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seijorhi · 3 years

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Final Girl

Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou & Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

And please check out the incredible fanart @lausterdomyamong created for this fic here 💕💕💕

TW blood, gore, violence, minor character death, implied non-con, pregnancy mentions, nsfw

Your lungs are burning.

You haven’t run like this in years, your thighs are screaming at you for a reprieve. With every step it feels like the soles of your bare feet are splitting open but you can’t stop, not for a single second.

You can’t stop. You can’t stop.

Keep running.

It’s dark, and you can barely see.

Stumbling like newborn foal through the thick undergrowth, tripping over the roots that catch at your feet. Your legs are scratched and bleeding, and there’s a nasty scrape along your arm from where you’d fallen and tried to cushion the blow, but you shove it all down and you keep running.

You can’t hear much over the sounds of your laboured breaths and your own heartbeat hammering away inside of your ears, but you know you must be making a racket. Branches breaking, leaves crunching underfoot as you clumsily dash through the woods - keep running, keep going.

Being quiet won’t save you if they catch up.

The loud whoops and the hyena like laughter that echo out through the trees behind you spur you onwards. Faster, you have to run faster.

This is nothing but a game to them.

“Wait- wait, just stop for a sec… do you hear that?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you scoot closer to his bedroll, “Really, babe? The campfire stories weren’t enough for you? Do you not want me to sleep at all on this trip?”

There’s a teasing little grin on your face, not that your boyfriend can see it in the darkness of your tent. You expect him to laugh, grab you by the waist and pull you under him - make some quip about his wicked intentions of not letting you sleep a wink, but he doesn’t.

He stiffens, pushing himself back upright onto his palms, head cocked to the side like a dog listening for the faintest hint whisper of a sound.

“Babe-”

“Shh!” he hisses, and it’s more shock than anything else that has your mouth falling shut. His hand reaches across to grab yours in the darkness and he squeezes it just once. An apology maybe, or a reassurance that you’re still there with him. “Can you hear that? I think… I think there’s someone out there.”

You swallow uneasily, goosebumps prickling at your skin. If this is part of some stupid joke, you’re gonna kick him out of this tent and make him bunk with his friends for the rest of the trip. He’s never been one for mean spirited pranks, but this is freaking you out.

“It’s probably just one of the guys-” or an animal, or the wind, or his own overactive imagination. You guys are out in the middle of the woods after all.

“I’m gonna go out and check,” he whispers, pulling his hand from yours and pressing a quick kiss against your cheek. “Stay here.”

There’s a road, a long stretch of winding highway that you’d driven along for what felt like hours when you’d first arrived with your friends. There’s no possible way for you to know if you’re going in the right direction, but if you can just make it there, then-

The thick scent of smoke invades your nose and for you falter - just for a split second - searching for the source. There, maybe two hundred yards away to your left, you spot the orange glow flickering between the trees and your stomach lurches.

Dark figures flit through the clearing, maybe a dozen of them, half illuminated by the bonfire. You can hear their laughter, the shouts and drunken revelry as they party the night away. They don’t have a care in the world, and why should they? Real monsters belong in horror movies and scary stories, not lurking in the shadows of the woods.

Leave them.

The vicious thought takes you by surprise, but for one awful moment, you consider it. The promise of fresh new toys to rip apart and break, drunk and blissfully unaware, surely that would be enough to tempt them away. You’re just one girl…

(The truth, the one that sits heavy in your stomach, whispers that you know better than to believe they’ll ever let you get away.)

Your heart pounds against your ribs, your legs unwittingly slowing down. You don’t have time for indecision; it’s them or you.

If leaving them to the wolves meant that you walked away from this, if you could make it back home-

There’s a shout, a scream that rips through the crisp autumn night before it cuts off with an abrupt gurgle. A loud thud followed by a laugh you don’t recognise - one that sends a chill running down your spine. More voices, more screams. Footsteps and a splatter of something dark and viscous against the side of your tent.

There’s a hoot and a chuckle, closer this time, and you hear a sob that’s all too familiar. Pleading.

Your friend begging for her life.

“Shh, shh, shhh. Aw c’mon sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

Another hiccuping sob. “Please… p-please I don’t wanna die…”

“Kuroo-”

There’s a petulant huff, a loud voice interjecting, “s’no fun when they’re just sitting there.”

Kneeling frozen in your tent with one hand clamped tightly over your mouth to stifle your own terrified cries, you squeeze your eyes shut, not daring to draw breath.

Somebody sighs - the first one, you think. “Y’know, I think Bokuto has a point… Do you like games, sweetheart?”

There’s no response - at least not one that you can hear - but she must have nodded, because the voice continues, “Glad to hear it! Tell you what, we’re gonna play a little game, and if you win, we’ll let you go! Sounds fair, right?”

“We’ll even give you a headstart, just cause we’re nice guys! Whad'ya reckon ‘Kaashi? A minute? Two?”

There’s a short silence, filled only by the sounds of her ragged whimpering. “Two,” the second one - ‘Kaashi - decides. His voice is deadpan, smooth, cold and blunt, but there’s an underlying current of something excitable - the barest hint that he’s not quite as disinterested as he sounds. “She won’t get away.”

No.

You veer, sprinting towards the camp.

The others died while you hid like a fucking coward, too scared to do anything to help them (it wouldn’t have made a difference, but you should have tried) you can’t do this again.

You can only imagine how you must look, a strange woman sprinting out of the woods, barefoot, your nightgown torn and filthy, blood streaking your skin. You can pinpoint the moment that they catch sight of you, one of the guys doing a double take and jerking so badly he almost falls off the log he’s perched on. “What the fuck?!”

Another turns, eyes wide and gaping, “Dude, she’s fucking pre-”

“RUN!” you bellow, just in time to see an axe arc through the air beside you and embed itself smack bang in the centre of his skull with a sickening thud.

“Now that’s a bullseye!” Bokuto hollers, maybe thirty feet behind you and gaining quickly. “Didja see that, Akaashi?”

Screams erupt from the other campers, scrambling frantically to their feet as their friend collapses lifelessly to the ground, blood still spurting gruesomely from his wound.

“Don’t go gettin’ cocky now, the night’s still young,” Kuroo drawls, swinging his baseball bat - the dark wood flecked with dried blood, rusted nails crudely hammered through the barrel - experimentally through the air a few times. “And last I counted, I was still two up on you.”

There’s no time to humour the fear that rips through you like wildfire. You grab the nearest camper - a girl not much older than yourself, staring wide eyed and trembling at the body in front of her - and yank her forward with you. “Run,” you hiss again.

The others scatter, drunk and clumsy - a split second too slow.

A boot lands on the fallen tree stump, its owner springing gracefully over it. Akaashi’s machete gleams in the moonlight, sweeping gracefully like an extension of his arm as he slices downwards. Blood sprays, drenching his front, and another body falls to the ground - this one missing half a face.

It’s brutal. Chaotic.

Ruthless.

You can’t look back, you can’t help them. The girl is screaming at you, yelling words you can’t hear, trying fruitlessly to tug her wrist out of your grip, but you don’t relent. You don’t slow down, not even as dread fills your stomach and tears burn unshed in your eyes. You can’t help the others - not as Kuroo’s bat comes swinging out of the darkness, tearing flesh and muscle from bone, not when Bo yanks his axe from his victim’s head with a foot planted on his chest, immediately giving chase to another with a wild grin, not when Akaashi’s machete, slick with blood, cuts through her friends like butter - but you can save her.

Just one person-

“Kitten, come back and play!” Kuroo shouts after you with a sickeningly fond chuckle.

- so long as you don’t stop running.

The camp is eerily quiet, even the crickets have stopped. You have no idea how long ago they left to hunt down your friend, how long you’ve sat, sobbing in silence, too scared to breathe, waiting to see if they’d come back.

Your friends are dead. Your boyfriend is dead.

You don’t realise how badly you’re shaking until you try and move - almost falling flat on your face when your arms give out. They’re gone, but every noise, no matter how muted, feels deafening and you try not to flinch as you drag yourself towards the mouth of the tent. You don’t have time to prepare yourself for the carnage waiting for you across the camp ground, you can’t think about the fact that people you love have been torn apart and murdered while you cowered away frozen in fear.

The grip you have on your emotions, your sanity, is fragile, but in your terrified hysteria, you understand one very important thing - they could come back at any moment, and you cannot be here when that happens.

You cannot stop and cry for your friends, you cannot afford to break down when you see their bodies hacked up and scattered around you - you won’t even look - you just have to take the car keys fisted in your right hand, get to your boyfriend’s truck and get the fuck away from this nightmare as quickly as those wheels can take you.

Crawling on your hands and knees you slowly pry open the tent flap, biting your lip and wincing at the quiet hiss of the zipper.

The cold night air hits you like a slap in the face, but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming coppery tang of blood that settles on the tip of your tongue as you breathe it in. You bite down on your whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your leaden limbs to move - you can’t afford to stop now, you have to get away.

You won’t look, you won’t look, you won’t-

“I was wondering when you’d finally show yourself.”

Ice douses your system, your heart lurching. Your eyes shoot open, darting towards the source of the voice - there, leaning calmly against the thick trunk of a tree only a few feet away from you is a man. Tall and slender, with dark hair and delicate features, you’d probably go so far as to call him pretty if it wasn’t for the blood splattered garishly across his pale skin and the teasing grin tugging at his lips.

Absolute terror renders you helpless as he pushes away from the tree and takes a single, calculated step towards you. “Kuroo and Bokuto won’t be long, they’re just finishing up with your friend.” His pretty smirk widens as your eyes well up with tears and a gasping sob finally rips its way free from your chest, “but I don’t think they’ll mind if we get started without them.”

You’re following the well trodden path, praying to god that it’ll lead you back to the road, to any kind of safety. The shouts and screams behind you died out a few minutes ago, but you can’t let yourself think about what that means - it’ll only slow you down and you’re so close.

“Wait, wait, stop! We ha-have to go back!” the girl cries, trying once again to pull you to a stop. “My friends-”

“I’m sorry,” you pant, glancing across at her - and you are. Her eyes are wide and terrified, swimming in a pain you know all too well. It’s selfish and cruel, and it’ll tear her apart just like it has you, but if you let her go now… “It’s too late for them, we need to keep-”

“Baby, you know you can’t hide from us!”

Bokuto. Your heart seizes just as the girl shrieks, and you risk a glance over your shoulder, slowing just a faction.

They’re closing in, all three of them, less than twenty yards away.

Panic and desperation bite at your nerves - you can’t let them catch you, not now, not when you’re almost free. But your body is aching, your muscles on fire and your stamina is shot to pieces. You’re on your last legs and they know it. They don’t even have to run anymore, they’ve worn you down completely - it’s a miracle you’re still standing.

And it’s childish and petulant, but you just want to scream and cry and yell and beat your fists against the ground because it’s not fucking fair!

You were so close.

Your grip around her wrist slackens just a touch, and the girl takes the opportunity to rip her hand free from yours. You expect her to run, to flee like a bat out of hell and leave you crumpled in the dust, but instead she turns to you with a withering glare, “This is all your fault. You brought them here. You did this.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, but before you can even open your mouth to protest (she’s not wrong, you know she’s not wrong) she grabs you by the shoulders and with all the strength she has left, shoves you back in the path of your pursuers. You stumble from the force of the blow, not expecting it, and for a moment you feel yourself start to fall, instinctively curling in on yourself to protect your belly-

Strong arms catch you before you can hit the ground, pulling you against a warm, muscular chest. “Gotcha,” Kuroo breathes, his tongue darting out to lick at the blood splattered across your cheek.

Vaguely, you register Bokuto’s low, furious growl as he launches forward, his axe raised high. The sharp, piercing screams are cut off quickly - violently - as he buries it in her neck with a snarl. He swings again and her head tumbles clean off to bounce across the forest floor, but he keeps going, swinging again and again and again until her body is nothing but a bloody, mangled mess for the animals to scavenge.

Your vision blurs, and it takes you a moment to realise that it’s tears welling up in your eyes as Kuroo’s hands run up and down your sides, drifting protectively across the gentle swell of your stomach. “You did good, kitten,” he coos, Akaashi and Bokuto coming up either side of you. “But it’s time to come home now, don’tcha think?”

A hand cups your cheek, drawing you to meet Akaashi’s twisted, lovesick expression, “Gotta reward our pretty little girl for playing her role so well,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the delicate skin.

“Maybe we can fuck another kid into her,” Bokuto adds with a grin, his previous rage all but forgotten, sated along with his bloodlust thanks to the butchered corpse lying a few yard away. His golden eyes, half lidded and burning with lust, flicker across your face for just a moment, drinking in every last drop of crushing defeat and despair before his lips crash down on yours in a savage, bloody kiss.

This was nothing but a game to them - one you never had a chance in hell of winning.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere akaashi x reader #yandere bokuto x reader #yandere kuroo #yandere akaashi #yandere bokuto #tw blood #tw violence #tw gore #tw implied noncon #tw murder #my writing #tw pregnancy #hhhh it's 4:45 i hope y'all are happy #i'mma go sleep now

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minavalentina · 3 years

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Motion Thickness / Chapter Two

The night air was cool - a welcome relief from the hot California summer. Jake and Amber walked in the middle of the road, enjoying the breeze and not saying much. At 1:30 in the morning, the streets were empty, and it was nice to feel the space around them after the stifling atmosphere of the party. As Jake moved over to some bushes near the side of the road to relieve himself, Amber found herself wandering, head still spinning from the alcohol she'd had earlier and enjoying the brilliant stars pulsing in the calm, still night. She rounded off the main street to explore down a back lane, a shift from the expensive area they were in. Garages edged the otherwise wood-fenced street, and power lines dipped low across from one side to the other. Amber continued strolling, one foot landing messily in front of the other until she noticed something, and stopped dead. Kneeling in the small one-way street was a man, lit by the streetlight above. She jumped for a second, before she realised that she recognised him. He went to her high school. They didn't run in the same circles, but she knew his face. Could probably even come up with his name if she thought hard enough. She had been more arty, more popular, and he had been the type to smoke behind the gym. He must have come down from the party to get some air as well. "Hey." She said lightly, a fraction of a second before she saw the body. A second guy, laying on the ground near whats-his-face, a dark, thick pool spreading out from beneath the head. Amber's blood turned cold. The gun was fired before she even realised he'd heard her. A bullet, frighteningly loud and real, hit the tall wooden fence to her left, and all the muscles in Amber's body contracted. She was frozen, eyes wide and body trembling. He paused after firing the first shot, and studied her face in the dim light. "I know you. You that bitch from art class." He said, voice cold and furious. He whooped out a chilling, abrupt laugh. "Hoo, you in it now." This time, Amber did see him aiming the gun at her. The first shot had been on instinct. This one had intention. He didn't want to miss. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and Amber was running frantically, weaving side to side as she sprinted down the road to make herself harder to hit. Thoughts of regret and 'what if?' flooded through her and mixed with her panic as she heard one, two, three more shots ring out from behind her. She'd just graduated, literally just turned eighteen. She had plans, big dreams. She was going to be famous. She was supposed to become a star. Terror jumbled her thoughts, but not too much to stop tears from escaping her eyes before being whipped away by the wind hitting her face. Amber felt a fourth bullet whistle by her, and she screamed, forcing her legs to pump faster.

“Run, bitch!” She heard him screaming behind her as she tore away down the empty street. “Doesn’t matter though, I seen you before! Best believe I’ll find you.”

Sprinting out of the side-street, she found Jake already running towards her. Clearly he'd heard the shots, she thought. Somewhere in amongst all the feelings rushing through her in that moment, she recognized a tiny grain of warmth, noticing that he had run towards the sound and not away from it. But there was no time to dwell on it, as Amber barrelled into Jake and forcibly spun him around with her hands to face the direction she was running. "We gotta go!" She yelled, giving him a few panicked shoves to get him started. "We gotta go, we gotta go!" He ran with her, the two of them hurling down the road until they were a few blocks away and closer to the main road. The road was still deserted but the taillights flashing by on the highway nearby, as well as the illuminated windows dotted around the surrounding houses made them feel like they could stop for breath. "What happened?" Jake asked, rubbing her back as she bent, gasping for air. "He tried to kill me!" Amber wailed, straightening up and throwing her hair from her face. "He killed someone else! There was someone else there. Dead."

"It's okay." Jake was shaken, but he tried to calm her. "We got away. He didn't follow us."

"It doesn't matter." Amber said with tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "He knew me. He goes to our school, Jake. He said he was gonna find me and he can!" She sobbed, shaking, and wrapped her arms around herself. "He was going to shoot me dead right then. He tried. He'll be able to find me if he wants to."

She sniffed, cheeks wet with tears, looking completely distraught. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I don't know what to do. Everything was about to be so good. I don't want to have to move away, I love this city. This is where I'm meant to be." As she spoke, the night's events began coming together in Jake's mind to form a scrap of an idea. It was out there, strange, and he wouldn't have dared come up with it at any other time, or to any other girl. The more he thought it over, he began to breathe faster as Amber turned away, holding her hair back and fanning her face in an attempt to calm down. It was a wild plan, that was for sure, but the exciting secret she had shared with him not even two hours earlier fit strangely well into her new predicament. And suddenly it all became so perfectly clear, that Jake was speaking before he even realised it. “Amber, this is your chance.” He said, quiet. Confident. “Chance for what?” She asked, despondent. “He saw your face. He threatened your life. Clearly you need to disappear.” Jake said. “I don’t wanna leave L.A!” Amber cried. “I begged my parents to move here from Ohio when I was fourteen, this is where I’m meant to be! I can’t give that up just when I’m about to start my career, just because of one fucking assho-“ “Amber.” Jake took her by the shoulders, cutting her off. "That's not what I meant. He knows what you look like. So you could either leave... or you could change." She was listening now, the certainty that he spoke with seeming to calm her enough to let him get his idea out. And he was excited, the more he thought about it the more he fell over his words in his haste to get them out. “Think about it. You don't want to hide away in Albania for the rest of your life, and despite what seems to work in the movies, dyeing your hair just isn’t enough of a change to gamble your life on." Jake levelled his eyes on her, speaking slowly, landing each word with impact. "But you told me, only a few hours ago, that you wanted to change the way you look and now that’s-” Amber's eyes widened when she realized what he was talking about. "No!" She exclaimed, face reddening. “Oh- no, no, no.” “Amber, get fat.” Jake held her by her petite waist and looked deep into her frightened eyes. He could feel her shaking. “It makes sense. If you put on even a half of the weight that you told me you wanted to, I bet you'd be damn near unrecognizable.” “I-- I can’t!” She stammered, not meeting his eyes, embarrassed by her earlier admission. “I can’t do that.” “Why not? You said you wanted to.” Jake said. “You do want to, don’t you?” She hesitated, clearly embarrassed. “...I was drunk.” “I know you were.” He said. “But were you telling the truth?” A long pause hung between them. She was sober now, stone cold sober. Time, shock, and fear had wiped away any trace of inebriation. She’d have no excuse for anything she said now, no way to explain it away if she regretted letting him in on her most private, darkest fantasy.

“Yes.” She said, finally. It was a half-whisper, she barely made a sound. Heat rose in her cheeks as the realization of what she had just admitted hit her. She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

Jake’s eyes were dark when she looked back at him, pupils blown wide and whole body seemingly vibrating with excited energy. “Then do it now.” He said. “This timing, it means something. You can pile on weight, as much as you like - you can transform yourself, and it might just save your life.”

“But… it doesn't happen that fast, Jake! It won’t be much of a disguise if they’re watching me slowly f…” Amber wet her lips, still not used to saying the words anywhere other than in her own head. “F-fatten up. He'll have enough time to kill me before I look any different at all.”

“Then we’ll leave.” Jake rushed his words, excited. “Just for a while. We’ll take my car and we’ll leave town tonight. And from the second we reach the city limits until when we return, we’ll stuff you full of so much fattening food that the Amber who comes back to L.A. will be in no danger of being recognized.”

She took a step back, more out of surprise than anything else. What was that word he had used? “We?” She asked. “You want to… be a part of this?” “Yeah.” Jake admitted. “Desperately.”

