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monsterywriting · 3 years

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Zhulgan (orc) - Prologue

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AN: Thank you to those who left the kind comments on my update post :) i know i said i’d post this yesterday but reading it again i wanted to fix up some stuff and ended up pretty much completely rewriting it... i hope you all enjoy the story.

word count: 7.4k

f!orc x f!reader

When the notice of war finally reached your village, half a year had already passed since the document had been signed and issued by the king. A town meeting was called and went throughout the night. The village leaders had been nervous to hear the news, not knowing if the fighting had yet to even begin or if it was already on your doorstep. It was eventually reasoned that because no soldiers had been seen in your village nor others nearby, there was no reason to panic just yet.

It wasn’t long after that a foreign platoon swept through the village of Ozryn, pillaging the grain stores and burning down every home and storefront for good measure. No one had been prepared, all the residents sleeping soundly when the attack began.

Most of the village was wiped out, people you’d known your entire life gone in a single terror-filled night. You were among the few survivors led out of Ozryn at dawn in chains, all of you still wearing your nightclothes and most barefoot. Only a fraction of the population were spared and it was immediately noticeable that they had purposefully kept the young women alive, making their motivation for taking you all prisoner all the easier to deduce.

Still, you refrained from sharing your grim observation as some in your pitiable party wept their prayers thanking the Maker for their miraculous survival. You simply didn’t have the heart to crush their hopes so soon—not when you were still trying to come up with a concrete plan for your escape

Unfortunately, the longer the group walked, the more you worried about nightfall. You no longer recognized the land and had lost track of how far from Ozryn you were, unable to concentrate on anything besides putting one foot in front of the other once the adrenaline drained out of you.

The sun was above your head when Mauve, the blacksmith’s daughter, slowed until she closed the distance between you, the chain that connected the two of you dragging along the ground. After a few moments of tense silence to see if any of the soldiers had noticed, she whispered.

“I know where we are.”

You froze in your tracks, playing off your shock as though you merely stumbled in the mud in case any of the guards actually were watching the interaction. You took in the surrounding country, willing the endless hills and marshes to suddenly become familiar to you. It still looked like a bunch of muddy grass when Mauve continued.

“We’ll come up on another village in a day or two. Tasca, halfway to Vircia.”

The names were familiar. Tasca was to the northwest of Ozryn, Vircia straight north. It made sense Mauve would have a pretty good grasp of the land, often leaving the village with her father to make deliveries. Despite the information making your planning a bit easier, your heart still sank. Another village meant another night of death, possibly more prisoners. From Mauve’s grim expression, she had come to the same conclusion.

“Keep it to yourself for now; they can’t know we’re talking,” you finally whispered back, both of you moving back apart.

It took all your willpower not to run your hands down your face in frustration, instead directing your energy to include more people in your revised escape plan.

At some point in the afternoon, the group stopped, word traveling down the procession to set up camp. You were all left to sit around, still chained together and several soldiers guarding your group. While the others all but collapsed where they stood, you forced yourself to remain on your feet, trying to get a head count of everyone who was still alive.

While you recognized all the faces, you knew only a few by first name. Winnie, the baker’s daughter, was closest to you, the only one chained behind you. Her face was relaxed as she was already asleep. Mauve looked similarly exhausted in front of you, though she still managed to remain awake as she laid sprawled on the ground. The rest were from the farming families that lived near the village, all faring marginally better, groups of sisters sitting close together to mourn their losses quietly.

Altogether there was twelve of you, six families left represented of the thirty or so that called Ozryn home- but you crushed that thought before it began.

“What are we going to do?” The elder of the two Littlerock sisters, Rose, whispered. She was around the same age as you and Mauve, the three of you in the same class when you were in school. It took you a moment to realize she was talking to you.

You look down at the Blackbriar sisters, by far the youngest members of your group, all three still teenagers. Everything was still so uncertain—such as how the twelve of you would outrun an entire platoon with horses and crossbows and the twelve of you debilitated and on foot with not a single shoe between you. The most you could share was your line of thinking, much of your plan dependent on opportunity that wasn’t likely to present itself in the middle of an enemy camp.

“We will have to wait and see if they separate us tonight,” you begin carefully, some of the older girls’ expressions flashing with disgust as they caught the subtext. “We need to gather our strength and escape. Preferably by tonight. We’re getting near Tasca; if we can get enough of a head start, we may be able to warn them and get to Vircia.

“Or, Dumir’s soldiers are already on their way and we won’t have to do anything,” you added lamely after a moment, the paltry hope you offered clearly doing little to dispel the gloom hanging in the air. The chances you would be found by anyone able to help and before nightfall were slim, and you all were just as likely to be killed in the chaos of a battle. The only true escape would be to escape on your own, something everyone had to come to grips with on their own.

When a soldier approached your group once again, everyone scrambled to huddle together, Winnie roused from her slumber and dragged close.

You alone remained standing, facing him down and doing your best to block his view of the others. Despite your best effort to keep yourself from showing any of the fear you definitely felt, you couldn’t help but take a step back when he got uncomfortably close. He grinned at you concession, the predatory look he gave you sending chills down your spine. Perhaps you wouldn’t even have until tonight to need to escape.

“All of you, get near the fire,” he finally said, ignoring you to address the group before jerking his head towards the center of camp where a large bonfire was already going strong. “What for?” You demanded in one final act of defiance, refusing to let your gaze drop when he turned back to you, annoyance twisting his features as he now loomed over you in a different threat.

Before he could say anything, a hand fell on his shoulder, the man sending the soldier away without a single order passing through his lips. You immediately recognized him as their leader, the one riding in the front of the procession and the one who had ordered the village be burned to the ground after capturing you all.

“There’s a hot meal for you all by the fire. None of my men will bother you there,” he smiled.

You didn’t trust the kindness of his words nor the honorable front he put on. It was obviously not for any of your benefits that he protected you from the soldiers; if that were the case, none of you would be prisoners in the first place. His words did, however, give you more information about your circumstances. He needed you all alive and unharmed, if not for his soldiers or himself, then for his higher-ups and possibly until you were out of Dumir - which meant you could potentially have plenty of time to escape before finding out.

You followed after him as he turned to the fire, the others trailing close behind. He led you all to a vat hanging over the fire, soldiers serving bowls of broth and handing them out. You watched carefully as your meals were served, making sure nothing was slipped into the bowls before the hand off. Despite the likelihood of the soup already being poisoned was low, you still waited until you saw the soldiers eating before cautiously digging in.

Taking the opportunity to observe the camp’s layout, you tried to absorb your surroundings. They had set it up in a small valley, the size hidden from anyone traveling unless they happened to be right on the hills immediately surrounding it. The smoke form the fire, however, would make their location visible for miles, which meant they were either unaware that there was a village nearby or they weren’t worried about it. The former seemed even more unlikely as soldiers began to turn in to their tents despite the sun not being even close to setting. That there would be another attack that night was the more likely option.

Just as you were about to voice your observations to the others, you caught the leader staring directly at you, your eyes meeting for a brief moment before you quickly looked down at your plate. The encounter left you shaken, fearing that you had given away your intentions and ruining any chance of escape.

You woke later that evening, hours after you had been led to an empty tent and eventually fell into a fitful sleep after shaking at every noise that ventured too close to your tent. You had laid closest to the tent flap, making it a bit awkward for the others to sleep with the connecting chain but wanting to make certain that you could hear if anyone was going to enter.

There had been a guard posted outside, but as your eyes adjusted to the dark tent, you realized the camp was completely silent—save for snoring just outside the entrance.

While you don’t risk looking out and waking up the guard, you couldn’t contain your excitement as you roused everyone else from their slumber.

You couldn’t just walk out the front, the chances of the twelve people passing a sleeping guard waking him too great, but if you could crawl out the back without jostling the tent too much, then you could run up the hill and disappear in the marsh. You hurriedly whispered your plan to the others, Mauve telling them your destination should you get separated sometime in the night: the Great Gorge to the east that would lead you north, eventually near Tasca.

You, Rose and Mauve eased the back two stakes from the ground, the only injury a splinter in Rose’s finger she quickly pulled out. Once free, the canvas flapped slightly with the wind, hopefully any movement later attributed to that.

Once Mauve had the stakes, however, she got the idea to break the connecting chain, running along loops in your shackles and only fastened at the ends. While you all also had individual chains keeping your arms together, it would be much easier to move without being tethered to each other with a loud chain. Carefully looking at every link in the long chain until she found one with weak welding, she laid it on the ground and stuck the two points of the stakes into the hole, pressing down on the wider tops with both palms with all her weight until it snapped open. You all waited, everyone laying down on the chain in case the guard heard the noise.

After carefully extracting everyone in between the two people at the ends from the chain, Mauve and Rose slowly raised the fabric of the tent in the back, giving you a large enough gap to crawl out.

There was no soldier waiting to catch you as soon as you got out, fortunately. You glanced around the sides of the tent to see if there was anyone near the fire who would see all of you scaling the hill, holding on to your chains tightly as you moved so they wouldn’t make any noise.

The camp seemed deserted with the only snoring audible form the soldier that was supposed to be your guard; definitely unlikely for a camp of forty some odd men after spending the night before attacking a village to be so silent. An unease settled deep within the pit of your stomach but you brushed it aside, the more pressing matter of getting out undetected on the forefront of your mind.

The others crawled out once you signaled it was safe, immediately running as soon as you pointed them in the direction to go. Once Rose was out and gone, you held the tent open for Mauve, dropping it as soon as she was out and the two of you moving between the tents as stealthily as you could. Just as you were about to make a break for the hill, you were yanked back by your collar.

You gasped in surprise, the same soldier you had a run-in with earlier grinning once again with his sword pointed directly at you. You were caught. You tried to tell Mauve to run, but your throat was seized in panic.

Gathering every ounce of your courage, you spat in his face instead, trying to draw his attention away from Mauve so she had time to escape. It worked, his grip leaving your chain and wrapping around your neck as he shook you.

Instead of running, Mauve appeared behind him, wrapping her chain around his neck and pulling, his eyes bulging out in surprise as he dropped you with a squawk. For a moment you sat there, dazed until you realized the soldier was loud. If anyone was still in the camp, they’d definitely hear his gurgling screams. You scrambled to your feet, coughing as you gripped the shackle around your dominant hand as best you could and smashed it over the top of his head, blood spraying from the impact.

Your entire hand throbbed with pain, most acutely in your wrist. A sob escaped you almost immediately after but it had the desired effect, the soldier going limp. You stared for a moment as you watched him stare at you, twitching and then growing still. Too still. He continued to stare. You and Mauve blinked up at each other.

If he was found, it would be obvious you all escaped and in what direction. Mauve pointed at the tent and you both moved quickly to drag him back to it, you one-handed. Mauve rolled him underneath the gap while you held the loose material, careful not to get any blood on it to give yourselves that much more time.

You then ran blindly, time ticking before your group’s escape and your gruesome act were discovered. Your legs burned as you went uphill but you didn’t dare slow even after you and Mauve scaled the hill. The soldiers were already on your heels in your mind, easily following your footprints in the soft ground just as you and Mauve were following your companions’.

You weren’t sure when, but you found your hand in Mauve’s at some point as you ran, both of you tugging on the other whenever one of you stepped into a hidden pockets of water. The two of you were in the true marshland now, the tall grass making it impossible to tell where the wet soil ended and water began. The moon was but a sliver in the sky, as though she kept her light to herself to keep your trek cloaked in darkness from your pursuers. You looked over your shoulder feeling your stomach drop when the column of smoke originating from an orange glow wasn’t nearly as far as you imagined.

“How far is the ravine?” You pant, your hand and throat still throbbing.

“We should make it before dawn,” Mauve answered.

Over the course of the night, you rejoin Rose and Winnie, the latter one of the first to take off but a slow runner. None of you let her fall behind, forcing your group to move slower. It was dawn when you reached the gorge, a jagged break in the landscape with eight ghostly figures visible standing at its edge.

Rose ran ahead, pulling her sister Lily in a tight embrace. You, Mauve and Winnie, being the only members of your respective families to survive, are much slower to join, feeling awkward to interrupt the reunion and somewhat envious that there was no one for any of you to rejoin.

“You’re covered in blood!” Winnie suddenly cried out, looking at you and Mauve in horror in the morning light. You had thought the blood had been washed from you with all the water you fell into throughout the night, but if Mauve’s red face was any indication of what you looked like, you could understand the concern.

“We’re fine,” you said grimly, “but we need to assume that they found out we’re gone already and move fast.”

“Are we going to climb down?” Grace, the eldest of the four Cedar girls, asked, her voice hoarse.

You look at everyone, all covered in mud and looking about as tired as you felt. Unfortunately, your morbid gift in the tent had undoubtedly been found by now, so there could be no breaks.

“Yes,” Mauve answered for you, looking over the edge, “We can rest once we reach the bottom, but up here we’re too exposed.”

You look down as well, the slope steep but not an entirely sheer drop, likely the result of rockslides and time. Swallowing back the growing lump in your throat, you began to pick your way down, sitting forcefully whenever the rocky surface would break away under your bare feet.

A rock suddenly bounced off your back, very nearly making you lose your balance as you feared the entire thing was coming down on you. You looked up, the others also moving down the path you left. The further you descended, the colder the air grew, the small amount of sun you did have disappearing behind rock.

Contrary to what Mauve promised, you pushed the girls to continue moving, following the tapering stream north. The only way to tell the passage of time was the brightening sky, white fluffy clouds moving across the narrow strip of blue you could see. You pass natural grooves in the stone face, not quite large enough to be considered caves but which could provide a decent refuge when you do decide to stop, keeping you hidden from anyone looking from above.

You wanted to put as much distance as you could between you and the soldiers, hopefully going far enough out of their way that they couldn’t justify wasting resources searching for you. Unfortunately, none of you had much strength left to keep moving, the group forced to stop when the youngest Blackbriar girl collapsed in exhaustion.

Everyone huddled into one of the grooves, too cold and scared to split up though that was probably the wiser option. You planned to remain awake, listening for any sign that you’d been followed, but you passed out almost as soon as you leaned against the wall only to be shaken awake by Rose what felt like only a moment later and feeling entirely unrested.

Because your group was at the clear disadvantage - traveling with limited visibility in every direction with the tall cliff faces and the winding path of the ravine - you decided it would be best to travel by night, which would also allow the others time to rest.

You, Rose and Mauve remained awake to come up with a plan, Tasca still half a day’s walk away at least and no food or water to sustain the twelve of you until you reached the village. It was then you finally shared your concern that the reason you all were able to escape the night before was because the camp was empty. It was unlikely you could make it to the village before the battalion, if they did indeed leave to attack it as they had Ozryn.

Rose sobbed as you pointed out that even if you did go straight to Vircia and managed to survive without eating, none of you had any money or appropriate clothes, meaning it was still necessary to go to Tasca and hope there were still some valuables left untouched for you to take.

It was the third morning since the attack that your emotions finally hit full force, weeping silently into your hands until you finally slipped into unconsciousness, and even then the faces of the people of your village haunted you. You replayed the moments you tried escaping, running through the garden as you felt an incredible heat on your back as your home was engulfed in flames behind you. Once again you were cut off by a soldier on horseback and dragged back into the heart of the village, the faces of the stacked bodies you passed stared blankly up at you, covered in soot and blood. You thought about the same look on the soldier’s face back at the camp.

You didn’t let a single noise leave you, not wanting to wear down the others’ spirits any further. For some reason, possibly from some misguided belief that because your father had been the justice of the peace of Ozryn that you were the natural person to listen to, they were all relying on you to get them all to safety. For better or for worse, you would have to remain strong.

When you suddenly felt a hand press onto your shoulder you jumped, whipping around to see Winnie looking at you with similarly glistening eyes. You reached blindly for her and she immediately embraced you. You were grateful for her sturdy frame engulfing you, the two of you falling asleep like that, comforted by each other’s presence.

That night, you travelled again until dawn, stopped for a short rest and then looked for a way to climb out of the gorge safely. The walls were significantly less steep here - about double Rose’s, the tallest of your group, height - not nearly as much of a canyon as it had been out in the marshland. Despite that, none of you could afford any injuries in this pivotal moment in your journey. If the attack on Tasca was anything like Ozryn, the battalion was likely long gone, but you wanted to be prepared for the worst case scenario.

One of the Blackbriar girls found something better, noticing an old goat path along the cliff face with just enough space for each of you to ascend in a single-file line, the river they were brought to long gone but the route carved by countless cloven hooves remaining.

Once the group cleared the gorge, you found yourselves in a pine forest, the mud replaced with dried needles. The unfavorable terrain made everyone slow down, the sharp points of the pine needles making everyone flinch at some point or another.

“Do we all have to go?” One of the Cedar sisters suddenly piped up, her voice trembling with emotion, “Shouldn’t some of us stay in the gorge?”

You sighed, knowing her concern wasn’t entirely unfounded and likely mirrored the thoughts of most of others. You also were loath to see another ruined village, but to split up was dangerous, especially with no supplies or familiarity with the area.

“I’ll go into the village, but you should all stay close,” you answer, quickly adding, “Spread out but keep within each other’s line of sight. Run the moment you even think there might be danger.”

There were slow nods of agreement, but Mauve stepped forward to stop you from leaving.

“I should go, too,” She argued, “two sets of hands is better than one.”

You shake your head firmly, “You have the most profitable skill among us, Mauve. We need you if we’re going to make it in a larger city.”

You didn’t give anyone else time to argue, venturing through the forest the rest of the way alone. There was no smell that would suggest an entire village was burned two nights ago as you approached, but the forest was also completely silent save for the birds flitting through the tops of the trees. When you finally reached the first buildings, they were all still intact but there was no sign of life.

Entering a few of the homes confirmed your suspicion. Tasca had been deserted, likely long before just a few days ago as there was no evidence of a mad dash to get out. Nothing had been left disturbed, wardrobes and dressers carefully closed once emptied, picture frames and other personal items - things that would have been left behind if there was a sudden attack in the night - gone. Even if the soldiers hadn’t ransacked the village two nights ago, you suspected that you wouldn’t find much.

Just as you ended a fruitless search of the village center, you were suddenly seized outside the building, crying out as you were hauled by your hair out into the commons. You caught only a glimpse of your captor, bile rising in your throat as you immediately recognized the leader of the platoon.

Your heart leapt into your throat, any kind front he put up the day before gone as he glared down at you with purple-faced fury. You looked frantically around at the other soldiers surrounding you, your relief that no one else had been caught short-lived as you began to worry about your own fate.

