehead, “I’ll go get another round of Ibuprofen.”

“Thanks.”

&&&&&&&&&&

He’d coaxed her back to bed around midnight and at her request, had slid in beside her. No idea how long he’d been asleep, he woke up to something. Listening carefully, he only heard silence but reaching over he found Scully gone, the sheets still warm but cooling fast. Looking around, he saw the bathroom dark so she had to be in the living room or kitchen. His feet hit the carpet a moment later and shaking his head to wake up, still feeling mostly asleep, he headed out of the bedroom.

Living room was also dark and empty so walking around the corner to the kitchen, he found her stockstill in the middle of the floor, standing amidst the wreckage of what had to be at least two of his cereal/soup bowls.

And she was shaking.

“Scully?” Sliding his feet along the floor, he pushed luckily large ceramic chunks aside, “Scully.”

He watched her chest rise and fall, grasping for any bit of oxygen that floated by. Fists balled and pressing into her temples, she had her eyes shut, caught in her own little world of terror. Not sure if he should touch her or not, he instead said her name again, “Scully, it’s me. You’re safe. It’s just me.”

No reaction on her end so he finally reached out, hands on her wrists, trying to pull her arms away, down, but there was a fight, her muscles locked on one task only and they’d be damned if they’d quit now.

“Fuck.” She began swaying forward as he pulled so giving up that route, he instead put his hands on her neck, thumbs back at her jawbone in a reflection of earlier and leaning in, kissed her, saying her name every time he broke the connection.

After a good fifteen times, she finally responded, her hands moving to hold his head, the veneer cracked, the tears falling, the air moving, the muscles relaxing. Holding him to her this time, she kissed him back, then, whispering into his mouth, “I thought about you. I thought about my family, too, but mostly, it was you.”

“What did you think about me?”

Tears were flowing now, her voice becoming soggy and slurred, “about how I would never get to tell you how much I love you; that you mean the world to me; that I should have kissed you years ago when I first realized I wanted to.”

He kissed her again, this time with a purpose other than distraction. Knowing he had to let her breathe, he pulled back, moving her head so she could see him and understand him without question, “I love you  and you mean the world to me and I should have kissed you years ago when I first realized I wanted to.”

With a wet chuckle that made her cheek hurt, she winced but smiled, “those are my lines.”

“No they’re not.” Kissing her again, “I didn’t only think about you in that blue dress.”

Even though her shoulder protested, she wrapped her arms around him, being careful to rest the unbroken side of her face against his chest, “we’re so stupid.”

Maneuvering, he picked her up, “yeah, we are. Come on. I don’t want you walking through here and slicing a toe off.”

He could only make it to the couch given he discovered he had a piece of bowl embedded in his foot after all. Putting her down, he sat on the coffee table, trying to use the streetlamp reflection to dig out the shard. “Do you want me to turn on the light?”

“No.” Holding up a piece so small she couldn’t see it, “I’ve got it.”

“Do you need me to go get you a bandaid?”

He grinned at her, “you’ve slipped into doctor mode. I think you’re gonna be okay.”

Not smiling back but giving him a good look, “you think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Twenty minutes later, the kitchen floor was clean, Mulder’s foot was Neosporined and Bandaided, and they were both on the couch, Scully’s knee propped up yet again.

The rising sun was just beginning to turn the sky purple-gray and Mulder, his hand wrapped well around hers, “you made it to tomorrow.”

Tightening her grip for a second, “I honestly never thought it would get here.”

“But it did and it will be infinitely better than yesterday was.”

Another moment or three passed before, “I'm sorry I broke your bowls. I was debating which one to use then one must have slipped and hit the floor and …” shugging, “the next thing I knew you were kissing me.”

Turning on the cushion, he gave her a long look, “there were several minutes in-between.”

She heard his silent request, “give me a little while, okay? If it keeps happening, I’ll go talk to someone.”

“Deal.”

“Also, if you wouldn’t mind, could we maybe go to the hospital later on? I think my knee is worse than I thought.”

A second smile in her direction, he leaned forward, kissing her again, “you are a mess, young lady.”

“But still here … held together with luck and stubbornness but still here.”

“Luck and stubbornness, indeed.”

#msr #MulderNScully #x-files #x-files fanfic #still here #held together #with luck and stubborness

[somethinglikethatyeah83]

TWO DOCTORS: Tenth Doctor

Pairing: Tenth Doctor x OC, Platonic!Donna x OC,

Warnings: Daleks, Davros, lots of unwarranted jealousy from both Rose and Vera. I left out the sad Donna bit at the end because its already so long and that bit is too sad for me to write (yet)

Summary: The last episode of Season 4, Journeys End rewrite but with Vera and a very jealous Rose

Word Count: 3.5K

Somehow, there were two Doctors. I’d missed the explanation for it, if there had been one at all. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there hadn’t been one. The situation seemed way too tense to stop and explain something that didn’t seem too important. I hope I wasn’t the only one that didn’t have a clue of what was going on. 

I hadn’t been in the universe. I hadn’t been in this time, and I had no clue how I had been brought here, but one second I was on a different planet, talking to someone about some random topic, just learning and exploring like I always did, and the next I was on the floor of a ship. 

Both Doctors were standing over at the side of the room. It was murky and horrid wherever we were. I didn’t know much. But I knew that the Daleks were back. They survived. Somehow they survived, and that was the main thing.

Everyone on Gallifrey had heard of Davros, even before the Time War began, and now, he stood above me, snarling down at me.

“Last of the Timelords, huh, Doctor?” Davros teases, looking up and over to him. 

The Doctor steps forward, as far as he could in his bubble, snarling over to Davros. “Don’t you touch her Davros, don’t you dare.”

The girl standing next to him had her eyebrows furrowed. I didn’t recognise her, and the Doctor had introduced me to every companion he’d met. She turned to the Doctor and spoke. “Doctor, who is she?”

“Ah. Yes.” He spoke, hesitant. “Vera, this is Rose Tyler, a… friend. Rose, this is Vera Rubato, my wife.”

Rose’s eyes went wide, turning to the Doctor with a facial expression that I could decipher as only disgust or jealousy. Maybe he had had a thing with her before he met me. I wasn’t fussed, but it was a little confusing. Why hadn’t I met her? Why hadn’t he even mentioned her before?

Either way, I was his wife. She wasn’t.

Davros spoke again, drawing our attention away from each other. “Stand up, Miss Rubato.”

I did what he told me to, since I wasn’t in the mood to regenerate, but as soon as I did, a barrier zoomed around me, similar to what both Doctor’s were held in, locking us in. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on, please?”

“God, shut up, there are more important things.” 

The Doctor, my Doctor, holds a hand out, as if he was stopping Rose from pushing her way out of the invisible prison and starting a fist fight with me. “Rose, not right now.”

I watched as she crossed her arms over her chest and grumbled. There was a slight smile on my face, which he definitely noticed. 

Davros drove forward, facing the Doctor, a wicked grin on his wrinkled face. “Two girls. Two Doctors. What do I do with this?”

And then, just as I was about to butt in and ruin Davros’ monologue, the Tardis doors swing open. Finally, someone I knew, someone I could trust storms out.

“I’ve got you Doctor! Don’t worry!” And Donna Noble reaches down and picks up the gun on the floor. I hadn’t even noticed it was there, too busy with the rest of the surroundings. Chances were, it was the most important thing here, and could save everything. Or at least save what was at risk. I still hadn’t gotten an explanation. 

But she wasn’t fast enough. 

Davros spun and zapped Donna, throwing her to the side of the room, behind machinery that looked important. There was nothing anyone could do. Both the Doctor and I would have been running towards her, and I could hear him shouting beside me, but she wasn’t getting up. She was out cold. 

Not even Timelords can survive Daleks, let alone humans. I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think about that at all. We had no choice but to continue. The Doctor was angrier than he was before, which I didn’t think possible. I could hear him shout at Davros, words and insults I wanted to say but didn’t have the energy. 

“That’s it!” Davros cried, a gleeful grin with such a wicked undertone painted on his face, looking at the Doctor with a horrid awe. “Show your companions who you really are. The wrath of the timelord!” 

“Doctor.” Rose’s murmur was quiet. I wasn’t even talking.

“Watch, faithful companions, as the man you thought was honourable and honest, and kind to everyone he meets, watch as he becomes the very thing he swears not to be. A killer. A murderer. The murderer of the timelords. This is who he really is and as much as he can try to hide it, this is who he is, and who he will always be.” Davros monologues, snarling at the Doctor whose facial expression was worse than anger, worse than hatred or loathing. 

I knew what this did to him. I knew how these words affected him and how much remorse he felt for what he had done in the past. I knew he regretted what he did to Gallifrey, and so did Davros, but this time, he was using it against the Doctor. An action that made my heart burn with a similar anger. 

“Doctor, don’t listen to him.” I whispered across, hoping he could hear me over all the noise in his mind. All the voices that were yelling insecurities at him. But it was like he couldn’t hear me. Like all the noise was too much or that he was so angry at Davros - rightfully so - that he wasn’t in tune with the world, blinded by the white hot anger that Davros had plagued him with.

No longer was I concentrating on Donna, or the other Doctor, or the fact that Rose somehow thought she had a right to my Doctor over me. Or even Martha, and the few other people, Jack, and more I didn’t recognise. All I wanted to do was help him. Break out of this god-forsaken prison and help him. 

But maybe he was the only one that could save us; because Donna was alive.

I could see her from the corner of my eye, stepping up from behind the large machine, using the metal to pull her up. The frown left my sight at my friend, who I could tell had changed. Something was different: I didn’t know what, but something had changed, and that something might just be the thing we needed to save her. The frown left my lips, replaced by a smirk that I failed to hold back. Davros noticed, though.