Amber studied him carefully. For the first time that night, he was the one under scrutiny. And, considering the night she’d had, he supposed that was fair. “Do you like this?” She asked. She sounded half accusing and half intrigued. “I thought you were just interested earlier because it was a crazy thing to say but it's more than that, isn't it? Come on. After what I’ve told you, if you don’t think it’s weird, then fucking put me out of my misery and tell me!” “I don’t think it’s weird.” Jake said, before he could stop himself. “I like it. I... I-I want to see you get fat, too. I think it’s really hot that you wanna do that to yourself.” Amber’s mouth had fallen open, and for a moment she was just silent. Jake let her process. They were still standing out in the open, barely a few blocks over from where they had run from. There was an urgency to move, but this revelation of their shared understanding caused a sudden calm to fall over them as well. ”Okay.” She said. A small smile crept onto her face, and her eyes twinkled as excitement swelled inside her. “Yes. I want to.” Jake sucked in a breath. "Are you serious?" Amber nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Yes, I want to do it. I need to live in Los Angeles, I'll regret it forever if I don't. And I won't risk my life, I have so many plans. A reason like that to get big... it's... it's perfect."

It made a kind of sense. It sent chills of excitement through them both to think that such a hedonistic act could save her in this way. It was permission. The moment Amber had said okay, reality started setting in. Her head swam with questions, thrill, fears. Despite the years spent fantasizing, she had no idea what it was like to be fat. How it felt, not only to be fat, but to become fat - to grow a thin body fatter. Did it hurt? Was it uncomfortable? And what about the embarrassment? Her face would change, maybe after enough weight no one would be able to recognize her. Maybe not even herself.

#weight gain story #wg story #wg fiction #gainer fiction #wg writer #weight gain #weight gain writer

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 3 years

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Killer Knightmares:

@avictimofthejazz an au based off a KR season 2 episode of the same name & knight of the drones vibe.

Dr. Bonnie Barstow is dutifully diligent with all of her work. She obsesses over even the most minuscule and trivial details to achieve perfection. It’s one of the many reasons she’s been added to the staff at the University of San Francisco under the supervision of the reputable David Halston.

___

It’s virtually unfathomable how much damage an ill-programmed microchip the size of a finger-nail could inflict. A twisted sense of insatiable fascination clutches a bewitching grasp over her complete attention. The tiny chip captured under the view of the highly advanced microscope was an absolute marvel with it’s bright ridges of gold along with it’s small valleys and backroads paved in a far duller shade of silver. It’s a coded maze that Bonnie can easily interpret. One infinitesimal change to the programming can mean the difference between life and death. Bonnie’s searching, seeking out the one piece of the prototype keeping it from functioning as designed. She could never and would never give the go-ahead on anything that could be considered dangerous. Even more so given the incidents that occurred because of Karr.

“There’s a call for you on line four, Bonnie.” Comes Halston’s abrupt half-careless words. Placing indelicate hands upon the slopes of her shoulders, he continues. “I’m starting to feel like your personal secretary.” It’s a gripe he made in earnest. He’s been, in no uncertain terms, telling her former associates to stop calling for months now. That Bonnie’s happier here without them hounding her. He delighted in being able to get her to refuse their offers to have her return. Of course, David hadn’t bothered to asked permission to make those direct assertions. He just did. Dr. Halson needed her. Even if Bonnie wasn’t fully aware of it, she had become vital to the success of his and Margo’s operations.

He leans over her shoulder to take a non-committal glance at her progress with the microchip. “It’s quite strange really.” He cryptically starts. The rest of the explanation failing to come as an immediate continuance.

Skeptical, Bonnie’s turquoise orbs lift towards her revered mentor while he speaks. Worry warps her usually beautiful countenance as she discovers herself clinging to his every utterance. Every easy breath hinged upon what would come next.

When her attention is fully upon him, he reveals against the shell of her ear all that he’d been biting back. “It’s a hospital near Los Angeles. A nurse Langly from Hoff Medical Center or other. She ‘claims’ it’s urgent.” There’s a deep trench of sarcasm imbued when his lips reach the word “claims”. He is well aware that she has no real family in the city. At least no one she should want to have contact with, given all the bridges he’s helped her burn. The remnants of her family were located in Boston. His eyes befall her with the great expectation that she’d pass it off.

Halston’s blasé indifference to the potentially serious situation doesn’t settle right with her. It lays like a load of swallowed bricks and mortar, in the formation of a thick, impenetrable, unmovable wall might; uncomfortably heavy. “I...” She swallows thickly, “I’d better get that.” The brunette rises from the stool she had been occupying and brushes past him. “It’s probably a crank call.” Arrives her half-hopeful utterance as she moves towards the thick plastic phone.

Sweeping a buoyant wake of chestnut barrel-rolls from her face, she lifts the receiver to her ear. “Dr. Barstow speaking. How can I help you?” She answers. Her lower-lip tucking between her teeth as she actively listens to the other voice. Twirling her fingers around the curly-q chord, she attempts to sort her thoughts. “Wait? What?” Panic bubbles upwards in her tone. Her once lax stance stiffens against the nearest wall. Her grip on the phone tightens to prevent it from slipping from her hand. “Are you sure?” A pause. “Could you repeat that name again?”

Nurse Langly patiently repeats, “Michael Long.” After a few seconds, she adds, “you’re his emergency contact.”

The warmth and color that usually could be found in Bonnie’s features drains as the gravity of the situation is rapidly dawning upon her. This was either a twisted macabre prank or it was a genuine emergency. Hardly anyone outside the Foundation knew that name or the history behind it. To invoke that name was to tug at Bonnie’s heartstrings. She has no other choice but to go investigate. If it was Michael and he was in trouble, she would never be able to forgive herself for ignoring his call.

Was it possible that he still had her number in his wallet? That Michael had never gotten around to changing his ICE list? If he hadn’t- why?

“Keep him there as long as you can.” Bonnie tersely instructs. Her heart skips a series of beats as she continues, “I’m leaving now.” With a glance down at her own delicate wrist watch, she calculates the amount of time it’ll take her to get that location. “I should be there in a few hours.” As she puts down the receiver, Bonnie contemplates ringing Devon and the Foundation. But she doesn’t. Not until she can fully ascertain if this is a joke or not.

Halston snags the frantic brunette’s wrist as she races towards the door. Throatily he demands, “where do you think you’re going? I didn’t give you permission to leave, and I know class hasn’t been dismissed. If you leave in the middle of our project, you’ll be costing the University thousands of dollars. You’re potentially destroying any hopes you had of a scholarship.” His concerns obviously rest with their work.

She wrestles her arm back from her professor’s clutches. Turquoise orbs darken when they lock upon Halston’s. Her expression is obviously deeply wounded and yet, out of respect for her mentor, she delays. “I’m sorry. I have to go...” Her words leave no uncertain airs about them. “I’ll be back when I can.” Bonnie is well aware that her defiance of direct orders could potentially cost her this incredible opportunity. Yet, she does not care! The Foundation has and always would be a primary concern for her. It didn’t matter how much time had elapsed since her employment with them, they were her family.

Bonnie is keenly aware that Halston is beckoning for her, yelling intangible words in her wake. She doesn’t dare turn back now with her feet already set on a steady course.

----

Only one thought prevailed as the brunette lunges past other students and into the parking-lot. Michael Knight could be in real trouble, and he needed her. She can’t fathom any set of circumstances that would require resurrecting a name that should have been buried. In her gut, she knows something is terribly amiss. But what?

Seven hours of the endless highway and traffic sprawled between the former partners. Every minute of that time seemed to conjure up a fresh, new fear as to what the explanation could be. Internally, she had been running herself through an extensive list of people who knew Michael Knight before he was the man she’d grown to love. Stevie was murdered. Tanya walker died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Vernon Gray and the others were in rotting in jail.

With the review of every case, came the discomforting realization that Michael and the Foundation were in the habit of making ruthless adversaries. Some of them were worse than others.

A startling thought does occur to her. Garthe and Elizabeth Knight knew about Wilton’s pet project. He knew that his father rescued Michael Long from that cold Nevada desert. However, Garthe and Goliath had taken a swan dive off a cliff. He couldn’t be pulling a crude trick like this. He had to be dead. Or was he? Worse still, could this be the work of Garthe’s vengeful mother? No. Why would they call her for help and risk the Foundation foiling another one of their wicked plots? They wouldn’t. Not even if they were aiming for the absolute annihilation of Wilton’s every dream.

Could it be the Chameleon? No. The man couldn’t have uncovered Knight’s former life. As far as the skilled impersonator knew, Michael had always existed as Knight. His previous life was a mystery. Or so Bonnie hoped it had remained an unsolvable riddle.

Every trudged up possibility seems to leave Bonnie with more unanswerable questions. She returned, time and time again, to square one. Frustration wells up inside of her veins as the brunette settles on the idea that Knight’s run into deep trouble on an investigation. This had to be a cry for help.

-----

Whilst Bonnie Barstow was not known for speeding, her foot increases the pressure on the gas pedal. The rev of the engine increases. Tires find themselves turning over at a quicker and quicker rate. All four heated rubber tires give a squeal of relief when she finally pulls up in front of the Hoff Medical Center.

With haste, she abandons her car in the parking-lot and races inside. Flagging down the first nurse she can find, she spurts out. “Please, I’m here for Michael Knight.” Entreating eyes catch the vacuous look to the nurses eyes and she repeated her words. “I’m Dr. Barstow. I got a call at the University where I work. I’m here for my - Michael Knight...” Ah, that’s where the issue dwells. She cringes before correcting herself. “Michael Long.”

That name garnered the desired knowledgeable reaction from the nursing staff. “This way.” The blonde nurse instructs taking up the lead through the sanitized hallway, armed with her clipboard.

“Can... can you tell me what happened to Michael?” Bonnie fearfully presses. She swallows down every fear collecting inside of her veins and penting-up in her chest. Having a breath catch in her throat, she manages to choke out. “Is he -- is he alright?” The concern taking up residence in the concentric confines of her eyes is genuine. Lord knows, she wouldn’t be able to cope with losing him.

The nurse keenly eyes her. The sympathy evident upon all of her etched features. “We’re looking at a mild concussion and bruised ribs. He’s lucky that nothing is broken. He must be in really good shape. Built like a tank that fella of yours is.” Any other man would have been in far worse shape.

Bonnie is too taken aback by the diagnosis to correct the woman’s assumption about her and Michael. In fact, she nearly misses the correlation as she is ushered into the room.

“He’s a real charmer. Your Officer Long is.” The nurse adds casting a wink in her direction.

Officer Long? God. It still felt anomalous to hear that in a sentence even with their extensive history together. She knew about his past. She was there the day Wilton brought Michael under his care. Until today, it had been years since that name fell upon Bonnie’s ears. Now, all of the sudden, she couldn’t seem to escape the shadow of the vastly unused moniker.

“Tried to flirt his way out of X-rays and everything.” The nurse actively points out. Her amusement with the fact is fairly obvious.

A perfectly manicured brow raises as Bonnie seats herself beside the man she knows under a very different name. “He really is. Isn’t he?” She fondly agrees. That had always been a part of the problem between them. Hadn’t it? His natural charisma instantly endeared him to almost every woman on the planet. She vividly recollects that he had tactfully employed it on more than one occasion to get what he wanted. He was kind enough to polish his act every time he attempted to use it on her.

Until the moment Bonnie cast her eyes upon Michael, it hadn’t struck her how intensely homesick she’d been for his familiar presence. Her heart gives off a series of palpable pangs against her ribcage as if it was sending Mores Code. Rescue was not bound to happen. No one could heed an unspoken SOSes. Could they? Despite her efforts to reign the unruly muscle in, it kept barreling ahead like an out-of-control freight train down the tracks.

Why was it that only Michael could arouse such chaos inside of her even when she had striven so desperately to move on? She tried to replace him with Dr. Halston and many other guys. Yet, nothing could fill that awful void that Michael left behind.

In that moment, with his large frame half swallowed by the hospital bed, she uncovers a dangerous revelation. She still loved him. As loathe to admit it as she is, those deeply-rooted feelings exist. They dwell in the undismissable realms of shadows where buried emotions and feelings are destined to remain.

Bonnie’s trembling hand gingerly brushes a dark-chestnut curl from the expanse of his warm forehead. The fluffy texture under the worn-pads of her fingers causes a familiar ache to awaken inside of her. “Michael, sweetheart....” She coos the term of endearment with a gentle insistence. She dare not startle him awake after the hell he’s obviously been put through with his injuries.

Her own lips bend into a shaky smile. “I’ve come to take you home.” His home? Her home? The Foundation? It didn’t really matter so long as he was back with people who loved and would protect him. As long as he was safe, Bonnie would never issue a complaint.

#avictimofthejazz #tw: long post #tw: long replies #you do not have to match the length #90% of this was Bonnie setting the stage #bonnie barstow #Michael knight #Bonnie Barstow x Michael Knight #Michael knight x Bonnie Barstow #this probably needs like five more years of editing cause of my strong meds but I am choosing to release it after spending all day on it

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du0tine · 3 years

Text

𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝒀𝑶𝑼: 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬𝑹.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝐈𝐃𝐊 | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 + 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑫, 𝑮𝑶𝑹𝑬 & 𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭 𝑴𝑼𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵. 𝑴𝒀 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑨𝑱𝑶. 𝑷𝑯𝒀𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑷𝑺𝒀𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑹. 𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑼𝑪𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺.

𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑾𝑬𝑹 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑰𝑺 𝑨𝑫𝑽𝑰𝑺𝑬𝑫.

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲!! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲! 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝟎𝟏: 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓.

The sun was scorching, its blazing rays burning him up. Drenched in sweat, his dirty tan shirt clung to his skin creating a sensation of such moist discomfort he’d never known was possible. Rummaging around for his water bottle he finds the silver canister surface boiling hot to touch, the contents inside completely dry. Groaning he throws the empty canister to the floor of his clean 1970’ Dodge Monaco. The desert was well, deserted the stretch of land was vast. Littered with tall, striking green cacti with the odd vulture circling above in search of animal carcasses to eat.

Even the predatory bird flying up high, with its bird eye view advantage couldn’t find a single thing to feast on. So how on earth could Taeil find a young women here of all places?

His thoughts were cut short when a loud bang was heard. Something had fallen atop the hood of his car. Tilting his sheriff’s hat upwards he instinctively grabs at his silver revolver, his hand gripped tightly around the wooden handle. His thumb placed atop the trigger but not pulling it down. He spots what’s caused the commotion and groans as he sees the black feathers of the vulture that had previously been circling above him cover the surface of his car. The bird itself was emaciated and lay dead, its dark blood slowly covering the hood of his car.

“Fucking pity,” he murmurs to himself before stepping out. Nudging the bird with his gun at its lifeless body he pushes the bird aside, its body falling to the ground. The dust swallowing it alive, bits and particles of the grain covering the bird.

Gazing up towards the sky he mentally groans to himself it had been officially 45 days since her disappearance. If anything she was a dead pile of stinking, rotting flesh or perhaps all the remained was the skeletal corpse of her frail bones. Her body ravaged upon by the desert’s harsh elements. It would have to be a miracle or some sort for her to be alive. For the desert itself reeked of death, stripped and bare not a single proper source of life to be seen. It wasn’t the animals that ate you, it was the desert itself.

He was beginning to lose hope.

Pulling out his map he marks his current location with a red circle noting underneath that the place was bare, not a single human being to be seen. This stretch of land was one of the many he’d come across, empty with no sights of human activity to be found. Pulling out his radio he calls into town to further update and report his case.

“Sheriff Moon?” Answers the voice on the other line.

“Reporting to Deputy Lee this is Sheriff Moon,” He repeats wincing at the loud crackling of the radio as he wipes a bead of sweat away from his temple.

“Any news?” Answered Deputy Lee Taeyong.

“Pocaterra County is bare, not a single living thing in sight. Fuck — there was a vulture but even that poor fucker dropped dead atop my car,” He explains his eyes drifting back onto the hood of his car. The blood had already dried, staining the vehicles navy blue surface. Not to mention the rather large dent in the middle of it all, “Newbie? Be sure to schedule an appointment with the mechanic, the fucker dented my car.”

“I’ll put your car up for inspection Sheriff Moon. Are you coming back into town today?”

“My rations are finished, I’ll be back by midnight to restock.”

“We’ll be waiting, get here safe. Over,” Replies Deputy Lee.

“Over and out,” Answers Taeil as he shuts off his radio. Sitting back into his car, he feels suffocated by the heat and overall is exhausted. He couldn’t wait till this case was over.

Switching on the engine to his car, the vehicle roars as it comes to life. Stepping on the gas he drives the hell out of that deserted plot of land. Reaching the long strip of highway rather quickly. It was going to be a very long drive back to town. Speeding down the highway, driving through the desert landscape the sun began to set. Painting a beautiful arrangement of oranges and reds across the horizon as the sun soon disappeared underneath the rolling hills and in its place came the moon. As the car’s headlights flickered on illuminating the road Taeil began to pick up speed, eager to reach the town as soon as possible.

It wasn’t the night that scared him. It was something about being alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere that did. The hairs on his arms stood up straight as goosebumps began to litter his skin. Something didn’t feel right and he wanted to get the fuck out.

His foot placed firmly on the accelerator the car moved at an incredible speed. Moving from 80mph to 100mph soon reaching 120mph, everything whizzed past him. The scenery becoming a mere blur as he fell into a daze. The aura wasn’t right, it felt tight. Like something held him tightly within their hands, the air in his lungs becoming sparse as his breathing became hoarse. His mouth going agape, drool seeping out of the corner of his mouth as he wheezed. His eyes were empty, filled with absolutely no emotion. The knuckles on his hands turning white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, the sound of the wind whipping against the car echoing through his mind.

There was no stopping him. Not until he saw it.

It shone like a bright, white orb. Gravitating in the distance and moving towards the vehicle with such velocity that when he stared at the figure from afar. He could’ve sworn it had perhaps been the moon, falling from the sky and rocketing towards him.

The drool from his mouth began to travel down his neck dripping onto his shirt. Clear snot slipping out of nostrils as the waterworks began to drip from every orifice of his face. Salty tears poured down his cheeks as the white figure began to move closer and closer.

Soon he saw a face, then a pale white body.

One that was like white porcelain it showed delicacy. It was one of incredible beauty and yet as he sped closer and closer towards the face he couldn’t snap out of the trance that he’d fallen into. His eyebrows scrunching in agony as he let out a harsh whine from his throat, one that turned into a high pitched scream when he saw the beautiful face turn into something much more menacing and familiar. Something deep within his mind clicked and it made him convinced that the face he was looking at was the true nature of something he knew so well.

The thing had jumped onto the hood of the car as it hovered above the windshield sitting up on its knees. The gaze it held was intense as it never looked away from Taeil. Bringing forth its hands towards its face, its elongated fingers tore into its face. Plunging its fingers into both eye sockets and pulling out its milky white eyeballs as crimson blood began to pour out of the empty cavity’s. Then it moved towards its nose tugging at the skin, ripping it off with such vigour that blood sprayed onto the windshield.

Finally, it moved towards its mouth. First contorting it into such a menacing smile. A sharp finger at each corner before tugging the flesh in opposite directions. Ripping the skin and muscle creating two flaps of skin that when let go it hung loosely at the sides of its jaw. Its sharp teeth and bloody gums smiling brightly at Taeil before opening widely and letting out an ear piercing scream that terrorized him to his core.

It had been mimicking Taeil. It was Taeil.

Its empty facial orifices gawking at him as it howled in pain before flying into a rampage pulling at its hair ripping chunks of it out, as pieces of scalp went flying across the highway the wind blowing it away. Continuing to self mutilate itself the thing came to an abrupt stop. The once beautiful figure no longer visible as it sat there, the flying past it as the being held on tightly. Taeil hadn’t stopped speeding down the highway, he was too petrified to do so. He felt as if he’d been suffocated by an unknown force as his throat continued to feel enlarged.

He continued to misact amidst this trance like a marionette being controlled. As he was suddenly pushed towards the windshield glass. His face pressed tightly against the glass as he kept screaming, his voice growing hoarse. His foot falling from the accelerator as the car began to skid across the concrete, his hands ripped from the steering wheel and forced behind his back as the disfigured being stared at him.

As he stared at what once looked like himself.

It sat there momentarily observing Taeil before once more copying the young man. Bashing its head against the windshield, creating a spiders web of broken glass on the windshield. Pressing its face firmly against it as the glass sliced into its skin, it screamed and it screamed. It just wouldn’t stop, just like himself.

He didn’t know what he was looking at anymore, the being pressed up against the glass looked beyond recognizable. Much to his dismay the car had lost control losing track of the road and swerving onto the desert floor before flipping on its side. Once, twice the car flopped around before coming to an abrupt stop.

Completely upside down, Taeil had blacked out.