The leader was yelling at you, but you didn't hear much as he shook you like the answers would come tumbling from your lips. You couldn’t say anything as you tried to keep your neck stiff, your stunned silence only seeming to stoke the flames of his wrath. The soldiers were silent as he dragged you to his waiting horse, snatching his riding crop from the saddle and bringing it down on your exposed calf.

You could only scream, mind completely blank with terror. It’s impossible to think, to come up with some means of getting out of this situation alive, but you were struggling to even believe you could.

Suddenly, a horn - an unmistakeable signal for battle - blasted from the forest, seemingly from everywhere by the way the sound bounced off the pines but definitely close. Shouting erupted around you, though you were only vaguely aware of the chaos as you had gone entirely limp, no energy left in you to react to yet another dramatic turn of events. The leader attempted to pull your dead weight onto his horse, shouting for one of his men to help him, but he was alone in focusing on taking you prisoner, everyone else simply trying to survive the apparent ambush.

You managed to get a full view of the scene unfurling in front of you, not quite registering that orcs were storming into the village from the forest and attacking the platoon. In your defense, you were no where near the orcs’ lands, their shared border with Dumir to the west and definitely not extending this far south or east - orc raiders were the last thing you would expect to suddenly save you, more likely perhaps than only the king of Dumir himself or aliens.

You were released suddenly, narrowly avoiding getting stamped into the ground by the leader’s retreating horse. You ran unsure where you were going but well aware you couldn’t remain in the middle of a battle, at least having the wherewithal to go at a 90 degree angle from where the orc horde was currently pouring out of the forest in an attempt to get out of their way as fast as possible.

You could only pray that the others heard the ruckus and managed to escape, focusing on getting as much distance between you and the fight. Had you any money to bet, it would have been squarely on the orcs, but you weren’t about to stick around and risk getting killed or captured all over again, especially once they realized the village was empty.

The pines began to thin and you began to slow, believing you were nearing the gorge. You immediately skidded to a halt, your heart pounding in your chest as an entire orc caravan stared back at you, clearly as startled to see you as you were to see them.

When an old orc woman stood, you swiveled to your left and ran, though you didn’t even make it more than a few steps before you ran straight into another orc.

You floundered in his hold, unable to understand anything he was saying to you in your panic until a familiar name cut through - Ozryn. Before you could ask what he knew of your village, you heard your name, looking over your shoulder to see the others all standing there, clean and wearing different clothes. Their restraints were gone.

“We thought you’d been caught!” Winnie cried, her and the others rushing forward towards you, “It’s okay, they’re here to help.”

“You speak orcish?” You asked, still somewhat dismayed by all the things happening in such quick succession.

“No, I speak common,” the orc answered instead, much to your surprise. His accent was thick, because of his native tongue or from the tusks you weren’t certain, “The soldiers that destroyed your village trespassed on our land when they crossed into your country. We tracked them from then.”

A bitter taste was left in your mouth as you imagined how differently things would have been had they found the soldiers sooner, even if by just a few days. You would have still been at home, at this time likely taking taking your father and brother their forgotten lunches.

“I am Alkgan. Come, let’s get those chains off. Then you can bathe and change clothes, too,” he said, ushering you towards one of the wagons.

Various weapons were leaned against its wooden side, Alkgan disappearing to talk with whoever was inside the wagon. While you waited, you took in your surroundings, not quite ready to accept that you were completely safe just yet. Beasts milled around the wagons, tearing at the grass; it took you a moment to realize they were cattle, never seeing a breed so large before. The camp was populated mostly by children, from toddlers to young teens. It was obvious where most of the adults were. Few of the children paid you any mind, and those that did seemed more interested in your shackles than the group of strangers walking around the camp.

“This is Vulgud,” Alkgan said, bringing your attention back to the wagon, “He is our weaponsmith.”

The tall orc in question was stepping down from the wagon with a small iron object in hand. You had expected the chain to be broken with a large hammer on the anvil on the ground nearby. Instead, he took one of your hands and searched for the key hole, inserting the tool and seemingly randomly jiggling it around. Within moments, the shackle popped open, giving away and swinging while he repeated the process with your other hand.

You thanked Vulgud, running your finger along the bruised skin of your dominant hand’s wrist, evidence of what you did the night you escaped. It was big, spanning from your knuckles down your arm.

You quickly hid your arm as the old orc woman from before approached, a herd of young children following her. She held a bundle of clothes and ushering you towards a large basin.

Small, chubby hands of every shade of green held onto the rim, all trying to see who was in their tub. You smiled in between scrubbing the mud from your body with soap, the water thankfully opaque with all the grime and dirt from the last two days. They didn’t speak common, directing their questions in orcish to the old woman. She bared her teeth and growled, sending them all scattering, nodding to you before leaving you.

When you were finally changing into the clean set of clothes, Rose gasped, her gaze directed not to your arm but your legs. You looked down as well, noticing the welts that had grown more pronounced on your leg. You had felt the sting while you walked, but you hadn’t realized they had gotten so noticeable with all the dried mud. You pulled up the trousers, covering the marks. The clothes were clearly made for orc children, fitting your waist around but the leg not quite reaching your ankles. Fortunately, the boots you were provided made up for the difference, making the shorter length look purposeful.

Rose left the matter of your wounds at that, both of you returning to the others silently. Once you rejoined the others, Mauve filled you in on what happened while you were in Tasca.

Apparently, they had been found by the orc caravan shortly after you left, before they even had a chance to split up as you planned. They thought they were residents of the village before they saw the chains. It was a fortunate coincidence that the very people you all were running from were the same ones they spent weeks looking for.

“So, what now?” Mauve finished with a question, the others now gathered around you, “Do we still go to Vircia?”

“Shouldn’t we return home to Ozryn?” Grace argued, “The soldiers are all dead, it should be safe now!”

“Why can’t we stay here?” Winnie asked, “It’s safe; at least for a few days…”

“What if we rode along with the orcs?” Rose said, “I’m so tired of running… they’ve helped us so far. I’m sure they’ll pass by Vircia, at least.”

“You haven’t heard?” You all jumped as Alkgan approached the group, all of you watching him expectantly. “Most of the villages we passed were burned down… The larger cities are the same since humans have been fleeing Dumir through our lands for months-”

You stopped listening, despondent over the revelation. Your entire world had literally been razed to the ground just a few days ago and the final shred of hope you had been clinging to had been ripped away as well.

The others were staring at you. You could feel it, but you had no comfort or assurances to offer this time. The news was just as abrupt for you and you had no fallback. They all expected you to be like your father, always knowing exactly what to do and how to adapt, but he also never had to deal with situations of this magnitude in Ozryn so you felt entitled to take a moment.

Wordlessly, you turned around and walked away, unable to provide them the answers the so desperately wanted and overwhelmed with the weight of twelves lives you had found thrusted upon your shoulders. You had convinced yourself that everything would be alright so long as you could reach Vircia, that there would be people there who would no what to do, that you could somehow escape the rest of the war. It was the only way to convince yourself to keep moving and not just curl up and wait to reunite with your parents and brother.

Tasca gone you could handle - you had already suspected it to be the next target of the soldiers and it was always meant to be a stepping stone - but to learn that every other village and town was no longer an option…

You walked straight out of the camp, eventually leaving the forest behind and squatting down in the tall grass. You didn’t sit, not so besides yourself in grief as to dirty the borrowed clothes so soon but still trying to curl up as small as possible. You tried to dampen the nausea you’ve felt for days now, willing yourself to stop dry heaving. There was nothing in your stomach to bring up, but that fact did not stop your body from trying.

Alkgan appeared next to you at some point, plopping down on the ground and waiting for you to compose yourself before speaking.

“The others look up to you. They said you were the reason they were able to escape. Even refused to leave after we removed their shackles.”

“I see,” you croaked, not really seeing anything but wanting to be polite. You wondered why Alkgan didn’t go with the other raiders.

“You aren’t pleased that they see you as their leader?”

You snorted at that, “I’m no leader. There’s just no one else left from our village; they didn’t have any choice.”

“Of course they had a choice!” A deep rumbling that you soon realized was laughter came from deep within Alkgan’s chest as he looked down at you with amusement, the colorful beads that adorned his twin braids rattling together, “They had eleven others, or even choose no one. If you do not accept their trust, then you waste it… and you will need it if you are going to survive.”

You were taken aback by the unexpectedly profound piece of wisdom, the encouragement seemingly from out of the blue. Perhaps that was Alkgan’s role for the caravan, his insight so vital he didn’t go out into battle.

Before you could thank him for his advice, however, the sound of the horn once again echoed through the forest, signaling the return of the raiders. Before the sound even faded, Alkgan was up and walking back to the camp and you close behind, the orc woman leading the group calling out to him in orcish.

She was tall, a whole head taller than Alkgan once he was standing in front of her, who you thought was too tall already. Her armor was dented and covered in blood but she seemed to be in a good mood after the battle, baring her teeth in a gruesome smile and shaking her black plaited hair out of her helm. You gulped as she looked at you, her gaze clearly analyzing you. You were definitely intimidated, glad that you were not been the one to have crossed the orcs.

Mauve had told you that the warriors had already split off from the main group when they were found, so they definitely had no idea why a bunch of humans were in their camp. You could hear nothing while the two talked, the snippets you caught all in orcish anyways, but there was a lot of pointing and looking over at you, which was disconcerting. You stayed rooted in your spot, trying not to look as anxious as you felt while Alkgan walked back towards with you, the orc woman following him. You managed to at least maintain eye contact, even when you had to crane your neck back as they got closer.

“This is the chief of this caravan, Zhulgan,” he introduced the newcomer before turning to her and saying something in orcish.

You could definitely see a resemblance up close even without the similar names, their facial structures strikingly similar and the same mottled shades of green. The two went back and forth for a minute, both seemingly getting annoyed with the other.

The nausea flared up again as your imagination ran wild about what they were discussing, clearly about what to do with the twelve of you. The most obvious thing was being taken prisoner again. Even if your experience thus far told you differently, you felt that orcs would be a less desirable captor than fellow humans.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Alkgan finally met your gaze once again and you relaxed slightly, though the apologetic look he gave you kept you from fully calming down, “She says… your group should leave now.”

The tension immediately returned to your shoulders. You hadn’t expected to be faced with a decision on what to do so soon, despite having just discussed you options with the others. At the time, it had seemed far away, like you had been getting in front of the issue before it became one and you hadn’t even been able to come to a consensus.

“I- but- Surely you could just stay for the night? If you can just leave in the morning-?” You floundered, trying to think of some reason that could buy you some time to figure out what to do.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve remained on this land for too long already, especially during a war. We’re low on supplies already, we must go,” Alkgan said, the pity clear in his eyes.

You were on the verge of panicking, your mind and heart racing as you willed yourself to come up with some plan, an easy fix that would knock out all your problems. You had no time, unable to pause the conversation to talk to the others, so you were forced to act on impulse.

“What if we travelled with you?” You asked, the desperation clear in your voice. It was a long shot; Alkgan knew your plan was to go north and they were heading west; not to mention that you had nothing to offer them as payment in exchange.

Alkgan didn’t even bother to translate your request before responding, “That’s not possible. You’re humans-”

Zhulgan said something in orcish, Alkgan shaking his head.

“If everyone is fleeing Dumir, we will probably need to leave, anyways.”

“You can cross the border faster here.”

“Some of the girls have family out west.” A blatant lie, but necessary to try and sway Alkgan with a plausible enough excuse. “If they left, it would have been through the orc lands.”

You suppressed every nervous tic that threatened to disrupt your straight face, willing Alkgan to take the natural next step in his argument: that you had nothing to offer. You couldn’t decide who to look at to implore - Zhulgan was the chief, but Alkgan was taking charge of the conversation - so you awkwardly flitted your gaze between the two as a compromise. Zhulgan was staring solely at you, apparently trusting her brother enough to allow him to do so.

“Well you can’t cross without-”

“-paying tribute,” you finished with just a tad too much eagerness but now confident that you could win this argument, “As you know, our village was destroyed. We have nothing of material value to offer you, but we can work off our debt. Mauve knows how to work in a forge and can work metal. We can also help you procure supplies from any of the towns- or work with your animals or help take care of the young ones-”

Alkgan laughed, boisterously loud and making you jump. Zhulgan was still watching you closely, an unreadable look flashing across her eyes, though it was possible you imagined it. You were breathing heavily, not having taken in any air during your passionate monologue. You weren’t entirely sure if Alkgan was impressed with your quick thinking or convinced that you were completely insane.

Rather than clarify, he turned to speak with Zhulgan. You had no way of gauging if the discussion was in your favor or not, Alkgan still looking amused and Zhulgan’s expression frustratingly impassive.

After what felt like an eternity, Zhulgan turned to you, her expression inscrutable. “Your group may travel with us.”

Your jaw dropped, never once suspecting that she could understand what you were saying the entire time. You were embarrassed, believing she would only get a summarized explanation of your words. Still, your proposition had been accepted either way and you were relieved.

Of course, you didn’t have long to enjoy the victory, Zhulgan ordering the orcs to begin loading the wagons. You would have to break the news to everyone else - a prospect that made you dread the role of unofficial leader anew. Grace had already expressed her desire to go home and at least some of the others must agree. However, Alkgan’s words came back to you, putting some air back into your sails. They trusted you to keep everyone safe and you wouldn’t waste it.

#exophilia #monster girlfriend #orc #reader insert

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 4 years

Text

Lamia Boyfriend: Xanthorus

Anon Ask: Hi There! I have a small request too, if I may! Maybe a story about a jungle researcher and a Naga/Lamia. Maybe the researcher stumbled into the den.

Male monster x human reader [Gender Neutral] - Modern Au

Death-or-Glory

"Are you sure?" Your closest worker and friend, Sebastian had placed his concern, "We don't even know where it will take us."

The caves acted like crypts within a cavernous descent, the rocks had been slicked in a substance that didn't even seem from a bacteria from this world, the descent meant to be hidden from all from the outside world.

"Which is why I think discovering for ourselves will be a revolutionary discovery." You had smiled, the hard helmet you were strapping over your short locks, the drops of water fell and trickled down like teardrops from your eyes.

Your decision to down was meant for research: as light decreases the further you go down, the size and complexity of plant life also reduces. The research into finding in three regions of the caves where plants have developed and adapted to allow them to live in low-light conditions were remarkable, and that was where you found yourself most often.

Your small team usually came down with you, but for the first time, you had decided that for the best, it would be easier to descent with rope and climbing equipment first.

You had given the man reassurance with a smile, "If I get scared, you know the drill."

"Pull you up before you chicken out? That isn't like you, chère." He had grinned, gathering the rope as you attached yourself to it, hauling yourself to hover just over the ledge.

When you looked down, the drop below seemed maybe 40ft, the walls had stretched and opened in the shape of a twisted mouth, filled with jagged teeth that littered around the bottom and around the edges.

You gave Sebastian the thumbs up as he and the others of your travels kept an eye on the rope in the pulley system as you slowly made your way over the ledge until your legs were below and couldn't reach for the end.

The rush of cold air hit you square in the face, your dangling body swayed as you recoiled to a harsh halt, a shuffle of feet above you raced closer to you when you looked up.

"You good?" Your voice bounced over the high mighty walls with its many teeth, your fear bubbling slowly like you were being hovered a boiling pot.

"The line got stuck, hang tight." Seb's head popped over the edge as he disappeared quickly over. "Cool, I'll just... you know, stay here." You joked sourly, your eyes roaming as your beacon gave little to no light in helping you see.

The cave to the bottom narrowed into a hole, but what that lied below was concealed with darkness. Another jolt came as the ring of the pulley lunged you to drop a few inches, your voice coming out in a yelp, your grip on the rope shaking. "Seb!"

"Merde—shit, are you okay? You're not hurt?" Sebastian rambled instantly in distress.

"No, apart from giving me a heart attack, I’m fine." You muttered, trying to calm your nerves as you calmed your breathing as best as you could. I'm not dying here today, no, I will not.

The cold rush of air that came out through the jagged opening brought you to swing over the opening, your nerves seeming to never simmer down. "Anything?"

"The line may get stuck again, but it's been free so you can go down further- just, be careful."

"Of course, thanks for letting me know." You replied, and bit by bit, you inched yourself further down, the bottom seemed to never want to reach you. The cold was harsh and your skin prickled up with your hairs, the realisation of knowing that if you were to get stuck again, you wouldn't be any closer to them but closer to the bottom, making it harder to get back up.

"Stop." Your fear bubbled over when you shouted out, the rope had halted a second later but quivered as you dropped further down compared to the first time. "What's wrong?" Seb questioned concerned.

"I... I'm sorry, it's-- I can't do this. Pull me up, I'm getting bad vibes from this."

"But you're almost halfway." Sebastian called back through the abyss, "Are you sure?"

"Please, I-- for crying out loud, please Seb!"

He didn't have to reply further from that, the screeching of the metal was deafening as you were pulled just an inch higher until there was a brash outcry of the pulley that made you realise something was wrong. Your body fell as you screamed out in a shriek, your body jolted to a harsh stop as your body was still swinging, your body - like a ragdoll - hit the side of the wall, your helmet almost fell out you as you could hear the cries of panic at your name being shouted out along the rock walls.

Your head was stinging as if your mind had been a bell and was being rung, the mild reaction to adrenaline-pumping too late as you braced yourself as you swung into the other wall, your limp body spinning.

"The rope!-- the fucking rope!" Your name was called over and over as you registered something was off, the terror in Sebastian's voice could be heard as he kept trying to get you to answer with the call of your name.

I don't want to die, please, no, not like this, oh, God. You shook yourself with some and sense as you looked up just in time, the dwindling amount of time to react brought you to come to a grim realisation as you found yourself not being able to save yourself or be saved. The rope you had been held up from snapped when the pulley couldn't rewind it back up, taking it down with you.

The last thing you remembered was how the void engulfed you and all left was endless darkness.

You could only imagine how you landed wouldn’t be safe for you when you came around, the startling lack of light made you panic in believing you had been taken to a completely different place. I am not dead, and I do not know how I am still breathing. Your head pounded but your body was in overdrive to keep you alive and conscious, where you stabilised yourself as best as you could.

The four corners of the walls were oily and sodden in a substance, you couldn’t imagine what it was, and when you rummaged through your bag to find a torch, something was dripping heavily down your helmet that wasn’t water.

The flashlight fluttered to life and in front of you, you lurched back with a startled yelp, looking into the sunken sockets of a long-dead skeleton. It wasn’t anything you could recognise that could’ve been an animal from the surface - with its long body and head as big as a coach - you questioned what could’ve killed something so big.