“What?” He asked, driving away from the attention of the Doctor and back in front of me, as close as he could get with me trapped in the prison.

I smiled, shrugging and crossing my arms across my chest, spotting the Doctor’s frown from my peripheral vision. “Nothing.”

It was evident I’d struck a nerve by not explaining my sudden change in expression, but then again, that was the point. I watched as Davros drove away from us. I had also made the Doctor, both Doctor’s, mad for provoking Davros, but I had a plan.

It wasn’t a very good plan at the moment, but it was something.

“Enough!” Davros shouted, driving further and sitting in front of an unnamed Dalek that didn’t even have a shell anymore. I didn’t want to think about how he had gotten into that state. “The plan will come into place, there is nothing stopping them and now that I have you all captured, I have no need for you to all be alive.”

“You brought us all here just to kill us?” Rose shouts.

“Kill them!” Davros orders, ignoring Rose and pointing in our direction.

The grin on my lips only grew asI settled on my left hip and arms crossed as the rest of the panicked. As the Daleks were about to drive over to us to kill us, I looked over at Donna who smiled and winked at me. 

“Dalek control? Hacked.” She grinned, flicking a switch in the machine. 

Immediately, the Daleks started spinning around in circles, unable to control themselves and where they went. Everyone, including both Doctor’s, started laughing at the sight.

Donna flicks yet another switch. “Prison barriers down!”

And the blue barriers surrounding us fall, letting us out. Donna lets out a shout as we start running towards her. 

“Donna!” The Doctor shouts, still grinning and laughing. “But you can’t even change a plug?”

“That was a two-way metacrisis; half human, half Timelord!” She grins, and even I can spot that little bit of the Doctor in her, especially as her eyes frantically move and dart about in a way that is so the Doctor. “But I got the best part of him. I got his mind.”

I smirked, looking over to my Doctor. “Best part? You sure?”

The Doctor’s face dropped, enjoying the comment but not wanting to show it, a half smirk on his lips and that subtly flirtatious look in his eyes that I hoped no one else could see. 

Rose butted in between us, pushing me away from him. “Anyway… We’ve still got things to do. We’ve got 27 in the wrong place and the wrong time, we have to get them home.”

Donna clicked her fingers at Rose. “Yes! Come on then you skinny boys in suits, we’ve got planets to relocate!”

Both Doctor’s leaped around to the machine, immediately laughing and flicking switches all in time with each other. I watch them all, not noticing what anyone else behind me is doing, but rather focusing on the Doctor. My Doctor. Who was Rose? How did she know the Doctor and why was she so insistent on keeping us apart? I didn’t have time to talk to him about it, not now. I’d find out after this was all over, and I’d have a good talk to him about it. If Rose ever let us be alone again.

I turned to the monitors on the machine, watching as they showed each planet leaving and getting home in time with the switches being flicked. I watched as, without command, all the people I didn’t know, that were probably connected to Rose, started pushing Dalek’s into each other. They were all exploding as they did so. It was all so chaotic, but so long as everyone here and everyone on the 27 planets were safe, then it didn’t matter.

As all the Daleks were slowly being destroyed, I leaped towards the Tardis, opening it with the key I had latched around my neck and standing at the door. “Come on everyone! Get inside the Tardis!”

“Only a few more planets, Vera!” My Doctor shouts, smiling over to me from the machine, adoration in his eyes. “Go on everyone, follow Vera and get in the Tardis.”

People slowly piled in, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen this many people inside the Tardis at one moment before. Martha, Jack, Rose, someone called Mickey and Jackie. Even Sarah Jane, who my Doctor had told me about before. Soon enough, the Doctor spinted over to me, he entered the Tardis, resting his hand on my upper arm and looking down at me with a love I saw from no one else.

“You alright?”

I nodded, grinning. “Yeah, all good. Let’s get everyone home.”

He squeezed my arm one more time before running up to the console. “Vera, get Donna and… the other one. We need both of them in here before we can leave.”

I nodded, looking out the door, ready to call them both, but seeing Donna already stalking towards the Tardis. The other Doctor was still standing at the machine, staring intently at the monitor. Suddenly there was a low rumble and the whole ship shook, a loud explosion erupting from the floor and setting new rubble on fire, only creating more chaos. 

“What did you do!” I shouted over to him, looking up at him as ran over to the ship, stepping inside the Tardis and looking down at me. 

“I saved us.” He had such an innocent look on his face, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“You committed genocide!”

“Against the Daleks, Vera.” He negotiated, completely believing his own words as if they weren’t defending behaviour that my Doctor would never dare to think about doing, not again. “Against the species that ruined our planet and took our people, our families and homes away!”

“They were still living.” I scolded, watching as his face fell. “And now, what makes you any better than them? Go on, get inside.”

He walked into the main room of the Tardis where everyone else stands at the console. I close the Tardis doors and follow him, looking up at my Doctor, catching eyes with him, looking confused but sympathetic. He then turned to everyone else.

“Right! One more planet to go, and I’m going to need everybodies help.”

I stepped out of the Tardis onto a beach. Donna stepped out behind me, but after the metacrisis she probably knew where this was and why it was important. I didn’t.

My Doctor and the other Doctor stood on the sand, Rose too, turning around as she realised where they were. Of course it had something to do with her. I watched as they spoke, unable to hear them. I knew it was probably for the best but my curiosity got the better of me. I stalked forward a little, edging further from the Tardis and closer to these three people. 

“He committed genocide. He’s too dangerous.” My Doctor spoke, standing tall in front of Rose, a melancholy look on his face. “He has to stay here.”

“And I do as well?” Rose asked, a look on her face that didn’t belong there. That shouldn’t have been there. 

“Yes. You have no place back home, and you have a life, here, now.” He explained. “We have no life together anymore, but he can.”

The other Doctor turned to Rose, taking her hand. “I’m part human, specifically the ageing part. I’ll grow old and eventually die. I could spend it with you, if you want.” 

“You’ll grow old with me?” Rose was conflicted, I could see it in her face. She turned to the other Doctor. He nods. She had that look in her eyes that I saw in the Doctor when he first met me. That confusion, but also love. She was in love with the Doctor. “I just have one question.” She turns to my Doctor, who still stands between me and Rose. “Who is she?”

And I make eye contact with her. She doesn’t know I can hear.

“Who is who?” The Doctor replies.

“Vera. Who is she?”

The Doctor shrugs, but I can’t see his expression so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “She’s just Vera.”

Just Vera. We’re married but okay.

“Who is she to you?”

There was a small moment of silence before he spoke again. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or what was going through his mind, and whatever he said now could either make my life or shatter me more than losing Gallifrey did. 

“She’s the love of my life.”

“You did exactly what you said you wouldn’t do.” Rose cries, her own heart broken by what he had answered with, whereas my hearts were flying. “You replaced me. You said you never would-”

He shook his head. “She’s a Timelord, Rose. The one thing I have left of my planet.”

“I crossed parallel universes for you, Doctor.” 

“She’s Timelord. I can have a real life with her, I can grow old and die with her. I can’t do that with you.” My doctor tells her, looking over to the other Doctor who steps forward and takes Rose’s hand in his. 

Donna lifts her chin next to me. “Doctor, we haven’t got long.”

The Doctor nods and turns back around to Rose. “The gap is closing up again. I won’t ever see you again, Rose. I’m sorry.”

Rose stayed silent. As much as I didn’t like it, there was no denying her and the Doctor had a history, and I could almost feel how he was feeling. Her staying silent must have killed him inside. Even more was left unsaid as I watched the Doctor turn around, starting to walk away from Rose and towards me. 

I could see the other Doctor holding onto her hand tightly, and I could just about see a tear fall from where I stood. My doctor reached me, and I looked up at him, finding his eyes and finally being able to decipher how he felt. 

“Get inside the Tardis, I just want to talk to her.”

“We don’t have much time.”

“I won’t be long.” I promise, reaching a hand up and cupping his jaw. “Don’t leave without me.”

He nods and walks away off to the Tardis, Donna following shortly behind him. I make my way over to Rose, stalking across the sand that I can also feel in my shoes. Her eyebrows furrow at the sight of me, but I just smile slightly. I have no reason to hate her and there is no way I blame her at all for being in love with the Doctor. 

“Hi.” I greet, sending her a small smile.

“Hi.”

“I want you to know this isn’t your or his fault. If it’s anyone’s fault then it’s mine because I found him again, but that’s not the point.” I start to laugh at myself slightly, watching as Rose tries to figure out my point. “I don’t have long, but I genuinely believe that if he could, he would spend his life with you, but he can’t. And if he could, then he would eventually have to lose you again, which I don’t think he could handle.”

Rose looks over to the Tardis doors, now closed. “He’s losing me now, he might as well lose me later.”

“He likes to get things over and done with.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because he’s my husband.” I shrug, looking her in the eye, though she refuses to meet mine. “And I know him, more than you ever could.”

“You-”

But I interrupted, knowing that she would end up shouting at me, which we didn’t have time for. “Listen, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. Only two Timelords can have the connection that the Doctor and I have. It’s not that he wouldn’t have that connection with you, it’s that he physically can’t. Just treasure the Doctor that you have, because he’s the best one for you.”

“I have my Doctor, and you have yours.” Rose speaks, finally looking up. 

“Yeah.” I smile. “Listen, I’ve gotta go, but I hope you have a good life with your Doctor.”

Rose nods, reaching out a hand. “And you have a good life with yours.” And with that, I take her hand, shaking it. I wasn’t going to hug her, and part of me still felt like she hated me, but a handshake would do. At least she wouldn’t be angry at my Doctor anymore, that was my goal.

I turned, and made my way to the Tardis, leaving Rose and the other Doctor behind. It was murky in the Tardis as I closed the door behind me, but even more melancholy from the Doctor, my Doctor. I couldn’t see him straight away, but as I got further into the Tardis console room, I saw him on the far side of the console, hands pressed against the cold metal. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all he said.