#neowritingsnet #nct-writers #nctcreations #nctnetwrite #unfortunatus: inferno #nct #nct 127 #moon taeil #taeil x reader #moon taeil imagines #moon taeil x reader #taeil angst #[i forgot my other networks lol]#[not sure if I edited this but idc LOL]

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 3 years

Text

Document 15

December 4, 2003

Mr. and Mrs. Reyat got up at 4:30 A.M. this morning to drive him to the Massachusetts State Police Academy, which he signed up for last night at the request of his mother. He has always been conscientious at all things military-related, his mother noted understandingly, but that morning he was anxious about rolling up his right sleeve. She managed to convince him to go along, and the car moved off past the bus depot.

They drove on for a while before choosing an empty space on the ramp. He could handle orientation without the structure of a parade, but he preferred to do orientation in the morning. While Reyat prepared her habeas corpus, he coached her through the steps. Of course she was still unfamiliar with many of these, which she complained to him.

On the way to their dormitory, the Patricia Reyat navigated a very confusing stretch of Route 1. When they reached the dormitory's entryway, Mr. and Mrs. Reyat were stopped for a few seconds at a roadblock. It came off as somewhat strange, just a uniformed trooper standing at the side of the road, but a demure Hoyt Hearsley was driving the truck at the time.

"Ma'am, there's a fleet of pull-behind utility trucks in the right-most convoy and double white line. This is for a traffic stop," the trooper announced. "Ma'am, you're identified as Patricia Reyat, are you willing to talk with us?"

Patricia Reyat managed not to clamor a positive "TOO?" and instead agreed in a choked voice. The trooper turned and walked back to his truck. There was no success in reading her for a electrocardiogram, which was a relief.

"I can see Patricia in there," he said. He peered in, then stepped into the dorm room. His security lights ducked into a solitary spot between two of his reflective eyes.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, and the quiet of his voice suspended so long as a British accent remained.

"I'm here," Patricia Reyat said, out of habit, but out of something under the surface - a familiar dislike of Maher at this waving distance? - recognition? - for the abrupt stillness of the armyman, to- Saturday, there hadn't been any "having a conversation" for a long time.

"I'm here with the highway patrol," Paul Frey reminded her once they were close enough to talk in the hallway. Paul was a height in the armor, creating you with an imposing figure on the walls, the barest hint of a shoulder-half-armature, leaning a great distance into her experienced defense, but without the skeptical feeling you'd get if Mary Roberts had been found toting a sword, in the middle of a piazza, some unrecognizable person.

"What is it, Paul?" Reyat asked.

"I'm here to take you to the academy. Explain yourself."

"I guess that gives me no choice about going."

"No choice? Tell me," he said. "You propose to me not by sword, or feat of valor, but by telling me my time is going to be sufficiently useful."

""You're going to the academy, don't you? I'm part of the army, part of the commonwealth. Concentrate, now, on our common marriage.""You would not have introduced me except as a husband. You just said my family and I are people.""I do know about our family and upon whom we may strike a blow against your family if I'm in the wrong."

"This friend you speak of also said my time would be beneficial. That's not even London or the Commonwealth. No, you don't know my family -"

"In English court usage, 'idiot' has been elevated to court SPQE," he said, making for the door, which was banging its way open.

"Excursions are appointments with destiny, not proboscidei."

"That was half an apology.""In this atheist age, may Scotland still star the last Holy Man.""Were there not droves of subjects of Pendennis on Crete, long past their prime, automatically certain that the most extravagant critic would have the last laugh.""Rational thought needs the ur-earnest, and you see it there. A little demonstrative dally toughness, sure, but also vigor and manhood.""In conclusion! Let me introduce this coxcomb.""That's been taken." His back was swaggering and Pratt shifted to directional control, along with the vividness of steel. He drove the cab sharply forward and was gone without a trace. We were against the next curve when he reappeared, in full.

"Any time now!" the trooper barked at the top of his lungs. I forgot to breathe, and the roar of the suspension reinforced by cambered potholes overpowered the disorientation in my legs, at once like a 23-th gauntlet and a kick. I regained a sense of myself, still dumbfounded before the unmistakable bearing of a triumph.

Isabel Reyat had red hair, cluttered and earnest, and something of an air of seriousness about her, which contrasted with the bitingly sly vigor with which she eviscerated Paul's prepared flimsyness. As they spoke, a distinct lack of the expressive coloring that sometimes affected the corners of her mouth and the pricked tips of her ears. For a moment, the sense of her presence at odds with the court atmosphere of the convoy became quite abstract, like a pull-behind, and I raised my helmet to correct. Paul was speaking, just standing there.

"Go on," I said. (The new rules demanded that this nomination be carried out as soon as possible. I could see the funny-cops looking for any tough-looking targets in the near recesses of the Bronx.) "Do note for submitting the nomination that I am already aware of you."

Yes, said Isabel Reyat, answering in the same tone. The smile had a bit of an edge to it.

"No need to mask against true guile, and notify. Have they directed me regarding the absence of a witness?"

I think we're getting a little too close to the broken-window, you see,

"Anyway, your word is good for all that."

"To the city, ladies and gentlemen of New Horizon! I'd assumed, in the absence of evidence, and of reason, I'd carried out my duties indiscreetly, avoiding any questions half the time."

This sought to up the fear factor, I thought. I slipped into radio silence. "Perhaps; but not missing a night, which would have been better here than in my home of Sydney."

On his turn Paul Reyat sliced into the rest of his field of fire.

"Now, then, I direct you all to observe a set course and speed for civil intelligence in the City of New Horizons, in the space between the Arkwork points, that is away from London. Captain, not Lieutenant, no betting on which fucking country you'll be doing this."

I intended to go on the Metro down to Grand Central before the sun dropped behind the Illinois English Appalachians, I thought. My wonderful schedule - and if you'll relabour, my astonishing endurance.

"Incident in reflecting adjustment proves critical error in tuning. We do not aim course or speed. Restore correct

#original fiction #twenty-one

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cas-backwards-tie · 4 years

Text

Nothing But A Monster

Summary: Stranded on the side of the highway in the middle of a thunderstorm with no spare tire, you’re forced to take a ride from a mysterious man and his butler. Little do you know, this man has other plans than simply getting you to your destination.

Warnings: Blood.

Words: 1,869

A/N: So this is the first actual fic I’ve written in like... a year or so. I randomly got inspired from a dream so I hope you guys enjoy this!

Rain patters against the glass window as he looks out at the lightning streaking across the sky every few seconds or so. His assistant, Bernard, tried eliciting a conversation of small-talk earlier at the airport when he’d picked up his master. However, Kylo Ren’s never been one for small-talk. Watching the raindrops race down the Lincoln’s back window, he admires the way the distant city lights blur with all the water. As the green sign steadily approaches overhead the highway, Bernard takes the scenic route home, a road few people take as the new highway system provides routes with faster ways into and around the city.

“It’s pouring now!” You exclaim, banging your wrench against the hood of your broken-down car in frustration, “great! Just what I need.” A sigh escapes your lips and your hair begins to stick to your face as your clothes start to soak. You eye the tiny dent you’d just made, giving up you walk back to the open trunk of your car and toss the wrench back in. Without a spare tire, it’s useless to try to fix the flat. Out of all the things you could forget, you’d forgotten the most essential thing for this problem: a spare tire. Closing the trunk, you figure you can walk the next few miles up to whatever’s closest and ask to borrow their phone to call for the roadside assistance company. Just as you lock the car and turn to head for the nearest town, bright lights blind you. Raising your arm over your eyes, you can only pray that the car coming off the highway sees and doesn’t hit you.

The slowing of the car causes Kylo’s attention to drift toward the front, eyebrows furrowing a tad. “What’s the holdup?” He asks Bernard, but suddenly sees the issue itself. There’s a woman standing on the side of the road next to a car, her hair sticks to her face along with the white and polka-dot dress she wears. “There’s a young woman in trouble up here,” Bernard responds, the typical old fool’s heart showing a bit too much for Kylo’s liking. Although he’s not one for helping random humans, there’s something about this woman that strikes him in an odd, yet fascinated way. “Stop the car,” he commands Bernard.

Watching the car pass by, you lose a bit of the hope you’d had that maybe, just maybe you’d be able to stop them and ask for help. Your head hangs for a few moments before you spot the red lights of the car up ahead and hear the reversal and sudden approach of the vehicle. Whipping your head up, it’s coming fast. The car’s a few feet away so it doesn’t hit you as it comes to a stop. Right beside you now, the door opens and you stare into the fancy black car at a man dressed in an all black suit. The only real thing you can see in the dim light of the night is that he’s white. When lightning strikes again, you see his eyes are brown, and his hair is dark. The man leans forward, his eyebrows raised in a curious manner. “You know it’s not wise to be out in the middle of nowhere during a thunderstorm?” His eyes roam you up and down, and despite knowing he’s ogling you, you strangely don’t mind.

“Can you please give me a ride to the next stop? A gas station? I just need to call someone.”

The way this woman’s eyes plead, seemingly staring into his soul, is startling. Lightning brightens the sky in a flash before thunder rumbles in the distance, rain beginning to drip and splatter inside the car as he stares out at her. It’s perplexing to him, how one’s face can hold the word ‘kindness’ stricken over it almost as obviously as if it were written across her forehead. “Fine. Get in,” he gestures for her to take the seat next to him. Sliding back to his seat at the window, Kylo watches as fear and worry seem to cross her features. He pokes his head back over and smirks at her. “You’re more likely to get struck by lightning,” he threatens, knowing she must’ve been questioning the innocence of the men in the car. As she gets in, he leans back against the door on his side, his attention returning to the raindrops racing down his window.

Although it’d crossed your mind that this man may have harmful intentions for you, the fact that there’s two men allows for some sort of safeness, you think. Taking your chances; you slide into the seat and close the door. “I’m sorry for troubling you, I just… my tire went flat, and I’d stupidly forgotten the spare. Thank you so much for stopping.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Miss. We’re happy to help. It’s no fun to be standing out in the rain all by your lonesome. I’m Bernard,” the old man behind the driver’s wheel smiles at you in the rearview mirror. The British accent takes you by surprise, though you find it just as adorable as in the movies. A feeling of reassurance washes over you and you smile back at him. Gratefulness fills your chest as you know it’s not everyday someone shows human decency like they’d used to anymore.

Kylo could groan at the conversation between the two of them. ‘Stupidly’. Stupidly is right. Humans are nothing if not stupid, and it’s been proven to him time and time again. Even if something had come over him at the moment, the desire to do a good deed, to help this poor woman, the urge has faded. This is for Bernard’s wellbeing. Lord knows that if they didn’t stop for her that Bernard would chastise him for the rest of the night. As the Lincoln rolls forward and drives toward the nearest stop, Kylo can’t help but glance over at the woman, trying to get a better feel for her, a better look at her. He admires the way her nose sticks out, the round button-like look to it definitely shows personality. Though her hair is wet and stuck to her skin, the baby hairs curl up as they dry, a frizziness held in it. Her eyelashes are long and thin, though beautiful in the way they frame her eyes with a softness to them, a stray eyelash on her cheek. As he notices her about to look at him, he darts his gaze over to the window, returning to the observation of the frenzied storm outside. There’s something about storms he’s always found calming, and why? He’s yet to discover that reason himself.

Greenery passes; trees, bushes, and shrubs line the long straight road, lights from the highway and airport illuminating things in the distance. Within the car, the warm air envelopes you, causing the soaking wet cold of the water to begin seeping into your bones. The mix of warm and cool causes an imbalance in you, one resulting in sleepiness. Your eyes water slightly as you let yourself finally relax, on your way to resolving the issue at hand and heading home for the night. Resting your head against the window, the smooth ride eases your nerves. It feels all too soon that they’ve stopped at the gas-station.

“Miss, I believe this is your stop,” Bernard pipes up, giving her a kind look in the mirror again. “If you should need the information, just tell them your car’s parked off the scenic route of highway forty-five. That should be enough clue for them.” Giving her a nod, he places the car in ‘Park’ as he waits for her to take her leave. “And it was no problem at all, you haven’t given us any trouble. I wish you the best of luck!”

Kylo doesn’t mind the company of the woman beside him, if anything he ignores it almost entirely. The comfortable silence that’d engulfed the ride comes to an abrupt end with Bernard’s voice. His eyes raise to the man in the front seat, an idea coming to him as the woman begins to speak her goodbyes. Licking his lips, he turns to face the woman more head-on. “Wait!” He reaches out for the woman as she reaches for the door. “Bernard, would you mind raising the divider to give us a moment?”

Your eyes go wide as you turn to look back at the man beside you. There’s an eerie air surrounding him and although he’d offered you a ride, there’s still the lingering worries in the back of your mind of dreadful possibilities. “Yes?” Looking him over, he doesn’t seem like he has any ill will. Though as the divider to your presence of comfort raises and cuts him off, you remind yourself that in case of anything untoward, the door is unlocked.

In a moment’s notice, his eyes fade into a deep crimson red. The blood coursing through your veins speeds up a tad as fear runs through you, the temptation to scream dying on your tongue. “You will not scream,” he speaks monotonously, his voice smooth like water, “you will not fight and you will remember nothing of this exchange other than getting the ride you needed.” As her offensive stance relaxes, Kylo brushes back her cool wet hair, his fingers snaking into it as he cradles her head in his hand. Tilting her head to the side, he sinks his fangs in and feasts. A quiet gasp sounds right into his ear as she whimpers. The sweet, thick, luscious feeling of her blood coats his tongue over and over as he drinks from her. A few moments pass before he knows if he doesn’t stop, he’ll have to kill her. Lapping over the wound with his tongue, he pulls his fangs out and retracts them, his eyes returning to their previous honey ladened brown. He leans forward to reach around her, popping the door open. “Goodbye,” he says before shutting the door behind her.

Shaking off the weird feeling you’d just had, you smile to yourself as you walk across the pavement toward the gas-station’s entrance. Relief creates a warm aura around you as the gratefulness for a safe ride and helpful people had come right when you’d needed it. Now all that’s left to do is call the roadside assistance company and wait for them to come help you out.

Kylo rolls his eyes as he notices the glare from Bernard. “You didn’t have to,” he says disappointedly. There’s no guilt inside his chest as he simply shrugs in response to the old man, “I didn’t have to. I wanted to. What can I say? I was hungry.”

#kylo ren x reader #vampire!kylo ren #vampire!kylo ren x reader #vampire au #mobster!au #mobster au #vampire!au #au #alternate universe #vampire!mobster!kylo ren x reader #vampire!mobster!kylo ren #tw: blood #star wars au #sw au #kylo ren series #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader imagine #vampire series #mobster series

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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compound regret {Nikki Sixx}

Summary: You’re always the one cleaning up after Motley Crue, that was your job. You didn’t expect an apology, or anything really, but some reassurance that they liked having you around, that they didn’t just think of you as some hard ass or buzzkill would be nice once in a while. Except when that reassurance comes around, Nikki doesn’t exactly remember giving it. In fact, he’s worried he’s told you something far more incriminating.

A/N: 2701 words. @yourqueeniac sent me a message about Douglas!Nikki and honestly the writing demon reached through the screen and possessed me I guess. this is not the direction i thought it would go.

“Fuck,” Nikki wakes up in the middle of the afternoon on couch seat at back of the tour bus, his stomach lurching as they’re speeding down the highway. He doesn’t remember how he got there, just knows that he needs to get to the bathroom before everything he drank last night ends up on the floor of the bus. You’re almost knocked flying where you’ve come to offer a bottle of water in his mad dash for the bathroom, while Vince and Tommy are already laughing, and Mick takes the now vacated space, opting for a nap in the sunlight.

“Good morning!” You sing, loud and purposefully off key to the obviously hung over musician, and though he tries to tell you to shut it, he can’t get the words out before he starts retching into the toilet. You seem... far more cheerful than usual, well, compared to other mornings where one of the band members wakes up puking and drenched in sweat and regret.

By the time he staggers back out, looking marginally more human and alive, you’re thankfully drawing close to the next destination, and he’s just glad he’d managed to sleep through most of the travelling, because what little he has left already feels like hell.

“How do you feel?” You ask sweetly, sitting at the table beside Doc, who’s reading the paper and pointedly not looking at Nikki. The bassist is confused for a moment, frowning at where you’re smiling so brightly up at him, obviously pleased, though the reason as to why is a complete mystery to him.

“Like I never want to drink again,” Nikki grumbles, taking a seat beside you, reaching for the half empty bottle of whiskey on the other side of the table anyways, ignoring the water you offer him.

“You smell like a dumpster, which is surprising since you didn’t even throw up on yourself last night, how do you do it?” You smirk, your nose wrinkling a little, but you seem amused by this more than anything else. Doc huffs out a laugh but doesn’t look up.

“How the fuck should I know?” Nikki unscrews the lid of the bottle and flicks it at Doc, who dodges out of the way easily. He takes a long sip. “The fuck even happened last night?”

“So you don’t remember drinking that rocket-fuel vodka shit and declaring yourself King of Hell?” You give him the biggest shit-eating grin as he grimaces and takes another swig of whiskey. “I’m pretty sure you’d already gone hard on the zombie dust so I don’t blame you.”

“Fuck,” Nikki grumbled again, averting his gaze. That sounds very believably like something he’d do, though he must have drunk a lot more than usual to have him knocked out for so long, and for him to have received such a metaphorical kick to the balls the moment he woke up. And that still didn’t go about explaining your cheery mood, you, Doc’s long suffering assistant who often had the unpleasant job of wrangling the rowdy stragglers of the band into bed when they found themselves, on the off chance, sleeping by themselves.

So he’s pretty sure you’re the reason he’d ended safely back on the bus, but by the sounds of it, he’d made you work for it- so why weren’t you hating his guts like usual after a night like that?

“You’d make a terrible King.” Mick interjects from the back of the bus in all his deadpan seriousness, though when you chance a look back at him, he’s got one eye cracked open, smiling ever so slightly.

“Fuck you,” Nikki snaps back, holding his head in his hands.

“’be a great King of the Jackasses, maybe,” Doc adds, and turns the page of the paper. Nikki doesn’t even have it in him to reply.

It’s five, around the time they get to the next tour stop and they’ve checked into the hotel for the night, that that a sinking suspicion creeps it’s way into Nikki’s heart.

He’d said something.

He must have. The secret he’d been keeping essentially since the first moment on tour, when he’d begun to spend time in close proximity to you, the stupid little crush that had been festering away in his heart since you and he had joked about while carrying a pantless, passed out Tommy to bed after the very first gig. Last night, Drunk Nikki must have said something.

On paper, it sounds like it would be a good thing, except that Nikki was well aware that he would be profoundly disappointing in a romantic capacity, despite what his heart wants. He knows his self control is garbage, and that he’d end up screwing up somehow, in any number of various ways, and god he loves the way you’re smiling right now, but he can’t help but fear it’s from false hope.

“You okay? Everything sorted and ready for tonight?” It’s like a routine, everyone gets their hotel rooms set up before heading to the venue for the night, and you, like clockwork, would always go around to every room and make sure each of the boys was sorted.

“Did I say something to you last night?” Nikki asks, sitting at the edge of his bed, frowning with a surprising intensity. To your eye at least, he’d managed to mostly recover from the morning, and you stepped into the room.

“You said a lot of things last night,” it came out amused, but did nothing to quell the nervousness in Nikki’s chest.

“Like what?”

A long pause follows and you step into the room, letting the door shut gently behind you. He’s looking at his hands, can’t bring himself to actually turn his gaze upon you, but when you finally speak, your voice is surprisingly soft.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” And as you say it, he can feel the fear rising in him, finally looking up to where you’re regarding him with a look of concern. “I was trying to convince you to put your pants back on,” already a bad way to start a story potentially about feelings, Nikki considers, and you continue, “and I apologised for being a hardass and a buzzkill-”

“You’re not.” Nikki’s response is automatic, and his heart lifts as your expression automatically brightens.

“Yeah, that’s what you said then.” There’s a silence that follows, and your regarding him with an almost fond sadness, lips parted like there’s something else you want to say, but you seem to think better of it, just giving him a small smile. “You did insist I stay with you, which I did; I didn’t realise you were a clingy sleeper.” You half laugh, and Nikki feels himself turn red, averting his gaze once more.

“Why the bus? I had a room-”

“You lost your room keys, and honestly it was just easier.” You shrugged. After a beat, you took a deep breath, smiling brightly at him. “So you ready for tonight?”

The show goes great, goes incredibly, screaming and cheering from the fans, lights blinding overhead, a mind almost whited-out with pre-show blow, and his body’s on autopilot as he plays to the adoring crowd. But there you are, side of stage, cheering and beaming and all he can think about.