You touched at its large skull, looking over the spiked and blackened teeth were what you imagined a dragon would look if they had existed. Whatever killed this thing could still be around, lurking.

Your flashlight picked up something along the back of the large ribs of the skeleton, the flash of merlot that slunk heavily in the shadows, where you caught the back of its body; slicked and deeply scaled.

“Oh shit.” You braced yourself against the wall behind you, or what you had believed had been the wall, your back coming into contact with something smooth and oddly cold. You jumped back in your spot, twisting to come face to face with a tall towering silhouette standing so close behind you; its eyes the only thing you could see through the shadows.

You dared not shine your torch of the creature as you were stiff with fear as to what it could’ve been. What had rendered you speechless was the disembodied voice that had suddenly declared out to you. “Leave this place. Now.”

“Fucking— holy shit… how’d—oh, God, no, please! I’m not a threat, don’t hurt me!” You panicked, spinning around to try and hide behind the skeleton’s ribs, thinking that whatever and wherever they were, they couldn’t see you. “Please, I beg you.”

“You’re one of them, how do I know you won’t hurt me?” Their voice was laced heavily in an accentuated drawl that you could just about understand, shuddering at how their voice travelled through and everyone around you at once.

You squinted in the darkness, rubbing your eyes in disbelief. “What?”

Whatever was standing in front of you, leant backwards away from you, it’s height still unsure to you. “You’re not the first human to travel down here and you won’t be the last. Leave, I warn you.”

You tried to look up, but even when you tried to find the cavern you fell through was a nightmare- it seemingly disappeared out of your sight when you shone your torch upwards.

The creature let out a low growl, pushing itself off on the rock, scratching it hauntingly. “What is that thing? It’s too bright. Turn it off.”

You looked back down to your torch, pointing to the base of their figure, unexpectantly taken back when you saw the thick deep red coiled scales appear once more when they hit your light. “What are you?”

The voice didn’t respond to you, and you took the initiative and bravery to lift the torch upwards, where you had nearly dropped it. The coils of a red-burnt copper came into your view, and in the light, they shone like hundreds of lit candles, the summerish hue that burnt so bright. The scales continued to travel up and were connected drastically with a human torso, blended from hard smooth scales to rough skin, the head of a man with a large triangular head in view.

His face and features resembled more of a snake than man, the forked tongue that flickered and tasted the air was long and sharp so were his eyes, the embers of bright emeralds.

He was hairless on top of his head and on the rest of his body: the sleek physique of him was everything and nothing you had ever seen in your life, the cogs in your head spinning at the possibilities of research and questions that were spurting through your mind at a 100mph.

“Woah—I,” you stuttered over your words, careful yet excited like a wide-eyed child to not know when to shut up, “you’re… you’re-“

He hissed at you lowly, slinking back as he tried to hide as much of him from your flashlight, his cat-like eyes dilating with growing frustration. ”This place does not belong to you and I will not tell you again. Leave at once.”

“I would, but I can’t. My line was caught and I fell down here.” You took a sudden step back when he looked to lunge at you, your fears of him sticking his fangs into you and feasting on you were not as bad when a long claw came to touch at the top of your helmet, mesmerised by how it clanked with his long nail. You flinched when you saw his nails, trying to keep your eyes off of them. “What are you then?”

“You humans like to call us Lamias, but it has been a long while since I saw one of my kind.” He shrugged indifferently as if not fazed by it, but you couldn’t help but see the grim smile that enhanced his curved face. “Xanthorus is my name. You may as well know it as you’ll be here for a while.”

You told you his, with the Lamia seemingly not showing any attention in acknowledging it.

His long nimble fingers came to touch at the top of your head once more, gazing at it with some curiosity. “That fall, if it didn’t knock any sense out of you, may have hurt you, I will have a look at you to make sure you’re not injured.”

You nodded, slowly trailing behind the slinking Lamia as he took the course through the narrow and darkened cave passages with ease, you were having more trouble trying to keep up with him. When you finally got to a clearing that seemed to be the area he slept in, he was shifting through things that he kept, his attention narrowly concentrated with the serious look on his face.

You thought it was rather cute with how he stuck his tongue out when he concentrated, but that was all gone when he finally pulled out some gauzes and unnecessary salves. He signalled you to remove your helmet, your protests soon bubbling over. “I’m not that injured.”

“Maybe that fall did knock some sense out of you,” Xanthorus rolled his eyes indifferently as if he was dealing with a child than a grown adult, “remove that, so we can be done with this.”

You grumbled your last complaints but complied silently, throwing your helmet to your lap as he inspected any bumps or bruises all over your head, keeping the pressure light and gentle. Although for his serious nature, he was rather tender and delicate when it came to working at you, as if he enjoyed treating people.

“You have a talent for this kind of stuff?” You asked after some time, mainly quietly watching him work as discreetly as possible. You met his prying gaze, his eyes wavering to look off. “I have been rather unlucky to meet some rather grumbly Lamia in my time.”

“I thought you said it had been a while since you last saw one?”

“I did,” he coolly replied, “but for my own siblings? They were all bigger and brutish than me, my brothers mainly, but they were always getting me into fights.”

“Ah, the diplomat rather than brute, I see.” You murmured, earning a low rumble from his chest, a chortle, to say the least. “What about humans? Do they always enjoy seeking misfortune in dark caves?”

“It’s part of my job,” You responded with a playful snort, earning an interesting look from him, absorbed by your career and words. “I check to see how plant life changes the further you go down in caves.”

The Lamia snorted wryly. “You enjoy looking at plants? I thought humans would enjoy more boorish things.”

“Some of us, maybe. But we’re not all alike, I’m afraid.” You smiled to him nervously, the small laugh you let out not helping when you were under his intense stare. “Guess the labels aren’t true.”

“No, I’d assume not, most of you are more intent in having things that aren’t yours.” Xanthorus calmly spoke, and when you looked to the back of his arm, you couldn’t help but gape at the long fading scar that was as long as your leg. Your hand came to impulsively trace at the raised skin, feeling how he practically jumped out of his skin, but he didn’t withdraw from you. “Did a human do that to you?”

He didn’t answer at first, his own hand coming to hover over the skin as he looked at his with a frown from his face, his eyes fixated on it. “Sometimes, people hate something they cannot understand.”

You stared at him as he finally wrapped the gauze around your head, packing and tidying his things away. “I’m sorry that they did that to you, some of us can be real dicks.”

Xanthorus’ body rumbled with the soft unnoticeable snort come from his flat nose, rolling his eyes as he looked away from you momentarily before you had seen. “Not all of them.”

He had gestured to the rest of his cave, the area was tightly packed now with the two of you inside, but the walls seemed cooling and it brought in a decent draft as you settled in the place you would have to get used to for a couple of days. “Pick your side to sleep on, don’t change your mind last second either.”

“What if I get cold?” You pouted.

“Then I pray to whatever Gods are out there that they have blessed you with thick skin.” He retorted: his jape light and not as rude as you thought he would be to you. He seemed sulkier and mildly bothered at some situations, but he was harmless overall.

I would rather be in the arms of a harmless Lamia than one who would want me dead in a flash. You gulped, settling in for the rest of what you could believe was the day, speaking as much as you could to Xanthorus about his life and get as many answers from him before he got too irritated.

By night, he was coiled around himself with his tail wrapped tightly around him, leaving you to tend to yourself as you froze to death, your teeth chattering nonstop.

That might’ve been the beginning of it all, as halfway through the night, the Lamia had unravelled himself and silently wrapped his tail like a high crimson wall around you, keeping his distance whilst his eyes remained close.

You wanted to believe that it had been an accident, but in your mind, you believed he knew he had done it to get you to shut up.

The next few days were gruelling at first, and it left you more frustrated and down at your situation, never believing you would be rescued by your team no matter how much you told Xanthorus they would come and get you. The first week rolled past and you finally accepted that your fate was sealed to remain here with no way in knowing whether you would get out and see the surface ever again.

Your flashlight died after two days, leaving you to fend with natural firelight or flares you had spare in your bag you carried. The water bottle and bars you had would last but thankfully there was natural water lying around where you could refill, and Xanthorus always hunted at night – on creatures you weren’t sure on, but it would suffice you enough.

By the fifth day, you grew bored with doing nothing, finally using your skills in navigating and climbing to use to try and get around the caves, having to keep telling Xanthorus that you wouldn’t injure yourself, even though he was adamant in knowing you would do. It took a few quarrels and japes for him to quieten and after having courage and confidence pumped into you, you used the little equipment you had on you to travel around and climb.

It took that second day of climbing to finally get you seriously hurt.

“Do I seriously need to tell you why I thought this was a stupid idea?” The Lamia was situated in slithering back and forth in what a human would see as pacing, his mouth trained in spitting out the frustrations he had to endure whilst you were sat on the rock opposite him, watching him in silence, collecting at the blood dripping down your arm with a spare t-shirt.

The cut was practically a clean slice though the back of your arm when you had accidentally slipped and got it scraped against a rough part of the rock, getting the Lamia to scurry up it to collect you before you could even call for him, where he carried you in the crook of his arm back to the main part of his cave to patch you up, not before ranting and lecturing you in your recklessness.

“I mean, I knew humans could be reckless, but never before, have I seen a clumsy fall like yours.” His words were mean and honestly cruel, but he was spitting up facts to you. You had dealt with falls before, all because in the past you hadn’t been paying attention and pushed your body into overdoing something and thus, hurting yourself, but not as bad as this. You were lucky you hadn’t taken your arm clean off, or worse, struck a nerve.

That nerve mixed in with having to practically babysit you must’ve been frustrating Xanthorus more and more until finally, he had to snap at your lack of responsibility and irresponsibility. You had to deal with the ramblings of Sebastian before, and it was suddenly dwelling on you that it was making you look incompetent to even know how to survive without being a complete idiot.

He was mid-rant as your recklessness when a wrack of a warbled sob cut him off, his large head twisting to see you with your head in your hands, guarding your eyes as you soaked your palms with your bloody fingers and tears, your sobs seemingly getting louder the more you let out a choked snivel.

You were expecting to hear a scoff and ramble for your tears, instead, being surprised by the feel of two hands coming to wrap at your wrists and pulling your hands away for you to open your eyes.

When you did, Xanthorus was stooped before you but still at a high enough height to only come up to his shoulders, his face in a constant look of guilt. When he said your name, it was softly spoken, delicate like he was dealing with fragile glass.

He didn’t say much else as he collected the dampened t-shirt stained with your blood and dabbed at your wound, holding it there to stem the flow, silently working as you continued to cry softly to yourself before it was only small sniffles.

When you looked up when he had done his best in stitching you up and bandaging everything, his green eyes were trained on you, the guilt still present. “I’m sorry, ‘Thorus.” You mumbled pitifully, wiping at your eyes. “I am useless.”

“No, you’re not. You’re far from it, just… please, watch out for things before you do anything? You’re capable, but I don’t want things like this happening again.” He slowly replied, stroking his fingers up and down over your bandages, drawling, “I’m sorry I made you cry, I just want you to not harm yourself again. You’re so small, delicate, and I want to make sure you don’t do anything rash.”

You silently listened to his words in marvel, watching how his composure seemingly crumpled before you. “I’m sorry--- you’re smart enough to not need to listen to a stupid old thing like me, you should be up there.” He chuckled musical, the curves of his mouth lifting upwards, and it was truly beautiful to see.

“I’ll try,” you promised sheepishly, twiddling your thumbs timidly, your cheeks darkening. “I’ll try not going into places like a boorish man.”

“No, you’re far too comely than boorish.” He smiled softly, coughing awkwardly to collect himself. “Just promise me you’ll be a bit more careful?”

You nodded, leaning up to kiss the smooth curve of his cheek, watching how his face lit up and his face insincerely tried to lean forward closer to you before he had the chance when you leant back. “Just for you, Xanthorus.”

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monsterlovinghours · 3 years

Text

Rescue

new don dropped! here's a little ficlet i wrote for @realmonsterboyhours and the new don she came up with. enjoy!

cw: kidnapping, death, gore

There hadn’t been time to call for help. There hadn’t been time to run, or scream, or even draw breath. One moment, you were walking down an empty street at twilight, your arms aching from the bags looped around your wrists, containing your purchases. You had spent more than you meant to, but not nearly as much as your lovers encouraged you to spend; two lifetimes could pass and you would still never get used to the seemingly endless wealth you now had access to. You were excited to show the others what you had bought, excited to model some of your new outfits and see which of the dons would reach you first to rip it off of you. You weren’t paying attention. You should have been looking around. You should have been more aware. One moment, you were hopeful, at peace. The next, you were waking to pain and semi-darkness, unaware that you had passed out at all.

You tried to move, tried to bite back the rising panic as you found your wrists bound, cuffed together and looped through the rungs of a metal chair. You tried rocking from side to side to find that not only had your ankles been cuffed as well, but the chair itself had been bolted to the floor. Tears stung your eyes and the back of your throat, but you willed yourself to be still, to swallow down the terror and listen. Beyond your racing heart, you could gentle murmuring from the next room, the sound of at least three different voices speaking, perhaps as many as five or six. Not that you could determine much through the pounding pain in your skull and the thudding of your heart. The room smelled dusty, bare except for the single floor lamp in the corner behind you, the light dim and casting deep shadows. How long had you been out? Had anyone noticed you were gone yet? How long would it take for them to come looking for you, and would you be able to survive until they found you?

Your lips trembled, and you bit them, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Crying wouldn’t help, crying wouldn’t fix anything. All it would do is dehydrate you and make your headache worse. Of course they would find you, you reasoned to yourself. You were loved by some of the most powerful men in the world, and definitely some of the most dangerous. They would notice your absence and would be quick to find you. There was nothing to fear.

Almost as soon as you had that thought, there was a soft yell from the other room, then muffled shouts and the sounds of a quick struggle, chairs scraping against the floor and things being knocked against the walls. Things went quiet, and you held your breath, not knowing if your saviors had arrived, or if a different, nastier threat had presented itself.

A bloodied hand emerged from the doorway, dragging behind it the injured body of a man that seemed vaguely familiar to you, his face now contorted with pain and fear, both broken legs sliding uselessly along the rough concrete floor. You let out a startled sound at the sight of him, and someone poked their head through the door. Someone with ice-blue eyes, jet black hair, and a willowy frame. Someone you recognized with a wash of relief.

Bjalla. The elusive seventh member of the Conglomerate. You hadn’t known them long, and while they had always been cordial towards you, you hadn’t gotten to know them extraordinarily well; at least, not as well as you’d like. They seemed fascinating, though somewhat distant and aloof and, well, almost snobbish. As if everyone were beneath them. But here, in this very moment, they were the person you loved most in the entire world.

Their gaze locked on you, seemed to scan you quickly for signs of injury, then dropped to the broken man on the floor. Teeth that were too sharp to be human were exposed in a grin that, if not for the razor points within, might have been friendly. “Ah, there you are. I thought I miscounted.” In a couple strides they were close enough to plant the heel of their expensive boot on the man’s back, pinning him to the ground and staying his escape. Once again, their gaze lifted to you as they knelt, gathering a fistful of the man’s hair in one hand while the fingers of the other tightened around the handle of a large knife, its edge obviously wickedly sharp even through the blood drying on the blade. “Look away, sá litli."

You shook your head minutely, your eyes wide and staring, and though you half expected Bjalla to argue or force the matter, they only shrugged, as if to say, suit yourself. In one fluid, well-practiced motion, they lowered the knife and drew it deep across the man’s throat, who gagged and sputtered, hands fluttering weakly. Bjalla rolled their eyes, smiling wryly at the man’s last desperate actions. “You should thank me, idiot. At least I made the cut clean; you’ll pass out in a few seconds, painless and quick. You’re welcome.”

With that, he released the man’s hair, his head falling back to the ground as he continued to make those sickening gurgles, the last gasps of a dying man. Bjalla knelt to work at the chains around your ankles, checking you over more thoroughly now that they were at a closer range.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, and they nodded curtly.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so.” It was the first time you had spoken during this entire ordeal, and your voice was hoarse, scratchy. For some reason, the sound of it made your flood of tears break loose from their dam, and as soon as you had your arms free, you wrapped them around their neck and sobbed. They stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” you rasped, clutching at them and sobbing. They didn't embrace you, not that you had expected them too, but one cold hand did stroke once through your hair, an almost tender gesture. It was gone as soon as it came, however, and with a series of musical clinks, they cleared the chains from around your ankles and pulled you to your feet. The only exit to your kidnappers lair was through the other room, and since you'd made no effort to turn away from the spilling of blood nearly at your feet, Bjalla made no attempt to shield your eyes from the massacre that had taken place. You counted four bodies, though there may have been more. Two figures identical in build and carriage stood at the far end, their tailored suits immaculate despite the bloodbath that surrounded them. You couldn't be quite sure, but you guessed this was Bjalla's Lex and their Cici. They followed you outside, where a sleek black car was waiting. A tall figure sat behind the wheel-Wasp. It had to be. As Bjalla ushered you into the backseat, Cici and Lex vanished, their work complete.

You clung to Bjalla as the car sped off, unable to stop a stream of mostly silent tears. You half expected them to push you away or slide out of your clutches, but he didn't move, sitting still as a stone. After a while, once some of the adrenaline had faded, you wiped the tears from your cheeks and looked up at him. "Thank you for finding me, Bjalla."

Their expression didn't change. "It was Scarabee that found you. I was closest to your location, so they sent me to fetch you."

You recoiled a little at the flat tone of his voice, but didn't draw away completely. "Who were they? What did they want?"

"It doesn't matter," they said sharply, icy eyes flicking down to you. "They're dead. Whatever they wanted is no longer relevant." Bjalla sighed, rubbing the tips of perfect manicured fingers over the bridge of his nose. "You should sleep. It's a long drive back to the estate."

You didn't think you would be able to sleep, but incredibly, you were out in a matter of minutes. In your sleep, you didn't feel the weight of his arm around your shoulders, keeping your body close to his, and you didn't notice the way his hands trembled ever so slightly. They woke you when you reached the manor, all present dons and their clones pouring out of the doors to greet you. You were all but lost in a sea of embracing arms and frantic kisses, none of which belonged to Bjalla, who had all but vanished.

Later than evening, you sat cradled in Zhuk's lap, your legs draped over Scarabee's, who was rubbing something onto the bruises left around your ankles. Breaking the silence, you asked, "So, how were you able to find me?"

Scarabee looked up, his brow furrowed. "Find you? Cherie, we didn't even know you were missin' until Bjalla sent their Bee to inform us you were gone. By then he was already halfway to ya. All we did was wait for them to bring you back."