“For what?” I asked, making my way to him and hopping onto the console, leaning into him.

He only shrugged. “I should have told you about her.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I told him, resting my head on his shoulder and waiting for a reply. After he doesn’t say anything, I lifted my head and pulled his chin up to look at me. “Want to talk?”

He shook his head. I didn’t know how else to help, so I shuffled my way in front of him and where he stood and pulled him into a hug. He probably didn’t know how much he needed it but he figured it out when he got the hug, because he had a tight grip around my waist and his head buried into my neck. 

Donna walked back into the main room to see the heartfelt hug, and nodded knowingly. I pulled a thankful face as she left again, leaving the Doctor and I alone once more. 

We still had Donna to deal with, because she physically wasn’t possible. More of an anomaly than the Doctor could ever be, and she would be able to handle it. But that could wait. We still had a few hours until it really kicked in. Until then, I had to make sure the Doctor was alright.

#tenth doctor #tenth doctor x oc #vera #tenth doctor x vera #tenth doctor x reader fluff #tenth doctor fluff #doctor who #dw #tenth doctor x reader #ten #ten x reader #tenth doctor angst #rose tyler #donna noble

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: The break down.

Moon Knight, Issue #9: Vengeance in Reprise! 

Oh this one. I'm so excited you guys. 

There is so much going on here. 

We start with dramatic storm clouds and Moon Knight doing his angsty silhouette pose. 

We see a newspaper that says "Bushman Escapes Prison". 

Marc laments that Bushman is the most dangerous man he's ever faced. Since Bushman knows who he was before he became Moon Knight, there is a high likelihood that he would hunt him down and kill everyone he cares about. 

You see, Bushman was Marc’s commander while he was a mercenary. He trained Marc, taught him how to handle different situations he wasn’t used to, how to be tough, and how to be as ruthless as you needed to be to survive a situation. 

I think there is respect and fear there. Like going up against your old teacher. You idolized them and saw them as the big powerful being and maybe you disagree with them now, it’s still hard to stand up to them. 

So we see him do his dramatic thing of crashing through windows. He does this a lot. Moon Knight is all about the dramatic entrance. If there's a door or a window, he will pick the window 100% of the time. 

He busts up a casino to harass some guys that might know where Bushman is. 

Cut to Grant Mansion. The butler, Samuels, is asking Marlene if she really believes that Marc died and was brought back with the soul of the moon god. 

She admits that she did indeed see him dead. 

"There are two possibilities... One: The spirit of the Moon God actually entered his body and reanimated him. Or Two: He revived naturally and, seeing Khonshu, he merely convinced himself -- in delirium-- that he'd been possessed by the God of the Moon's Vengeance." 

She doesn't answer which one she believes in. She notes that "It doesn't matter. Either way, the statue changed him." 

We did get to see some classic Moon Knight fighting style in this. Crescent darts, his truncheon stick, punching, and utter disregard for his own body as he just constantly throws himself at people and takes hits. 

The people in the casino claim not to know where Bushman is and one of them gets away. Moon Knight follows and changes into Lockley's outfit to follow in his cab. 

Back at the mansion, we see Marlene asleep in bed. 

A shadow falls over her and she wakes, thinking Steven has returned, only to find someone else there. 

She screams and it wakes up Frenchie. Frenchie comes running with his gun and crashes into someone fleeing. 

The intruder is gone and Frenchie fears it was Bushman, but Marlene says it wasn't. It was some guy in a monster mask. 

I would love to see more Frenchie action, honestly. He was a comrade of Marc and worked under Bushman too. The man has skills. He can drive any vehicle and engineers the hell out of making a giant moon shaped thing fly. COME ON. The man is a genius and deserves more time. 

They search the mansion and find the Statue of Khonshu is gone! 

"I don't like it, Frenchie. Steven relies far too much on that statue -- Beyond mere harmless superstition. He says it gives him strength--Life, and coupled with his schizophrenia, his four way personality hang-up..." 

(That hurt me to type.) 1980, everyone. If you had a personality disorder, hallucinated, or acted in certain ways, they label you a schizophrenic. 

I'm not sure if Multiple Personality Disorder was even the common term for DID back then. 

I just googled it: 

Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) was first introduced in DSM-III in 1980 and re-named Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) in subsequent editions of the diagnostic manual (American Psychiatric Association, 2013). 

OKAY. So. This is why early Moon Knight is going to use this uncomfortable language. 

We can't blame them for using the wrong terms and we can't go after them for that. Up to that point, it was seen as a form of schizophrenia and various other illnesses. 

We CAN get upset about the inappropriate way it's handled. The way Marlene uses it as a sort of insult. A way to say "He's not normal and it's getting worse." 

We can also get angry at the other writers that took over in the years that followed. ESPECIALLY more current volumes that took place after 2013. (ELLIS. BEMIS. AARON. I'm looking at you! I'm giving a mighty side eye to Bendis 2011-2012 run. 2009-2012 Hurwitz barely gets a pass and I know they used that language a lot. Huston, as much as it pains me, 2006-2009, you get a stern glance because I know you used the hell out of that language and other very insulting terms.)

RIGHT. The story! So, we've been watching the boys slowly evolve. We've also been watching them start to fight a little. Little cheap shots, little disagreements. Marc is the only one so far that has flat out refused to acknowledge that there is a problem and that Steven and Jake aren't just him in disguise. 

In fact, Marc is often found looking at the statue, talking to it, or asking it for strength and power to do what needs to be done. 

So for Frenchie and Marlene to be a little panicked about the missing statue, it's pretty valid. 

We then see Nedda (the cook in the mansion) come in screaming about Samuels. 

Samuels has been taken! 

Jake calls into the mansion to check the Bushman files and gets an earful from Marlene about the break in. 

Jake tells her to "Keep your wig on, Lady" as he has one more thing to check out before he heads home. 

Frenchie asks if it was Marc on the phone. 

"Yes, but calling as Jake, and I prefer to think of him as Steven. Each of us calling him a different name certainly doesn't help..." 

"You told him Samuels was missing, but you said nothing about zee statue." 

"I told you, he places too much importance in it. His mental state is precarious enough...Better he doesn't suffer the statue's loss in a crisis situation -- Not when he's already set for a fall..." 

So what bothers me is that everyone can see the system starting to spiral. They see Marc's unsafe coping mechanisms and they see them starting to struggle. The system is rebelling and I honestly think it’s Marc causing the upset. His self destruction is starting to hurt them and it’s making the others have to work double time, not to mention them starting to define themselves. 

It’s like they’ve all been masking for so long that they’ve forgotten how to be themselves and now that they feel free to, there’s a huge upheaval and no one knows what job to do. 

Yet they do nothing but try to enforce on him normalization and keeping things from him. 

It's like they all agreed that he's in a dangerous situation so they better not point it out to him. Looney Tunes logic. 

Meanwhile, Jake is checking out some suspicious cars he was following when he finds... A manhole. 

Sewer count? 2. 

Back at the mansion, while Moon Knight is a sewer man... 

Marelene suddenly realizes who stole the statue. 

ANTON MOGART, also known as MIDNIGHT MAN. 

He showed up in an earlier comic I didn't write up. He's an obsessive art collector that Moon Knight stopped. In their battle, Mogart went over a cliff, but Moon Knight knew he wasn't dead. 

When Mogart went over the cliff, he ended up in the Manhattan river where he was swept to a sewer plant. The chemicals in the water melted his face. 

Mogart blames Moon Knight for losing his art collection and his face. 

(I’ve honestly never found Mogart that impressive as a villain. He’s always struck me as a little Phantom of the Opera wanna be that lacks the dramatic flare of Eric. Especially now that his face is melted. He wears an opera cape for fucks sake!) 

His revenge starts with him showing Moon Knight the stolen statue of Khonshu, which he drops off a platform to watch it shatter. 

"Moon Knight suddenly feels weak...Drained...Almost lifeless...and certainly without soul...." 

If he believed he had been created as Moon Knight because of the statue, it must surely have crossed his mind that his very life was caught up in that statue. Without the statue, would he continue to exist as Moon Knight? Would he still live? Would his resurrected body suddenly perish? 

He doesn't have much time to react as Mogart starts shooting at him. He moves and evades the bullets easily. 

"Soon the terrifying loss of his soul-totem will return to him... Soon the destruction of Khonshu will haunt him with festering doubt... But not now. Not yet. He is still primed with rage, fueled by adrenaline. Without even realizing it, and statue or no, he is still the moon's avenger of death. And as such, he is indomitable." 

That's some good narration. 

He easily defeats Mogart only to have Bushman show up with Samuels. 

He takes a jab at Moon Knight, saying that with the god statue gone, he has no hope of survival. 

He then opens a hole to a flooded chamber and tosses Samuels into the flowing water. 

Issue #10: Too Many Midnights

Moon Knight is faced with a choice. Save Samuels, stop Bushman, or save his statue god. 

Bushman takes a moment to reminisce. "Do you remember how it all started, Moon Knight, back when you still called yourself Marc Spector, back when we were both in Africa -- When I was the hardened leader and you were a too-soft follower?" 

He used to boast to Marc that the only way to survive as a mercenary was to inflict fear as the supreme weapon. 

He accuses Moon Knight of using the visage of the Avenger of Death to inflict fear on his enemies. 

"You've lost the 'soul' possessing you." 

Moon Knight feels "the loss of life...A spiritual vacuum." 

If we look at Moon Knight as his own alter that was created out of the stress and trauma of dying in the desert that night, I can only imagine what this idea is doing to him. 

The thing that he views as giving him life is gone and his reason to exist is gone. 

His spiritual guide. The thing that defined him. 