Something about your conversation earlier had been playing in his mind, you’d been telling the truth, but part of him knows it’s not the whole truth, and something tells him that it’s part of the truth that you’re keeping hidden that’s making you smile so bright, that’s responsible for the new, relaxed set of your shoulders.

The surprise, however, comes when you’re at the after party; he knew it was your night off but you usually spent it catching up on sleep. But here you were, chatting with some groupie, a drink in hand, looking like you’re actually enjoying yourself.

Nikki tries not to bother you, to let you enjoy yourself without the thought of your work looming in the background. He manages for about an hour, maybe a little less, but eventually he spots you heading for the door and he’s moving without thinking; if you’re leaving, he needs to say something, even if he’s not sure what.

“Are you- you okay?” He’s surprised when the words stumble out of his mouth, and you seem surprised to see him there at all.

“Yeah- I- do you need anything?” Brow furrowing, you step towards him where he’s still holding your wrist. It’s immediate, despite the buzz you’ve got going on, your mind immediately snaps into work mode, worrying about him even when you don’t need to. It endeared you to him without you even realising.

“Sorry,” he frowned for a moment, trying to get his words together in his mind, and your expression was already softening, “about last night and everything; I don’t know what happened.”

“You’re a rockstar, you don’t need to apologise, it’s part of the job,” you try to alleviate his stress, hand coming to rest on his chest, though the contact surprises him.

“That’s fucked- that’s fucked up. Like I know we do fucked up shit, but to not expect an apology? Fucked.” He finds himself rambling, and he sees on your face that he’s just drunk, spouting the first thing that comes to his mind, “What else did I say to you last night?” His thoughts then come to an abrupt halt as he watches you for an answer.

“Doesn’t matter, Nikki-” you try, but he’s frowning now. You just seem... tired.

“Yes it does, okay, I’m worried that I told you I love you or some shit and I don’t wanna fill you with false hope or any garbage like that!” The words spill out too fast for him to stop them. “I was out of my fucking mind, I just-”

“You told me you were grateful to have me around.” You scowled, wrenching your hand from his grip. “That’s all.”

He watches you go, weaving through the groupies who had spilled out into the hall, and something about it has his heart sinking. He tries, god he tries to enjoy the after party, but his drunk mind is traitorous and decides to now discover the concept of guilt, and drown him in it.

When he knock on you door, you ask who it is, and immediately tell him to fuck off once you find out who it is.

“It’s an emergency.” He tries, and he hears your loud, begrudging sigh, and then footsteps, and then the sound of the door unlocking.

“What?” You sigh; you’re wearing pyjamas, specifically an oversized Motley Crue shirt and little silk shorts. “It’s my night off, Nikki, what’s the emergency?” You raise an eyebrow at where he’s giving you a surprised look over. He’s got half a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Go to bed,” your voice is gentle but you go to shut the door anyhow.

“You’re good to me; better than anyone like me fuckin’ deserves,” he starts, and already your breath is caught in your throat. It’s moments like this, affirmations that the rockstar you’d come to adore actually spared you more than a passing thought, might actually like having you around, instead of the just thinking of you as the nuisance that tried to make him sober up and put on pants, that made you feel a little warmer inside, as stupid as that may sound from the outside.

The thing is, it’s not that you’re blind to the bassist’s exploits, quite the opposite in fact, but there was a small part of you that had developed feelings for him, for the almost admirable way he tries to prove himself to be hardcore, to the softer, goofier side you only saw brief glimpses of when he didn’t try so hard to be the person everyone thought he was.

You were under no illusions regarding who he was, you wouldn’t trust him as far as you could throw him; you’d spent too much time with him to think differently, but your heart had been traitorous from the outset.

In all honesty, you knew why he’d said what he’d said earlier, about false hope, both of you too self aware to expect this to go well for more than a day or so before something terrible happened. And you knew he knew this too.

But he’s here, in your doorway.

“I’m paid to clean up your messes, Sixx,” you try, but you step back into the room, gesturing for him to come inside.

“You and everyone else on tour,” Nikki rolls his eyes, “none of them care half as much as you.” He paused, closing the door behind himself and leaning against it, watching as you took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have to stay with me last night, anyone else would have just told me to fuck off, handcuff me so I couldn’t get away,” and he’s got you there.

“I am too good to you,” you’re still trying to keep up your annoyed front, but it’s crumbling quickly, “shouldn’t you be at the after party?”

“Thought I’d cut out the middle man, come to you instead of getting you to pick me up from some gutter in a few hours.” He’s smiling a little at that, taking a swig from his bottle. Part of you wants to argue that it’s your night off, but you both know his assumption is fairly spot on. You can’t help but laugh a little, shooting him a look that is both somehow exasperated and grateful.

His answering smile has relief at the edges, and he steps forwards, putting the bottle on the counter of the kitchenette, and walking around to flop down on the empty side of the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

“Why’d you really come here?”

He looks at you, frowning slightly, hesitating like he doesn’t want to admit the reason, perhaps breaking his tough-guy with no real feelings facade.

“Felt bad seeing you leave like that.” It’s far more honest than you were expecting, which must show on your face because he’s smirking. “I don’t feel bad about a lot of shit so you must be a special case,” and oh, okay there’s a fluttering in your chest and he’s grimacing like he regrets admitting that much.

“I suppose you’d probably collapse if you started feeling regret for everything you should,” you half laugh, and he makes a noise of indignance. But then you’re laying on your side beside him, propped up on your elbow, grinning at him. “Hey, can I -?” You’re gently holding his chin, just enough that his gaze meets yours.

“Should I regret this?” He asks, a scoff in his words, but your grin just widens in response.

“Should I?” You tease in response, and he can’t keep up the annoyed act, his expression turning to a cheeky smile as he props himself up, out of your grip and into your space. He’s so close to you, you can see the smudge of eyeliner still around his eyes, black streaks across his cheeks where he hadn’t managed to wipe all of his makeup away, and you can’t help but smile softly at the sight; it’s surprisingly humanising. And he likes watching the way you smile.

“Probably.” He snickers, but that’s when your gaze meets his, surprised and bright in equal measures, but he leans in. He tastes like whiskey, and something else a little heady that you can’t quite place, perhaps a fruity cocktail, maybe the remains of some pills or tabs he’d had once the show had ended; he tasted like something you knew you should regret, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“We all like having you around,” he grins sharply, pulling back, “but me especially.”

“You’re such a suck up,” you rolled your eyes, laying back against the bed and huffing out a laugh, as if trying to come to terms with everything that was happening. And then he’s shifting to hover above you, still smiling, though it’s fond this time.

“Is it working?”

The way you pull him in to kiss him again is answer enough.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x reader #motley crue #motley crue imagine #the dirt #the dirt imagine #douglas booth #the angry lizard writes

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degenerate-perturbation · 4 years

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Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

Yvanne fled.

Her loose robe tangled among her legs, and her slippers did nothing to protect her clumsy feet from the hewn stone of the castle’s passageways, but her only thought was to escape. More than once she slammed her shoulder into a wall, hard enough that it would bruise. She made it to the stables and was wrestling her favored rowan mare into a saddle when it occurred to her just what it was, that she was sacrificing. She was leaving everyone behind. Didn’t she owe it to them to explain?

No—she didn’t owe anyone shit, she decided, and anyway, she couldn’t stand the shame, couldn’t stand to be cared about, couldn’t stand to be loved. Her first and only need was to be far away from here, immediately.

The mare was recalcitrant, feeling its rider’s disturbed mood in that careful way horses had. Yvanne calmed it with a spell, all but took the mare’s mind with her so-called healing magic, and as soon as she mounted, it was off. Yvanne could barely stay upright as it bolted. Belatedly she realized that the main gate was down, and barely in time cast a spell of pure force. The gate exploded open, and only magic kept the mare from panicking and throwing her.

She clung to the horse’s neck, galloping down the road in the dead of night. What road, she couldn’t say, only that it lead away from Vigil’s Keep. The air rushed past her, stealing her warmth, deafening her senses.

All she could think of was Loriel’s face. Are you telling me to go? And the long, meaningful silence that had followed.

Every time she remembered it—and this was every handful of seconds, now—it hurt all over again.

She had tried so hard! She had done everything right! She had supported her at every turn, even when it had been hard, even when it hurt. Because they had been through so much together, because their lives were each other’s, because this thing between them mattered.

And this thing between them, wrested from the jaws of Chantry and Circle both, this beautiful shining thing so precious and so rare so hard won and mysterious—Loriel had thrown it away like it was nothing. And Yvanne had let her.

How could she just throw it away?

How could it mean nothing?

How? How? How? The question rattled around in her head like a deafening echo, so total and central to her attention, that she failed to notice the lowered quality of the road ahead—how could she, in the dark?—and the mare’s leg disappeared into a sinkhole. She barely heard the snap of broken bone as she was thrown from the panicking mare.

Pain exploded in her shoulder and head. She’d landed not exactly well, but not badly, either—she was still alive. She sat catching her breath, feeling the pain radiate from her shoulder across her whole body, barely noticed the layers of skin scraped away in the fall. The mare was worse off; its eyes rolled wildly in pain and bewilderment, laying on its side.

She healed herself first, then went to the horse. Normally an injury like this was death to the animal; the bone would never heal right. Even magical healing was essentially normal healing but faster. She was a decent healer, but not amazing; the shoulder she’d just healed was still stiff and smarting, and probably would be that way for a while. It would have been kindest to let the poor animal die.

“Sorry, old girl,” she said, gathering a cohort of wisps to help her.

After several minutes of struggle, the mare was up again. The leg hadn’t healed quite properly, and the horse’s eyes were filmed with pain. But there were spells for that.

She remounted, and rode hard. The mare didn’t stop or slow or stumble, enveloped as she was with layers and layers of creation magic. Yvanne didn’t know how long the magic or the mare would last, and she didn’t care.

By the time the sun broke over the horizon, she had driven the animal at full gallop for nearly the whole night, and no amount of magic could keep it from expiring of exhaustion out from under her.

This time the fall was less abrupt, the poor creature slowing gradually and collapsing. Yvanne narrowly avoided being crushed beneath it, scrambling to heal it again—but there was no hope this time. The mare was dead, and Yvanne couldn’t bring back the dead.

She sat by the side of the road, leaning against the corpse of the mare, and cried. The mare had been a good horse, sweet-tempered and faithful, and for almost no reason at all Yvanne had killed it. Suddenly the mare’s death was the greatest tragedy in the history of all Thedas, made all the worse by the beauty of the sunrise and song of the morning lark. Yvanne sobbed until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

After a while she looked up. The sun had fully risen by now, but the air was still cold. Gradually it dawned on her just what a bad way she was in—half-dressed, not a thing to her name, filthy and tired and hungry, stranded on the highway in the middle of nowhere in particular. The whole ride her head had been filled with the grand emotional tragedies of love and loss and disappointment, but all that faded rapidly, to be replaced by a prosaic, deeply banal fear.

Whatever was going to become of her?

She looked back the way she’d come. Her whole life was there, her friends, her things, her vocation. Everything she’d built, everything she’d striven for, was back at Vigil’s Keep.

That way was barred to her now.

She could stay here with the dead horse, or she could go on.

Struggling up, she faced the road before her, and began to walk.

—

She walked for most of the morning. By now her thirst had outstripped her hunger. Her throat was parched, and she struggled not to sway as she walked. Even magic was no help; weakened as she was by her own rash foolishness, her mana restored too slowly to be of any use.

When the sun was nearly at its zenith, she heard the creak of wagon wheels and clop of horse’s hooves behind her.

There was nowhere to go; this section of the road crossed through wide open plains and gently rolling hills. Even if she’d wanted to hide she couldn’t have. She had no sword, no weapon at all, and all her half-forgotten training as an arcane warrior was worthless without one.

Whatever was coming, she would have to deal with it.

She got out of the road, stepping over the gutter to stand in the grass. A cart leashed to a pair of mules approached. The driver was a round-bellied man dressed not richly, but neither like a peasant. His cart was well-laden, judging by the patient speed his mules walked with.

He slowed as he approached, tugging on the reins. “Ho there, stranger. What circumstance has brought an unaccompanied young lady of such beauty to travel alone and unladen?”

She struggled not to glare at him, looking at the ground. “My business is my own.”

He laughed. “Very well, then! Am I to assume that dead horse I saw some miles behind me was once yours?”

No point in lying. “Yes.”

The merchant sadly shook his head. “Poor creature. What happened to it?”

“It died.”

“Alright, then. I see you have the situation well in hand. I’ll be on my way.”

Electricity surged through her. “W-wait!” she stuttered, swallowing a great deal of pride as she did.

The merchant stopped halfway through flicking the reins.

Yvanne hung her head, humiliated. “Ser, where are you headed, if I may ask?”

“To Highever, my dear.”

“How far is it?”

“Not far, not far. Less than a day at an easy pace, by cart.”

Less than a day. She was closer to Highever than to Vigil’s Keep. Highever would do.

“Could you take me there?”

“I could,” the merchant said. “But how will you make it worth my while?”

She took off one of her amulets. She had bought it in Amaranthine, and Loriel had said it was one of the gaudiest things she’d ever seen, and Yvanne had retorted that surely she had, she’d seen the rest of Yvanne’s jewelry. “Will this do? It’s enchanted.” She went on, half-manic. “It protects the wearer from harm. Ask any enchanter when you get to Highever, they’ll tell you it’s real, I swear.”

The merchant’s eyes glinted as he saw the gem glitter on its chain. “Yes, that will do nicely.” He snatched it up, as though she was going to take it back, and tucked it into his coat. Then he moved over in the driver’s seat to make room for her. “Come and sit by me, young lady. You can enchant me with conversation, as part of your payment for passage.”

She really just wanted to sleep in the back of the cart, but she could tell she had no choice. She took her seat.

“Will you do me the honor of telling me your name?” the merchant said.

“It’s...Leliana,” Yvanne said.

“Leliana. That’s a beautiful name. Is it Orlesian?”

“I dunno. I’ve never been to Orlais.”

That was the right thing to say; the merchant had been to Orlais, and was content to spend the next several minutes telling her all about the glory of the markets of Val Royeux, the colored silks, the fine clothing, the masks and intrigues of it all. While he prattled, Yvanne let herself relax.

“Forgive me—I’ve been rude,” the merchant said, startling her out of her stupor. “You must be weary.”

He offered her a waterskin, dried jerky, and bread that was only somewhat stale. All this she devoured so quickly it hurt going down. The merchant chuckled to see it, and she didn’t have nearly enough energy to be irritated at him for it. She was too busy being grateful.

The food and water granted her enough energy to restore her magical resources; at least enough that she could layer enough creation spells over herself to feel alert and capable again. Subtly, subtly, so as not to alert the merchant. She didn’t need him knowing what she was, Warden or not. She so badly wanted to sleep; the back of the cart was so tempting, there among the sacks of goods. But she didn’t dare sleep, in this stranger’s cart.

The whole road to Highever he prattled cheerfully about his journeys, requiring only the most token of responses from Yvanne. This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, that she didn’t have to do much talking; a curse, that it left her mind free to wander.

That’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t understand, and you never will. You never will. You never will. You never—

“But I’m boring you, aren’t I?” the merchant said jovially.

“No!” she said. “No, I...I’m just tired. How much further to Highever?”

“We’ve just passed the village of Hornbill, so I wager not much longer than an hour,” said the merchant. “Plenty of time, in fact, for you to explain how you managed to escape your Circle.”

Yvanne froze.

“Oh, come now,” said the merchant. “Surely you don’t think me quite so dull as all that. You are a mage, are you not? Don’t try to deny it.”

“What makes you think I’m a mage?”

“I’ve been here and again, I can tell a woman on the run when I see one.”

“That doesn’t mean mage. You don’t know what I’m running from.”

He chuckled. “True, true. Only you stink of lyrium. I wasn’t sure until you came closer, but at this range? No question of what you are, my dear. Come now, tell me where you’ve escaped from? Wycome? Kinloch? Surely not Kirkwall.”

“I didn’t escape,” she said. “I’m a free mage. A Grey Warden.”

The merchant snorted. “I’m sure. I suppose you were there atop Fort Drakon when the Hero of Ferelden slew the Archdemon, too?”

“I have papers—”

The merchant chuckled. “Papers, hah! Good one. As though I’ve never forged a document in my day. You must think me very stupid—but I assure you, I’m merely old. Now how about telling me the truth?”

Yvanne said nothing. What could she say? She wasn’t in uniform. Right now she wasn’t Warden-Commander Yvanne Amell, local hero to thousands, an imposing Grey Warden who deserved respect. She was underdressed and unkempt and covered in mud. Even she wouldn’t have believed herself.

“Very well,” the merchant harrumphed. “Keep your secrets. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to turn you over to the Templars.”

“You aren’t?”

He smiled at her. “Of course, my silence isn’t free. You can start by turning over the rest of your pretty baubles.”

At first she didn’t know how to respond. “You’re extorting me for jewelry?” she managed, then scoffed. “This stuff’s worthless, you realize.”

The merchant shrugged. “I’d wager they’re all as valuable or more than the one you gave me, as you were so willing to part from it. Come on, now, I gave you a valuable tip about the lyrium smell. You’ll want to find new clothes in Highever, maybe cut your hair. That’ll help hide it.”

Yvanne’s mind raced. The jewelry she’d been wearing when she’d fled, most of it enchanted with runes to make her spirit magic stronger—a lucky thing that she’d fallen asleep still wearing it—was far from worthless. In fact it was probably her only source of income for the foreseeable future. And she had no guarantee that this wretched man with his piggy eyes and curdled smile wouldn’t simply rob her and call the Templars anyway.

She had the legal grounds to challenge them, but since when did Templars mind the law?

“Thinking of killing me with magic, my dear?” the merchant said as her silence stretched on. “I wouldn’t recommend that. My route is well known to many, and I would be missed. Any fool would be able to tell I’d been killed by unnatural means, and that means Templars investigating, and I’m sure you’d prefer to avoid that.”

At that point the cart hit something in the road; something big enough to break the wheel and send the whole thing pitching to the side. The mules brayed and the merchant, swearing, brought them to a halt. He sighed and muttered something about always some damn thing and nobody maintaining the roads properly these days.

He got out of the driver’s seat and went around to look at the damage. If he had looked carefully, he might have noticed the ridge of earth that had splintered the wheel, with its sharp ninety-degree edges, was clearly unnatural. If he had not been so self-satisfied with his extortion scheme, he might have noticed Yvanne casting the spell that had put it there. And he might have noticed the glyph of paralysis she had placed by the wheel while he had wasted precious moments walking around the side of the cart.

As it was, he did none of those things, and found himself frozen in a half-bent position for the next minute at least.

Yvanne let out a breath.

“That’s not true, you know, about it being obvious you’d been killed by unnatural means,” she said. “I could slit your throat right now, and everybody would assume it was bandits.”

The merchant said nothing. Predictably.

“That was a very stupid thing to do for some jewelry,” she said.

She could have just slit his throat. No one would ever be the wiser, and she’d never have to worry about him again. She could even take his cart, and trade his goods, sell his mules; live on the income for months. If she let him go, she’d always be looking over her shoulder. Maybe get into altercations, with Templars, with others. Maybe have to kill even more people. More probably, get killed herself.

She remembered what it had felt like, to threaten Rolan, to really consider killing a helpless man, and—no, she would not do that.

The paralysis glyph was wearing off. She replaced it with a force cage just in time. The merchant regained the use of his limbs and fell to his knees, beating at the inside of the force cage with both fists. Whatever vile things he was shouting, Yvanne couldn’t hear them.

“Thanks for the tip about the lyrium smell,” she said. “And the food. I wouldn't have been able to cast anything without that. So thank you for that, and the ride, as well.” He couldn’t hear any of it, but she felt the need to say it.

Yvanne reached into the Fade and drew from it a spirit of Forgetting. It was a small thing, not much more than a wisp, just barely beginning to form an identity as Forgetting rather than an amorphous blob of Fade-stuff. It fluttered around her, curious, eager to take what memories it could. She gently directed it away from herself, towards the merchant.

She saw the panic in his eyes as he realized what was happening; she supposed he thought she was putting a demon in him, or something heinous like that. The spirit entered him, and he collapsed.

She hoped that the spirit would only take the past couple days from him, recent fresh memories—Yvanne’s face and existence at the least—and not much more. A few weeks at the most. Some larger spirits of this nature could erase a person’s whole life without meaning to. Victims would forget their lives, their names, every skill they’d learned since leaving diapers, ended up as drooling infants blank as the day they were born. It was horrifically sad to behold.

But this wouldn’t happen to the merchant, Yvanne assured herself. The spirit was small. A few weeks at the most.