"And dispatch our own forces to wipe out everyone associated with the idiots who tried to take you from us," Zhuk growled darkly.

It was your brow's turn to furrow. "But...Bjalla said you found me. They said they were closest and that's why they came and got me."

The Russian and the Cajun exchanged a knowing look, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of Bee's mouth. "Well, darlin', I don't know what to tell ya. Seems our icy friend might be a little more fond of you than they let on."

Your thoughts whirring, you settled back against Zhuk's shoulder. If none of the others had known you were missing until Bjalla told them, that could only mean that they had found out first, and rather than inform the other dons and let them handle your rescue, they had gone after you themselves. Somehow, despite the terror of the day still weighing heavily on you, that thought caused a flicker of warmth. Perhaps Scarabee was right. Maybe Bjalla did care about you, after all.

#the conglomerate #bjalla #i didn't kill six men and drive halfway across a continent because i like you or anything

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jxoxsxsxi · 4 years

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Addicted to you - Avicii @azulraro (AU)

Robbe hated this place. The small and dark cafe upon the hills. A place where people escaped the busy and crowded street in the city. The place was suffocating with its grey brick wall and small windows. People were allowed to smoke inside so there was always this nasty fog hanging around. Robbe didn't mind smoke, he smoked himself but the old men that would come to play darts or billiards smoked a different kind of tobacco. The rich smell of the smoke permeated the room, wisps of silver-grey smoke curled and danced their way through the thick, hazy air as if excited to escape the gentle pull of the chimney. Even after the cigarette or pipe had long been extinguished the smoky smell would linger on the fabric of the chairs, on the curtains, and on the carpets; it hung on the air ready to greet whoever opened the front door seeking to escape the bitter gusts of winter wind that howled around the cafe at this time of year. The grey mists gave him a headache.

Robbe had been working here for almost two weeks trying to gather every single piece of information he needed. The people here treated him like shit. It had been awful, but it was all going to be worth it. The owners didn't pay much attention to his questions, they told almost everything he needed to know. It was almost too easy.

The half a dozen customers glanced up as the door swung open, heralded by a blast of cold wind. Robbe couldn't help, but smirking when he saw who entered the cafe. The customers returned to their conversations as the door swung closed behind the new entrant and the cold breeze was forgotten. Not impressed by the young adolescent walking in. Robbe, on the other hand, couldn't stop staring at the handsome boy who was wearing his traditional leather jacket. The boy gave him a soft smile when he walked by. His black biker boots making an ominous sound, but no one paid attention. They never did. Sander slammed some change on the bar ordering a glass of whiskey never breaking eye contact with the owner.

Robbe knew it was only a matter of time now and turned around, waiting for his cue while he kept examining the men playing darts. He wasn't nervous, they had done this before. Many times before. It was something Robbe thought he would never be able to pull off, but Sander made it easy. Sander made everything easy for the younger boy. Robbe was in a bad place when he met Sander. He just came out of another rocky relationship and wanted to get drunk, to forget everything He still wasn't sure what happened. He let down his guard while talking to the older boy. Maybe he should have seen it coming, but he was intrigued by the attractive stranger with bleached blond hair. Robbe never stood a chance. He had fallen for the other boy within a split second.

Sander was like a powerful drug. Robbe was addicted to him, he never could get enough. The green eyes Robbe got lost. Suddenly there is a piercing sound of shattering glass.

Robbe grabs his pistol he had hidden underneath his apron and pointed it towards the old men. He could hear the owner scream while Sander kept a gun against the older man's head.

Robbe made his way down to the darts commanding everyone to get down. There was something about the eyes of the victims. The way they would stare at him in fear. Their pupils were blown with terror. It made him feel powerful. Robbe never felt powerful until he met Sander.

Coins dropped to the ground while Sander fired a gunshot into the air. People duck underneath the tables. It was almost too easy. Robbe forced some people who were paralyzed with fear onto the ground. The adrenaline floods his system like it's on an intravenous drip - right into his blood at full pelt. His heart was pounding in his chest.

It was a rush and Robbe never got enough.

Suddenly two hands grab him from behind and he recognises the salty scent of his boyfriend. 'Let's go, baby' the voice of the older boy was hoarse and low. Sander grabbed his hand and dragged him into the car pulling up as fast as he could. Robbe could hear the engine rumble while they left the cafe behind them.

They drove for an hour before Sander slowed down and pulled over. 'We did it again' the older boy gently cups the face of his boyfriend. 'We fucking did it again.' Robbe couldn't stop smiling and presses a soft kiss on the lips of his lover. 'All because of you.' 'No cutie, you deserve the honour of this one. You were fucking amazing.'

The younger boy tilted his head, exposing his neck while Sander marked him up. 'Lets share the hounours.'

Robbe closed his eyes while soaking up his boyfriend tender touch. This was the best feeling in the entire world. They just succeed in their mission. Sander was happy and proud which meant Robbe was also happy and proud. It wasn't the life the younger boy imagined for himself when he was younger, but it was better than his boldest dream. He wouldn't know what he had become without Sander. Probably a normal guy with a nine to five job. Robbe shivered at the thought of that. There was no way he would have been happy. At least not as happy as he is now with his lover on his side. His love who made him feel as if he was on top of the world.

#wtfock #wtfam #drabble #Send me a one direction song and I will give you a headcanon #or any song #sobbe #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen

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wordsandshawn · 4 years

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Before Now - chapter 13

previous chapters

trigger warning: descriptions of anxiety

13.

The crowd is going crazy, as usual, but tonight, my anxiety is going crazy too. Normally, the energy of the crowd makes me feel excited and eager to work, but tonight, it’s just making my thoughts spin out of control, and it’s making it difficult to focus on anything.

It’s a little past the halfway mark of the show when I realize that I need a way out. I’m not in the crowd exactly, but I’m very close to the crowd since I’m in the space between the stage and barrier that keeps the fans back. Shawn is just returning from B stage, so he’s running through the crowd. This is normally my favorite part of the night, and half the time I try running after him, since the fans are always extra excited when he’s close to them, and I like capturing the looks of pure joy on their faces.

Even after a few weeks, I’m still amazed by the interaction he has with the fans. It always seems magical to me, and I see the way that they’re always bursting with joy and excitement, which makes me happy too. But tonight, it doesn’t feel magical. It just feels intense, too intense. I know I need a way out, but I can’t seem to find one. There is so much security in this space, and even though the fans are still behind the barriers, I feel trapped. I want a way out. I need a way out. My camera falls from my hands, now dangling around my neck. It seems like my feet are frozen to the ground.

Suddenly, Shawn’s back onstage, the crowd is still going wild, and I’m struggling to breathe. I want to be okay, more than anything, I want to be okay. I can’t be here. I can’t stay here. But where do I go? There are ways out, and if I was thinking clearly, I would be able to find one, but I’m not. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jerk away from the touch instinctively, feelings of terror course through me.

The screams are too loud to hear anything anyone is saying, but I look at the person. It’s a security guard. He’s trying to get me to follow him, but he looks like he’s afraid to touch me again. I don’t know why, but at this moment, I look toward the stage. Shawn is in the middle of singing, but he’s staring directly at me, his eyebrows knit together in concern as he continues to sing the words although he’s clearly distracted by me. When he sees me looking at him, he nods at me slightly and then moves his eyes toward the guard and tilts his head. I honestly don’t know exactly what happened in the last few minutes, but I could guess that Shawn somehow communicated to the security guard to help me, and I should follow him because I need to get out of here and clearly, I’m not doing a good job getting out by myself.

The guard leads me backstage, and I force my feet to keep moving, one foot in front of the other until I’m safely behind the stage where it is significantly quieter. It's only then that I realize that I haven’t been breathing. I force in a strangled breath of air, realizing how lightheaded I’m feeling, due to a lack of oxygen. That explains the foggy feeling.

“Miss, are you okay?” The security guard questions me, and I numbly nod. “Do you need anything?”

I shake my head, taking in another breath, “No, uh, I’m fine. Thanks.” I say before rushing away without any more words. I need to be alone. I need to gather my thoughts. I need to reassure myself that I really am okay. I need a safe space, and even though it’s not as loud back here as it is in the arena, there are still so many people rushing around, doing their jobs.

I just keep walking, Andrew notices me and tries to ask if I’m okay. “I’m fine.” Is all I can manage to say, but I don’t slow down, and when he can tell I’m clearly not trying to talk to him, he stops chasing after me and lets me continue on without him. He said some other things to me, but I really didn’t hear much of what he said.

I make my way onto the bus, which is empty since the show hasn’t finished yet and everyone is still working. The feelings of panic I experienced have mostly subsided by now. I just feel exhausted and drained, physically and mentally. I want to be alone. I want to be okay. Really, I want to be asleep.

Leaving my camera on the counter at the front of the bus, I make my way to my bunk and climb in, not even caring that I’m still wearing my regular clothes or that I haven’t gotten ready for bed at all. I kick off my shoes, leaving them in the walkway, something I never do, but I can’t care less right now. I close the curtain, letting the darkness engulf me. I roll up against the wall, pressing my body against the stable surface. I close my eyes. Sleep doesn’t come. There is still so much adrenaline coursing through my body that it doesn’t matter how exhausted I am, I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts spiraling. I keep replaying the day, trying somehow to pinpoint what went wrong, but I can’t figure it out. It doesn’t matter how tired I am, I can’t stop thinking and I can’t sleep.

I don’t know how much time passes, but I hear sounds signaling someone is on the bus. At least one person. It is strange though because normally everyone gets on the bus at once after the show, talking and overall just making a lot of noise.

When the curtain to my bunk slides open, I’m caught by surprise. I squint as the light from the hallway floods in. Shawn’s face appears near my bunk. He’s breathing heavily, like he just got offstage or like he ran here, or both. I don’t say anything right away, and from the few seconds of silence that pass with him just staring at me and me staring back, he doesn’t know what to say either.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks. This is the fourth time someone has asked me this today.

I don’t want him to say I told you so. He was right that I shouldn’t have shot the show tonight with everything that happened today and overall just how I had been feeling, but I am not one to admit weakness, especially not to Shawn.

“I’m fine.” The words fall from my mouth the same way they have so many times today, still just as untrue as every other time I’ve said them today.

He shakes his head, “You’re not.” He’s so sure, and part of me wishes he wasn’t. I don’t even know what he’s doing here.

“I’m just tired.” Another lie, but I want him to leave me alone. He knows that, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to budge. He let me off easy earlier, doing what seemed like the right thing by pretending he couldn’t see right through my bullshit and letting me do what I stubbornly insisted I could. This time, he doesn’t seem so willing to let it go, but I’m not about to tell him anything, so if this is a fight of stubbornness, I’m confident I’m going to win.

I just stare at him, my back now pressed firmly against the wall, I’m as far from him as I can get. After a few more seconds of silence, he hesitates. From the look on his face, he’s torn between pressing me for more information and just letting me be. The latter part wins out after a while, and I sigh in relief as he takes a step back.

“Well, uh, my doors always open for you, just so you know.” I nod, and he continues, his voice a whisper, “Ky, I’m serious. I know things have been crazy, but if you need anything, you can always ask me.”

I nod again, whispering, “Thanks.” Even though I know I won’t ask him for anything. He’s already done far more than I could ever ask for by letting me come on this tour with him.

The curtain falls closed, and I hear him in the hallway for a few more seconds before he leaves the bus.

I jerk awake, startled. I dreamt of the panic, and now I feel it. Suddenly, the safety of the small space of my bunk feels like it’s too small. It's closing in on me. I need a way out. I pull open the curtain and slide out of the bunk. My feet hit the ground with a soft thud. Looking down, I realize I’m still in the clothes I wore the day before. After talking to Shawn, I must have fallen asleep. I get out of the bunk to escape the trapped feeling, but even the hallway feels small. The bus is moving, so I can’t just walk outside into the night. The hall is only lit by the tiny lights on the floor that stay on all the time. Everything else is dark except a sliver of light coming from below the door that leads to Shawn’s room at the back of the bus.

My feet carry me back there before my mind has time to protest.

I knock lightly on the door. When no one answers, I assume Shawn’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him. The space at the front of the bus is larger than the hallway, so I start walking up there. When I reach the front of the bus, I’m surprised to see Shawn is sitting there, almost in the dark, with only a small light on and his laptop in front of him.

“What are you doing up?” I ask, clearly startling him because he hadn’t seen me. He’s wearing his airpods and looking at something on his laptop.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He responds, taking one airpod out so he can hear me.

“I asked first.” I say, stubbornly.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He responds.

“What time is it?”

He glances down at his laptop before answering, “Almost two. What are you doing up?” He turns the question back on me.

“Bad dream.” I respond with a shrug.

He nods, saying, “Let me make you some tea.” He starts to stand, but I interrupt.

“No, I’m fine.” I say, but he insists, and I’m too drained to bother fighting with him about tea, so I let him go. I wait patiently as he starts to make the tea. Silence settles between us. I don’t feel as panicked now. I can be grateful for that, at the very least.

Shawn hands me a mug with tea in it before sitting down beside me. I stare down into my mug like I’ve never seen tea before and it is the most interesting thing I have ever witnessed, only because I don’t want to have to look at him.

“Skylar?” His voice cuts through the steady sounds of the bus racing down the highway.

“Hmm?” I question, still not making eye contact.

“I saw what happened during the show.” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he doesn’t want to say the words almost as much as I don’t want to hear them. I don’t know what to say, so I keep staring down at my tea and he asks, “Has it happened before?”

“Before today?” I clarify the question. Because it did happen before, today, but never like that.

“Before that time?”

“Yeah.” I whisper. I’d like to say we’re talking in whispers to be respectful of all the sleeping people on the bus, but truthfully, I think we’re talking in whispers because it all seems a little less intimidating if we whisper.

“When?” He questions.

“Earlier today.” As the words leave my lips, I look up at him.

His eyes widen with realization, “The interview.” He says under his breath. I just stare at him because it sounds almost like he just had a revelation, and I want to know what it is, but I won’t ask. He says, “You disappeared.”

“You noticed?”

He ignores my question. It was rhetorical anyway. “And that’s why you were acting so weird. Was it the crowd?”

I just shrug, because truthfully, I don’t know what triggered it. I wish I knew, but the loud, crowding swarms of girls at the show and the paparazzi outside the interview building probably weren’t helping, even if it wasn’t necessarily the cause.

“What was your dream about?” He questions, changing the subject. When I don’t answer right away, he asks, “Was it about that?”

I just nod, not in the mood to really talk. I’m not sure I can trust my voice right now anyway. I stare back down at my tea, and silence surrounds us once again.

“It’s overwhelming.” He practically whispers, and my eyes jerk up meeting his. They’re full of understanding in a way I wasn’t expecting. “The crowds, the people, the shouting, all of it.” He says with a small shrug.

“Do you…” I trail off.

He nods, “Yeah,” He says, honestly. “It used to be worse, but I’ve found some ways to cope better.”

All of a sudden, this feels too intimate. This is what I’ve been trying to avoid with Shawn over the last week. This is why I’ve avoided talking to Shawn at all.

I want to know more about how he learned to cope because that’s something I need to learn to do, but I don’t ask. I want to know what he went through and how he seems to understand what I went through and how I hadn’t heard a single thing about this before. There are a million different things I could have asked or said in response to what felt like a confession from him, but I don’t say any of these things. Instead, I simply say, “Oh, good for you.”

He nods slightly, catching the change in tone that was not subtle at all. “I, uh, I’m going to change and go back to bed,” I say, scrambling up off the seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in the jeans and sweater I had worn the day before. “Goodnight.”

I barely glance back, but I hear Shawn’s, “Goodnight.” As I retreat down the hallway.

Chapter 14

#Shawn Mendes #Shawn Peter Raul Mendes #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Peter Raul Mendes fic #Shawn Peter Raul Mendes imagine #Before Now

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jaxl-road · 4 years

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Scar Tissue, chapter 7

You know that part of fancy dances where everyone weaves around the room switching partners until you eventually find your way back to your person?

Slash is getting dizzy. And he gets the feeling he’s not missing something so much as being left out of something.

Pairings: Slash/Duff, side Axl/Izzy, side Nikki/Tommy, side Steven/Vince

Warnings: ((not in this chapter)) Implied/discussed past abuse (non-explicit)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The show went by in a blur.

Slash felt like he couldn’t stop smiling, running and jumping around the stage more than usual just to get some of his excess excitement out, almost rivaling Axl’s antics. The energy was infectious, and all five boys found themselves in a feedback loop that carried over to the audience. By the time the show ended, Slash could barely remember what had even happened, but that didn’t stop him from being certain that it was one of their best shows to date.

And the second they made it back to the dressing room, Slash pulled Duff down for another kiss.

Steven cheered, throwing his arms in the air, “Fucking FINALLY!” As the new couple broke apart, the drummer threw his arms around both of them, turning to Duff with a grin, “I’ve been watching this idiot pine for MONTHS.”

“Excuse you, we’ve all been watching him pine, “Axl chimed in.

“I kept expecting him to bring some sad, lovesick song to rehearsal,” Izzy contributed.

“I hate all of you,” Slash pouted, Duff chuckling and ducking his head to hide his red face.

They all settled around the dressing room, coming down from the adrenaline of the show, alternating between teasing Slash and excitedly discussing the show. Axl walked back and forth, waving his arms as he rattled off the potential for their upcoming gigs.

Eventually, the door opened and the terror twins burst in, grinning mischievously. “I can’t believe you guys ripped off our look!” Tommy laughed.

“We still win though cause you don’t have heels,” Nikki declared, kicking out one foot to show off the platform boots dramatically.

Tommy snickered, “Still though, that was awesome!”

“Brace yourselves,” Mick drawled as he slunk in behind them, “Incoming in three, two-”

“HEY, ADLER!”

Vince shoved past his bandmates, pointing accusingly at the Guns drummer, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that bullshit two weeks ago! I’ve got a fucking bone to pick with you!”

Steven froze, staring wide-eyed as all eyes locked on the two blondes.

Just as Vince was taking a step forward, Tommy leapt forward, standing between the two and facing his singer, “Okay, alright, as much as I love a good fight, I distinctly recall telling both of you to just talk this shit out.”

“Fine,” Vince grit out, crossing his arms, “I’ll start: What the fuck, man?”

“Uh…” Steven glanced around nervously, Slash giving him a ‘go on’ motion encouragingly, “Right. Well,” he gathered himself and narrowed his eyes, “fine. I was high and drunk and you were being a dumb bitch.”

“Excuse me?” Vince screeched incredulously.