Elsewhere, Marlene and Frenchie have tracked Jake's cab down and entered the sewers in a desperate search for him. 

Bushman locks them into the flooding room and leaves. Samuels pleas for Moon Knight to act and get them out of there. 

"But Moon Knight remains locked in his dull trance..." 

Mogart is still there and he snaps Moon Knight out of it. 

He attempts to dig out some bricks to open a hole. 

The water rises over his head and still he struggles, lamenting that his strength is gone with Khonshu. 

Mogart calls out to Samuels: 

"What's he doing? You know him better than I..." 

"I'm afraid I don't know him better than you---I don't think anyone truly knows him." 

Do any of them really know Moon Knight? 

Frenchie knows Marc. Marlene and the staff at the mansion know Steven. Jake has all his friends at the diner. 

But what does Moon Knight have? 

Mogart and Samuels slip through the freshly made hole but Moon Knight dives for the statue pieces. 

Being pulled through the current and through the hole, his cloak catches on the bricks and is ripped from him. 

Issue 1, the cloak is the original shroud that was draped over the Khonshu statue. The first thing Marc did on being resurrected was to wrap himself in that cloak and declare himself a servant of Khonshu. 

The removal of the cloak at this time is another symbolic blow to him. He has lost his god and been stripped of his vestiges. 

Frenchie and Marlene stumble across the cloak and instantly think Marc is dead. 

Here we see a man spiritually defeated. 

He believes he was alive because of Khonshu. He also believed that Khonshu was in the statue and in him. 

With the statue gone, he doesn't have reason to believe that he is alive anymore. 

If Marc died in the desert, then who is he now? 

"I'm nothing... Everything to everyone, but nothing to myself..." 

That's an interesting sentence. 

He has put so much on being everything but he never knew who he was. 

Welcome to a severe dissociative state. 

Marc wanders off, and I do believe it's Marc here. Marc is the one of the four that has yet to declare "I am Marc Spector and this is who I am." He's stayed in the back so long, hiding and pretending he didn't exist. 

He's been shocked to the front and he can't get out. 

So we get images that are both hilarious and also very sad, of a man wandering off cradling the head of Khonshu while muttering about how he is nothing. 

Samuels makes his way back to the mansion and delivers the good news that Moon Knight is alive! but also having a pretty nasty breakdown. 

"He seems to have suffered some kind of breakdown! He saved my life, but could only say what a failure he is -- a fake. I... I'm not sure he'll be home...for some time..." 

Classic Marc Spector. He can only see the bad in himself and all his deeds. 

Marlene calls up Gena and asks them all to get in with Jake's contacts and search for him. 

"Gena! You and Crawley know his Jake Lockely Personality better than anyone -- But remember that he may be in bad shape. He may not even know who he is..." 

Well... at least she acknowledges that Jake is not Steven... It's a start... 

Marc is missing for 3 days while they search the city. 

And here we get some of my favorite Marc moments. This man... This man is DRAMATIC. 

Marc...What are you doing...? 

Aside from the comical Hamlet reference, we do gleam some existential crisis out of this. Saying to Khonshu how he knew him “so well that you became me and I you…and together we became many men, all without souls…” 

What makes up a soul? Does Marc believe he isn’t worth his soul after the life he has chosen? Does he wonder if they each are capable of having their own souls? 

Marc, who has rejected his Rabbi father’s teachings, questioning suddenly what spirit can live in him, who has rejected god, killed men, and taken up an idol outside of his faith. 

He thinks he is nothing. He can’t feel his own existence and can’t justify his existence to himself. He’s having a fun time. And you just know that Steven and Jake are probably having a fit in there trying to pull Marc from the front seat before he does something stupid. 

Yeah so... Bushman is using this time to CRIME WAVE. 

I just want to point out that for the second time, we see the drug of choice is Heroin. 

1980s. This was the drug moving in the streets at that time, overdosing and killing people. 

It wasn't until mid to late 80s that Cocaine took over. Just a fascinating little tidbit of social history that you can find in the comics. 

You guys…. As much as seeing Marc being a trashman under newspapers in a public park talking to the head of Khonshu really highlights who he is… Holy shit you guys…

"Never even knew my brother, Khonshu, let alone myself. ...Rand was his name... Randall Spector... Died right around here... Right here in central Park... And I couldn't even stop it... He almost killed Marlene... And maybe I killed him.... I don't know... Probably doesn't matter... I'm a loser anyway... But maybe it was Moon Knight who really killed him.. .Or maybe even Lockley... But not Grant, I don't think... No, Never Grant..." 

THIS is everything. This is the MCU show. This is Lemire. This is where it all comes from! 

Marc can’t see himself in all of this. He’s lost sight of who he is. He’s tried so hard to be nothing that he can’t tell when he was himself and he was someone else. 

The death of his brother (I will go back and cover this later. It’s important I just… It will come later.) really affected him. Perhaps Randall was what was left of Marc’s past before he left. Perhaps Randall was what he defined as Marc Spector and the very nature of Randall dying was him killing the past. There is so much trauma there. So much trauma he refuses to face. So much pain and regret. 

Up to this point, we have only seen the violence of his days in the military and mercenaries. It isn’t till much later when Elias dies that we see some of the regret and pain Marc has in his childhood, but even then we don’t see it all. 

So who killed the past? Was it Marc? Was it Moon Knight? Was it Jake? Marc certainly seems to think Jake has it in him to fight and kill. Jake does have a temper at times. Jake also resents Marc and blames him for all the death and pain that trickles down. Much like the death of Crawley’s son. 

Moench never gets deep into Marc’s childhood. He doesn’t cover the trauma. He doesn’t show when the others really started to show up, only when the system became aware of itself. But one has to wonder. 

It’s clear that Moon Knight was created when they died. Jake feels new. Even in Lemire’s run, he mentions that Jake is a lot newer than the others. Jake feels like he came about when they took up residence in New York, (hence why we see him in the last issue finding himself with the mustache.) Perhaps a response to trying to start his life over. A spiritual protector and desire for friends and companionship? It’s hard to tell with Jake because each writer does Jake differently, but he’s certainly not been around as long as the others. 

But Steven does NOT feel new. He’s never felt new. He’s too angry at Marc. He is too stern about his name. Even too critical of Jake. Perhaps Steven wasn’t always aware of who he was, but he feels older. 

Considering the role Steven plays later with the death of Elias (see my other comic breakdowns for that), Steven feels like he’s been with Marc for a long time. 

Marc had to have been aware that something was wrong. I think Marc knew. Even from the beginning, I think Marc knew. Maybe he forgot as a sense of self preservation. Maybe he just refused to believe it. 

I think what I love about re-reading the original comics is that I have the gift of having read everything before. I know what’s coming and where things are taken by other writers. It can be both frustrating and also eye opening. 

I’m going to reach a bit into the future with Lemire. “But not Grant. [....] Never Grant.” 

Never Grant. 

Anyways… 

“Fine upstanding pillar of respectable capitalism that he is…” Possibly a jab. Marc and Steven argue the most. They disagree the most. Maybe Marc doesn’t believe Steven is capable of violence. That he’s too peaceful. 

Like his father. The son his father wanted. The good jewish boy that he should have been. 

But that last part… “Knows…” What does Steven know? Where was Marc going with that? 

The last panel hurts me. All the friends there, and all calling him Steven. Enforcing the ‘normal’ on him. Look how small, vulnerable, and miserable he looks there. 

“Marlene says you’re home now.” But that isn’t Marc’s home. Marc is not welcome there. 

"No... Not home... This is Grant's home. I'm not Grant... I'm nobody... Nothing..." 

Marc protests. He knows he isn't them. He is still stuck. He tries so hard not to be there. To be nothing so he doesn't have to feel things. So he doesn't have to question if he even exists anymore. 

Marlene does try to help.

"Listen to me, Steven -- You are someone! You're exactly what you've chosen to be -- A strong man determined to make up for the evil you once did. You're not Lockley or Grant or even Moon Knight. They're just your tools... Names and identities you use to accomplish your goal." 

She pushes it. She means well. She pushes that Marc is just a man that is trying to make up for the evil he did. That he's strong and chosen to live a better life. 

"I understand... But you're wrong, Lady... It's no use... You loved a fake. Because I don't know who I really am... Other than a four-faced fake, Like the four phases of the moon, and the phoney Moon God, Phoney Khonshu...A fake all along..." 

Marlene is upset and reveals a new Khonshu statue. 

She claims that when she took over managing the mansion, she had a fake plaster Khonshu statue made while the real statue was kept locked up in a safe place. 

She uncovers the statue, much to Marc's shock. 

She tells him that it's all been in his head. That he did this all to himself and that the statue was always still there, so his loss of power was just in his head. 

Marc looks unsure but pleased. 

This... this bothers me. I'll get to that later. But it really bothers me. 

Five nights later, Crawley has news about Bushman and gives them the address. 

Marlene asks him if he's ready to face Bushman again. 

"Physically, yes. Mentally, I still find it all hard to believe and I may be shaky for a while, but I'm as ready as I'll ever be." 

Marlene hands over his old cloak and he's off. 

He tracks down Bushman and gives chase. 

Marc taunts him, telling him to remember certain fights and moves that Bushman taught him. 

Bushman says he is still the stronger man and Marc knocks him out. He's now the better fighter. 

Back at the mansion, Marc is staring up at the statue. 

"Tell me the truth, Marlene. Was the shattered one the replica, and this one the original? Or did you have a replica made after the original was destroyed?" 

"If it really matters to you, dear Steven, you can always have that one carbon-dated..." 

He says he'd rather not know and she tells him it was all in his head. 

"Maybe there was too much in my mind... But it's been cleared out, Marlene, thanks to you. I think." 

And in the last panel he gives an uncertain look at the statue as Marlene kisses him. 