The force cage faded, but the merchant didn’t move. He’d be unconscious for some time. Best that Yvanne be far away from here by then.

While he lay in the dirt she retrieved her amulet, then rifled through the contents of the cart. He carried mostly fine fabrics. She took the finest she could easily carry, and unharnessed one of the mules. It gazed at her with what she imagined was reproach. The merchant would only need one mule, with his lightened cart-load. He’d be fine. Confused, sure, but fine. It was more than what he deserved, for what he tried to do to her.

She ought to have killed him, she thought, leading the mule away. Vigil’s Keep had softened her, weakened her. It had made her forget what people were like.

She wouldn’t be forgetting again.

—

In Highever she sold the bolts of fabric and the mule first, just to be rid of them. It all came to far less than she’d hoped, and she came away thinking she ought to have bargained more, but it was enough for a change of clothes and a room at the first inn she saw. Not a nice room, but she got a hot meal and a bath in the bargain. There she scrubbed herself until she was sure the lyrium smell was gone. She’d grown so used to it that she’d forgotten how acrid-sharp it smelled to others, though she could only hope that the innkeeper and the merchants she’d traded with hadn’t recognized it. She thought about cutting her hair to be sure, but couldn’t bear it. Surely this one thing she could keep.

There she finally slept, in her shift and all her jewelry. Whatever dreams haunted her, she could not recall in the morning.

When she woke, evening had fallen again. The dark, the unfamiliar room, and the hard mattress disoriented her—this wasn’t her home. This wasn’t her bed. Why did her shoulder hurt? What had happened to her feet?Then she remembered.

You don’t understand, and you never will.

Maker, what had she done? Had the others noticed her absence yet? It had been nearly a full day, but she sometimes went many days without seeing those she counted friends. It might be a week or more until they all knew she’d fled. What would Loriel tell them? Would she tell them anything at all? Was she even thinking about her at all anymore?

She half-snarled and stumbled off the sagging mattress—and immediately slammed her foot into a bedside table so hard it splintered her big toenail.

She swore, bending to heal it—and hesitated. What if somebody saw? What if calling on magic at all made it easier for someone to spot her for what she was?

But she had Loriel’s parchment...didn’t she?

She rifled through her few possessions; the irrevocably ruined slippers, the torn and muddy house robe, the one bolt of cloth she wasn’t able to sell, a leather belt hung with pouches (mostly missing, now) of herbs, the plain linen dress she’d bought, though who knew if it would even fit her...

No parchment.

It was hardly surprising. She’d haphazardly jammed the document into her belt, and since then had fallen off a horse, twice. Who knew how long ago she’d lost it?

A heaviness settled in her chest, a weight like being deep underground. Now she didn’t have even the flimsiest of legal protections. And worse, she didn’t have Loriel’s handwriting, the only physical trace she had of her.

She hadn’t even read the full text before fleeing.

Loriel had done this to her. Had turned her out with nothing but a sheaf of parchment to her name. Had somehow foolishly believed that Loriel’s written word would protect her. The sheer arrogance of it all! To the void with her, to the void with her stupid bloody parchment. If Yvanne had still had it she would have burned it to a crisp. Her fists trembled, her eyes burned with fury, but she pushed herself up. To the void with her!

Yes, she was alone, she had almost nothing, and if the Templars found her, they would surely drag her back to Kinloch, and who knew what they’d do with her there. But she was damn well still alive, and she was going to live. And if Loriel didn’t want to do it with her, that was her fucking problem.

And, before the cloying darkness could settle in her chest again, Yvanne went downstairs to get a drink.

#dragon age #amell #surana #dragon age femslash #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

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the-cookie-of-doom · 4 years

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Highway to Hell - Part 1

The air conditioning broke some sometime after Baker, while the World’s Biggest Thermometer—visible from the freeway—proudly declared it was 115 degrees in big red numbers. There was no convenient place to stop and get it fixed. Stiles was sweating buckets in the passenger seat, his head out the window and panting like a dog. Mitch felt like he wanted to kill something.

“How much longer?” Stiles whined, ducking back into the cab. Mitch glanced down at his phone to check the GPS and their ETA, only to find it dead. Despite being plugged in.

“What the fuck.” Mitch pulled out the cord and found it frayed, rendering it useless. “You didn’t think to mention your damn charger doesn’t work?”

“Sorry! I meant to…” Mitch took a deep breath. The hot air wasn’t calming.

“Is yours charged?”

“Yeah.” Stiles squirmed around until he could pull his phone out of his back pocket. “But uh… I have no service.”

“Jesus Christ.” Mitch pulled over onto the sandy shoulder of the empty highway. Stiles jolted at the abrupt stop.

“Don’t kill me!”

“Don’t tempt me.” Mitch reached across Stiles—the latter who was bracing himself for his imminent death, face scrunched into a grimace and eyes shut tight—to take the folded up map out of the glovebox, then got out. After five hours in the car, he needed to stretch his legs. Stiles stayed in the car, watching through the windshield as Mitch spread the map out over the hood of the jeep.

“Do you see any signs?” Mitch called. He looked down both directions, and the highway stretched on for miles in each. There was nothing but red sand and baking asphalt, heat haze blurring the horizon.

Once deeming it safe—figuring his brother probably wouldn’t kill him and dump his body in the middle of the desert where it would never be found—Stiles clamored out of the jeep. He wouldn’t be surprised if the rubber soles of his converse were melting into the blacktop, his feet pulling stickily with each step. There was a cooler in the back that Mitch thought to fill with ice and waters before they left; at least one of them was prepared for disaster to strike. Stiles went back to grab two, handing one to Mitch when he rounded the vehicle. Mitch was still deliberating over the map.

“I think we’re about here,” he said, cracking open the water. Stiles held his own to the back of his neck, the condensation dripping down to soak his collar. “We’re two, maybe three hours out form this town; Pahrump, Nevada. We can stop there for the evening and see about getting the goddamn AC fixed.”

“Sounds good to me.” Stiles was already thinking of hotel with a pool. Cool blue water that would wash soothing water over his parched skin. Already he could sense the buzzards circling overhead, just waiting for him to drop. Mitch smacked him upside the head; he must have said that out loud again.

“Stop being dramatic.”

“I’m going to die out here.” Stiles didn’t have to look to know Mitch was rolling his eyes.

“Come on. Before I leave you here.” Once back in the jeep, Mitch handed Stiles the map and said, “Navigate.”

“Continue onwards,” Stiles said, squinting at the squiggly lines latticed over the map. Mitch reached over and showed Stiles where they were, traced the course they needed to follow.

“Shouldn’t be too hard, but everything looks the same so I want you to keep an eye out just in case.”

“Roger, roger.”

#cookie writes #stiles stilinski #mitch rapp #soon to be Sterek #they meet the hales in the next part

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pi-cat000 · 5 years

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MSA time travel idea (part 27)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25 Lewis POV 3

Part 28: here

MYSTERY POV

Mystery watches his youngest charge, Vivi Yukino, strangle her new vehicle's steering wheel and is disproportionately concerned. Human emotional drama is an unfortunately common occurrence and, in his experience, rarely leads to any significant long-term consequences. Usually, its effects are fleeting and far beneath his interests.

When had that changed?

Mystery resists an inclination to climb onto Vivi's lap least he risks distracting her and causing an accident. Instead, he watches, somewhat at a loss, while she glares at the road, tense and obviously worried for her missing friend's wellbeing. The lack of room in the compact truck cab has Mystery squashed between the two humans, giving him a good view of both as they stew in silence, discontent rolling off them in angry waves. Lewis, equally upset by their third member's sudden departure, is staring obsessively at the note Arthur had left behind. Not a habit which denotes a healthy mindset from what Mystery understands. Fortunately, he does not have to worry about distracting Lewis, and he leans his full weight into the other. His leaning gets him a scratch on the head but nothing more. An internal sigh and a minor physical huff of exasperation. There is not a lot a dog can do in these situations aside from offer small comforts. The movement does have the additional desired effect of catching Vivi's attention. Her eyes flick in their direction. A few minutes later and they are pulling into a gas station.

"Lewis. It's your turn to drive," Vivi orders, bringing the truck to a stop next to the appropriate pump. Lewis hastily hides the note and Mystery wonders who he thinks he is fooling with the action.

"Sure. Sorry. Didn't realise we'd been on the road for so long. I would have offered sooner." There is some shuffling while everyone clambers onto solid ground, Vivi waving away the apology.

"Don't worry about it. I kind of like it. It feels like I'm driving a tractor around with how high up it is. You know, when compared to the van."

She holds the door for Mystery to exit. There is a convenient patch of grass adjacent to the gas station, and he knows what she wants of him. One of the few downsides to this dog form is the prerequisite that the humans meet his dog needs. At times such as these, he wishes that the youngest Yukino were aware of his true nature to save her from the additional, unneeded pressure. Luckily, Mystery is probably the best, most well-behaved, dog in existence because he's done and jumping back into the truck before Lewis has finished refuelling.

"Where are you going?" Lewis asks after Vivi, catching her sleeve when she shuts the door on him and turns towards the gas station's attached burger stand. Mystery watches the humans share their small affectionate touches through the closed cab window. There has been a significant increase in this touchy-feely behaviour. Another indicator that all is not well.

"I'm just grabbing breakfast. Lunch. Or whatever," Vivi answers, walking backward a few steps, "You keep filling her up. I'll get the grub."

Lewis nods, "Don't get me anything with meat."

"You're paranoid," Vivi snorts, moving away.

"If you worked in a diner you'd be paranoid too. Not everyone is as clean as my parents," Lewis calls at her retreating form.

"Give a wave when you're done so I can pay for the gas as well," Is Vivi light response. Mystery observes Lewis's dementor deflate the moment Vivi is out of sight. The tall human is staring blankly at the petrol pump, mind obviously far from the task. Mystery places his paws near the window ledge, drawing close to the glass to get a better view. He does not believe he has ever seen the human in such a melancholic state, slumped and drooping. Concerning.

�� Ding. The pump clicks off, and Lewis does not seem to notice. Mystery, after another mental sigh, gives a loud yip to catch attention. Honestly, these human emotional states seemed to be as much a hindrance as they were a benefit.

Vivi returns not moments later with several packets of fries and three burgers, of which he is fed several meat paddies. All his dog food is gone with the van. It's not a terrible loss, dog food being a close contender for the worst part of being a dog.

As they return to the highway, Mystery can't help but admit that, as much as would criticise humans for their erratic and illogical behaviour, this disturbance has affected him in ways he could not have anticipated. When had Mystery lost that impartial distance, carefully cultivated and maintained over decades of human interactions? When had he started to care for the humans he had long sworn himself to? It has crept upon him like the summer fading slowly to autumn. All those blissful years spent pretending to be a dog and getting showed with attention and affection has blinded him to winters approach. This sense of attachment and concern is more binding than any oath.

Of course, like many of his failures, it is only after the fact and long past the point of return, that he realises his blunder. Mystery cannot deny that he has grown to care. He cares not only for Vivi, a quirk he can attribute to duty, but also for her friends to which he has no obligation. Not only does he care, he cares immensely, about both their physical and emotional wellbeing. It is a grave misstep for a being of his longevity.

Nevertheless, there is nothing to be done now but proceed according to his new priorities. It is a shame that he had not fully realised these priorities before Arthur's flight. Mystery, being the only one to have reason to suspect supernatural foul play, could have perhaps acted to prevent it. After Arthur's bright golden aura had simultaneously doubled in strength while also dulling in colour overnight, Mystery had been on the lookout for some form of interference. The sudden reduction of loving pets, riveting games of fetch-the-stick, and instances of Arthur chattering at him about his current interests, also pointed towards Arthur having realised Mystery's secret. An unfortunate encounter with another being like himself fit somewhat in explaining the sudden aversion to all things supernatural.

Mystery has been biding his time while he worked to discover the extent of the human's new knowledge. He had planned on pulling Arthur aside to offer an explanation, belay any understandable fear, and perhaps find a cause behind his changing aura. Now it is too late, and Mystery is left hoping that Arthur's abrupt exit is a result of human silliness and not something more sinister.

"Viv, can you pull up a map to the hospital. I think that's the sign for the exit," Lewis's deeper voice breaks the silence which has been sitting about them like an itchy blanket for the past several hours. A quick glance at Vivi's watch tells Mystery that it is almost 5 pm and they have been on the road for almost four hours since their last stop. His dog body has gone stiff with disuse. Usually, he would play up his dog persona and whine for a break. Today, he lets the façade rest, if only minimally.

"Oh yeah. Sure," Vivi pulls out her phone and begins typing, "We've been past the hospital a load of times. It's in the middle of town on the far side of Milton High. Near the university and that new research centre."

As she talks, she pulls up the map, and, finding no space for on the cab's cramped dashboard, holds it out for Lewis to see.

"I know," Lewis's eyes flicker to the phone and back to the road. The indicator for the turn signal is flipped on. "But I don't think I've ever actually been to the hospital. And this truck is harder to drive than the van, so there's more risk of me taking a wrong turn and getting lost."

Vivi nods in agreement, exhaling, propping up her arm so she can continue to hold the phone for Lewis, "You know, I bet this truck is close to the same weight as the van when you add up all the crap we carry around, but the van handles a million times smoother. Wonder why that is?"

"Arthur does work on it obsessively. Maybe that has something to do with it?" Lewis points out before lapsing into silence his face pinched up in that strained way it does when he thinks of something unpleasant. Silence once again falls over the group.

A traffic jam only servers to sour already frayed nerves, making Vivi jitterily and irritable and Lewis increasingly dourer. Thankfully, the negative vibes put out by the humans mostly disperses upon Vivi pointing out their destination fast approaching on the horizon. The pick-up truck, being too long for any of the hospital's provided parking, means they are forced to circle the block several times over. They find a rest space outdoors, and a five-minute walk from their destination. Mystery watches in slight bewilderment as the humans take exemptional offence to the setback. More erratic human behaviour. Concerning.

The sooner they find their third member, the sooner all his charges can re-establish an equilibrium amongst each other, allowing his own worry and concern to abate. Then- after seeing to whatever supernatural force is interfering with Arthur-he can begin restoring his distance. As much as Mystery has adored watching this small group grow into a family unit, building their positive emotional bonds and being included among them, these erratically negative mood shifts are a harsh reminder that humans are as fickle as they are short-lived.

Mystery releases a tiered snuff, allowing Vivi to carry him against her chest, to hasten the crossing of several intersections all crawling with various forms of transport. Humans did have a tendency towards packing themselves onto smaller and smaller plots of land.

"Excuse me! Mam! Madam!"

Their entry into the hospital is barred by a thin man in uniform grey. The stranger steps suddenly into Vivi's path and Mystery has half a mind to growl in annoyance.

"There are no animals allowed in the hospital. You'll have to leave the dog outside."

"What," Vivi almost barges straight into the stranger, and Mystery feels her grip tighten slightly in irritation, "Crap. Right. Forgot about that."

She swears again under her breath. Once again, Mystery is reminded of this form's disadvantages. Like the now fretting Vivi, he too forgets that dogs are often not welcome into human buildings.

"You go ahead," Vivi is speaking to Lewis, who hovers to the side, "I'll take Mystery back to the truck."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Go find Arthur. That's more important. This should only take me ten minutes."

When Lewis hesitates for a second too long she continues with a sympathetic hum, "I'll probably beat you to the room anyway, even with a head start. Hospitals are like mazes and your sense of direction is terrible."

A disgruntled but amused frown follows the joke. Lewis protests briefly, "That's a bit unfair. I only got lost once," turning. He continues into the building while Vivi spins, a few choice words of discontent directed at the still staring security guard, and powerwalks back in the direction they'd just come. They cut across several roads, dodging people and cars alike.

It is not until they are back at the pick-up truck, Vivi having placed him on the ground so she can retrieve keys, that Mystery smells the tangy scent of a human who has had dealings with creatures not of this plane. A quick glance around and it is easy to spot the offending person. The man's aura is warped and stained in several places, and he's watching Vivi from several paces away. Mystery immediately lets out a small growl to alert Vivi to the potential danger. Usually, he would ignore such tainted humans, their presence, while not common, is hardly strange. Humans had an unfortunate tendency towards messing around with forces beyond their understanding. Today, with all the drama, he is on edge.

Vivi's attention snaps to him and then to their surroundings in search of his enacted distress. The man, wearing a scuffed leather jacket and donning an aggressive expression, pushes himself forward upon their combined attention. Mystery notes the wrappings and sling, holding one arm secured, signalling severe injury. The smell of blood and infection confirms his suspicion. With a significant amount of facial bruising, this man is looking awfully mangled in Mystery's expert opinion.

"Hey. You got a moment?" The beat-up human asks in a gruff voice. Mystery growls from down by Vivi's feet to discourage any potential aggression. The action gets him a quick once over and nothing more.

"Saw you arrive with that dude in purple, spotin the purple hair-do. He doesn't work at that weird-ass diner in Tempo, does he? Called 'Pepper and salt' or whatever."

"Do I know you?" Vivi asks shorty, putting both hands on her hips, glaring.

The action gets a grunted, "No. But you might know the guy I'm after. Goes by the name of Arthur. That ring any bells?"

NOTE: Guess which character it is! Just kidding, there's only one supporting character left alive at this point (unless you count Claire the receptionist) so not a huge pool to guess from. Note to self: introduce larger supporting cast in early chapters. Anyway, thanks for the comments on the last part it was genuinely encouraging to see people enjoying sections with heavier character introspection. I wasn't sure about this Mystery POV, so thanks again for giving me the push needed to finish it off. On a somewhat related note, sorry about the wait between parts, it's that time of the semester where everything is due, so updates on this fic are going to be super slow for the next few months. Trust me when I say that I'd pick writing fanfiction over work, essays and exam study any day of the week :(

Part 28: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #Lewis pepper #Vivi Yukino #mysery #introspective #angst #traffic was the real villain #mystery the dog

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pugoata · 5 years

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Preview of (potential) next fic?

Here’s a little bit of my next Bumbleby fic. Keep going, y/n? Hitchhiking!

This is UNPOLISHED. This is AWKWARD. This is NOT final. This isn’t even a full chapter (if it’s going to have chapters at all). This was literally me typing shit out on a cellphone while waiting for my car to be looked at. And this is what you get.

If you don't stop, your life will pass you by.

Why did the voice in her head have to be so fucking dramatic?

Keeping one eye on the road, Yang kept an eye on the figure that was getting closer. This chick wasn't dressed for hitchhiking. She wasn't dressed for the desert, either. She was holding a pair of heels in one hand and sticking out a desperate thumb with the other. This wasn't an interstate; Yang couldn't even begin to think how long she'd been waiting for someone to drive by. As much as her brain wanted to call this girl out for being a dumbass, she couldn't bring herself to even think it.

Yang ground the truck to a halt, then slid across the bench seat to unlock the door.

The girl-- no, the woman was slightly red-faced as she clambered in. But even red-faced, this chick was gorgeous. Yang was glad her aviators hid her stare while she pulled herself together.

“I hate to ask, but do you have any water?”Yang nodded, reaching behind her to the large pack of water bottles.

“Y'know, if you plan on being outside in a fuckin’ desert, you should have at least prepared for it.”

An annoyed expression crossed her face, but Yang could sense mild embarrassment. If she hadn't been glowing with a burgeoning sunburn, it would definitely have been embarrassment. She took the water bottle somewhat stiffly.

“If I'd planned on it, I would have.”

Yang raised an eyebrow. “Car break down or something?”

“Something like that.” The woman angled herself in front of the air conditioning and for a moment, she looked blissful.

“I guess I won't judge too much, then,” Yang replied with a small grin, willing this woman to relax.

Yet there was no sign of any broken-down cars. Yang was curious, but didn't ask. The woman was chugging her water, downing it before they even reached the speed limit. Yang pulled her left leg underneath her, assuming a more comfortable driving position. Her eyes flicked over to the other woman, trying to see if she was going to say anything about Yang's barefoot driving habits, but she had already turned, digging around for another water bottle.

“Make yourself at home,” Yang remarked dryly. The woman's golden eyes darted up to Yang, abashed.

“Sorry. I'm just really thirsty.”

Yang waved an arm. “No worries. How long have you been out there?”

The woman shrugged. “A few hours, I guess.”

“Shit. In that getup?” Self-conscious, the woman folded her arms over her exposed stomach. “If you're not bright red tomorrow, you owe me a drink.”

“Joke’s on you. No cash. So if you're the kind of person who picks up hitchhikers to rob them, I'm sorry to say that I'm nothing but a disappointment.”