Slash sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Off to a great start there, Stevie.”

“Well, it’s true!” Steven snapped, “You tried to set me up with some random chick, of course I got pissed!”

“How is that a bad thing?” Vince exclaimed, “I was trying to help you get laid!”

“And I was trying to get laid by you!”

“Well I-... Wait, what?” Stuttering to a halt, Vince’s face was a mixture of confusion and surprise.

Steven threw his hands in the air in exasperation, “I’ve been flirting with you for months!”

“No you haven’t!”

“Yes I have!”

“Uh, Steven?” Slash raised a hand, cutting in, “Dude, I’m on your side, but you’re terrible at flirting. You literally don’t act any different than normal.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, Steven shooting a look of betrayal at his friends as Vince smirked in victory, “Hah! See!”

“Okay, well,” Steven glared, “even so, that night I was totally blatant! You said you needed someone to fuck and I told you I was available!”

“Ooooh, he’s got you there, Vinnie,” Nikki commented, he and Tommy snickering together in the corner as their singer glared.

“Well,” he was starting to look flustered, “I- you-... I thought you were straight!” he blurted out.

Steven’s jaw dropped, “Are you fucking kidding me?? Vince,” he gestured up and down at the singer and yelled, “no one is that straight!”

For a moment, the room is silent, Vince gaping as Steven’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Finally, the drummer sighed in frustration, “Fuck it, this is stupid. I’m sorry I punched you or whatever, let’s just-”

But before he could finish, Vince rushed forward and kissed him firmly.

There is only the briefest moment of surprised hesitation before Steven is wrapping his arms around the singer to pull him even closer.

Meanwhile, the other seven rockers in the room stared awkwardly. Eventually, Tommy started a dramatic slow clap. Unsure of what else to do, the rest of the group soon joined the applause.

“Fuck you guys,” Vince tried to look annoyed, but we was still grinning. He looked like he was going to say something else, but Steven pulled him back for another kiss.

“Wow. For a minute there I didn’t think this would end well,” Slash laughed.

“Apparently love is in the fucking air tonight,” Izzy mumbled, winking at Slash and Duff.

There was a soft thud, drawing their attention back as Vince pushed Steven up against the wall, and immediately the terror twins sprung into action, “Oh, oh boy, okay, time to go!” Nikki stated.

“Yup, trust us, Vince ain’t gonna slow down just cause he’s got an audience,” Tommy added, the two of them herding the group out of the room, managing to close the dressing room door just as the two blondes fell onto the couch together.

“I can’t decide if Vince is going to be more or less insufferable now,” Mick mused.

“Probably the same,” Nikki laughed, “But we are definitely late for the afterparty, so let’s get fucked up!”

The two bands (minus one singer and one drummer) once again made their way to Motley Crue’s apartment, and Slash found it funny how different this time was from the last time they partied together.

They were barely a block away when Nikki and Tommy honed in on Slash’s arm around Duff’s waist. Sharing quick look, the two quickly situated themselves on either side of the couple, Nikki next to Duff and Tommy next to Slash. It was a little absurd how tiny Slash felt next to the three of them.

“I can’t help but notice some PDA going on over here,” Nikki smirked.

“Don’t tell me today is couples day,” Tommy joked.

“Uh…” Duff stammered, glancing at Slash almost nervously.

Meanwhile, the guitarist puffed his chest out, grinning proudly as he tugged Duff closer, “You bet your ass it is. We beat Steven and Vince by a solid two hours,” he bragged.

“I didn’t realize it was a race,” Tommy said, “But in that case Nikki and I definitely win.”

“Damn straight,” Nikki high fived him behind Slash and Duff’s backs.

“I think the fuck not,” Axl snapped his head around, glaring, “Izzy and I left you slow burn fuckers in the fucking dust, thank you very much.”

“You tell ‘em, babe,” Izzy nodded.

“I hate being single,” Mick grumbled.

“I know Mick, I know,” Nikki patted his shoulder comfortingly, the guitarist swatting his hand away.

If Slash had been paying more attention, he might have noticed how Nikki and Tommy left him and Duff in favor of flanking Izzy and Axl, Nikki and Axl talking in hushed tones in a way that would have been suspicious. If Slash had been paying attention.

But he wasn’t. He was too busy walking on sunshine at getting to hold Duff so close, making the bassist blush as he complimented his playing at the show, kissing his cheek and the corner of his mouth every few minutes while Duff laughed and played with his curls as they walked. When he thought about it, part of him wanted to ditch the party- to just go home with Duff and have a few hours to themselves, to lay in bed and touch every inch of him, soft and slow.

As they approached the apartment, Slash opened his mouth to suggest to Duff that they split off. But before he got a chance, Tommy was sliding next to him, “Hey, Slash! I have a question,” he began cheerily, “You have a pet snake, right?”

“Um,” Slash blinked in surprise at the unexpected question, “I have a couple, yeah, but they’re back at my mom and grandma’s place.”

“Cool, cool,” Tommy nodded, throwing an arm around his shoulders, “I’m trying to convince the guys that we should get a pet, but Vince is allergic to cats, and Mick is allergic to dogs, so I was thinking a snake or something! What do you think?”

“Are you kidding me? No fucking way,” Slash laughed, “You guys can barely keep yourselves alive and you wanna add a pet? None of you should be responsible for any living thing ever. Just get a cactus or something.”

“But I can’t cuddle a cactus!” Tommy pouted.

“I mean, not with that attitude!”

“You’re unhelpful as fuck, dude.”

Slash’s laugh was cut off as Tommy guided him through the window into the apartment. He hadn’t even noticed them walking up the fire escape. Blinking, he suddenly became aware of the lack of bassist at his side.

Furrowing his brows, he glanced around, “Hey, where’d-”

“I am way too sober, all the adrenaline from the show burned through everything in my system,” Tommy interrupted, dragging Slash over to the coffee table as strangers started pouring into the apartment behind them. The drummer quickly kneeled down, pulling a bag of white power from his pocket and shaking it at Slash with a grin, “Care to join?”

Slash paused for a moment in consideration, but finally shrugged, “Sure,” he crouched down next to him. He’d just do a quick line or two and then he’d track down Duff and whisk him away.

It only took a few minutes for Tommy to cut a few lines and for each of them to snort them up, both laughing as they felt the initial rush to their system. Wiping at his nose, Slash stood and nodded at the drummer, “I’m gonna go find Duff.”

Tommy gave him a quick wave before turning to chat with some of the partiers. The apartment had filled quickly, people passing bottles and cigarettes and bags of coke, voices layering over each other and someone throwing on a record to add even more noise. Looking around the room, Slash saw no sign of the tall blonde. Glancing at the window he had come through, he was thrown back to the last time he had come to the Crue’s apartment- the last time he had lost track of Duff.

Walking over and glancing out the window, Slash blinked with deja vu as he spied Duff and Nikki standing at the bottom of the building, smoking and talking together. This time though, it looked almost like they were arguing. Not heatedly, but Nikki had his arms crossed, a serious look on his face while Duff gestured vaguely and seemed to ramble on about something with wide eyes.

Slash narrowed his eyes. He hated when Duff got that look of anxiety on his face, and he didn’t appreciate Nikki putting it there. He took the stairs two at a time, and by the time he hopped off the fire escape, the two bassists had become aware of his presence. Nikki sighed, and Duff shot him an almost guilty look.

“Hey guys!” Slash smiled tensely, “I was wondering where you ran off to,” he said to Duff, weaving their fingers together.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Duff gave a nervous laugh, “just got caught up in conversation.”

“Bassist bonding, y’know?” Nikki grinned, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he eyed Slash with a look the guitarist couldn’t identify.

“Yeah, I’m still trying to convince Mick to join me and Izzy for ‘guitarist get-togethers.”

“Oh, I definitely need to see that,” the strange look disappeared as Nikki laughed.

Leaning heavier against Duff, Slash turned to him, “I’m pretty beat from the show. I was thinking maybe we could get out of here…?” he suggested with a sly smile.

Duff looked away quickly, “Oh, yeah, sure, I-”

“Aw, don’t leave so soon!” Nikki cut in loudly, giving them exaggerated puppy eyes, “You only just got here,” sauntering around them, put his arms around them both, ducking his head between them, “At least stay for a few drinks.”

It wasn’t a question, the dark haired man already guiding both of them back to the apartment, his hands firm on their shoulders. Slash sighed, but figured it wasn’t the end of the world. After all, he wasn’t exactly going to complain about free booze. So the three of them made their way to the kitchen, where a variety of bottles had accumulated on the countertops.

“Pick your poison!” Nikki offered cheerfully.

Duff eagerly snatched a bottle of vodka, not even bothering with a glass, instead taking a swig straight from the bottle while Nikki cheered. Slash laughed and reached for the whiskey, while Nikki quickly mixed himself a jack and coke. They drank and chatted, practically yelling to be heard over the ruckus in the apartment.

Before long, Tommy bounded over, clearly having helped himself to more cocaine since Slash last saw him. Coming up behind Nikki and wrapping his arms around him, “Heya babe! Having fun with the lovebirds?” he giggled.

Slash barked out a laugh, “You’re calling us lovebirds?” he gestured at the other couple.

“Nikki, Slash said we shouldn’t get a snake,” Tommy pouted, ignoring Slash’s comment.

His boyfriend only raised an eyebrow, “Well duh, probably because we definitely shouldn’t get a snake.”

“But baaaaabe,” the drummer whined, “I want a pet!”

“I got a dog from a blacksmith once,” Duff blurted out, three sets of eyes snapping to him in confusion. He smirked slowly, “As soon as I got home he made a bolt for the door.”

While Slash and Tommy laughed in surprise, Nikki had unfortunately just taken a sip of his drink and proceeded to immediately snort it out his nose. Sputtering and coughing, his three friends howled with laughter as he glared and pulled himself together.

“God fucking dammit, Duff!”

“You get used to it,” Slash snickered, patting his back in faux sympathy as Nikki flipped him off.

Just then, two familiar blondes crawled into the apartment. Vince had love bites running from his neck down his chest, disappearing under the low neckline of his shirt, and Steven’s hair was even wilder than usual and as they got closer Slash could see his shirt was on backwards.

“What’s up, losers? Did you miss us?” Vince exclaimed, waltzing over to the group in the kitchen with Steven beside him.

“Not really,” Nikki responded sarcastically.

“You wound me,” Vince pouted, “Where’s the love? I was nothing but supportive when you fuckers finally banged.”

“You gave us shit for weeks!” Tommy cried.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy,” Nikki rolled his eyes, “He still gives us shit.”

“We need new friends,” Sighing, Steven snaked his arm behind Vince’s back, too low for his hand to be anywhere but on the singer’s ass.

Slash fake gagged, “Oh God, I thought you both were bad individually, this is gonna be even worse.”

“At least get a room,” Duff mumbled into his vodka, looking away firmly.

Vince lit up, “That is an excellent idea,” he purred, Steven grinning as he was tugged further into the house.

As they disappeared into Vince’s room, Nikki shook his head fondly, “This is going to be interesting.”

“Yup,” Slash looked over at his own boyfriend, who was steadily draining the bottle in his hand, “Although, on the subject of getting a room-”

“There you fuckers are!”

Axl strutted into the room, Izzy close behind him, “Did you see Steven and Vince go by? I can’t believe this! I wanted to see Vince get punched and instead I have to watch them get all handsy with each other! It’s a fucking outrage!” he ranted.

“Unfortunately, love won this round,” Izzy deadpanned, smoking a cigarette lazily.

Huffing, the red-head crossed his arms petulantly. Nikki shook his head before changing the subject, “So, you guys have any more shows coming up?”

Perking up, Axl started talking about GnR’s upcoming gigs, Nikki and Tommy nodding along and commenting on the various venues. Meanwhile, Izzy turned to Slash.

“Speaking of, we should try to finish a couple of our new songs for the next show.”

“Oh yeah?” Slash nodded, “That’s not a bad idea. Any in particular you wanted to work on first?”

The two guitarists discussed which of their half-completed songs to work on first. Their conversation slowly shifted until they were discussing their favorite guitar riffs, from their own songs and from other bands.

“You guys should grab Mick,” Nikki suddenly chimed in, “I still want to see a ‘guitarist get-together’.”

“Oh my gosh, I’ll take pictures!” Tommy laughed.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Izzy shrugged, “Mick’s cool.”

“You’re only saying that because you don’t get scolded by him on a daily basis.”

“I mean… yeah.”

Looking around the circle, Slash frowned. He glanced over his shoulders, but the four of them were the only ones in the kitchen, “Where’d Duff and Axl go?”

The terror twins shrugged, “I dunno,” Tommy answered unhelpfully.

Sighing, Slash took another swig of whiskey, “I’m gonna go find ‘em.”

But before he could exit the kitchen, Izzy threw his arm around his shoulders, dragging him back to the circle, “Oh come on, they’ll be fine for a few minutes,” he argued nonchalantly, “let’s at least get back to figuring out which songs we want to work on next.”

Frowning, Slash wanted to say no. He just wanted to hang out with his boyfriend- (and oh boy did that thought make him giddy every time he thought it- Duff was his boyfriend)- but he figured Izzy wasn’t being unreasonable, so he nodded along. The discussion went longer than Slash expected- every time he thought they came to an agreement, Izzy would suddenly change his mind, or Tommy or Nikki would interrupt with a note, or comment, or line of coke.

Eventually though, when the whiskey bottle was nearly empty and he’d done two more lines, Slash insisted on finding Duff. He weaved his way out of the kitchen, the alcohol making him a bit unsteady. Luckily, the tall blonde was easy to find. He was sitting on the couch, Vodka still in hand (it looked more full than it had been before- was that a new bottle?) and Axl sitting beside him, the singer facing him as he gestured wildly, clearly ranting about something or other.

Duff brows were slightly furrowed, like he was confused, and Slash couldn’t help but smile fondly. He was familiar with the way Axl could sometimes just talk and talk, and it was almost cute seeing Duff try to comprehend whatever passionate speech he was caught up in.

He wasted no time making his way over, sitting on the arm of the couch to lean over Duff and place a kiss on the crown of his head, giggling as the bassist jumped, “Hey babe,” he sang, “I missed you!”

Across from him, Axl huffed, narrowing his eyes at having been interrupted, “Um, rude? We were clearly talking.”

Slash glared right back, resting his chin on Duff’s head and letting his arms drape over his shoulders, “Hey, he’s my boyfriend, so I get to call dibs.”

Before the red-head could argue, they were both cut off as their blonde drummer reappeared, face flushed and smiling contently, “Hey guys!" he drawled, "I am having the best night. You would not believe the things Vince can do with his tongue-”

“No no no!” Slash cried frantically reeling back and slapping his hands over his ears, “lalalalala I can’t hear you!”

“Oh come on!” Steven laughed, “We’ve described good fucks to each other before!”

“Yeah, but this is Vince,” Slash insisted with a shudder, “This is someone I have to look in the eye on a regular basis! Please, as your best friend, I am begging you to spare me the details just this once.”

The drummer sighed dramatically, “Oh, fine. But only because I fucking love you.”

“Thank you.”

“What about you, Tommy? Can you handle the dirty details? Cause I seriously need to get this out before I’m ready for round three.”

“Wait, what?” Slash snapped his head to the side, nearly losing his balance as he blinked drunkenly. The blonde bassist had been replaced by the Motley Crue drummer. Axl sat beside him, pointedly avoiding the guitarist’s gaze, although he couldn’t quite hide a cocky smirk.

Tommy shrugged, “Honestly, I’ve walked in on Vince enough that nothing can scar me anymore. Spill.”

Growling in frustration, Slash lurched to his feet, Steven swiftly taking his seat as he began to wax poetic about Vince’s bedroom skills. Stumbling away, Slash didn’t understand what was happening. Because something was happening. There was no other explanation for how Duff kept being swept away from him every time he turned his head. He didn’t even care about going home anymore- he just wanted to spend time with his boyfriend. It would be enough to just stand next to him and hold his hand for more than two minutes, maybe press a few kisses into his skin. He’d waited so long to get to this point. He just wanted to savor it.

Pressing through the crowd of people, he found Duff in a corner, leaning heavily against the wall with an empty vodka bottle held loosely at his side. Nikki was next to him, smoking a cigarette while Izzy stood in front of them and spoke quietly.

“Duff!” Slash cried excitedly. The three boys turned to look at him, Duff attempting to stand up straighter but only managing to pitch forward. Luckily, Izzy and Nikki quickly steadied him, Slash hurrying over and slinging the bassist’s arm over his shoulder to hold him up.

“H-hey, Slash,” Duff smiled, his eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol. He pressed himself closer to him, burying his face in messy curls with a sigh.

Despite his previous frustration, Slash couldn’t help but smile, bringing his free hand up to play with the ribbon around his neck, “Hey,” he drawled, “I keep losing you. Or, you keep getting stolen,” he raised an eyebrow at the two rockers in front of him. They both stared back evenly.

But Duff shuddered in his arms, reaching to clench his fingers in the front of Slash’s shirt, “‘m sorry,” he whispered into his hair.

He almost missed the way Izzy and Nikki’s eyes seemed to darken, but he didn’t have the energy to think about it, instead focusing on pulling Duff closer, “It’s fine, you’re fine, ‘m just messing,” he soothed.

There was a nod against the top of his head, and the blonde seemed to sink a little further against him. Behind his back, Slash heard a soft thud, turning his head to see that the empty bottle had slipped from Duff’s fingers. Rubbing his back softly, Slash decided that this time, it really was time to go.

“I think you and I are gonna head home now,” he declared, “I’m half wasted and you’re half past wasted.”

Duff laughed lightly, nodding in agreement, “Yeah, kay.”

“Thanks for the booze and shit,” Slash nodded at Nikki, turning and giving Izzy a quick wave, “I’ll see you guys at home.”

He barely processed their responses, if there were any, too busy keeping himself and the tall blonde upright as they left the apartment. The fire escape was a challenge, but both of them were laughing by the time they finally reached the bottom. Normally the walk between their apartment and Motley Crue’s wasn’t too long, but with both of them weaving and tripping over their own feet, the journey took twice as long.

Slash didn’t mind though. He welcomed any time spent with Duff- always had, but even more so now. Whenever Duff stumbled against him, he couldn’t resist pressing his lips to the side of his neck, feeling the bassist sigh against him as he mouthed at his collar bone. When they finally reached the Hell House, Slash ignored his keys in favor of gently pushing Duff against the door to press their lips together, kissing lazily and stroking his hand against the small of his back while Duff tangled his fingers in his hair.