So why be so worried about the statue being stolen if she knew it was a fake? Why not tell him right away? Why go through all the trouble? 

She lied to him. She lied to him to make him feel like it was all in his head. Rather than try to talk it out, find the nature of his worries and trauma about not existing or having a soul and help him. 

Instead she lets him believe that everything is fine, enforces that he’s just one guy confused about who he is, and that the others are just him trying to be better. It implies that Marc has it settled and ‘under control’ now. 

This man is the furthest from ‘under control’. If anything, he’s going to sink deeper into himself and bring more harm to them. 

In fact, in the comics to come, the wedge between them is only going to grow. None of that was okay. The lie was not okay. 

So let’s address the big stupid bird in the room: What is Khonshu? 

I don’t think the original comics knew. They often describe the statue as having a strange presence, often making it look like it’s smiling or watching them. 

Marc even claims that he tries to be Khonshu as a way to know himself. That Khonshu knows him the best. 

It’s possible that the spirit of Khonshu did come back with Marc. That it looked into him and saw Marc and the potential there. “Like the four phases of the moon”. Perhaps Khonshu was just biding his time? Testing Marc? Building his power? 

A theory that crosses my path and mind now and then is that Khonshu is another alter. Maybe at first? A way to hold power and control over his life? A being that is above the sins and cruelness of the world? An endless companion that can see into them and guide them? That can control Marc when he is at his worst? 

We’ll see as the comics continue and Khonshu starts to become his own character. 

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #Moon Knight Meta #Meta #Marc spector #Steven Grant #Jake Lockley #Marlene #Just me crying about Moon Knight feels at midnight #I have so many feelings about Moon Knight #I love this issue so much #Marc needs a hug and kick in the ass at the same time #I also have so many issues with Marlene in this

[cassieuncaged]

Grave Bound Redux: Book 1 - Chapter 1

Elias Grodin x Maggie Wilson (my OC)

Summary: A young, pacifist man chooses to serve in the Vietnam war instead of going to prison on drug charges.

TW: war, blood, death, brutality, language, etc.

WC: 1.7K

A/N: The first chapter is finally here, with the next three chapters slated.

Taglist: @roofgeese, @poisonedtruth, @confidentandgood, @emotionalcadaver, @chadillacboseman@enightshade89, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @illiana-mystery, @unpetitoiseau, @spacestephh

Book 1: The Folly of War

Ooh, a storm is threatening my very life today.

If I don’t get some shelter, I’m gonna fade away.

Gimme Shelter – The Rolling Stones

Chapter 1

July 1965

A large hand assessed the crew cut, fingers running across buzzed stubble. His hair hadn’t been that short since high school, something his strict father had insisted upon. Elias never thought he’d be sheared again. Then again, he didn’t think he’d be shipped to Fort Campbell after basic either.

It had been the cherry on the shit sundae after being served his divorce papers from Jeannie a day before. His wife’s penchant for psychedelics and coke was what got him into this mess to begin with. Then the generals saw ‘potential’ in him. Enough to send him to Kentucky to train with 101st Airborne Division.

Reconnaissance in the demilitarized zone.

That seemed a sure way to be sent home in a pine box faster than the rest of the unlucky bastards. Suddenly seven years in the clink seemed like a better choice. The general barked at the young men hunched over the bleachers, preparing them for their brutal orders. The worries of modern life would soon melt away as they fumbled through Laotian jungles to reclaim the DMZ. He’d have no time to dwell on his divorce or drug charges. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

Dog tags jangled in unison when the men were dismissed to their barracks before training began. Most of the young soldiers fell into step while Elias refused; his gait was one of the last things he had that was his. Stripped down to the very bone of his being, he couldn’t just let military craft him into a killing machine. He was so much more. They all were. Even the kids that were ready to tote their M16’s and gun down the enemy.

Training in Kentucky didn���t last long until they were sent out on a chinook to the base outside of Củ Chi. Where Elias had expected to see lush greenery was nothing but scorched earth, dust swirling around his boots as the cherries all bandied from the chopper.

The few battalions that were sent to base camp were to ship out with their team leaders in the morning, being dropped on the Cambodian border of the demilitarized zone in an attempt to scout and pick off anyone that got in their way.

Sporting a fresh uniform, Elias had attempted to rebel the best he could. In small, rational doses. The cheap polyester button up beneath his fatigues were unbuttoned and exposing half of a lean chest. Dog tags were tangled around a wooden crucifix and a beaded necklace Jeannie had gifted him in high school.

An Airborne headband was wrapped tightly around his skull, declaring he was different than the majority of the men there. Hell, he was already the assistant team leader of his unit, despite being only a private. But he proved himself to be a fast learner, a man that would surely rise up the ranks quickly.

Keeping blue eyes glued to the ground, the jeers of men boarding the chinook were ignored as they jested and joked with one another.

“You heading back to New Jersey?” one man asked. The other snorted happily as their voices slowly faded.

“Hell, yeah. Gonna be knee deep in some pussy.” A raucous bout of laughter rang out as a few more men bellowed in agreement. Elias snuffled at the foreign smell of napalm mingled with rotting flesh.

A cart of bodies was pushed by, the pile covered by a singular tarp. His gut churned at the thought of being there himself, expiring in this hell. Knitting his brows in an attempt to steel himself, Elias followed the rest of the fresh meat as they meandered towards their own premature deaths.

“You alright, Elias?” Doyle, another mousy private, asked nervously. The kid was no older than nineteen but showed a lot of promise during training in Kentucky. “Kinda quiet.”

“Just a quiet kind of guy, private.” He grinned crookedly before slipping a pack of reds from his pocket. “You smoke?”

“Guess I do now.” Doyle pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Shakily accepting a cigarette, he struggled to look as leisurely as the older man. Instead, the filtered tip awkwardly jutted from his lips as dusty boots fell into step. “You excited about going out into the bush?”

“Excited isn’t the word I would use.” He grunted, rucksack digging into his shoulder as Doyle nearly tripped over his own feet.

“What word would you use?” the kid wiped sweat off his brow, squinting at the man as they held up the rear of the new recruits.

Unsure. Uneasy. Scared.

The words came to mind in a barrage. Ones he was sure would frighten the kid if he were honest. Instead, he only shrugged before trudging forward.

They’d been out in the bush for three days, trying to manage the terrain in a torrential downpour. Humping several miles on foot, rain continued to slide down bare arms. Bringing up the rear, a sharp branch snagged Elias’ poncho as he kept an eye on the underlings. In spite of being a PFC, the sergeant leading their team had a lot of faith in the man.

It was his third mission on recon and their hike through the jungle had been quiet. Other than Doyle practically falling from a bluff when rappelling downwards, none of them had been badly injured.

Wiping rainwater from his brow, he attempted to ignore how the mud attempted to swallow his boots whole. Sergeant Mackenzie stopped their squad suddenly, sending the small man reeling into Doyle’s rucksack. The sarge turned around, pushing a finger up to his lips before nodding towards two dark shadows practically obscured by the downpour.

Bullets cut through sheets of rain, practically invisible as they downed the sergeant in a fell swoop. Two soldiers were sprayed in blood as they were quick to take cover in the thick jungle foliage. Doyle bit back a whimper, clutching his bloody arm. Elias pushed him into the brush, before covering the man with his own body. The RTO was quick to radio for back-up as the others wielded their M16’s, attempting to keep the cheap weapons from jamming.

“Keep Doyle quiet,” Elias barked at the two men, eliciting looks of confusion as he slid the hood of his poncho down. Forest green, the perfect shade for camouflage. “I’m gonna get rid of these guys.”

“Are you insane?” one of the soldiers shouted, voice practically obscured by the rain and gunfire. “There could be loads of them up there.”

“Maybe a ways up the trail.” He reasoned, ducking behind a tree before reloading his weapon, “But we’ve only got two right here. Just keep firing.”

Pushing himself halfway up, Elias crouched as he treaded swiftly into a thicket of teakwood trees. Bullets rattled more clearly the closer he got to the two stragglers. The thicket of trees formed a canopy, filtering the intense rain and giving the men an advantage.

The rest of his team wouldn’t last if the NVA soldiers got any closer. Those AK’s would destroy them. Back pushed against the thick trunk of a tree, one boot brought pressure down on a branch. Snapping it in half loudly got the men’s attention.

One urged the other to investigate while the leader continued to gain on the Americans. The private relied on his ears, attempting to hear the thud of rubber soles against the bed of leaves and twigs. Shaking fingers unsheathed a bowie knife, as the man grew closer.

He wouldn’t leave this mortal coil without a fight.

Snaking slowly around the circumference of the trunk, Elias could peripherally see the man come closer. All he had to do was wait until his location was nearly revealed and then attack. He and the soldier were practically shoulder to shoulder as he swallowed down a shaky breath.

Now was his last chance.

Then the soldier paused, giving Elias the opportunity to pounce. Gun hanging from his bicep, he swiftly slid around the trunk to behind the poor bastard. Before the man could react, he clamped a large hand across an open mouth. Screams were muffled by the storm as his other hand slid his knife against delicate skin, blood hotly spraying outwards.

That was his first victim, the same one he’d gently laid on the ground before prying the AK-47 free. The North Vietnamese army was better equipped than the American’s who were already at the disadvantage. They could use any help they could get. Then Elias was sprinting towards the other, smoothly shooting off a round from the AK before taking another weapon for his stash. Searching the man’s uniform found a few grenades that were eagerly taken.

Only then did he realize he was no longer innocent.

The tropical storm had begun to let up by the time they’d been toted back to base with their sergeant’s splattered body and an injured Doyle. A rubber tourniquet had been applied to the young man’s arm until he was being hauled off for surgery with the MASH unit. Hopefully it could be fixed onsite instead of sending out another soldier to the 95th Evacuation.