Yang wanted to say, That's not it at all, I don't usually pick up hitchhikers, but she couldn't form the words around the wad of gum in her mouth. Or maybe it wasn't the gum. The moment passed, and Yang was glad she said nothing. The song changed, and the cat ears on the woman's head twitched.

“‘I've Got A Name,’” she mused. Yang chanced a look at her. She looked thoughtful.

“Do you?” Yang asked. The woman gave a low chuckle. Goosebumps ran up Yang's neck. It was like listening to church bells, the way they shuddered through her whole body and hit some sort of nerve in her soul. Shit.

“The song. ‘I've Got A Name.’”

“For real? You like Jim Croce?” That caught Yang off-guard. This woman didn't seem the type, with her high heels and sophisticated demeanor. She shrugged a shoulder.

“My mom did. She always listened to this kind of music.”

Yang noted the past tense, but left it alone.

“But you know the song.”

The woman finally looked over and gave Yang a small smile. “Word for word.”

“I'm Yang,” she said suddenly, taking her eyes off the road long enough to look into those golden eyes. “I'm assuming you've got a name, too?”

“Bold assumption.” The woman's smile never faltered. “Blake.”

Yang looked back to the road, hoping the heat didn't show on her cheeks.

Your life will pass you by, huh? she thought.

“So, where are you headed, Blake?” Yang asked, tasting the name on her tongue. It sounded right, she decided. It was a good name to say. Blake's smile faded and she gave that one-shoulder shrug again.

“Not really sure yet. What about you?”

“Vale.” Blake's dark eyebrows shot into her bangs.

“That's like… on the other side of the country.”

“I'm road tripping.”

“Alone?”

The words slipped out of Yang's mouth before she could stop them. “Not anymore.”

To her relief, Blake laughed. “For now, anyway.”

An easy silence fell, listening to Croce crooning Moving me down the highway, rolling me down the highway, moving ahead so life won't pass me by.

Yang wondered for a moment if he'd ever stopped moving long enough to pick up a hitchhiker.

“Are you hungry?” she asked Blake, cursing her bad manners for not thinking of this sooner. If Blake had been out for hours, she had probably missed lunch. “I've got a bunch of road trip snacks back there.”

“I saw your box of Gushers,” Blake commented with a smirk. “What are you, eight?”

“Twenty-two, thanks for asking, jerk. Now you’re officially not allowed to touch ‘em.”

Again, Yang wanted to bite her tongue after her quip, but Blake made that laugh again. It was worth it if it made her laugh, Yang thought, feeling relieved, and strangely pleased, once more.

All defiance, Blake reached into the box and grabbed a small packet. “What was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of this pack of Gushers.”

Yang burst out laughing. “Fine. I’ll let you win this one, Blake.”

She just loved how that name felt in her mouth.

The camaraderie that settled between them was bizarre. Yang got along with almost everyone, true, but with Blake… it was natural. It might have been eerie if it wasn't so damn pleasant. She watched Blake out of the corner of her eye as she forced herself to eat her prize. Blake was grimacing with each chew and Yang had to fight back a snort of laughter.

“I hope it was worth it,” she teased, pointing to the plastic bag she used for trash. Blake dropped the empty packet in.

“Absolutely. Victory is sweet. Too sweet, in this case, but sweet all the same.”

“I like a girl who doesn't back down from a challenge,” Yang replied with a toothy grin.

A strange look passed over Blake's face, and for the first time, Yang sensed some kind of chasm between them.

“Right,” Blake said, sounding distant. “Uh, can I have some of those crackers back there?”

“Help yourself.”

“Thanks, Yang.”

If she liked the way Blake's name sounded, hearing her say her own was even better.

Yang let silence fall so Blake could eat in peace. She turned the volume up a little, trying to relax with the Simon and Garfunkel that was playing. But how could she relax when she felt Blake's eyes on her? She knew she was imagining it; every time she looked over, Blake was staring at the passing cacti. Yang shook out her blonde hair, sweating a little despite the cold air.

Blake didn’t seem to want further conversation, so Yang let the silence hang. She didn’t want to pry into a stranger’s business, and besides, the smaller woman looked tired. It could have been from the hot sun or the dehydration, but Yang noticed every time Blake made an abrupt movement, as if staving off sleep. When they pulled into a gas station a couple hours later, Blake pulled her heels back on. Again, Yang could feel those eyes studying her as she pulled up to a pump.

“So, you're road tripping to Vale… in a truck.” Blake's words were even, almost not trying to be critical. Yang shrugged, pushing her shades up as she stepped out of the truck.

“This truck's my baby. I'd drive her to hell and back,” she replied cheerfully. Her friends (and especially her dad) had given her enough shit about going cross-country in this thing that she wasn't even offended by Blake’s tone.

Blake only smiled. Seeing it head-on was different that sneaking peeks of it out of the corner of her eye. It was a smile for her, Yang thought with odd triumph.

Blake hopped out of the truck and stretched.

“Is this where you want me to drop you off?” Yang asked, crossing over to the passenger side while her tank filled. Blake considered, then shook her head.

“If you don’t mind… maybe the next town. This one doesn’t seem to have much in it.”

“I don’t mind.” Yang looked over and dared a wink. She had hoped Blake would smile, but she startled that Blake only stared.

“Your eyes,” Blake said, surprised. She leaned closer, peering into Yang's face. She tried to fight of a blush, but knew she was failing. She was so close. “You've been wearing those sunglasses this whole time. You've got beautiful eyes.”

And she gave up hope of getting rid of her blush.

“Uh… thanks?” Yang tried to play it cool, but knew she was failing. “I like yours, too.” She winced. She sounded stupid.

Blake only smiled. Seeing it head-on was different that sneaking peeks of it out of the corner of her eye. It was a smile for her, Yang thought with odd triumph.

“I’ll be right back. Restroom.” Blake turned on her heel, leaving a gaping Yang in her wake.

She probably looked like an idiot, standing there until she heard the pump stop filling. She blinked, shook her head, and tried to find her equilibrium. Blake had completely fucked it up and Yang had no idea where she stood anymore.

Freefall. That was a good word.

“So… you were just out in the middle of the desert,” Yang said when they were back on the road. “No food, no water, no fuckin’ sunscreen, and no cars for miles. Y’know, I’m beginning to think that you must have fallen from heaven or something and--”

Blake rolled her eyes. “Is this supposed to be a pickup line? And you’re going to tell me I’m an angel or something?”

Yang blew her lips, amused and a bit embarrassed. “Absolutely not. There’s a strip of road a little ways from here called the Extraterrestrial Highway, y’know.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m an alien?”

“You could be!” Yang narrowed her eyes. With Blake’s compliment in mind, she had taken the sunglasses off for a while. “Are you here to abduct me?”

“You’re the one with the truck, dumbass.” It looked like Blake was trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably. “If anyone’s getting abducted, I’m sure it’ll be me.”

“So I’m the alien now? Damn, first you steal my Gushers and now I’m an alien. For a hitchhiker, you’re pretty ungrateful.”

“And for a roadtripper, you’ve made a few questionable decisions.”

“Such as?” Yang found herself trying to hide her own smile.

“Well, the truck can’t be good on gas. And then you picked up a hitchhiker…”

“Oh, shut up for a sec.” Yang cranked the volume. “This is my jam!”

Blake listened for a moment, then burst out laughing as Yang started singing along with the instrumentals. “Africa is your jam?”

“Shhh!” Yang held up a finger and started singing the verses, tapping the steering wheel in beat with the drums. She felt drunk. It wasn’t just the enjoyment of the song. The way Blake’s laughter punctuated the song, off-beat, was making her almost giddy. She was aware Blake was bobbing her head in time, eyes on Yang through it all.

When the instrumental break came on, Yang started making “da-na-na” and “doo-di-doo” noises with whatever those fucking instruments were. This was the hard part. She always got too out of breath and came in late on the refrain.

But--

“Hurry, boy, she’s waiting there for you!” Blake sang.

Yang almost missed the next entrance. She rounded her wide eyes on Blake, who was giving her a sly smile.

They finished the song together. It had been a while since Yang had gotten to rock out to this song with Ruby, but Blake was a lot more in-tune. For some reason… singing it with Blake was just better. They found a balance with the rest of the song easily, slipping into natural, impromptu duet. Yang was out of breath by the end after singing along with the final instruments.

“Holy shit!” she yelled, laughing. “Fuck, that was awesome.”

For a split second, Blake’s expression was free, open. For that second, she wasn’t hiding behind a wall and Yang could see eagerness, joy, thrill.

It was fucking beautiful.

Smoothly, Blake slid her features back into that mysterious, somewhat aloof default. But it didn’t fool Yang. She knew what Blake kept inside now.

And it was beautiful.

#rwby #bumbleby #margaret cant fucking stop

153 notes · View notes

welcometophu · 4 years

Text

Into the Split: Avalanche 1

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Avalanche 1

[ Previous | First | Next ]

The approaching rumble of the Jeep is almost familiar by now. Nikolai pulls aside the curtain to confirm that he’s right just as Mikhail parks in front of their small house.

Seth comes down the stairs, his hair still wet, shirt sticking to his skin where he obviously rushed to get dressed after his shower. “Time to go?”

Nikolai opens his arms, and Seth drifts closer. By the time Mikhail opens the door after knocking, Nikolai has Seth wrapped close. Nikolai presses a kiss to Seth’s temple, then noses at his cheek until Seth looks up so Nikolai can kiss him.

They had a good evening and a quiet morning, alone and safe for the first time in what feels like forever. It’s hard to think about going back out into the real world. And harder yet to think about going beyond the borders of Havenhill.

Mikhail coughs. “I thought I was taking you both out for a driving lesson.”

Seth’s calm wraps Nikolai in warmth. Seth cups Nikolai’s face, slides a thumb along his cheek.

They’ll be okay.

Nikolai takes his hand, winds their fingers together.

As long as they’re together, they’ll be okay.

“We’re ready to go when you are,” Seth says.

Nikolai hands Seth a jacket before shrugging into one of his own. They have new mittens and hats as well, and Nikolai remains amazed at the generosity of Havenhill. Even knowing that they are family, and that they will pay for these items going forward, it seems like sweet luxury to be handed brand new protection against the elements.

Mikhail hands them each a pair of soft gloves. “Easier for driving, if it’s cold. The Jeep takes some time to heat up, and it hasn’t managed it yet while I was driving here from home. However, it’s trying hard to be spring out there right now so you might not need gloves at all after a bit. Who’s going first?”

Nikolai nudges Seth forward. “I remember Seth talking about driving all the time when we were kids, and it was still a possibility. He should get the first shot.”

Seth follows Mikhail outside, getting into the driver’s seat of the Jeep and paying close attention as Mikhail helps him adjust the seat and mirrors. It seems strange to sit behind Seth instead of next to him, but Nikolai knows he’ll get his turn soon enough. He also doesn’t think this is going to be a single event; no one is a natural talent at driving. This will take multiple tries to learn.

“Do you remember Mom’s minivan?” Mikhail asks. “Or that little red car I had when I went to college?”

Nikolai nods. “She showed us all how it worked. When we were leaving to meet up with you, she showed Seth and I how the car started, and the basics of putting it in drive, using the brake and gas, using the emergency brake.” He’s amazed at how even his voice sounds when it feels like he’s shaking on the inside. He wasn’t prepared to talk about the past right now, and it swiftly reminds him of everything they’ve lost along the way. It’s a chill rush through him, squeezing at his heart. His breath shudders, and when he glances at Mikhail, he can see the tense line of his jaw before he answers.

Mikhail exhales. “Yeah. Okay, I can see why she’d do that. Anyway. The point I actually wanted to make is that this Jeep is nothing like that.”

“Helpful,” Seth mutters dryly.

Nikolai leans over the seat, watching as Mikhail gets Seth settled with his feet on the pedals—three, instead of two. Mikhail makes him put the car in neutral and shift through the manual gears several times before they start to move.

Nikolai laughs when the car jerks backwards, then immediately turns off.

“Don’t worry, you’ll suck just as much,” Mikhail says confidently.

“Thanks,” Nikolai grumbles, the laugh fading. The fact that Mikhail is probably right doesn’t help at all.

None of it is easy, and Nikolai watches avidly, hoping that by observing he’ll get past the first pitfalls that Seth falls prey to. The car jerks and stalls several times before Seth manages to get it backed up and turned around to head down the dirt road. Pawel, Mac, and Alaric stand on the steps of their house as the Jeep drives by. They stay carefully out of the way until Seth’s past, then rearrange themselves in front of the house. Nikolai watches out the back window as Mac and Alaric do what looks like some kind of complicated fighting dance with each other. Pawel’s gaze lingers on the Jeep for a long moment before he turns his attention back to the other two.

“Okay, I want you to keep accelerating,” Mikhail says quietly.

Seth presses on the gas until the Jeep rumbles loudly and feels as if it might shake apart.

“Now push down on the clutch, shift into second, then switch from clutch to gas slowly—I said slowly,” Mikhail repeats as the Jeep shudders to an abrupt halt.

“That was slow.” Seth drags his hands through his hair. Nikolai struggles to keep a straight face as Seth glances back at him. “I feel you laughing at me. This is going to be you in twenty minutes. Just remember that.”

“Remembering it doesn’t make it less funny,” Nikolai admits. “Feel free to laugh when it’s my turn.” He doesn’t really mind. He knows he’s going to be awkward, and it’s easy to just feel the joy of acting his age for once. He can be awkward and confused about something as normal as driving. It makes it a little easier to pretend that life is almost like they expected it to be when they were kids.

He sits back, crosses his arms, and braces his knees against the back of Seth’s seat. He tries to stay quiet, but a low laugh slips out every time Seth stalls the car, or when Seth throws his hands in the air, not sure if he’s supposed to be steering, shifting, or doing something else entirely. It takes time, but Seth does start to get the hang of it. They slowly make their way down the main drive without stalling once, and Seth manages to get into fourth gear on the road into town.

When Seth parks the Jeep in front of Mikhail’s house, it only jerks a bit after he brakes, and he manages to shut it off before it stalls.

“Not bad,” Mikhail says. He clasps Seth’s shoulder, and there’s a low wave of appreciation mixed with sorrow all around them.

Nikolai thinks about what this could have been like if the world had turned out the way it was supposed to. He imagines Seth’s dad teaching them to drive instead, his dark eyes serious when they struggled with the concepts. He wonders if Seth remembers how easily irritated his father was with failure, or if he’s remembering only the good things.

Nikolai doesn’t think it matters, in the end. They’re here and now, and it’s better to remember the past as past.

He changes places with Seth, pausing outside the Jeep when Seth squeezes his hand and presses a kiss to his cheek. Once Nikolai’s settled into the driver’s seat, it seems even more daunting than it did while watching. He needs to somehow hold the steering wheel, handle the shift, and deal with three pedals while he only has two feet. He tests pressing the pedals down, runs through the gears while he has the car in neutral. “Yeah,” he mutters under his breath. “This has to be hysterical to any outside watcher. This is ridiculous. It’s like they meant to torture us. Couldn’t we learn on a less complicated car?”

“You could,” Mikhail agrees. He reaches across to help Nikolai position his hands again, nudges his knee until his right foot is on the brake instead of the gas. “But then you couldn’t drive the Jeep. Believe me, any other car will be easy after you get this.”

Hah. Right.

Nikolai’s positive that Seth must be laughing, but he honestly can’t even register it. There isn’t a spare bit of brain left for dealing with anything other than figuring out how to get his hands and feet in the right places at the right time in order to move this metal monster forward without killing anyone around them (or themselves). He inches down the street, relieved not to stall the car, but uncertain how to accelerate past second gear. When an intersection approaches where he knows he’ll have to turn, he panics completely, slams on the brakes, and the car shudders to a stop and stalls.

In the back seat, Seth cackles.

Nikolai raises one hand, middle finger extended, then quickly gets that hand back on the wheel as Mikhail reaches across to twist the key and start the car again. Seth’s amusement lingers, but at the same time, he leans forward, one hand on Nikolai’s shoulder to calm him. Nikolai sinks into the touch, narrows his focus down to his hands and feet and the road in front of him. By the time he manages to go five minutes without stalling, his fingers are cramping around the steering wheel.

He slows down as they travel through the center of town, intending to turn toward Mikhail’s home, but Mikhail shakes his head. “We’re going outside the wards.”

Nikolai takes his feet of the pedals and Jeep coasts to a stop, guttering into a stall. “What?”

“What about the scanners?” Seth asks. “You’re not planning on taking us on the highway, are you?”

Mikhail shakes his head, motions for Nikolai to start up again. “I’m not planning on taking us on a highway,” he says, voice low. “Not a major one. There’s an old state route that heads northeast toward the Vermont border, or southwest toward Albany. It’s not traveled often, and it’s generally safe. We use it when we need to get somewhere quickly, and you should know how to drive somewhere other than a neighborhood. This will give you practice.”

Nikolai’s fingers tighten on the wheel. “It won’t be safe.”

“I said it’s generally safe.” Mikhail’s voice is slow and even. “Nikolai, I just got you back. I’m not going to put us in danger for a driving lesson. Start the car. We’re just going to drive to that main road, then go down it towards Albany. We won’t get near the walls.”

“The walls are outside of Troy.” Seth pushes his glasses up his nose, holds them in place with his finger. “They’re closer than you think.”

“I know exactly where the walls are,” Mikhail counters. “I’ve seen them.”

Nikolai’s chest is tight. “You’ve seen them? You’ve been that close to—” He cuts off, closing his eyes. Seth grips his shoulder, fingers digging in, and Nikolai focuses on that. “Why would you do that?”

“Someone needs to,” Mikhail says quietly. “We take turns. We know not only where the borders to Havenhill lie, but where the borders for humanity are as well. We need to know this, Nikolai, in order to keep ourselves safe. We can’t just cut ourselves off and expect that to work. So yes, we know the borders of the Albany walls, and we know just far they come out from Albany itself. We know where the communities are, and that’s why I know this is safe.” He pauses, waiting for Nikolai to open his eyes. “Start the car and drive.”

Nikolai’s fingers shake as he twists the key and the Jeep rumbles to life again. He inches forward, driving at a snail’s pace until he reaches the corner that would take him back to his new home. Before he can turn, Mikhail touches the steering wheel and points forward.

They’re going to do this.

Nikolai hates the way his hands still shake, the way he can feel his pulse pounding in his ears. Even Seth’s hand on his shoulder isn’t enough to keep him calm. He accelerates when Mikhail tells him to, managing to get into fifth gear on a semi-straight patch of road. They drive by houses that look as if they were abandoned long ago, fallen into disrepair with broken windows and peeling paint.

“We’re outside of Havenhill now,” Mikhail says, his voice still carefully even.

“You’re not going to spook me,” Nikolai mutters. “Not any more than I already am. I’m pretty sure I can’t panic more without curling up into a tiny ball and screaming.”

“I really don’t want you to do that while you’re driving.”

Nikolai risks a glance at Mikhail; he’s not laughing.

Okay, so they’re both being serious.

Nikolai huffs. “I mean it. Just talk. Please.”

“If you think we need to know something, tell us,” Seth adds.

“You’re going to come to a big intersection up here,” Mikhail says. “Slow down so you can turn right onto the road. If you went left, you’d head for Vermont, and straight would take you to Unity. Everything around here is abandoned, or at least, most of it is. We’ve scouted in Unity, and the university is empty. There are people in Valiant; that school decided to turn itself into some kind of a compound and we don’t go there. They built walls, used technology to create their own safe space. As far as we know they’re human, so we don’t want to risk it.”

“But they could be Talents?” Seth asks.

“It’s not worth the risk.”

Mikhail points down the road, and Nikolai accelerates again. When Mikhail encourages him, Nikolai slowly gains speed until he feels like he’s racing along, the car barely under his control. The steering wheel shakes under his fingertips, and the Jeep seems to judder beneath his feet. Nikolai’s heart races, and he grips the steering wheel tightly as he navigates.

Mikhail doesn’t tell him to turn, so Nikolai just keeps driving through the gentle curves and slopes of the road.

They pass an abandoned golf course, and Nikolai recognizes a sign carved into a tree saying that it isn’t safe for Talents to shelter there. He touches the gas, goes a bit faster until they’re past. On the other hand, the dilapidated antique store only a mile or so past it has a subtle sign of safety.

Nikolai almost slows and turns in, to see if anyone is there who needs help. He eases back on the gas, but Mikhail shakes his head, puts his hand on the shift before Nikolai can reach for it. “We check all the known nearby safe houses regularly,” he says. “Don’t worry. Alia takes care of anyone in need.”