Eventually, the chill of the night motivated them to pull away and unlock the door, making their way inside. They giggled as they fumbled in the dark towards their room. Slash didn’t bother turning the lights on, and after the briefest flash of hesitation, guided both of them towards his own bed.

What a strange day, Slash thought to himself. It had gone so fast but felt so long, and even though the two of them had shared a bed the night before, tonight was different. Because, despite all of his doubts and shyness, Slash and Duff were together now. He wondered if the giddiness would ever die down.

As he maneuvered Duff onto the bed though, he couldn’t ignore the way the bassist fell back onto the mattress like dead weight, limbs sprawled out and eyes fluttering open and closed, and Slash still tasted vodka on his lips.

So, smiling softly, he crawled on the bed and gently laid his body on top of Duff’s, resting his head against his chest and sighing contently.

“Mmmm… Slash?” Duff muttered, turning his head to try to look at the guitarist, “I-... ‘re you…”

Slash hushed him, wrapping his arms around his waist and rolling them onto their sides, tucking his head beneath Duff’s chin, “Long day,” he slurred with a smile, “Let’s just sleep now. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow,” he promised.

“...Oh,” Duff let out a breath, “Okay,” he laughed a little, bringing a hand up to smooth back Slash’s wild curls.

Pressing one last kiss to the bassist’s shoulder, Slash held Duff tighter, smiling even as the whiskey pulled him towards sleep.

He drifted off with Duff’s steady heartbeat under his ear.

#Scar Tissue #my writing #Guns n Roses #gnr #guns n roses fanfiction #motley crue #sluff #duff/slash #axl/izzy #terrorcest #steven/vince #buckle up y'all #the rollercoaster's only just begining

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marvelmando · 5 years

Text

tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - five

notes: im trying to write the far from home part but it’s just turning out so terribly! whatever, hopefully i get back in the groove soon

contains: some swearing, some violence, heights

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 3k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

"PLEASE BE SURE ALL CELLPHONES ARE TURNED OFF."

Marin watched as Ned hesitantly turned over his phone to the lady waiting outside the auditorium, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him. Peter had yet to show up from his tryst from the previous night, and both her and Ned were growing increasingly worried. Marin was equally angry that he was going to miss the competition and nervous that something had happened to him. For all of the grief she gave him, Marin knew that Peter was truly loyal to his friends, and wouldn't have missed the competition if he could've helped it.

The beginning of the competition had gone by quickly—hours of Marin sitting backstage, waiting for the science portion of the event, chewing anxiously on her thumbnail and pacing incessantly.

Eventually, Marin was brought onstage for the science questions.

"What is the relation of the speed of the fluid flowing out of an orifice to the height of the fluid above the opening?" The moderator asked.

Marin pressed her buzzer immediately. "Torricelli's theorem." She squeaked out, relaxing when the moderator confirmed the correct answer. The team gave her pats on her back, and Michelle even nodded approvingly with a tilted smile.

Marin was only able to answer a few more questions, and time had blurred together as they approached their final questions. The teams were tied—the moderator announced they had entered sudden death. Marin was so nervous, her head swimming with restless nerves that she didn't register the question that was asked.

But then Michelle pressed her buzzer, and Marin sucked in a breath. "Midtown Tech?"

Michelle looked bored. "Zero."

"That is correct!"

The team erupted with cheers. Marin was the first to wrap Michelle in a hug, with Ned following. Michelle, she could tell, seemed unfazed by the victory, but smiled at their reactions nonetheless. Flash jumped out of his seat and ran across the length of the stage, whooping and hollering with delight.

"Midtown takes the championship!"

+++

It was Liz's idea to celebrate their triumph by going up in the Washington Monument. Marin was giddy with an adrenaline rush and she figured that all things considered, she would be able to handle the heights.

"Told you we didn't need Peter!" Flash was saying, waving around the championship trophy.

"Flash, you didn't answer a single question." Ned pointed out with a funny look on his face, causing Marin to snort rather embarrassingly.

Inside the lobby of the monument, while they waited to go through security, Ned pulled out his phone and dialed Peter's number. "Peter! Are you okay?" Ned whispered.

"He picked up?" Marin whisper-yelled at him, reaching for the phone.

"Don't worry, it's safe; it's in my backpack!" Ned responded, holding the phone firmly to his face so Marin couldn't grab it. He set his backpack on the conveyor belt, and while he was distracted, Marin nabbed the phone.

"Peter! Peter, what the hell—"

"—the glowy thing is dangerous!" Peter was yelling. Marin's eyes widened dramatically as she whipped around at Ned.

"'Glowy thing'?!" Marin hissed, staring daggers at Ned. "You brought it with you?!"

Marin could still hear Peter shouting when the phone was snatched out of her hands by Liz. "Peter, is that you?" She ranted at him. "You flake! You are so lucky we won. You know, I want to be mad, but I'm more worried. Like, what is going on with you?"

"Miss, all items on the belt, please." A security guard interrupted Liz, who nodded and place the phone on the conveyor belt without hanging up. Marin could only follow behind, as one-by-one, the team passed through the metal detectors and retrieved their belongings. By the time Marin had passed and reached Ned, the call was disconnected and Ned was tucking his phone into his jacket's pocket.

"What did he say?" Marin said mutedly to Ned.

"Call was already ended when I picked the phone up." He shrugged, as a tour guide corralled the Midtown team into the elevator. Flash, still holding the trophy, asked Mr. Harrington as the doors to the elevator slid shut: "Hey, Mr. Harrington, can I be the one to tell Peter he's expelled?"

Marin rolled her eyes and the elevator ascended with a jolt.

Marin wasn't paying attention as the female tour guide monotonously recited facts about the obelisk. At one point, Mr. Harrington even tried to talk to her about his ex-wife, but Marin was too busy gnawing on her lower lip to notice. She was picking at her nail when a familiar magenta glowing light caught her eye.

"Ned—" she began to say, but suddenly the light grew violently brighter until it erupted, damaging the elevator shaft's framework. The car screeched to a jerking stop.

The car rapidly filled up with smoke, briefly obscuring Marin's vision, but Ned was close enough to her for her to see him drop his bag in a panic. "Oh god," she muttered to herself. The Chitauri core detonated much like a bomb—the electromagnetic waves from the x-ray machine must've set it off. And now, they were trapped in an unstable elevator box, some five-hundred feet in the air, with a bomb. Marin just hoped it wouldn't go off again.

"Oh, my god, look at the ceiling," Flash said, voice trembling. Sure enough, a glowing ring of red had burned through the roof of the elevator.

"Just stay calm, everyone." Liz tried to soothe.

Abe whined, "Oh, we are all going to die here."

Ned looked at Marin, visibly panicked. "Can you do anything?" He whispered in her ear.

Marin reached to her side, where her water bottle would be—but it wasn't there. Then she remembered she'd left it on her nightstand, figuring that she wouldn't have needed it, as she assumed they would have provided bottles of water at the competition if she ever got thirsty. She didn't even consider the possibility that she'd need to use her powers. "Shit," she cursed weakly. "I don't have my water." Ned clutched his head.

"We're freaking screwed." Charles lamented.

"Okay guys, I know that was scary, but our safety systems are working." The tour guide attempted to calm the group down, but someone started coughing, sending the rest of them on edge. "We're very safe here."

Marin knew it was a lie—they all did. As the seconds passed, the sounds of metal creaking were beginning to be heard. Marin could've tried to siphon water from the bodies around her, but it required a lot of energy that Marin didn't have. The altitude was making her dizzy, and she knew that even if she managed to gather enough water, her energy would deplete too quickly for her to do anything with it, and she'd been rendered not only useless but an unconscious burden.

The groaning of the framework deepened as the passengers moved about. Debris pinged against the roof of the car, and the tour guide had Mr. Harrington hoist her up to the hatch in the ceiling. Marin could barely make out the sight of park rangers opening the shaft's glass panels. Cindy was the first to be lifted through the hatch, and Marin could hear cords snapping. She grabbed Ned's arm.

Sally was next, then Charles, then Abe. Marin heard the distant sounds of helicopters. "Okay, who's next?" Mr. Harrington motioned to Liz.

She moved to grab his shoulder, but Flash shoved her out of the way, still clutching the goddamn trophy like a lifeline. "Me! It's my turn!" He cried, hoisting himself on Mr. Harrington's shoulders.

"Flash, seriously? What are you doing?!" Ned scolded, as Liz scoffed indignantly and Marin frowned at the boy's cowardly actions.

He was barely outside the hatch when the elevator shook violently, throwing everyone into a panic.

Flash thrust the trophy into the outstretched hands of the park rangers. "Take my trophy!" He moved to stand on the roof, and the car shook again, dropping a couple of inches.

"This is your last chance!" Marin vaguely heard the police cry from outside.

Flash had just been lifted out of the shaft when there was one last vicious groan of metal, the roof of the elevator ripping off and sending the car into a free-fall.

Screaming was all Marin could hear as she clutched the railing with one hand and Ned's arm with the other until the car came to an abrupt stop. Looking up, Marin saw a web connected to the outside of the car. She had only a moment to breath before she heard glass shattering and they were falling once more.

The car caught on something, and a figure crashed into the elevator as it halted. The momentum of the body hitting the floor caused the car to jolt and start falling again. Marin had never been on a roller coaster, but she absently assumed this was what it felt like—the swooping of her heart and the weight dropping her stomach into her feet.

Spider-Man aimed another web at the top of the shaft, bracing his feet on what remained of the broken metal roof, stopping the car yet again.

In the brief silence that ensued, Mr. Harrington, Ned, Liz, and Marin all stared at Spider-Man in a combination of shock, terror, and relief. Spider-Man cleared his throat roughly, adopting a thick New York accent. "Hey, how you doin'? Don't worry 'bout it, I gotchu." He began pulling the car up.

"Yes!" Ned cheered, pumping his fists and making the car wobble with his obvious excitement. "Yes!"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Big guy! Quit movin' around!"

"Sorry, sir. So sorry."

Marin noticed the exertion Peter was putting out, lifting the car up one hand after the other. A quick glance over at Liz showed that she was thoroughly confused, probably as to why the hell Spider-Man had shown up in D.C., of all places.

Suspense grew thickly as Marin watched the car approach the top of the shaft. The park rangers pried the doors to the elevator open and pulled Mr. Harrington and Ned through. "Alright, this is your stop," Peter quipped, but his voice was tight with tension. "Go, go, go! Everybody out! Move it, people—move it, move it!" Marin looked up, and saw the metal bend under Peter's feet, ready to snap any second. Reacting on instinct, Marin pushed Liz through the door and into the arms awaiting her to safety—just in time for the ceiling to collapse, and the car to drop under Marin's feet.

Marin screamed, reaching her arms to grab Peter's, but missing it just barely. "No!" Peter cried out, instantly grabbing her wrist with a web.

He held himself up with his feet grabbing at a web while pulling a dangling Marin up with his hands. It was a strange sensation, the web attached to her wrist—chilled and a bit slimy, but secure and steady nonetheless.

"You're okay, you're okay," Peter repeated in a chant, sounding genuinely distressed. He grasped her hand when he pulled her up enough, not letting go until she was safe on the observation deck.

Marin stared into Spider-Man's mask, hoping to tell him something—anything—but her heart twisted when she realized that he was instead staring at Liz, his bionic eyes widened. "Is everyone okay? Are you guys okay?"

He went silent as Liz nodded, seemingly in a weird trance as she returned Spider-Man's stare. "Yeah," Marin mumbled, but it went unnoticed.

Then, the web snapped, and Spider-Man fell down into the empty shaft. The spectators gasped and peered into the darkness to watch the hero plummet. "Thank you!" Mr. Harrington called down.

Flash pushed Marin to the side to lean over the mangled frame, still holding the freaking trophy, to yell, "Are you really friends with Peter Parker?!"

+++

Initially, the team was supposed to stay in D.C. for another full day. But once everyone was brought to the ground with the help of many teams of policemen and firefighters, it was kind of a unanimous decision to head back to New York as soon as possible.

Once statements were made and their physical conditions were cleared by awaiting paramedics, Marin overheard a policewoman tell another that Spider-Man was nowhere to be found—he'd simply vanished. Before Marin could worry that he'd been injured (or worse), Peter had suddenly ran up to the group, claiming he'd gone for a walk early that morning and fell asleep in some park. No one really believed him, but everyone was still shaken up from the day, and they were more relieved to see that Peter was okay and unharmed.

Marin had gone to tackle Peter with a hug, but Liz had beat her to it. So that left Marin stopping short, feeling awkward and embarrassed, especially when she realized that Peter had barely even glanced her way, instead, fussing over Liz and her well-being. Marin had selfishly thought that she was the one who had really almost died, and Liz was perfectly okay and didn't need so much of Peter's attentions; but chastised herself immediately after, reminding herself that Peter had known Liza lot longer than he'd known Marin, and it was more likely that Peter would be more concerned for the older girl. It didn't make the sting of mild rejection any less painful, though.

But what surprised her most was Michelle coming to greet Marin with a swift hug, though she'd broken away almost immediately and acted as if she hadn't just expressed such relief. But Michelle's voice wobbled with concern, which was more than enough for Marin's eyes to well with tears.

Back on the bus, everyone sat close together, though no one really talked. Peter was with Ned, probably recounting the events that kept him away for the night, but Marin was too enervated to care. Whenever she closed her eyes, she was haunted with horrifying memories of the floor dropping out from underneath her and plagued with feelings of lingering helplessness. So she asked Michelle if she had a spare book, and Michelle handed over her now-finished copy of Invitation to a Beheading wordlessly, pulling another book from her bag.

Her eyes blurred and she didn't register the words she read at all, but it gave her something to distract her mind with. Distract her from the burning feeling in her chest whenever she let her thoughts run aimlessly.

It was dark outside when they reached the high school. The team scrambled off the bus to find their families.

Marin was the last to descend the steps, watching as her new friends embraced their parents and siblings and loved ones with open sobs and declarations of love and concern. Peter was enveloped into May's awaiting arms as she cried with relief. The sights made Marin's heart ache.

What if he wasn't there? Marin thought to herself. What if Spider-Man hadn't shown up to save the day? She wondered that if her parents were still alive, would they be just as happy to see her safe and sound? The hole in her chest where she normally felt empowered made her begin to believe otherwise.

Her wandering mind was interrupted when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. It was May, with one arm around her shoulders and the other tilted up, with her hand tenderly cradling the back of Marin's head. Marin returned the hug and began to cry.

+++

Back at the apartment, May made the teens hot chocolate and microwaved dozens of pizza rolls. They ate in silence, no one wanting to address the day's events. They were just fine with being in each other's presence.

Eventually, once all the food was gone and their mugs were drained, May retired to bed, kissing each of them on the temple, and wishing them a good night.

"Can we talk?" Peter rasped once May had disappeared down the hall. Marin nodded, following him into his room.

They sat together on the lower bunk, and a moment of silence passed as Peter summoned the words he needed to say.

"I'm sorry." Peter finally spoke, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm sorry—about what I said last night, and for ditching you guys, and almost getting you killed—"

Marin twisted and pulled him into a hug. Peter wasn't crying, but he was trembling in her arms, and Marin felt a pang of guilt for not considering how scared he must've been. They had both endured falling from that height together, and he even had to climb up the outside of the monument just to reach them. Not to mention, he was still probably traumatized from plummeting into the lake, not a few nights before. She clutched him tighter, shushing him gently.

"It's okay, Peter." She whispered into his hair. "You showed up, you were there, and you saved us, okay?" She pulled back to look Peter in the eyes. They were glassy like he was holding back tears. "You saved me. And I'll always be grateful for that."

He nodded, sniffing lightly. They peeled themselves apart, taking a moment to compose themselves.

After a while, Marin asked, "Why didn't you tell me, though, Pete? Why didn't you tell me before you made the decision to go fight those guys by yourself?" Her voice was surprisingly steady. "Did you not... I don't know, not trust me, or something? Because I thought we were in this together." She didn't mean to sound so needy, but yet it did.

"We are in it together, Marin." Peter urged. "I just... I know you like Mr. Stark, too, but if I told you that I needed to hack into the suit to disable the tracker, I knew you'd—"

"You hacked into your suit?!" Marin exclaimed. "You fool! What if you messed with something important and got yourself killed?!" She scolded, smacking his arm.

"Hey!" He grabbed where she hit him defensively. "I knew you'd object! 's why I didn't tell you! And then, you got upset with me—understandably so—" he pointed out at her vexed glare. "—and I didn't want to force you."

Marin sighed after watching his reaction, placated. "Fair enough, webs." The corner of her lips tilted up in a crooked smile. "What else did you do to the suit, then?"

Peter laughed, looking excited. "So, it turns out my suit comes with my very own AI lady..."

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@dark-night-sky-99 @pushmeinablackhole @-thatgirloverthere- @demi-starzak

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diveronaevents · 5 years

Photo

DATE: December 22nd

TIME: 19:00

LOCATION: Teatro Nuovo

TRIGGERS: death TW, suicide TW, gun TW, stabbing TW

The columns are illuminated by red light.

The carpet that is laid out is a deep, lush red.

All will drip in red.

Gods will bleed red, not ichor tonight.

They trickle into the Teatro Nuovo like stars falling from the sky, glittering and glistening against a backdrop of the lush dark sky, smiles on their faces -- and if not that, then sharp glances catching what cameras may turn their way. “Who is this new face?” some photographers whisper to one another. Why have they come on the arm of that poor soul? The reporters murmur under their breath as they try to piece together the audience the Witches have gathered for this grand event. The journalists and photographers line the way from the array of cars to the entrance of the austentatious theater, lights flashing and voices clamoring to be heard over one another, to get one of these revered, one of these envied of the city to give them the time of day. But these elite of the city know better than to let the press bother them, even the one known as IMOGEN knows better than to harken for something that will never come. Why ask for mercy from the stars when they know nothing else but how to burn themselves to ruins?

The cacophony of cameras, cars, and desperate calls all seem to muffle and hush as a man steps out of his limo gingerly, his stellina upon him like a shadow -- but instead of being a dark companion, she is one of light. She tucks herself against his side, brow pinching in concern, a fiercely proud smile on her face as he looked down at her, whispering some words for her and only her to hear. Tucking her arm into his, the two walk together, cameras flashing intermittently, but not as intrusively as before. Weakly, some dared to call for their attention. One tempered glare was all it took for the others to let their questions die on their lips. Following their steps was the capo bastone, her bright eyes glittering as she watched the pair precede her. Just before she stepped inside, just as everyone had turned away, the Capulet king took her hand in his. And in her wake the consigliere follows with her paramour beside her, eyes coldly taking in the scene before her, lingering here and there before meeting the gaze of the man who stood beside her.