Soaked to his bones, Elias was treated like a hero by the rest of the division in spite of immersion foot. A few men clapped him on the shoulder, excitedly murmuring about the newly received weaponry. But all the man could think of was the way the NVA soldier limply collapsed in his arms, lifeless.

Because of him.

What was that man doing other than trying to evacuate a common enemy as much as the men that surrounded him. Trying to make it from one day to the next, defending his way of life the best he could. Elias felt his guts knot again, for what felt like the hundredth time. Nothing mattered now.

He was a killer. And that couldn’t be absolved.

#fanfiction #my fanfiction #oc: maggie #otp: dog tags and flower crowns #maggie x elias

[melishade]

In your Optimus in episode one timeline, what are Anne and Bertholdt's plan for getting Eren? He's being protected by the Survey Corps, has Optimus training him, and has a secret gladiator bodyguard no one knows about. There's no way Anne or Bertholdt are coming up with a plan that won't fail miserably.

Part 18: The Overall Plot of the Episode 1 Timeline

Been a while since I tackled the Episode 1 timeline, but yeah, Bertholdt and Annie are so screwed and extremely desperate at this point.

Because Annie wanted to go home after Marcel died, and Bertholdt was just so distressed at that point he couldn't really stopped Annie and Reiner's arguing. He went along with the flow because Reiner essentially forced their now.

And a mere hours later, Bertholdt sees Reiner gunned down by this new metal titan. The two remaining titan shifters somehow manage to escape to Wall Rose, but they are desperate at this point. They know now, for a fact, they cannot go back. The loss of two warriors in a matter of days. They are going to get their powers revoked. But they don't really know what to do. They don't have anyone to guide them, and adapting to the walls is hard. Oddly enough, because of Optimus' interference, Bertholdt and Annie don't have to suffer through a famine and a winter storm. But they do manage to figure out that in order to get to the Founding Titan, they need to get into the Military Police. They're able to figure that part out.

But it's too late. They see the papers. The royal family's been overthrown and the monarchy is now run by the military, and Paradis knows that humanity is not extinct. They now know about the power of the titans. They don't have the element of surprise anymore. And to further complicate things, they found out that Eren is a titan shifter. So now they need to go after him.

Only problem: they don't know which power he has. The Jaws? The Founder? The Attack? They have no clue. Eren only showed the ability of regeneration. He didn't transform into a full blown titan. And then the Survey Corps come to pick Eren, Mikasa, and Armin up, so now Eren is in custody of the Survey Corps! Like fuck all of this! So Annie and Bertholdt are thinking about dividing their resources further because they need to confirm if the Founder is hiding out somewhere. They don't know whether or not the holder went into hiding. They have no clue. Annie could probably go to the MPs while Bertholdt goes to the Survey Corps. If Bertholdt times his attack right in the event he gets caught, he could wipe out the island's best branch of defense against a pure titan attack.

But there's some luck. When Annie went to spy on the prisoners and the military mean torturing the prisoners. She heard chatter about an illegitimate heir that Rod Reiss tried to go after but was thwarted his own government. Annie knows that Rod Reiss was the true royal family, and that there is still someone of royal blood out there, and they were forced into the military. Annie doesn't know the name, but she does an investigation on Rod's identity. She does manage to find a drawing of him, and is stunned to find that he looks exactly like this blonde, petite girl in the 104th. That had to be her. Krista Lenz.

Annie and Bertholdt discuss this. Maybe they can't get to Eren right now. But maybe, they could somehow get Krista to Marley. They'd have a good use for her because she's of royal blood and it would save their necks from dying. Bertholdt is adamant about this. She hasn't even done anything wrong. And based on what they heard, she was forced to join the military. She's like them. Annie retorts and reminds Bertholdt of what would happen if they returned right now to Marley, and what would happen to their families. It's either Krista or them.

Bertholdt reluctantly agrees. And Annie does her best to make friends with Krista. One problem though, Annie is certain that someone is onto her, specifically the tall, freckled, face girl that hangs out with Krista. Annie believes that she knows something. But Ymir is not stupid. She only got a few glimpses of Marcel's memories, but she wasn't going to put herself in danger and out herself by exposing them. Besides, she needed to find a way to keep Krista safe. Maybe...maybe the Survey Corps would be the better option that the MPs, since they have the Metal Titan on their side. However, Annie's persistence does pay off, and Krista and Annie begin to talk more. Much to Ymir's displeasure, but there wasn't much she could do right now. Unless she wanted to risk herself...did she want to risk herself? She knows that she doesn't want to see Krista hurt, but to sacrifice her freedom for her was hypocritical. But...

Ymir's heart skipped a beat when Krista was laughing at a joke Sasha made...Shit.

#asks #send me asks #transformers prime #tfp #tfp optimus #optimus prime #attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #bertholdt hoover #annie leonheart #krista lenz #maccadam #macadam #jaws ymir #ymir #eren jaeger #attack on prime #ao3 #fanfic #what if optimus appeared in the first episode of aot instead of episode 5 #rod reiss #survey corps

[squirrel-fund]

Hey Auds! How are you doing darling? Any headcanons on your mind?

ANON XX!!!!

I'm doing well, sweetheart! I'm writing a lot, but unfortunately, when that happens, I tend to shut myself off from going online. So, I'm creating, I'm happy... I'm just a bit distant lately.

Anyway... that was not your question lol

Okay! Headcanons! This one was brought on by a powerful storm we had here a few days ago, and it got me thinking about our Mickey.

I reckon he absolutely HATES thunderstorms. Not because he's scared of thunder or things that other people might fear when a storm is on the horizon, no, Mickey hates what happens within the walls of his childhood home when it storms. They say, when it rains, it pours...

I imagine when it stormed in the Southside, all the Milkoviches were forced inside the family home, and you can imagine the scrutiny all the kids must have faced if Terry was out of prison. I'm sure that's how that fucked up "game" they all played with the Nazi Knife was born... during a thunderstorm. Because what else can a piece of shit sperm donor do to entertain his children?? Throw a damn knife at them, obviously.

I also assume Terry took these moments to search the kid's rooms. For cash, pills, guns, shit he could possibly sell. I'm honestly surprised Mickey had a guitar, like wtf, I bet someone stole that quickly. Course, it was probably stolen anyway.

I bet Mickey tried to lock himself away in his room but that was a bust because 1: The bathroom was in Mickey's room until they apparently rearranged rooms in the house and B: I guaran-fucking-tee that Terry did not allow locked doors in his house. I can literally hear this conversation:

Terry: *kicks in bedroom door* "Don't fuckin' lock my damn doors!"

Mickey: "It's my fuckin' room!"

Terry: *most likely uses violence against Mickey* "Do you pay the goddamn bills?! This is my fuckin' house and I'll rip every damn door off the hinges if I want to!"

Mickey: "No one pays the bills here... s'why we don't have water! Or heat!"

Then Terry's like, "You want water?!"

And he drags Mickey outside, in the storm, and shoves him down into a puddle. (Puddle doesn't sound very menacing but I believe it would be)

Then, of course, Terry trashes Mickey's room looking for shit he wants. Probably rips Mickey's drawings off the wall too and calls him a pussy because "drawing is for girls."

Mickey has probably sacrificed himself many stormy days so that Terry won't feel the need to visit Mandy's room. It honestly breaks my heart to imagine a little Mickey picking a fight with Terry just so his sister is safe.

Okay, enough of that because it makes me sad lol

But now... well, now Mickey finds that he kind of likes stormy days. He can draw in the living room while his husband reads. They can shut everything and everyone off, just spending their entire day warm in their bed, wrapped up in one another. And it's not always sex either. Sometimes, they just nap or other times they just talk.

They discuss their favorite shows together, or maybe they discuss upcoming birthdays and what they think the person would want. Sometimes Mickey has setbacks, tho. A nightmare or just a flash of a memory while he's brushing his teeth, but it's okay because he'll never have to endure that life again.

#as i wrote this i got another headcanon lol #gallavich #auds answers

[toomanyrobins2]

sweeter than honey pt. 17

Summary: Y/N “Honey” Cirillo has been many things in her short life: an unwanted child, a dancing prodigy, a teen mom, and now she’s a replacement bride. After her sister runs away, Y/N is forced to take her place and marry into the Barton family. The Three Families are already dealing with enough. With the murder of a high-ranking member and HYDRA continuing to make threats, they need this marriage to go ahead without a hitch. Can Clint and Y/n find happiness or is there too much against them?

Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader

Content warning: Arranged marriage, sex, violence, murder

Notes: And just like that...seven months later, we are done with Clint and Honey's story! A huge thank you to everyone who has been so patient with me as I have struggled along with this story 💛

series masterlist // first part

The guard in the room growled at her, “Stay.” This was the first time she would be alone in weeks and she kept her face straight and her eyes a little unfocused. The idiots had thought they were drugging her, but little did they know she’d been taking sleeping pills for years. They thought they could hide it in her food and she wouldn’t know better. She hid her tolerance well, biding her time until something like this happened. 

As soon as the door closed she had her ear pressed to the ground. Another knock at the door had her tensing as she waited for the door to open. Luckily, an even better distraction came as she heard gunshots and shouts fill the ground below her. She shot up from the floor and quickly looked around the room. Snatching one of her captor’s scarves from the chair, she wrapped it around her face before flinging the window open. She checked that no one was waiting below and quickly threw one leg over the edge once she saw the alley way was empty. Suddenly, a reflection caught her eye. Across the road, someone was on top of the building watching her. She saw the rifle in his hand and waited for him to pull the trigger but the person never did. Before she could stop herself, she threw a wink and jumped down to the fire escape below. When she reached the bottom, she looked back up and saluted him before bolting down the alleyway.

Bucky’s attention was drawn back from the alleyway to the room as he saw his group storm in, guns raised. Picking up his phone, he called Steve, “Someone was in the room.”