Seth has let go Nikolai and sits twisted in his seat, face out of view of Nikolai’s mirror, pressed against the glass. “What do scanners look like?” he asks. Nikolai remembers the things hanging low over the large highways from his childhood again. There’s nothing like that out here, just a two lane road and nothing much else in sight.

Mikhail’s quiet.

Seth sits back. “Mikhail?”

“We don’t know,” Mikhail admits. “Val and Ethan think they’re an urban legend. Something made up to scare—”

Nikolai slams on the brakes, trying to stop, downshift, and turn into the parking lot of some kind of abandoned shop all at once. The car jerks to a stop and sits there, half on the road and half off. “What?” he says.

“The scanners—”

“No,” Nikolai says. His hands are shaking too hard to turn the key, so he gives up and sits there in the dead car, trying to shift back into first gear and failing as the gears stick. “I’m not going any further. No. If there’s a chance that there could be something out here to find us—if there’s a risk—I’m not doing it. Maybe you feel safe, Mikhail, but I just spent the last two years of my life running away. I want to know you have proof that it’s safe, not just a belief that all the bad things are just urban legends.” He glares at his brother, tries to will him to understand the way the thought makes Nikolai hot and cold all at once, until he’s shaking with the sensation. “We’re going back to Havenhill. I’m not leaving again unless I absolutely have to, and the world had better be burning down if that’s true.”

It’s a terrible choice of words, bringing a vivid memory of flames to mind. Nikolai fights against it, fights against the way his hand wavers.

“Put one foot on the clutch, the other on the brake—”

Nikolai shakes his head, undoing his seat belt. “You can drive back.” He gets out and climbs into the back with Seth, tangling their hands together and holding on.

Mikhail takes over the driver’s seat. He turns around in the empty lot and takes them back down the road the way they came. Nikolai’s breath slowly comes back to even, matching Seth’s as Seth holds him. There are small drips from Seth’s curls that are still drying after his morning shower, and Nikolai closes his eyes and focuses on that sensation rather than the idea that they are driving down this open road, exposed to humans and Shadows alike.

“I’m sorry,” Mikhail says when they make the turn to head back to Havenhill. “I promise, you’re safe. If you’re going to be a part of the community, you need to know—”

“Later,” Seth says, his hand curled around the back of Nikolai’s head. Nikolai inhales, and Seth exhales when he does.

“Later,” Nikolai echoes. He’s not ready for this, not yet.

Mikhail points out the groves as they drive back in through the main road, heading for the smaller old Benford place that now belongs to them. By the time they arrive, the sun is low in the sky and Nikolai’s stomach rumbles. It’s certainly not the first meal he’s ever missed, but it’s the first since they arrived in Havenhill.

As the Jeep passes the larger house, Pawel comes out and waves to them. Mikhail slows, cranking down the window as Pawel approaches.

“Driving lessons?” Pawel calls out.

This seems like as good a time as any to get the hell out of the car. Nikolai yanks the door open, spills out with Seth following him. Mikhail stays where he is, the Jeep rumbling softly as he keeps it running.

“Driving lessons,” Seth confirms. “We drove through the main town, then went out past the borders.”

Pawel’s gaze narrows thoughtfully. He opens his mouth, closes it again without speaking the thought. He reaches out, touches the hood of the Jeep. “It’s seen better days,” he murmurs. “Jeeps are good vehicles, though. Dependable, right up until they aren’t.”

“Did you have one?” Mikhail leans his elbow on the open window, watching Pawel.

“Learned to drive a Jeep even older than this one,” Pawel admits, tone soft and nostalgic. “A 1980 CJ-5. It was my mom’s car before she died, and my dad saved it for me and gave it to me when I got my permit. I drove it through high school—took it everywhere, including my first visit to PHU before I applied. It died before I ever got there, though. Broke down the summer after my senior year, and my boyfriend had to rescue me from the side of the road in his Porsche. Never heard the end of it.” He smiles slightly, shakes his head. “I had to get this intensely practical used car when I left for PHU, and didn’t get a good car until Chelsea had Conor and we needed something safe.”

He tells the story as if they should know who these people are. Nikolai vaguely remembers a mention of Conor, but the rest is a mystery to him.

“What did you think of your first lesson?” Pawel asks.

Pawel asks it like it’s nothing. Like there’s nothing out there other than the excitement of the first time behind the wheel.

“Terrifying being out on the road,” Seth says flatly. “We were worried about scanners. It was too open, too exposed.”

“Scanners?”

“They might be an urban legend,” Mikhail says. “Rumor has it the government tracks all travel to see if it’s human or Talent.”

Pawel’s eyes widen as he steps back. “So that would mean that they have a way to tell the difference between Talent and human. That someone has created technology to do that from a distance, which means….” He trails off, gaze on something in the distance.

He turns without another word and walks away, into the house.

“It’s easy to tell he’s not from around here,” Mikhail comments. He taps the side of the door. “Get in. I’ll drive you down to your house.”

Nikolai touches Seth’s hand, grateful when Seth holds on in return. Nikolai shakes his head. “We’ll walk,” he decides. “It’s not far, and I think I’ve had enough driving for today.”

Mikhail waits, the Jeep still idling, as Nikolai and Seth walk away. They’re halfway to the house when the tires spin against the ground as Mikhail turns the Jeep around to leave.

Nikolai exhales, trying to let the tension go. It’s nice to be with Seth and not feel like he has to explain what he’s feeling, or why he’s feeling it. Seth just holds on, slides an arm behind Nikolai’s back and walks with him until they’re home.

Home.

It’s still just a house, but as Nikolai stands in the small entryway, he can see small signs that they live here. Things that were left in place earlier that day rather than packing up, things that show that this is a place they can come back to.

“Better?” Seth asks. He takes his glasses off, exhales over them to mist the lenses before he wipes them clean with the bottom of his shirt.

Nikolai takes the glasses from Seth’s hand, walks them both into the living room and leaves the glasses on a table. He sits on the couch, pulling Seth to straddle him as he reaches up to hold him. Kiss him. Fall into the sensation of just being quiet and here and safe all over again.

“Yeah,” Nikolai murmurs against Seth’s lips. “Better. And getting a little more better all the time.”

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #into the split #phu twinned #twinned #its avalanche

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simplywylan · 5 years

Note

5. Angst

Oooh angstyyyyy!! This is gonna be a fun one, for sure. Let’s just hope it actually turns out okay lmao.

ANGST - 5: “Wake up! Please, wake up!”

Nico so wished he was at home with Levi right now. He so wished he could be cuddled up in bed next to him, getting the lie-in he so desperately needed. All he could think about was Levi right now, and how tired he was. AS much as he loved his job, he loved Levi just that little bit more.

So when he caught wind that Levi was in the hospital, when he was meant to be having a day off, he instantly started to panic. No one had told him why Levi was here, nor could they tell him why he was here. Levi wasn’t answering any of his texts messages. As far as Nico knew, Levi was going to spend the day with his mother, who Nico had only met twice before.

Nico rushed through the hospital, trying to find someone- anyone- that could give him more news on Levi. He wanted to know what was happening. He wanted to know if Levi was okay- damn it, he wanted to know if Levi was alive.

Suddenly, the hospital seemed unfamiliar, as if he was lost and didn’t know where to go. It was as if everything had been switched around like some cruel trick of nature just so Nico wasn’t able to find Levi. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he snapped back into the painful reality that surrounded him.

“Dr. Kim?” It was Taryn. He felt a little more relaxed now that she was here. Finally, there was something, someone, who could possibly give him some information on his boyfriend. However, the somber look coating her face really made no difference in how anxious he felt.

“Taryn,” He breathed out, almost a sigh of relief. “Do you- Do you know anything about Levi? Please, you must know something?”

Taryn nodded her head frantically, glancing around before dragging Nico off to a quieter part of the hospital. She didn’t want him to freak out when surrounded by patients and other staff members. It wouldn’t be pretty for him or the people watching it.

She pulled him into an empty room, closing the door behind them before turning to face Nico. He was fidgety, unable to stand still as he anxiously awaited the news Taryn had for him. She took in a calming breath, knowing what she was about to say could possibly ruin Nico’s day. No, it would ruin Nico’s day, without a shadow of a doubt.

“So?” Nico pondered, his fingers fiddling with the bottom on his scrub top. Taryn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blink back the tears that were threatening to spill. She couldn’t let Nico see her like this. That isn’t what he needed to see.

“Levi was in a car accident with his mother,” Taryn kept herself as calm and professional as she could. Nico froze as soon as Taryn told him the news, his hands dropping to his side. His mouth was agape as he tried to process what was happening, fresh tears welling up in his eyes, his glance shifting around the room. This couldn’t be happening. This could not be happening, not to Levi. “He is fine, trust me. He’s in surgery-”

“Surgery?!” Nico snapped at Taryn, though he didn’t mean to. He was absolutely petrified, his hands shaking by his side, eyes wide with fear. Taryn had never seen him so… So scared.

“His spleen ruptured due to the crash. His shoulder was also sprained but it was minor. It’s going to be okay.” Maybe she was just trying to convince herself that as well, but she knew that Nico needed to hear those words, whether or not he believed them.

Taryn wasn’t sure she quite believed them either. She was hopeful though. Levi was strong, he’d fight to pull through.

When Levi had finally come out of surgery, Nico had refused to leave his side. No matter how hard anyone tried to pry him away, he swore he would stay by Levi’s side until he woke up. He needed to be there when he woke up.

Even Link had tried his hand at convincing Nico to take a break, go get some food and some water to help himself feel better. Still, he refused to move. No one had ever seen Nico in such a state as this before and it was unsettling, since there was really nothing they could do to help him. Nothing they tried worked.

The cramping sensation in his hand wasn’t enough to cause him to release Levi’s hand from his own. It hurt more than he would care to admit, yet he was still overly adamant about keeping Levi’s hand gripped in his own.

“It could still be a while,” Link reminded Nico, resting a reassuring hand against his friend’s shoulder. Nico sniffed, blinked his eyes, nodded once. He felt empty. “If you won’t go get yourself something to eat or drink, can I?”

“No,” Nico responded, his throat hoarse. “I don’t need it.”

Link sighed. “If you say so. If you need anything, though, please let me know.” He patted his hand against Nico’s shoulder before he turned and left, leaving Nico to be alone with Levi. As soon as he heard the click of the door closing, he just broke down completely.

It wasn’t like Nico to cry. He hated it, in fact. He hated it how the tears made his eyes sting, only for them to become so painfully dry afterward. He hated how sore his throat would become, how he’d struggle to be able to talk for hours after. It had been drilled into his that crying wasn’t something that men did. However, right now, he couldn’t care less. He could have lost the love of his life today. He could still lose him.

Nico firmly squeezed Levi’s hand, resting his forehead against their intertwined fingers as he let out a muffled sob. His thumb grazed over the back of Levi’s hand, something he always did when Levi needed to be comforted. Right now, it was the only thing keeping him somewhat sane.

“Wake up! Please, wake up!” Nico begged through the tears, hiccuping as he finished his sentence. His chest felt tight, keeping him from being able to take a proper breath. He knew exactly what was happening to him.

It was as if the world around him was crumbling, his whole life just coming to an abrupt stop, without warning. It was as if he’d been thrown into the middle of a busy highway, desperately trying to find his way out, only to be hit as he tried. There had never been anything Nico had experienced that made him feel this way before. Not even when he was ten and the family dog ran away.

“Don’t leave me,” Nico sobbed as he glanced up at Levi from where he was sat, tears dampening his cheeks, his bottom lip quivering. He gave Levi’s hand another squeeze, though this time it was weaker. “Please. I can’t lose you.”

The burning sensation in his chest only grew at the thought of possibly losing Levi, never having the chance to hold him again, kiss him again, or tell him he loves him. Deep down, in his logical, sane mind, he knew that Levi would be absolutely fine. But right now, his irrational mind was convincing him the complete opposite.

Eventually, he let go of Levi’s hand, despite the fact he didn’t want to. The cramping in his hand was just something he couldn’t ignore any longer. Still, he kept his hand close, ghosting his fingers across the back of Levi’s hand. As long as he could still touch him, Nico was fine with not holding his hand.

A weak knock on the door, along with the sound of it squeaking open, tore Nico’s gaze away from Levi. He sniffled harshly, using his other hand to wipe the tears from under his eyes, blinking a few times to see who had entered the room.

“Hey,” It was Taryn. She looked exhausted, the bags under her eyes giving it away. Nico let out a sigh of relief when he saw it was her. She frowned, a deep line etched between her brows as she stared at Nico. “How’s he doing?”

“Okay,” Nico turned his gaze back to Levi. He looked peaceful, though it didn’t make Nico feel any better. “He’s okay.”

Taryn closed the door behind her as she entered the room, tip-toeing her way over to join Nico. As she reached his side, she rested a hand on his shoulder, giving a subtle squeeze. “No offense, but you look awful.”

Nico actually laughed at Taryn’s comment. He exhaled deeply as he turned his head to look up at Taryn, a thankful smile tugging at his lips. She gave him a sad grin, rubbing her hand against his shoulder.

“I feel awful.” Nico sighed out, tapping his fingers against the back of Levi’s hand. It was a terrible waiting game, wondering when Levi was going to wake up. Not only that, he’d be groggy and confused, wondering where he was. Nico would be expecting him to wake up and panic about where he was.

“Look,” Taryn sat herself down on the edge of the hospital bed, making herself comfy. “He’s going to wake up, and you’re going to be by his side when it happens. He’s going to appreciate you staying here, but he would also want you to take care of yourself. If you need to take a break, then do so.”

“Thanks, Helm. I think I’m okay for now. I just want to be by his side.”

“Okay,” She grinned half-heartedly, resting her hands in her lap. “I’m going to go, I have an early shift tomorrow. When he wakes up, tell him I dropped by, okay?”

“Of course.” Nico nodded, picking up Levi’s hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of Levi’s hand. Taryn grinned fondly down at Nico, before pushing herself off the bed and making her way out of the room.

“Goodnight, Nico.”

“Night, Helm.”

#schmico #greys anatomy #grey's anatomy #levi schmitt #nico kim #levi x nico #levi schmitt x nico kim #angst #schmico angst #miss satan writes #prompt #drabble #i left it angsty at the end because why not huh #schmoody writes

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imogengotdrunk · 5 years

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I just watched this video of a police officer from north kansas rescuing a tiny kitten from a highway (it's really cute, watch it) and I can't stop imagining Gavin doing the same thing, just sweet talking to it while driving back to the station

Phcking Christ Anon, this is adorable! I’m so ill at the moment, but the image of this has cheered me up, big time 💛

Just imagine Detective Grouchy, I’m-an-asshole-and-I’ve-got-a-reputation-to-uphold Gavin Reed slamming on the brakes of his patrol car, Chris Miller beside him grabbing onto the dashboard to steady himself as the vehicle screeches to an abrupt halt in the middle of the highway.

“Gavin, what in the fuck-”

But Gavin’s already out of the car, fuck the high-speed traffic, not important, and Chris watches, stunned and not even daring to blink, as Gavin pelts into the road and scoops something up. He carries whatever it is back to the car, flipping off the honking drivers in full DPD uniform.

“What the fuck,” Chris repeats, entirely bemused and utterly incapable of voicing any other remark, as Gavin wrestles open the door and slides into the back seat instead, a tiny ginger kitten cradled in his arm.

“Get the fuck behind the wheel, Miller,” is Gavin’s reply, “you think I can drive with one fuckin’ hand? C’mon, what, are you fuckin’ deaf, traffic’s buildin’ up.”

Chris, still gaping, does as he’s told, and is rewarded by the sight of a thirty-something-year-old man cuddling an equally confused kitten in the rear-view mirror for the rest of the drive back to central Detroit.

#ask #detroit become human #dbh #gavin reed #chris miller #mine

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master-sass-blast · 5 years

Text

Salt of the Earth

Well. Hello. Welcome to my salt.

So, this is a fic that definitely fits into the series and everything, but it is also a direct byproduct of my salt at Netflix cancelling “The Punisher.”

It’ll make sense once you read the fic.

Rated T for: Multiple injuries, car accident (singular), kidnapping, mentions of child abuse, and just angst in general.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader (and kinda sorta Frank Castle x Karen Page; it’s not outright stated, but it’s very strongly implied that they like each other).

Song lyrics are from “Zombie” by Bad Wolves; bible verse is Matt. 5:13.

@marvel-is-perfection

“It’s the same o-ld thing/ in 2018/ In your head/ in your head/ they are dying…”

You sing along with the music blaring through the store speakers under your breath as you glare at the stack of sketchbooks sitting on the shelf in front of you. You’re at an art store in the small town area Piotr likes going to for outings –the very same place the two of you had your first date, in fact—and you’re trying to pick out a good birthday gift for your dearly beloved boyfriend.

Because Piotr is, without a doubt, the world’s most fantastic boyfriend, and you are not about to be shown up by your own partner.

You know, not to mention the fact that you want to get him something good. Something he’ll like.

So, first step. Art store. Always a good place to start, considering that Piotr is an artist and loves getting any art related gifts.

And, bonus! You can get there legally, without Piotr’s help, because you have a driver’s license! One hundred percent legally obtained! Go you!

The money in your bank account that will be used to buy the gift/gifts isn’t legally obtained, because it’s a mix of funds from Wade and your uncle, but the cashier isn’t going to know that and you know Piotr isn’t going to berate you for it because he understands that your situation’s a little –a lot—fucked up to begin with.

Anyway. Back to the point

You’ve made it to the art store. You are currently in the art store. You are exactly where you need to be –which, if it wasn’t clear, is the art store.

Unfortunately, there are no steps after “get to the art store” because you have no idea what you’re doing.

Yes, you do art; you’re not on Piotr’s level, but you hold your own –and, dare you say it, but you’re improving!

But Piotr’s always handled the ‘supply buying,’ as it were, and now that you’re staring down what seems like thousands of options, you’re completely lost at sea.

Okay, you tell yourself. Think. What does he need replaced?

Pens. He’s always burning through pens –and erasers, come to think of it—with how regularly he uses them.

You smile to yourself as you dart over to the proper aisle. I’m gonna own the fuck out of this.

Once you get your footing, you nail the shopping session. You’re gonna have to hide the receipt from Piotr because you definitely went a little nuts, but he deserves and you have more than enough money so why not?

You hum happily along to the pop song of the moment as you drive back to the mansion, gifts safely tucked in the shotgun seat of your car. You’re flying down the highway –not literally, in the sense that you can actually fly or the sense that you’d be speeding—and—

There’s not a single other car in sight.

And that’s… a little weird. It’s early afternoon on a weekend. You’d think you’d see more travelers on the road.

Before you have too much time to overthink it, a massive black SUV comes up on your tail out of nowhere.

You yelp and lay on the horn when it rams into your bumper. “What the fuck, asshole?” You wrench the wheel, trying to stay on the road, and press the gas pedal down harder.

The SUV keeps pace with you, barely keeping off your back bumper as it tails you down the empty road.

You honk again and shift into the other lane before slowing down.

The SUV simply speeds ahead –and spins so that it’s sitting across both lanes of the highway, right in your path.

You shriek as you stomp on the brakes, but it’s too little, too late.

Your car slams into the side of the SUV, and everything goes dark.

The first thing you register is pain. So much of it, everywhere. Your head feels like it’s been put in a vice until it cracked, and your ribs ache with every breath you take.

The second thing you register is that you’re laying on your side in some sort of cramped, stuffy compartment. You can’t sit up, can’t really even move without bumping into a barrier of some sort.

The third thing you register is that whatever you’re in is moving.

Oh, dear sweet Cthulhu have mercy, I’m in the trunk of a car. You groan as you check your pockets for your phone and swear when you come up empty handed. “Shit! Okay, taillight. Find one of the taillights.”

It takes forever, between the pain you’re in and the cramped quarters, but you manage to find one of the taillights. You rip the carpet covering it away, then use your powers to punch it out.

You’re in a city, which is better then being on some backroad in the middle of the woods. City means people, which means phones, which means you’ve got a shot at calling someone and getting back to the X-Mansion. You suck in the fresh night air –you’ve been out for a while, which isn’t good—and try to formulate some sort of a plan. Maybe they’ll hit a light soon, and then I can break the hood open and get out—

The sound of tires screeching fills the air, followed by a heavy burst of gunfire.

You suck air through your teeth –part in surprise, part in pain—as the car comes to an abrupt stop.

“The fuck was that?” one of your abductor’s voices shouts from the cabin of the car, muffled but extremely pissed off.

You know about as much as they do, it would seem, and while you’re not fond of getting out of the car while there’s active gunfire, you know you’re not gonna get a better chance.