Celestial bodies only bother to draw themselves closer to beings who are as great and wondrous as they believe themselves to be.

Great planets do not draw closer to passing comets or pay any mind to insignificant moons. They are pulled closer to grand stars. Bright suns.

Damiano steps out with a smile and the cameras turn towards him. He lifts his flask in greeting, followed by his son, whose smile is ever-ready. The shutter of the camera sounds as though they blow the beloved princeling of Verona kisses, the journalists calling his name -- smiling and laughing as they do. In a moment they had transformed, from hushed, awed creatures to larks, singing the praises of the king and the prince that shared the name Montague. Damiano clasped his son’s shoulder and Roman pauses, glancing up at him, a roguish grin stilling on his face before he looked towards the theater and ambled on, his father whispering in his ear with a smile on his face as he does. No one bothers to note how his hand quivers, how he quickly tucks it into his pocket as he strides away. Following the two men is the consigliere, who pays no mind to the heckles and bids for him to turn, to pose, to pause for some questions. All he does is glance up from his phone for one singular moment. They all hold their breath. He grins and shakes his head.

Forgive them, Father, for they know not what doom they won’t be able to bear witness to. What undoings the night will bring.

What paradise will be lost for everyone who thought to draw blood first.

______________

The seats are a lush velvet, a scarlet velvet -- plush and pristine. They are quickly filled with figures wearing Dolce and Gabbana, Gucci and Chanel, or fashions that might suitably pass as such for those who don’t have the budget to afford such decadence. The kings of the city sit mere feet from each other, separated only by those who shall take their place. A boy and a girl, really, both wearing crowns that are too big for them to bear the weight of. Crowns that sit slightly askew on their heads. Behind them, the seats are filled with those who followed them, some faces recognizable, others that are less so. Some families sit apart from one another, others close together, finding their strength in the numbers that they gathered around them. If one paid attention, too much attention, they might have noticed how Valentina seemed intent to not meet the gaze of a tattooed man who glanced at her every so often -- far too casually, far too fleetingly. As he does that though, a feminine figure watches him; cradling their hand, the youngest Daly child looks at them worriedly, protectively, with a determination that would not have been found in her a little more than a month ago.

Animosity hangs over them, glittering and gleaming like the chandelier above. Hanging.

Hanging.

Cascading light from above, to those below until all else dims and there is nothing left but the light upon the stage. There is a hush that befalls them all, for even these grand Veronans are subject to the enthrallment of being apart of an audience, of knowing that those who stand beneath the spotlight of the theater are about to put on a monumental show. Orpheus managed to ensnare the hearts of gods, was it really so difficult to believe that these actors managed to ensnare the hearts of Capulets and Montagues alike?

The narrator stands on the stage, eyes wide as he looks about at the audience, lips parting as he takes a breath and begins:

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought death into the World, and all our woe,

With loss of Eden, till one greater Man

Restore us…

And so begins the play that captures their whole, uninhibited attention. It is almost with a child-like, starry-eyed expression that they watch the play unfold, this adaption of the great poem by John Milton. The director had created it with innocent intentions, with nothing but an almost bacchanal passion -- swept away was she by the story of the fall of man and the devil who had been cast out of the Eden that was created for man to reside in. How tragic is it to know that even those created by God himself with the purest intentions are fallible in their nature. Have flaws in their reasoning.

But there are those who are not so enthralled, there are those in the audience who shift every so often, who hold tight to their phones, who glance at the Montague king who sits, happy to have a show put on for him, at his bidding, for once. It is not wholly unusual to be somewhat lost in a monologue, to check one’s phone every so often. But what is pulling them away from the magic of the theater? Behind the scenes, in the wings of the stage, ropes tighten, feet shift about nervously -- in the wings, darkness stirs. A man ambles about in the costume of a nondescript rebel angel, face painted to mark the curves of his face dramatically. He is the one who tightens the ropes with a smile, humming a quiet tune as he does. It seems as though the darkness does not touch him, he radiates only serenity, only light. Gold mars the corner of his lip. He hears the music of the orchestra pause and he looks up from his work, then quickly turns to the ropes, closing the curtains.

He turns to those who stand with him, quietly nodding. One, two, three.

The rebel angel feels his breath still in his chest from the excitement of it all, voice high and thin.

“It’s time for intermission.”

Some sit, some stand when the lights brighten again. Juliana turns to her father. Everett asks Mikael and Lucrezia if they need anything before going into the lobby. Marcelo watches, the muscle in their jaw jumping as they sit, still as a stone while Bellamy watches them, hand on their arm, murmuring quietly.

On the other end of the row, Brigette sits quietly, large blue eyes downcast, while Katarina stands with her arms crossed, listening to Delilah, nodding every so often. All heads turn towards the doors that leads to the lobby when a scuffle breaks out. There is little surprise when it turns out that Matthias Warren is grabbing Everett by the lapels of his jacket, seething and roaring like a bear enraged -- Orion immediately steps towards them both but Valentina is there before he can move, grabbing Matthias and hauling him back with Odin moving into help. The security of the theater descends upon both parties and Cosimo rises from his chair, watching. Observing. Then he glances at Damiano, who has risen as well. The Montague man wears a pinched brow, lips pressing together in fury, nostrils flaring and fists clenching. He was the picture of fury. A painting of it.

Vivianne and Rafaella glance at one another, eyes flickering towards the Montague men.

From the left wing of the stage there is a thump, a low groan followed by a light-hearted laughter. Alexander glances at Damiano, expression unreadable -- the elder man shrugs before sitting back down, this time with a glass of red wine in his hand. Cosimo stares. The Capulets slowly rise from their seats as their liege stills -- it is almost palpable, the tension. One would think that they would be stirred to movement, fingers twitching for weapons that aren’t there, but no, it is in the stillness that one sees their terror. The adrenaline filling them, stilling them, priming them.

But for what?

The answer comes in a sudden dimming of the lights, all heads turning towards the stage as the curtain lifts. The scene is set, the lights are bright and shining, yet the actors are not upon the stage. But the Witches are. They stand in the middle of the stage, upon chairs, Circe with bruises on their face and blood upon their lip. The rebel angel opens his arms grandly, striding across the stage to stand in its center while the audience watches on, too bewildered, too disbelieving to do anything other than stare.

“It is time, Verona,” he says, tears in his eyes, voice clear and firm. “It is time for us to throw off the shackles that have kept us from raging our true war, from ensuring the victory of one king or another. These Witches were our overseers, who thought that they were keeping the peace.”

The rebel angel’s finger points at them, the three siblings who had once been puppeteers. They are the ones now tied up with ropes and strings.

“We thought that they would keep Verona safe, that they would keep our people, our culture, our city from being turned into ruins. We believed in their fork-tongued lies. But tonight, we will be liberated from them, liberated from the war they perpetuate. Tonight, we will all be free.”

And with that, he turns to Medea and kicks the chair out from under them. A wretched noise follows.

Then he kicks the chair out from Circe.

Then Hecate.

Most are too horrified to notice the small glance he casts Damiano’s way, a smile painting his lips. With one small nod, the rebel angel bites down. The city of Verona would soon be free from the shackles that the Witches had put them in, perpetuating this way by keeping their version of peace and harmony. He would be free too.

The curtain falls upon the stage.

But Act II is only just beginning.

____________________________

It was PERDITA’s cry of horror that started it all. She tried to rush towards the stage to help them, to do something but she was stopped by KATHERINE who knew better than to move the bodies. There was evidence that could be found on them. But PERDITA did not see it as such, she wrestled away from KATHERINE who tried to hold her back. It isn’t until PERDITA accidentally clocks her that KATHERINE lets the woman get away.

VOLUMNIA looks at Cosimo and it is in that moment that they realize what is happening. The Montagues knew this was going to happen. They were going to make a move for the neutral territories. Without wasting a second, VOLUMNIA ushers Cosimo out, only to be stopped by CELIA who seeks to stop them. But it’s already too late, the kingpin is out but VOLUMNIA needs to give him more time to get away. The two women grapple, spitting and desperate for more blood on this day.

TITANIA goes to flee, cradling their injured hand, but they see CELIA and VOLUMNIA’s tussel. Before they can stop to think, they aid VOLUMNIA who seems about ready to put CELIA out of her misery. With one hand, TITANIA grabs CELIA by the hair and drags her back so that VOLUMNIA might aid others in their fight and rally the Capulets. But it’s at the cost of TITANIA’s well-being because, though they fought, CELIA manages to knock them down and re-enter the fray once more.

SEBASTIAN is quick to move, heading towards the exit, ushering Damiano towards it with MALCOLM. But EDMUND sees them, calls for ROSALINE’S attention and beats them to the door. MALCOLM quickly backtracks, ensuring that Damiano manages to get away while EDMUND proves his worth as a Capulet. He grabs SEBASTIAN and lets loose the bitterness in a fit of a flurry of fists. The Capulets are getting too caught up in the fight. They’re focusing on the details but missing the bigger picture.

EDGAR goes to help his brother, but it is of course, MALCOLM who stands in his way once more. But MALCOLM has bigger plans and EDGAR is easy to incapacitate. He’s weak from taking Measure by Measure, still wounded, just as MALCOLM is. The Montague man, however, has something to prove. In moments EDGAR is knocked out cold. Too bad Marcelo isn’t there to spit upon his unconscious body.

MERCUTIO is, instead, with ROMEO. As soon as they had seen the Witches’ bodies swing, they had rushed to their friend’s side, trying to get him out of the fray before a bullet reached him. The two get separated in the rush of bodies and MERCUTIO finds himself facing CASSIUS. They smirk because they know that this should be an easy thing to do, even weakened and tortured they knew how to make bones break. But before they can deliver a crushing blow to CASSIUS, CORIOLANUS stops them, grappling with them before grabbing CASSIUS and running away.

Perhaps he means to find MIRANDA but she is cornered by BENVOLIO. He does not look as though he means to hurt her, but now isn’t the time to let emotions get in the way -- MIRANDA knows this. It is time to prove herself to the Capulets and prove her worth. He looks as though he means to escape the fray but in one quick move she has him on the ground and she flees only to find EDGAR on the floor. She tries to revive him.

The moment ROSALINE had seen VOLUMNIA take Cosimo, she had grabbed JULIET with ORSINO at her side. But then she saw some Montagues rush towards the exit and had left ORSINO to guard her instead. When she leapt from the stage and rushed towards them, ORSINO had taken JULIET to the wings so that they might make an obscure exit. Waiting for them, however, was ANTONY -- and with him was MALCOLM. JULIET and ORSINO are backed into a corner. There is no means of escape.

ROMEO has nearly made it towards the exit, but then he looks back at the chaos that has ensued. He rushes to help MERCUTIO but REGAN steps in front of him. She’s a little bored by this all, so she decides to make it a game. She lets him get closer and closer to his friend before maneuvering him two steps back. Why not mark him up while they’re at it? It is not until CRESSIDA sneaks up on her that she finds herself breaking a sweat, the two ganging up on her.

CORDELIA sees her sister in trouble, sees how MIRANDA and EDGAR need her, but she knows that she is closer to her sister than anyone else. She throws herself into the fray, finding herself pitted against ROMEO while the world crashed down upon them. She has no other choice but to remind them all that she is a CAPULET and nothing will stand in between her and her family. Not even ROMEO himself. At least now REGAN has CRESSIDA, broken at her feet.

VIOLA had seen the Capulet principessa and ORSINO disappear and made to follow. Under the guise of helpfulness, she might be able to make this all the more easy for ANTONY. However, PERDITA stands in her way -- and the look in her eyes tells VIOLA that she thinks she will have her vengeance tonight. Though PERDITA has no weapon, she knows that it doesn’t take much to break someone. To make them suffer. And VIOLA can’t help the unease and fear that creeps into her heart.

It had taken awhile for BEATRICE to get her bearings. But she tried to help who she could before finally spotting the woman who had tried to murder her. Maybe now she would be able to sleep a little more soundly if she knew that this woman wouldn’t be able to hurt her anymore. Before BEATRICE could get to LADY MACBETH, she found herself face to face with DESDEMONA. This was DESDEMONA’s chance to prove to the Capulets that she was something of worth. That she belonged with them. If shedding BEATRICE’s blood was the way to do it, then so be it.

MACBETH and LADY MACBETH knew that they shouldn’t have come tonight, but everyone answers the call of the Witches regardless. The moment they had watched their bodies swings, MACBETH had taken note of who he could drag to the exits with him -- but then the fighting had ensued. HAMLET had seen them, recognized LADY MACBETH and made a move to stop them. MACBETH was knocked down, but in his cast he had hidden a small pistol. He did not hesitate for a moment when he watched HAMLET make a grab for his wife. He pulled the trigger.

OPHELIA heard the gunshot. She rushed to find him, to aid him, but her way is stopped by KATHERINE. She thinks that this will be quick and easy but OPHELIA has her claws at the ready. With her desperation and a little bit of luck, she manages to incapacitate KATHERINE and tries to make a get away before the other woman can follow.

BIANCA grabs OPHELIA before she can see if HAMLET is alive. BIANCA and OPHELIA claw at each other, keen to draw blood, and it is more a battle of wills than anything. They are both broken in their own way, desperate to right the wrongs that have been done against them. But it is BIANCA who manages to call victory, with OPHELIA rushing away, desperate to put a stop to the blood that seeps from her wounds.

QUEEN MAB had grabbed OLIVIA as soon as she realized what was happening. This was not their war to fight, they were merely trying to outlast it. But ROSALIND knew that no one could leave here whole. It is not difficult for ROSALIND to separate QUEEN MAB from OLIVIA and it was made all the more easy when OLIVIA disappeared. There was no one but ROSALIND and QUEEN MAB. No one would help either of them now.

IMOGEN had grabbed OLIVIA in a desperate attempt to see an innocent life saved. This wasn’t their fight, she told them. They owed nothing to no one. But in her desperation IMOGEN hadn’t realized that OLIVIA was fighting against her, trying to get back to QUEEN MAB. The two argue in quick words and grappling hands before IMOGEN sees CRESSIDA unconscious. She rushes to help her while OLIVIA makes her escape.

ROSALINE grabbed OTHELLO to aid her in getting to the open territories before the Montagues did. MALCOLM, however, had other plans. After incapacitating ORSINO, he thought it would be smart to do the same to OTHELLO. OTHELLO tells ROSALINE to go as he engages MALCOLM, the two warriors evenly matched in strength, but one with more skill than the other. In no time OTHELLO has MALCOLM in his grip and chokes him out.

Just as ANTONY slips backstage, elbow locked around a slender neck as he dragged JULIET along. He had the pieces lined up all along, and they easily slide into place as he sends VOLUMNIA a message meant to seal her fate. And that, it does -- in her fear for the young heiress, VOLUMNIA doesn’t hesitate before obeying the message and making her way backstage. It was a trap, and it ends with a knife pressed to the hilt into VOLUMNIA’s gut and a choked up scream as JULIET ran to her side.

JULIET grabs VOLUMNIA but EDGAR is there, picking her up and rushing her out, pressing his hand to the wound while JULIET follows. After a quick exchange with her cousin, OTHELLO grabs ROSALINE and drags her out of the theater to go stop the Montagues that they could. BEATRICE finds a bloodied ANTONY and aides him in making a hasty escape through the chaos. They come across ROMEO and pull him along, making their way towards the exit while ANTONY tells the tale of the vengeance that’s been exacted. They leave nothing but blood and crimson smoke in their wake.

The curtain has closed on Act I.

There will be no intermission.

This is the beginning of Act II.

OVERVIEW: This much all of Verona knows: Damiano Montague orchestrated the death of the Witches because he was tired of them holding the bombing and all of his other sins against him. He didn’t like being a puppet tied to their strings. If he hadn’t been, he would have taken his vengeance upon the Capulets far earlier. An Underboss for an Underboss. The Montagues managed to successfully take Hotel Emelia under the command of RONAN IVARSSON and TRINITY CRUYSSEN, but Rafaella and Odin managed to keep the Twelfth Night Museum out of their hands for now. Other territories are open for the taking -- Verona is starting to realize just how many properties the Witches had owned -- and it’s a matter of grabbing them first and keeping them. There is no longer any neutral territory that can act as a sanctuary.

Feel free to thread out the fight scenes and, if you wish for more action, throw your characters into more of the frays as well. Please date all threads now from December 22nd through February 1st. Keep in mind that your character will likely be recovering from their injuries throughout this time, depending on how serious they are. Keep in mind the most important detail of this all: all of Verona will be split and divided now. As it originally was. As it was always meant to be.

#act 1 scene 8 #diveronaevent #death tw #suicide tw #knife tw

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moriavis · 5 years

Note

Right About the Void, Bele/Memir

Did I, like an idiot, ignore the actual instructions of the meme and write you a fic? And did I, like an idiot, lose the first scene because I was typing it into the tumblr window?

The answer to both of those questions is yes.

send me a made-up fic title and a ship and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

~*~

Memir stepped through the door of the set of small, shabby rooms where he lived and paused when he saw Bele, who was grinning widely and almost vibrating with excitement. All he wanted was dinner and a bath, but when Bele looked like this, he was impossible to calm down.

"What?" Memir went to the small table in the corner of the room and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher.

"Don't 'what' me," Bele said. "Listen, I think I've got our next score."

Memir arched his eyebrow and gestured for Bele to continue as he leaned against the table as he took a sip of water, watching as Bele went from excited to scowling in less than a minute.

"Don't look at me like that. Listen. We've done pretty good for ourselves this week, but there's no guarantee we'll continue to be so lucky."

"What are you planning now?" Memir asked.

"What am I--excuse me for trying to keep your sorry ass alive. Never fucking mind, I'll do it by myself."

Memir set down his cup and looked at Bele a little harder. It obviously wasn't the time to push. Memir could count on one hand how many of Bele's plans actually worked. Letting him flounce off alone might make his life simpler right now, but it always became more complicated later.

"Hey." Bele frowned harder and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest--His pale hair looked silver even in the golden lamplight, and something twisted uncomfortably in Memir's stomach. He was attached. He wanted to throw up. "What's the plan?"

Bele cut a look over at Memir, and apparently found whatever expression Memir had to be acceptable, because he loosened up and turned to face him. "Okay, I heard that there's movement on a jewel called The Void tonight. Chatter on the street says it should fetch a pretty penny."

"Won't everyone be after it?"

Bele laughed and reached out to squeeze Memir's shoulder. "No one's as fast as we are. We could get in and out before anyone even notices."