He watched Peter look around, “Our intel was 6 people. Indy’s people are never wrong. Whoever it was had to be here for ages.”

Steve frowned as he looked at the sparse room, his eyes taking in the pitiful living space, “I don’t think it’s her fault. The locks on the door and the state of all this looks like prisoner, not HYDRA.”

“If they’re just a prisoner then why did they run?”

Looking at the opened window Bucky’s brows furrowed, “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

Clint turned to Peter, “See if Indy can find anything out about HYDRA’s captives. We would’ve heard if they were ransoming off someone.

Get to know HYDRA's mystery prisoner in creating your own sunshine!

*********************************

@mycosmicparadise

@marvelofwitch

@redhairedfeistynerd

@buckys-left-middle-finger

@majo240820

@xcharlottemikaelsonx

@star017

@boisewaffles

@dottirose

@hawkeyes-queen

#toomanyrobins #avengers imagine #avengers #avengers au #avengers x reader #mafia!au #mob!au #mafia au #mafia!avengers #mob au #mob!avengers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #marvel au #marvel #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #Clint barton #Clint barton imagine #Clint barton x reader #Hawkeye #Hawkeye imagine #Hawkeye x reader #🍯

[wastelandmusicco]

The history of the Wasteland, in broad strokes, I can and will elaborate on several key points and characters:

• ShortytheZombie storms [redacted to avoid being added to a watchlist] and nukes the world (himself included) in the largest and most destructive temper tantrum ever.

• Some time later, StZ wakes up, looking like his namesake, and discovers he's far from the only survivor

• StZ attempts to kill himself with a gun. It doesn't take, and he wakes back up a few minutes later having knitted the hole back shut.

• Roughly 15 years pass, during which several deities reveal themselves and gain followings: Death and his Army of Rot, the Goddess of Life and the Church of Vera, and Gros the Blood God and his predictably violent devotees

• Death's Army of Rot begins capturing land and people, keeping several areas as work camps and treating casualties as sacrifices

• In their conquest, they attempt to capture ShortytheZombie, but kill him and discover his functional immortality. They promptly decide to put him to work and toss him in a camp.

• Kitty, Red, Diaz, Rolna, and Gentor, 5 people already imprisoned at this camp, lead a revolt.

• The newly freed people here establish a settlement and name it simply: Home.

• Home develops quickly, growing crops (corn, wheat, and marijuana are staples) and keeping livestock, in addition to establishing a bar with an attached still, and a garage manned by the most brilliant mechanic in the Wasteland: Ren

• An old man walks up to the front gate of Home and compliments "What you've done with the place," before demanding Home stop killing his men. The guards shoot at him, to no effect, while he walks away.

• ShortytheZombie falls hard for Kitty after spending some time together. He finds out her favorite flower is sunflowers and promptly starts trading to get some seeds.

• Shorty and Kitty go out scavving, and essentially treat it like a post-apocalyptic date. They get ambushed by some of the Army of Rot, and Kitty is taken prisoner while Shorty is left for dead.

• Kitty is taken to a war camp; she is the only prisoner

• Shorty wakes up and runs home to collect The Crew (Red, Diaz, Rolna, and Gentor) to rescue Kitty

• Kitty escapes capture by herself and meets the rest of The Crew at the front gate of the camp she was brought to.

• Reunited, The Crew burns the camp to the ground and paints a warning to the Army of Rot on a nearby wall.

• Some time later, The Crew goes hunting for more of the AoR, and wipes a small town off the map. In the process, Gentor and Red get possessed by Death. Gentor touched a small obsidian obelisk, and Red picked up a knife made of bone and obsidian.

• In the months following, Gentor and Red have nightmares of being berated by Death, (in the form of the old man who visited Home and in the form of a cloaked and winged demon with a bottomless spiral for a face) in addition to experiencing fugue states they cannot remember.

• Also in this time period The Crew does a lot in the area:

They befriend a giant, sentient, telepathic octopus named Augustus

They foil the plans of a giant, evil brain that was keeping a city block in a time loop for the hour and twelve minutes before the bombs fell, freeing those people from the loop.

They visit a sports stadium converted into multiple fight pits, with a giant tunneling lizard later coined a Rockwyrm which they kill off.

They encounter sentient forest that tries to kill them, but they escape

They solve a bandit problem for a town of intelligent cowboy bugs

They visit Greasethumb, Ren's home town and a settlement that builds and races cars to settle disputes, and solve a murder there.

Kitty and Shorty get married, and Shorty plants a sunflower field in their front yard.

They purchase wares from Ted the Bone Merchant several times

They burn down a pre-bombs prison that had become a breeding ground for monsters dedicated to Gros

• Gentor, under Death's influence, tries to kill Diaz in her sleep, and is imprisoned in the basement of The Bar.

• Red is put on guard duty, and they both promptly break out and disappear into the desert on Death's compulsion.

• The Crew is blessed by the Life Goddess Vera, which cleanses Gentor and Red's possession, and The Crew follows their trail to save them from the camp they were heading to.

• They discover the location of Hades, Death's capital city.

• Death sends a veritable battalion of the Army of Rot to siege Home, but they are repelled

• Home and every settlement they've befriended storm Hades, with The Crew fighting Death in his throne room and everyone else fighting the remainder of the Army of Rot outside

• Death kills Gros

• Death is stopped by Vera, who reveals his name is Declan and encourages him to relinquish his godhood and retire with her.

• They name their replacements: Diaz takes up Death's mantle but keeps her name, Kitty replaces Vera to become the Sunflower Goddess, and Red fills Gros's shoes as the Red Queen

• Shorty says goodbye to Kitty, but keeps her sword and becomes known as the Sunflower Samurai.

#wastelandmusicco #apocalypse #tw: suicide mention #tw: gun mention #timeline #rap #music

[scotianostra]

On 7th May 1544 the Earl of Hertford who had landed an army at Leith days earlier,  began what is known as The Burning of Edinburgh,  marking the beginning of “The Rough Wooing”.

The Rough Wooing as an attempt the English made to force the marriage of King Henry VIII’S son Edward, to Mary, Queen of Scots.

This all started after Mary’s father James V lost the Battle of  Solway Moss in November 1542.  By all accounts there wasn’t a lot of bloodshed at the battle, the main outcome was over 100 “high value” prisoners were taken by the English, it was using these prisoners that Henry had a bargaining chip, but having said that the Scottish Reformation was now starting to gather pace and the Scots in general, well the nobility, were split into two factions, those loyal to the status quo and close ties with France i.e the Catholics, and those who wanted to forge closer relations with England, the Protestants.

James V had died within weeks of losing at Solway, and days after Mary Stewart was born, this left  James Hamilton, Earl of Arran as Regent to the infant, Arran was initially all for this marriage and signed  the Treaty of Greenwich in July 1543, which accorded a peace between the countries, Mary to marry Edward, it was also agreed that Arran’s son James would marry Princess Elizabeth, the daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn.

Even though, as I said, some Scots supported the treaty, the Scottish Parliament renounced the Treaty of Greenwich in December 1543.  Add to the mmi Arran dramatically switching sides after a meeting with Cardinal David Beaton and him agreeing to a rival plan to send the Scots queen to France to marry the dauphin, Francis.

Well of course Henry VIII, nit a man with the best of temperaments was furious and declared war that same month. 

The English landed at Grantor on May 3rd  and were met with very little resistance as they marched took Leith and encamped there until heavy artillery arrived on the 5th on more English ships,  these guns were to be used against Edinburgh's gates and the castle.

The main English force approached Edinburgh on May 6th and were met by the Provost Adam Otterburn and two heralds. Otterburn offered to give up the keys of the town on conditions. Hertford refused to accept as he had no authority to bargain. An English herald went to the Castle, and returned with the news that the Earl of Huntly and Lord Home had brought 2000 horsemen to defend the town.

Hertford ordered his artillery up to the Canongate to Edinburgh's Netherbow Port, the east gate into the city. During this operation some of the English gunners were killed small arms fire and archers exchanged blows, but after  three or four rounds, the gate was breached and the English army stormed through killing 300 to  400 defenders. They attempted to set their heavy artillery around the area we know as the Lawnmarket, on the way to Castle Hill, but the Scottish cannons from the castle easily picked them off, with that Hertford ordered a tactical retreat.  At the end of that day, the English retired from the town to their camp at Leith after starting a number of fires.

On 7th May, they returned to the city starting more fire-raising and looting,  Lord Hertford and his companions wrote that they watched Edinburgh burn from a hill beside the town and could hear "women and poor miserable creatures" crying out and blaming the Cardinal(Beaton). This may have been English propaganda, but they were known to have  sent pro-English agents instructed to spread the word that the invasion was solely the fault of Cardinal Beaton, who was accused of leading Arran astray. The aim was to ferment anti-catholic feeling and bolster the protestant faction.

Contemporary accounts suggest every building in the capital, including Holyrood Abbey and the palace, was burnt. Only the castle held out against the invaders. Scottish artillery within the Castle harassed the English forces, who had neither the time nor the resources to besiege the Castle, their ships were filled with looted goods at Leith and sailed south in two ships that had belonged to James V of Scotland.

The English army retreated over land, burning villages as it went, so although Edinburgh faired the worst many other towns and villages were destroyed, including Craigmillar Castle, Musselburgh, Kinghorn, Haddington, Tranent, Dunbar, St Monans, South Queensferry, a part of Pittenweem and Burntisland

Although Edinburgh was not again threatened by the war, rebuilding was a slow process. New buildings were built on the exact site of their predecessors.

The Scots gained some revenge the following year at the battle of Ancrum Moor. An army led by Arran routed an English force, which had been marauding in the Borders. Mary was eventually sent to France in 1548, by this time the French had sent some troops over to help defend Leith, Arran with the backing of most of his nobles by this time, steadfastly refused to negotiate in any way.