You slam the hood of the car open, sending it flying into the air, and bolt for the nearest alley before your kidnappers can react. You barely make it two feet into the shadows before you collapse against a wall, head spinning with blinding pain. Fuck. I think some of my ribs are broken. You pant and gasp through the waves of agony, trying to keep from vomiting.

“Where’d she go?”

“She won’t have gotten far. Find her!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckuckfuck—

You grit your teeth and fly up to the nearest roof top. You do actually vomit –and almost pass out in it—once your feet hit the flat, paved surface. You collapse to your knees, arms shaking, and groan as you force yourself to your feet. Push through it. Come on. You need to find a way to call Piotr.

You manage to run across the roof top, away from the sounds of your kidnappers’ voices, tears stinging your eyes at every jolt your body takes. You round a corner, hoping to find some sort of door inside—

You run into a black clad figure –literally, full body contact and everything—and scream as the two of you go down together. Adrenaline surges through your system, and you lash out at the person wildly.

“Woah –woah! Hey!”

You stop with a gasp when you see Frank Castle’s face –a little bruised and bloody, but not too much worse for wear considering his line of work—staring down at you. You groan and go limp. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“The fuck happened to you?” he grunts as he scans your various injuries.

“Car crash. Kidnapped.” You wince. “You know, the usual.” You flinch when you hear the voices of your abductors shouting –they’re getting closer—and shoot Frank a desperate look. “I need help. Please. I lost my phone, I can’t call anyone for help—”

He pulls you to your feet and hooks one of your arms over his shoulders so he can support some of your weight. “I’ve got a van in an alley nearby. Let’s go.”

You do your best to keep pace with him and look over your shoulder jerkily when you hear more gunfire. “The fuck is that?”

“I made some friends,” he grunts as he guides you across the dark rooftop. “Left.”

“Sure sounds like it.” Gunfire pierces the air again –closer, you’re both being closed in on—and you shift your arm so that it’s around his waist and squeeze him against you as much as you can. “Which way’s the alley?”

“West, two blocks –Christ!”

If you were feeling better, you’d smirk at Frank’s exclamation when you launch the two of you into the air. As it is, you grimace and focus on not crashing into anything or dropping your only ticket out of here –here being Hell’s Kitchen, apparently.

You manage to find said alley and van –both of which could be charitably described as ‘creepy looking.’ You and Frank tumble to the cracked pavement, and then you’re retching against the dirty asphalt like a cat trying to hock up the biggest hairball of its life.

Frank gets you up on your feet an into the passenger side of the van in a matter of seconds. He mumbles an apology as he buckles you in, then gets into the driver’s side equally as fast and starts the engine.

“I’m gonna apologize in advance,” you gasp. “In case I throw up in your van.”

Frank makes the grunt equivalent of a shrug as he peels out of the alleyway. “Not the worst thing it’s seen.”

He stops behind a massive apartment building about fifteen minutes later, cutting the engine as he unbuckles himself and opens the door.

“What’re we doing?” you mumble. Now that you’re sitting down and not actively working on getting away from your kidnappers, exhaustion’s setting in. Fast.

“Can’t use my car to get’cha where you need to go,” Frank explains as he unbuckles you and half-drags, half-scoops you out of your seat. “We’ll need to borrow a ride. That, and you need some first aid for your head faster than you need a ride home.”

You frown as you touch your head, then blink when your hand comes away red and sticky. “Oh. Party.”

Frank chuckles as helps you stagger towards the fire escape. “Always is.”

“Wait, you’re gonna make me fucking climb all that?”

“Guy like me can’t exactly use the front door.”

“How high up are we going?”

“Floor fourteen.”

You give him a flat look. “I hate you.”

He chuckles again. “That how you thank all your rescuers?”

“It is if they make me climb up fourteen floors after going through a car accident.”

“Suppose that’s fair.”

You wince as you hook your arm around his waist again. “You’re gonna have to count; I need to focus on not dropping us.”

You manage to get up to the correct floor without dropping Frank once. He does, though, have to practically drag you to the right window. You whimper as he sets you down and taps on the glass pane.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hang in there.”

You can hear movement inside the apartment, and then the window opens.

A slim woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and wide blue eyes gives the two of you a horrified look. “Frank –what the fuck?”

He jerks his head at you. “She needs help.”

You stick out your hand –it’s not like you’ve got any better options. “I’m Y/N.”

Karen shakes your hand before backing away from the window so Frank can lift you inside. “I’m Karen Page. Let me grab my first aid kit.”

“I’ve got it,” Frank says as he shuts the window. “She needs a phone to call her boyfriend.”

“I lost mine in the car crash.”

It says something about Karen that she doesn’t even blink at your comment. Instead, she digs her phone out of her purse, unlocks it, and hands it you. “Here.”

“Sorry if I bleed on it,” you mumble as you dial Piotr’s number –you mentally thank your uncle for making you memorize phone numbers from an early age on—and try to avoid smearing Karen’s phone with blood as you lift the speaker end to your ear.

“It’s fine.” Karen nods in the direction that Frank went. “I guarantee you he’s done worse.”

The phone rings a few times before Piotr picks up. “Ya sluchu vas.”

You start crying; after the day you’ve had, hearing his voice is the best damn thing in the world. “Piotr?”

His reaction is immediate, relief so evident in his voice you can practically see the expression on his face. “Y/N, where are you? I have been trying to reach you all day—”

“I got in a car crash; some chickenshits tried to run me off the road, and then they threw me in the trunk of a car, and—”

“What? Slow down. Wait, are you safe? Where are you?”

You groan as Frank and Karen help you sit on her couch, then laugh when you realize how fucking ridiculous the story you’re about to tell is gonna sound. “Yeah. You’re not gonna believe who I ran into.”

Frank takes over the phone once you’ve recapped everything for Piotr and reassured your darling boyfriend that, yes, you’re as okay as you can be and you’re in a safe place; he works out the details of how you’re getting back to the mansion while Karen works on getting you relatively cleaned and patched up.

And Karen, to her credit, doesn’t seem all that alarmed by your –or Frank’s, for that matter—injuries. Concerned, yes, and maybe a little strained, but not scared.

She smiles weakly when you remark as much. “Yeah, well, you can’t really let all this freak you out to much if you associate with him.” She nods at Frank again.

“I didn’t think the Punisher had associates,” you mumble as she applies another bandage to what seemed to be a nasty cut on your forehead, if Frank’s and Karen’s reactions were anything to go by.

She huffs out a laugh at that. “I didn’t either, until I realized that I was one of them.”

“Yeah… yeah. No, we’ll get ‘er to you. Probably safer that way… nah, I’m sure. We’ll finish getting ‘er stable, and then I’ll drive her out. See you in a bit, Rasputin.”

You peer up at Frank as he ends the call and hands the phone back to Karen. “How’re we getting out of here?”

“I’ll drive you back once you’re patched up.”

Karen snorts and gives him an incredulous look. “I don’t remember saying you could ‘borrow’ my car. Again.”

“I’ve got a ride—”

“What, your murder van?”

You giggle; it’s an apt description, really.

The corner of Frank’s mouth turns up –and holy shit the Punisher is actually smiling. “What’s wrong with it? It’s got four wheels, it drives, it brakes, it steers. What more do you want?”

“Upholstery that doesn’t have bloodstains on them?”

“Aw, c’mon. It adds character.”

And, even with your probable concussion, you can tell that Frank and Karen are flirting. Hardcore flirting, even.

And that’s… interesting. You knew that Karen had to be someone that Frank trusted to even go to her in the first place, but you hadn’t banked on him liking her, too.

“Frank, you won’t be in Hell’s Kitchen. If you drive Y/N to the X-Mansion in your murder van, people are going to call the police. We’ll take my car.”

“‘We?’”

Karen shoots him a defiant look. “You aren’t ‘borrowing’ my car again, Frank.” She moves out of the way so he can take over your ‘patching up’ and disappear somewhere out of your field of vision.

Frank crouches in front of the couch, still grinning as he rifles through Karen’s first aid kit. He pauses for a minute –and you recognize the look on his face as the ‘I’m about to be a little shit’ expression, which you’ve learned to identify from spending so much time with Wade—then says “Technically, I didn’t borrow it the first time.”

“Not helping your argument, Castle.”

You bite back a smirk as Frank huffs out something that, on another person, might be a chuckle. Very interesting.

Once Frank declares that you’re unlikely to bleed on the interior of Karen’s car, she and Frank help you down to the parking garage of her apartment building. Frank crawls into the back with you –to make sure you don’t fall asleep, given your probable concussion and whatnot—while Karen gets into the driver’s seat and turns the car on.

You wince as you try to sit in a way that doesn’t hurt, then give up on it and settle for letting your head rest against the car door.

You’re tired. Now that you’re not running for your life or in the warm glow of Karen’s apartment, all you can process –feel—is your exhaustion. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, you’re uncomfortable, and every single tiny move you make hurts.

You are, however, wearing one of Frank’s hoodies; Karen had produced it from somewhere in her apartment –add that to the list of interesting details about whatever dynamic Frank Castle and Karen Page have going on—and wrapped you in it to hide the worst of your injuries from any passersby. It’s ridiculously soft, funnily enough, and is only adding to the exhaustion weighing down on you. You nestle yourself in as much as you can to the back seat of Karen’s car and make to close your eyes.

“Hey. Hey, hey! Do not fall asleep right now!” Frank grabs your hand and squeezes hard enough to be uncomfortable. “Keep your eyes open, you hear me?”

“Fuck you, I’m tired,” you whine. You open your eyes anyway.

“How’d you end up running into Frank?” Karen asks from the front seat as she carefully navigates out of Hell’s Kitchen. “You said something about crashing your car?”

“I didn’t crash my car,” you grouse. “Some assholes pulled out in front of me on a highway and stopped.”

“And no one called the police? Or an ambulance?”

“I’m pretty sure it was all planned ahead of time. The highway was dead empty just before it happened.”

The car goes silent for a moment, and then Karen says in a voice that’s just a little too steady “I knew working with the X-Men could be dangerous, but I didn’t think things were that crazy.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with them,” you admit. “I’m not really an X-Man, either.”

“But you live at the mansion. And you’re a mutant.”

“I am, but being at the mansion is more for my own safety,” you say with a bitter laugh. “I, uh, grew up in an anti-mutant home. Left once I figured out there was a place that would accept me.”

“You think it had something to do with your parents?” Frank asks.

“I mean, they’ve sent bounty hunters after me before,” you grumble. “It’s not like it’d be the first time.”

Frank tenses next to you. “Who are you parents, ‘xactly?”

You don’t have to guess about why he’s suddenly so uptight. This is the man that spends his life gunning down gangs and crime families and other scums of the Earth; if you were him, you’d be worried about what sort of shit the person you randomly helped save might drag into your life—

Or the life of someone like Karen Page.

If there’s really something going on there, you muse, he’s gonna be protective of her. “They’re no one. Just a couple of assholes who didn’t want their kid when she was growing up, but now that’s she gone they’ve figured out they don’t want anyone else having her either, much less for her to have a life where she’s happy.” Tears start stinging your eyes, and then they’re trickling down your cheeks as you start crying. “They used to lock me in my room –my dad would beat with a belt when I had trouble controlling my mutation—” You choke back a sob, then pain racks through your body from the movement jarring your ribs.

There’s the click of a seatbelt unbuckling, and then Frank’s sliding over so he’s next to you, holding your shoulders steady so you don’t jerk yourself around unnecessarily. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths. Easy.”

“I can’t ‘breathe deep,’ asshole,” you say with a choked laugh. “Ow.”

“Is abuse really all that common towards mutants?” Karen asks from the front seat. “Not that I don’t believe you or believe it happens, it’s just… disheartening to think about.”

“Unfortunately, it is,” you say as Frank slides back to his seat and buckles himself in; you’ve calmed down again, which means you don’t need to be restrained. “There’s obviously the good families, but we’re kind of scum to society. Freakish abominations.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with you,” Karen insists. “You’re just people.”

You let out a dark laugh. “Tell that to the founders of Harmony.”

Frank’s eyes are on you again. “What?”

“An anti-mutant settlement about an hour from Xavier’s. They actively kill any mutants they can get their hands on; they’ve got a compound out in the middle of the woods where they do it.” You go quiet for a moment. “They would’ve killed Piotr, if we hadn’t rescued him.”

“I didn’t realize things were that bad,” Karen says softly after a moment. “How are people even getting away with that shit?”

“How do people get away with committing atrocities anywhere? They think they have a right to hurt people, and others agree with them. Unfortunately for us, the ‘others’ who agree with them happen to be the people in power.”

The car goes silent again, and something tells you that the wheels in Karen’s head are turning. You don’t know her that well –don’t know her at all, really—but something tells you that the woman that Frank Castle is –seemingly—interested in isn’t the type to roll over all that easy.

Then, Karen clears her throat. “Who’s Piotr?”

You smile softly. “He’s my boyfriend. He’s the one I called at your apartment. I was actually out getting him some presents for his birthday today.”

“That’s sweet. What were you getting him?”

“Art supplies. He’s an artist, so I like to help keep him stocked up.” You blink owlishly when you realize that the bags with everything you’d bought are probably still in the wreckage formerly known as you car. “I’m gonna have to rerun that errand. Right after I get a new ride.”

“It’ll all work out,” Karen reassures you. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Uh…” You try to figure it out, even going as far as to count it out on your fingers—

“She’s concussed, Karen. Maybe don’t make her do math,” Frank says with a chuckle.

“It’s been longer than a year,” you add. “Definitely longer than a year.” You think for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I’d find anyone. I grew up thinking I was unlovable.”

“Anyone can be loved,” Karen says.

If it were any other situation, you’d write it off as a supportive statement.

But Karen’s voice is just a little too pointed, a little too intentional, and Frank suddenly gets very interested in staring at his shoes.

Probable concussion or not, you know you’re not seeing things. But, there’s nothing you can do or say now that won’t make things awkward, so you tuck it all away for later, for when you can dish it all out to Ellie, Wade, and Yukio to get their opinions on it all –which, to be clear, you’ll only do because you know they’d never blab about it.

But yeah, later. Right now, all you want to do is get back home to Piotr.

Karen keeps you talking for the rest of the ride, asking questions about Piotr and your new life at Xavier’s until she pulls up the gravel drive of Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters.

The front door opens before Karen even puts the car into park and then Piotr’s sprinting out towards you, followed by a couple of healers.

Frank gets out and directs him to the side where you’re sat—

And then the door’s opening, and Piotr’s there next to you, and you’re both crying.

A couple that cries together, stays together. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Frank helps Piotr unbuckle and get you out of the car, and then you’re being made to lay down on a stretcher by one very blue, very furry Dr. Hank McCoy.

“Hey, doc,” you manage. “How bad do I look?”

“I’ve seen worse,” he says with a small smile. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

You can breathe without your ribs hurting.

It’s the small things in life, really.

Lucky for you, aside from the fractured ribs –and the concussion; you did, in fact, have a concussion—there weren’t any other major injuries. The healers fix you up, Hank checks you over, and then you’re being discharged with a meager amount of painkillers to help with the stiffness and soreness that’ll linger for the next few days.

It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been so much worse.

Piotr sticks by your side for all of it; he holds your hand, lets you squeeze his when you need to, and offers encouragement when he can.

Hank leaves so Piotr can help you get dressed in clean clothes, and you start crying as soon as the door closes.

Piotr’s by your side in an instant –not that he had wandered far from it in the first place. “Moya lyubov’, what is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You mash your face against his shoulder and sob. “I’m sorry –I’m sorry that I didn’t call, and that I worried you, and that—”

He’s quick to shush you, gentle and loving as he rubs soothing circles on your back with his hands. “Nyet, nyet, nyet. This was not your fault, myshka.” He kisses the top of your head. “Let’s get you dressed, and then let’s get you food. Da?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses each of your eyelids. “What sounds good?”

“I want a burger. With fries.”

He chuckles and kisses the bridge of your nose. “Khorosho.”

“A lot of fries. Like, a metric ton of fries.”

He laughs again and helps you start changing out of your shirt. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Karen and Frank, surprisingly enough, are still around when Piotr walks you over to the main side of the Institute. Karen’s talking to Professor Xavier while taking notes in a little notebook, while Frank just generally looks uncomfortable and seems to be set on finding the best places to stand that’ll draw the least amount of attention to him.

He also looks a lot better, too, which means the healers must’ve gotten a hold of him.

Good.

Karen looks shocked when she sees you. “Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d be walking at all.”

“I’ve always bounced back quick,” you say with a shrug. “But having healers that can literally make your wounds close themselves by touching you doesn’t hurt things either.”

She nods. “Yeah, I bet they don’t.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifts in a grin anyway.

You manage to make eye contact with him –no small feat, since he seems hellbent on memorizing the grain of the wood flooring—and nod in greeting. “Thanks for helping me out.”

He nods back. “Any time.”

“You guys alright? You need anything to eat?” You point in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m gonna have a burger—”

“Actually, we should probably head out,” Karen says. “I’ve got work tomorrow, and I still have an article that I need to wrap up before morning hits.”

The relief on Frank’s face at being given an out is palpable, so you drop it. “Alright. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me bleed on your couch.”

Karen laughs and nods. “No problem. It’s definitely not the worst thing that couch has ever seen. Hopefully, if we run into each other again, it’ll be under better circumstances with less blood involved.”

“We can always hope.” As you watch them leave, an old memory flashes into your mind’s eye:

“You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men.”

Normally, any memories from your childhood are liable to send you reeling –especially any that connect to the countless times you were dragged into your town’s church and told, over and over, how you were a perversion of God’s creation.

But now, instead of panicking, you can’t help but regard Frank and Karen in quiet contemplation as they walk out the front door of Xavier’s; the two people that, without really knowing you or having any investment in your wellbeing past the general goodwill that decent humans possessed, had spent the past couple of hours helping you get to safety.

After a life of being beaten down –specifically by non-mutants—it’s an interesting turnabout.

You smile to yourself, just a little, as you watch Frank open the door for Karen and usher her out into the night. Salt of the earth indeed.

You wind up on the couch, nestled against Piotr’s side, happily munching on your burger while the two of you watch old Mythbusters reruns.

(You did, in fact, get a small mountain of fries –and decent servings of fruit and vegetables, because Piotr made your plate for you.)

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice soft as he kisses the top of your head.

“Sore. Tired. Hungry.” You set your burger down. “I’m gonna need a new phone. I lost mine in the crash.”

He rubs a hand up and down your back. “We’ll get it figured out.”

“I’m gonna need a new car, too. And to replace everything in my purse.”

He wraps his arms around you as you start shaking and presses his lips against your shoulder. “Breathe, myshka. Everything will be taken care of.”

Your lower lip trembles and you squeeze your eyes shut. “I had presents for your birthday picked out and everything. I lost those, too.”

He kisses your temple, then your forehead. “I would rather have you than presents.”

“Yeah, I get it, I just—” You sniffle and rub your hands over your face. “I’m just upset about it. I get it’s not even that big a deal in the grand scheme of things, but I still just—”

He gently settles you in his lap when you start crying and rocks you back and forth. “It is okay to be upset. You had upsetting day.”

“I was just really happy with what I picked out, and now I’m not gonna be able to leave the mansion again until we figure out who went after me and why, and I really just want to be able to buy you a birthday gift, dammit.”

“I am very flattered, myshka, but trust me when I say it does not matter to me. I will not be hurt if you cannot get me gifts.”

“I know, but it matters to me.”

He goes quiet at that, opting to just hold you and rock you back and forth while you cry.

It’s been a shit day. Your car was totaled, you were kidnapped after being forced into an accident, you had to spend over an hour in the medical bay at the mansion to get your ribs patched up, and now you’re down a phone, an ID and debit card, a car, and your gifts for Piotr.

You know that you’re lucky. That things could be much, much worse. That if you hadn’t run into Frank on that rooftop, you’d probably be in the trunk of another car right now.

You’re alive, you’re healed, and you’re back with Piotr. You’ve got a lot to be grateful for.

And, in the morning, you will be grateful for it.

But it’s been a shit day, and right now all you want to do is cry over the fact that you can’t buy your boyfriend a damn replacement birthday present.

So that’s what you do. You’ve earned it.

Crying’s healthy, anyway.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #frank castle x karen page #tw: child abuse #tw: kidnapping #tw: car accident #tw: injuries #this has a happy ending #it's just a very emotional fic #with lots of pain #but everything works out in the end #also frank castle DESERVES FRIENDS DAMMIT #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction #punisher fanfiction

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