A peace treaty between France and England in March 1550 effectively ended the conflict. A formal peace was agreed with Scotland the following year.

The phrase ‘Rough Wooing’ is thought to derive from a remark attributed to George Gordon, Earl of Huntly by Patrick Abercromby. “We liked not the manner of the wooing, and we could not stoop to being bullied into love.” This was popularised by the writings of Sir Walter Scott. By the mid-19th century the term had began to appear in history books, the conflict  was originally known in Scotland as the Eight or Nine Year’s War.

#Scotland #scottish #history #the rough wooing #the burning of edinburgh #england #mary queen of scots

[haet-sal]

I had an au.... a gangster noir film

ACT1

Okay so listen. Minghao is the leader of a Hong Kong triad, who was orginally sent from his family in the mainland to extend their power in Hong Kong. Right now he’s a big shot mafia guy (Da Ge), but used to be that 5 years or so ago, he was just a little 18 year old sent away from his family, living in a little apartment above the market road, lonely, alone, disconnected. Back then, as an 18 year old, he fell in love with a girl he picked up off the road, a homeless orphan who only slept at the houses of men she sleeps with (lets call her YN1)

But, 5 or so years ago, YN1 left him... took every trace of her away to the point where he sometimes wonders if he only imagined her in his loneliness after all. Now, 5 years from then, he has a new girlfriend, but the traces of this disappearing ghost still linger in his mind. She is his white whale, so to speak. He'd run after her if he could. But also she escaped her situation, she's no longer in the crime world, good for her.

Minghao works with mercenaries, drug producers, drug dealers, all sorts of things. His work is basically a mercenary agent, hooking assassins up with clients. One day, one of his mercenaries, Mingyu, kills a politician.

To appease the political powers, Minghao has to turn the killer in, and gives information about the killer to the authorities, while giving Mingyu the heads up so he can run. Unfortunately for Mingyu's gf, YN2, an otherwise normal citizen, but who is completely in love with Mingyu.

ACT 2

Yn1 is found at the Harbour Minghao and her always went to. It’s just the wake of a storm, the sky is clear... there are lights all over the Harbour, and he finds her.

“You don’t understand it,” he says. “Well, maybe that’s not fair. Maybe you would.”

“What is it?”

“The reason you’re important to me. I was alone in that apartment, you know that? I could have gone crazy just lying in my bed hearing everyone love and hate and shoot each other in the streets. They all left me alone—but you didn’t.”

“I had no place to go.”

“You know it’s more than that.”

“You’re the one that wishes it was more than that.”

Turns out she didn't go so far, she went to... Shenzhen. And now she's dating... WEN JUNHUI, a pianist and newly a piano teacher. Minghao orders men to follow YN1 back home, just to keep an eye on her.

Meanwhile, Mingyu and his gf are running around the city to hide from the police. They end up cornered in the market, and Mingyu tells YN2 to act like she doesn’t know him, so she can escape unquestioned. Mingyu turns himself in.

Yn2 watches the police take her man away with a stone faced neutral expression, but... a storm is brewing

Minghao and his man storm YN1 & Jun's apartment, because he decides he wants her after all. They trains guns at the families living in the complex, until YN1 gives in and comes with him. After she leaves with him, his men crush piano teacher!Jun's hands so he can’t play piano anymore.

Act3

Mingyu's gf is mad af. Jun is also mad af. They meet in the market, where Jun is struggling to hold a cigarette in his broken hands. They find out they have the same enemy. Yn2 has access to Mingyu's weaponry.

Revenge time. Mingyu's gf & Jun gear up and Jun learns to shoot a gun with his broken hands. It hurts, but he's so driven by the thirst for vengeance he can squeeze the trigger either way.

Yn2 visits mingyu in prison, and he tells her to live an honest life, forget about him, etc.

Okay actual revenge time. They storm the triad's operation quarters. Kill a good amount of them, yn2 wants to die knowing mingyu and her will never meet again anyway, so it’s a suicide mission for her. Jun tries to find YN1

It’s a shoot-out action scene. Jun ends up with one bullet, and idk stuff happens and YN1 ends up being shot. Minghao inconsolable. With one last bullet, Jun cocks the gun. Shoots. It’s unsure who he shot, between him and Minghao

#minghao x reader #svt au #seventeen au #mingyu x reader

[mariacallous]

A growing chorus of voices is warning that our democracy is in grave danger, but there is much less discussion of the exact nature of the threat. Recently, President Biden emphasized the severity of the threat by going to the place where the constitution was signed to give what the White House described as “a speech on the continued battle for the soul of the nation”.

Biden specifically named “Donald Trump and the Maga Republicans” as the ones carrying out the attacks, and that is accurate, on the surface. The deeper, more longstanding threat, however, was articulated by historian Taylor Branch in a 2018 conversation with author Isabel Wilkerson recounted in Wilkerson’s book Caste. As they discussed how the rise of white domestic terrorism under Trump was part of the backlash to the country’s growing racial diversity, Branch noted that, “people said they wouldn’t stand for being a minority in their own country”. He went on to add, “the real question would be if people were given the choice between democracy and whiteness, how many would choose whiteness?”

Whiteness is the deeper threat because championing whiteness is what makes Trump powerful. People forget that Trump was not particularly well-regarded before he started attacking Mexican immigrants and signaling to white people that he would be the defender of their way of life. In the months before he launched his campaign, he was polling at just 4% in the May 2015 ABC/Washington Post poll. After stirring the racial resentment pot, his popularity took off, growing exponentially in a matter of weeks and propelling him to the front of the pack by mid-July 2015 when he commanded support of 24% of voters, far ahead of all the other Republican candidates.

As his support grew with each racially infused statement – such as banning Muslims from entering the US – Trump marveled at the unshakable passion of his followers, observing quite presciently that, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn’t lose any voters … It’s like, incredible.”

Trump’s 2015 discovery of the power of whiteness is the same lesson that Alabama’s segregationist governor George Wallace internalized in the crucible of southern politics during the civil rights movement in the 1950s. “I started off talking about schools and highways and prisons and taxes – and I couldn’t make them listen,” Wallace said, adding, “Then I began talking about n-----s – and they stomped the floor.” After Trump began talking about Mexicans, and then Muslims, many white people from coast to coast stomped the floor and even stormed the Capitol to keep him in power, seeking to destroy the democratic tradition of a peaceful transfer of power.

As Wallace’s words show, Trump is not the first leader of a movement to make America white again, and for more than a century we have consistently underestimated the political power of whiteness.

The clearest example is the start of the civil war itself. A hundred and sixty years before the January 6, 2021 insurrection, the legislatures in one-third of the states passed laws rejecting the outcome of a presidential election and then issued a literal call to arms where hundreds of thousands of people picked up their guns and, in the name of defending whiteness, proceeded to shoot and kill hundreds of thousands of their fellow Americans.

In 1968, Alabama’s Wallace saw that the audience for white nationalism reached far beyond his state’s borders and mounted a presidential campaign that secured 13.5% of all votes cast. The strength of Wallace’s showing influenced Richard Nixon’s presidential administration to the extent that historian Dan Carter wrote: “When George Wallace had played his fiddle, the President of the United States had danced Jim Crow.”

In 1990, an actual Klansman, former Grand Wizard of the KKK David Duke, mounted a bid for the US Senate and was initially dismissed as unable to win because of his unapologetic white supremacist views. Duke shocked the establishment by attracting the support of 44% of Louisiana’s voters.

The good news is that the proponents of whiteness do not command majority support. The original Confederates themselves were in the minority and represented just 11% of the country’s white population. People who enjoy majority support have no need to unleash fusillades of voter suppression legislation in the states with the largest numbers of people of color. Yet, from the grandfather clauses of the 1800s to the restrictive voting laws passed last year in the south and south-west, we are seeing an unrelenting practice of trying to depress and destroy democracy by engaging in what the writer Ron Brownstein has described as, “stacking sandbags against a rising tide of demographic change”.

Just as the enemies of democracy know that they must destroy democracy in order to prevail, the clearest way to defeat them is to aggressively expand democratic participation. Mathematically there is a clear New American Majority made up of the vast majority of people of color in alliance with the meaningful minority of white people who want to live in a multiracial nation. With the sole exception of the 2004 election, that coalition has won the popular vote in every presidential election since 1992.

In order to defend democracy and win the fight for the soul of the nation, two things must happen. One is to make massive investments in the people and organizations working to expand voting and civic participation. Coalitions like America Votes Georgia and Arizona Wins played critical roles in bringing hundreds of thousands of people of color into the electorate, helping to transform those former Confederate bastions.

The second step is to directly challenge the nation to choose democracy over whiteness. When Taylor Branch posed his provocative question in 2018, it was in the wake of tragedies such as the killing of Heather Heyer, a white woman protesting the 2017 Charlottesville, Virginia, march of white nationalists incensed at plans to remove Confederate statues. Trump’s response to Heyer’s killing – she was intentionally struck by a car driven by a white supremacist – was to shrug and note that there were “very fine people” on both sides of the march.

When he launched his presidential campaign in 2019, Biden explicitly invoked Trump’s post-Charlottesville embrace of whiteness, saying “We have a problem with this rising tide of white supremacy in America,” and went on to oust a defender of white nationalism from America’s White House. Far from being chastened, however, the enemies of democracy have only intensified their efforts. To ultimately prevail in this defense of our democracy, we must clearly understand the underlying forces imperiling the nation, name the nature of the opposition, and summon the majority of Americans to unapologetically affirm that this is a multi-racial country.

Steve Phillips is the founder of Democracy in Color and is a Guardian US columnist. His book How We Win the Civil War: Securing a Multiracial Democracy and Ending White Supremacy for Good will be published October 18th