Bele's touch was warm, and it made Memir antsy, anxiety coiling in his stomach. He shrugged Bele off and ignored the flash of hurt that crossed his face. "We're going to die."

Bele rolled his eyes. "And you call me dramatic."

~*~

Surprisingly, it was an easy job. There was no one in Azmarin willing to take the same risks Bele was. They were fast, it was true, but Memir couldn't help the screaming of his instincts telling him they should stop where they were and go home empty-handed.

"Bele," Memir said, but Bele just waved him away.

"You're getting cold feet and I'm not letting you distract me. Keep watch, I'll get the door."

Memir took a deep breath, staring out into the corridor as Bele tried to pick the lock. The only people there besides them were the two guards they'd knocked out, and he was pretty sure they weren't going to wake up any time soon. Bele made a small, triumphant sound behind him and tapped Memir's elbow--Memir took point, his daggers in hand, but it was an unnecessary precaution. There was no one in the room.

There was, however, a small box on the desk in the center of the room, and the way it was presented made Memir's stomach turn with nervousness. "We should go."

Bele rolled his eyes. "We're right here, Memir. It's too late to turn back now."

Memir shook his head and faced the door again. "Just get it. Let's go."

There wasn't a response, and it wasn't like Bele to let Memir have the last word, so he turned around.

He was alone in the room. The box was open, the black jewel sitting on its cushion innocuous and quite lovely, and Memir rubbed his hand over his face.

The light guard, the lack of competition--the fucking thing was cursed, wasn't it? He was alone, and Bele…

Memir should leave, plain and simple. He should go back home, gather his stuff, and head south. If he followed the Kingsroad, he was pretty sure he could find enough people to rob until he found a place to settle. Bele was just an unlucky bastard.

The gem was called The Void, for crying out loud.

Memir raised his eyes to the ceiling, muttered a soft, heartfelt, "Fuck," and reached down to pick up the gem.

~*~

Everything was dark.

Even with Memir's darkvision, he could barely see five, ten feet in front of his face. He reached out and felt nothing.

"Bele?"

Someone was watching him; he could feel the hard, heavy weight of eyes on him. It made the space between his shoulder blades itch.

You wish my prize?

Memir didn't hear the voice with his ears--his mind recoiled at the oily intrusion of thoughts alien to his own, and he mustered up all the courage he had.

It was a very small amount.

"Give Bele back to me," Memir managed to choke out. "And I'll leave you in peace."

I hunger.

Memir closed his eyes; they weren't doing him much good anyway. "He's not a good meal. He's stupid and scrawny."

Then I will eat you as well.

Memir swallowed, his skin growing clammy and cold. "I'm also stupid and scrawny."

Yes. The word was a sibilant, terrifying hiss, and Memir could barely breathe through a growing fog of claustrophobia. I will eat you both.

"Let us go, and I'll break it. The gem."

You offer me freedom?

The terrifying, overwhelming weight of the darkness receded, and Memir could breathe again. "Yes. Let us go, and I'll free you."

I will keep your lover until your promise is fulfilled. The voice--the thought, the entity, whatever it was-- curled around him and Memir shuddered.

When he opened his eyes, he was back in the room. It was dim without any moonlight coming in through the windows, but he could see.

Thank the gods.

Memir knocked the gem to the ground and went to the desk, his muscles screaming in protest as he dragged it forward. He kicked the gem toward one of the desk legs, and with all his strength he knocked the desk over.

He lifted the edge of the desk once, and dropped it to the ground. Again. Again.

He knew immediately when the obsidian stone finally cracked, because Bele appeared on the floor beside him, unconscious and sweaty. Memir collapsed to his knees next to him and reached out to check for his pulse. It was there. Bele was alive.

Memir was going to kill him.

Well met, Oathkeeper. The oily, dark voice curled around Memir again, and he froze, his hand spasming on Bele's wrist. I will remember you.

And then, all at once, they were alone.

Memir, full of adrenaline and a terror he couldn't admit even to himself, managed to drag Bele over his shoulders.

Then there was nothing left to do but run.

~*~

Bele didn't wake up until they were almost home, and they staggered in the street like drunks. Memir managed to steer Bele into their rooms and then collapsed on the bed, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.

“You’re telling me there wasn’t anything there?" Bele asked.

"What do you remember?" Memir asked flatly.

"I got the door unlocked, and there was a box." Bele's pout was audible in his voice, and Memir closed his eyes as the bed dipped beneath Bele's weight. "We really didn't get anything?"

"We didn't get caught." Memir was wildly and abruptly grateful that Bele, at least, was ignorant of the thing that had been trapped in the gem. The thing that almost killed them both.

Bele sighed. "I'm sorry." The apology was soft and genuine, and Memir wasn't sure he'd ever heard that tone from Bele before. "I keep dragging you on wild goose chases. You must be so tired of me."

Memir didn't know what to say, his words all tangled on his tongue, so he sat up and bumped his shoulder against Bele's before he moved over to the other bed and started unlacing his boots. "I'm going to bed."

Bele sighed, but didn't argue. "I'll get the lights for you."

"No." Memir knew he'd spoken too sharply when Bele flinched, but he couldn't bring himself to care, the memory of that stark, relentless darkness still fresh in his mind. "You can leave them on."

~*~

#d&d #kenneth fic #what am I doing with my life?#scheherezhad

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chameleon-of-the-fandom · 5 years

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Unconditional Love Comes From Family: Chapter One

Words: 3398

Summary: When the reader comes home from war, you doesn't exactly go to Chicago. Instead, and thanks to a friend of yours, you end up in San Antonio, TX. Your brothers decide to pay a visit.

In the last four years, you had completed two tours- the first was a year and a half, while the second sent you to the Middle East for two years. What royally sucked was the six months in between. You had just gotten adjusted to civilian life again when they called you back for the second. I was naïve about war, you thought to yourself as you waited on the tarmac for Dr. Drew Alister. Drew was a friend you met while serving your second tour. He was an Army medic as well, and had convinced SAMH to hire you on, as you needed an actual job now that you had received a medical discharge from the Army. The medical discharge was received while you had been in Iraq. A second IED had blown up while you were tending to the initial IED blast victims, and the second blast ripped the bottom half your left leg off. Drew was coming to pick you up, so he could show you around San Antonio and help you figure your way around the city a bit. You didn't know how to tell your brothers, Jay and Will Halstead, that their baby sister, who left in perfect condition- though slightly annoyed that they were pissed off about your enlistment- was coming back in more than one piece. So, in an effort to avoid that conversation, you had talked to Drew about working at San Antonio Memorial with him. Barely any convincing had to be done on his part, as the hospital board was exceptional about hiring veteran, or active duty, doctors. They had been desperate for an ER trauma doctor after Scott left that department to help head the cardiac department. You were shocked back to reality when a hand touched your shoulder. You saw Drew had a smirk on his face.

"Earth to (Y/N)."

"Sorry." You smiled sheepishly. "Hey, Drew."

"Hey. How was the flight?"

"Not too bad. For an Army flight, anyway."

"Good. How's the leg?" Drew was the person you confided in about your leg, and he was your emergency contact. You had pulled your brothers off shortly before the accident.

"Not too bad. Finally adjusted to the prosthetic. Still feels weird though, to know that I am walking on two legs, only one of which is my flesh and blood."

"Yeah, Rick had the same struggle. But he loves his new line of work." Rick had only started working for SWAT for about a month now. You had heard that Rick had struggled after the accident that caused Rick to become an amputee, and you had the crap fortune to have to go through the same struggle, only there wasn't anyone who denied loving you until just before surgery. Drew had confided in you about the fear that Rick wouldn't make it through surgery.

"I am so happy. I just hope I continue to have his luck." You winked at Drew, and he knew you were being a smartass.

"This is gonna be interesting." Drew had a baby smile on his face when he muttered that.

When you finally arrived at your new house after spending the day with Drew, you were exhausted, so you double-checked your alarm on your phone. It was set, so you showered, and went to bed.

You were standing as close to the entrance to the hospital as you could. The call for all emergency medics had gone out ten minutes ago. There had been an IED explosion, and natives injured in the blast, not just fellow soldiers. When the Humvee finally got to the hospital, you were the first one out the door. You had a love-hate relationship with moments like these. You hated that people had been injured, but there was a certain rush of adrenaline that came with these parts of the day.

When you finally arrived on scene, there was blood everywhere, not to mention the metal from the vehicle that had triggered the IED. You took in the scene before you for a moment, before rushing into the fray. The first two bodies you approached were just that, bodies. The third was still alive, but his guts were exposed to the outside world due to a huge cut across his abdomen. You acquired the plastic wrap that sat in your go-bag for situations like this and wrapped it around the exposed organs. You waved down a couple of people who were transporting victims, and informed them of the status of this patient. Once you finished, you left and ran to the next victim. This was one you would never forget. It was the body of a young boy. The dull and lifeless look in his eye shook you to your core. But you had almost no time to focus on him, because you heard a familiar click. Your head darted up to meet the eyes of someone else, who'd been sentenced to death with that click.

"Don't move!" You screamed, only the person didn't quite listen to you. You knew what was coming and waited in terror as they lifted their leg.

You woke up on the floor wrapped in your sheets and covered in sweat. You looked at your phone. There was still twenty minutes before your alarm was supposed to go off, so you dismissed the alarm and got ready for the day, as you first night shift at SAMH was in a few hours. You were kind of excited to have the ability to practice medicine again, and not the be the patient. Besides, tonight you gonna be meeting new coworkers.

When you finally arrived at San Antonio Memorial, the first place you went to visit was the office of one Michael Ragosa, seeing as he would be introducing you as the new head of the Emergency Department. You wondered, not for the first time since leaving overseas, just how many people your accepting the position would frustrate and anger because they wanted your job. The one hope you had for the job regarding coworkers was you wanted most of them if not all, to trust you. And, of course, you knew that would take time, but you didn't want to be working with people who didn't trust you, as you had dealt with that plenty. You knocked on the door.

"Come in." declared the person inside. You walked in.

"Hello, my name is Dr. (Y/N) Halstead, and I was hoping to speak with a Mr. Ragosa?" You confirmed.

"Just Michael is fine. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Halstead." He had been ecstatic that he didn't have to risk putting TC in as the ED head.

"Okay, if you insist that I call you Michael, then I insist you call me (Y/N)." You smiled.

"Wonderful. Now that those introductions are out of the way, I wanted to let you know, that if you need anything, you let me know, okay?

"Of course."

"Now, shall we get the biggest introduction over with, then?" He clapped his hands, and your nerves made an appearance in your stomach.

After following Michael down to the ER, you both continued over to the nurses' station.

"Everyone!" Michael yelled, attempting to gather everyone's attention over the usual hustle and bustle.

"Hey!" He finally succeeded. "Meet your new head of the Emergency Department," you stepped up beside him, "this is Dr. (Y/N) Halstead. Make her feel welcome, please. And TC, can I speak to you and her for a moment?" TC nodded, but you saw the suspicion in his eyes, and Drew's grin nearly split his face.

Pulling you both to the side, Michael began, "(Y/N), this is Dr. Callahan, or TC to most of us around here."

"Pleasure to meet you Dr. Callahan." You smiled gently.

"Same to you, Dr. Halstead."

"Please, just (Y/N), at least when we're not around patients."

"Then you can call me TC."

"Anyway," Michael butted back in, "I was hoping TC would be willing to show you around." TC nodded in response to the unspoken question.

TC started the tour in the locker room while trying to figure out why your name sounded familiar. "This is where you'll change into scrubs, and keep any food you don't get here, which contrary to popular belief isn't actually that terrible. Just have to know what to get."

"I've found that to be true for most hospitals." You stated.

"Hop-a-long doctor, then?" He raised his eyebrows. Hop-a-long doctors never stayed at one hospital for too long, so TC was surprised SAMH had hired one.

"No, patient, actually." TC was confused. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with you, physically, anyway.

"Huh?" He stopped walking to face you, and you explained, showing him your prosthetic.

"I was on my second tour, and an IED blew up. It tore the bottom part of my leg off. Finally finished with most of the doctor's visits, and rehab. Thank goodness."

"Oh, you just don't walk like an amputee." He stated.

You smirked, "Does Rick?"

"Point taken." He turned to finish the tour.

Three hours later, and TC had finally finished your tour. "So, what do you think of our home?"

"Protective of it much, Callahan?" you asked, sarcasm dripping in your tone. It hit him like a rock being thrown full force into his chest.

"Halstead?"

"Yeah?" You furrowed your brows in confusion. Hadn't you cleared this up earlier?

"As in, your brother is Detective Halstead? From Chicago?"

"How the hell do you know Jay?" Shock rippled through you.

"I'm a former Army Ranger. Served a glancing tour with him. Good man, good soldier."

"No shit. Wow. I never thought I'd meet another him."

"How's he doing?"

"… Uh, h-he's doing well." you replied with hesitancy.

"Okay? Anyway, shift has started, so if you need anything, you let me know, and we'll get it figured out." He shifted the subject, reading your body language. Maybe he could talk to Drew about it later.

"Thanks for the grand tour, TC. Hey, before you go, would you mind giving me your basic read on the people on this shift? Who do I need to keep an eye on? And who is good at their job?" You asked, hoping he'd help you out.

After shift, TC was mulling over what he'd learned earlier. He couldn't believe that he'd met you and your brother in different parts of the world. He wondered if the number he had in his phone for your brother was still good; he also wondered if your brother knew you were down here. TC was determined to find out, so once he was back into his regular clothes, TC snagged his phone from his locker and went into his contacts. Once he found Jay's number, he dialed. Ring, Ring.

"This is Detective Halstead." came from the phone.

"Jay Halstead?" TC wanted confirmation before giving out information.

"Yes, who is this?"

"Sorry, this is TC Callahan. We served in the Rangers together?" TC attempted to jog the man's memory, in case Jay had forgotten TC.

"Wow. I didn't think you'd actually ever use this number, man. How are you?"

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"No worries." A slight chuckle accompanied the words across the phone line.

"I've been pretty good."

"Good."

"Jay, you never mentioned a sister. You spoke about your brother, but never your sister." Confusion laced TC's tone.

"I never mentioned her because I always knew Will could handle himself, but she's my little sister, I just wanted to protect her. If she was never mentioned, then people wouldn't know she existed, and she couldn't be used as leverage against myself. How do you know about her?"

"I found out when she became my boss."

"Don't you work in San Antonio?"

"Yeah, why?" TC's initial question had been answered, but slowly, more questions than answers were building in this conversation.

"My sister can't be your boss, she's overseas. She's an Army medic. (Y/N) would've told me she was back."

"(Y/N) is the new head of our ER. She started last shift. I gave her the tour. Trust me, she's here. Is there any reason she wouldn't have told you?"

"Not that I can think of. I'm glad someone knows where she is."

"Me too. If you want, Ranger to Ranger, I can keep an eye on her for you."

"That'd be much appreciated, man. I have to go as there is a certain person I need to call. Talk soon, TC?"

"Of course. Have fun with your little conversation." TC smiled as the phone beeped to signal the end of the call and tucked it in his pocket.

ZZZT, ZZZT, ZZZZT. (Y/N)'s phone buzzed on the table next to her. She looked over at it and saw her brother's face on the screen. She answered. "Hey, what's up, bro?"

"Don't you 'What's up, bro' me, little sis. Why didn't you tell us you were stateside? Why didn't you call us to tell us you were home?"

"Woah, wait a minute, how'd you find out?" Accusation soaked your voice.

"I have my sources, but that doesn't answer the question."

You sighed in defeat, "I didn't tell you, " you voice dropped, and Jay didn't hear your answer, "because I was ashamed."

"What? Try again, and loud enough for me to hear." "Fine. I didn't tell you because I was ashamed." You punctuated your words.

"Why, (Y/N)? Why are you ashamed?"

Sadness now clung to your voice like a flower to the last ray of sun before the clouds. "I didn't come home in one piece like you, Jay. I didn't come home and deal with just PTSD. I had millions of doctor's appointments, and you'd only see me as weak if I'd come home that way. I couldn't bear the thought of my brothers seeing me like that, so instead, I called a friend of mine, and he helped me get a job down here in San Antonio. And I'm sorry, but I'm not coming back."

Jay audibly sucked in a breath, "Hey, no worries, Chicago's not for everyone." Then something you said hit him, "What did you mean you weren't just dealing with PTSD?" Curiosity rang in his tone. "(Y/N)? What did you mean?" He asked again when you didn't respond.

Huh, so he did catch that. You thought if you skated over it, he wouldn't have caught it, but the man wouldn't have made detective if he missed the little things. "Do we have to talk about it?" You tried.

"Yes, (Y/N), we do. You can't just say something like that, and not expect my big sibling protect baby sibling instinct to come out."

"Fine, I lost part of my leg." Suddenly, it was out there, and you slightly panicked. What if he didn't want to deal with you and your flaws anymore? What if this was where he drew the line because he didn't want to admit to being related to someone who wasn't all there, physically? Jay's voice drew you out, "leg?" You caught the end of his sentence. "What? Sorry. Got a little lost there."

Jay chuckled darkly, he'd been where you were at, maybe not physically, but mentally, hell yeah. "No worries, little sis. I get it. I just asked how much is part of your leg?"

"U-um." You stalled. You didn't want to answer, if only because you lied.

"(Y/N)." Jay's voice grew stern.

"Dammit, big brother." You rolled your eyes as if Jay could see the annoyance on your face. "I lost… all of it." You voice quieted with the admission. Now the ball was in Jay's court. He could love you or he could disown you. You knew which you wanted, and you hoped fate would roll your way. Thankfully, today it did.

"Shit, I'm sorry, little sis."

"Don't be. I knew the risks when I enlisted. I love you, Jay."

"I love you too, (Y/N/N), I love you too. Now, tell me about your new job and your friend." You laughed, relief flooding your system.

Jay was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He needed to call Will, but he didn't want to tell him that they had failed to protect you. But he was afraid that Will would blame him, even though it was your choice to enlist. He didn't want to face that. He finally drew his head out of his hands when he heard someone approach him. Antonio sat on his desk, so Jay scooted back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. "What's up, man?" Jay asked.

"Not much. What's seems to be the issue with you?"

"My sister is back." Antonio whistled in sympathy. He was one of the few people who knew about you in the unit.

"When did she get back?"

"Apparently, long enough to get a job, and go to the doctor." Antonio's eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean go to the doctor?"

"Sh-ahum,” he cleared his throat, “she lost her leg?" Jay still couldn't believe it.

"What? What do you mean?" Horror rang in Antonio's voice.

"I don't know, all she said was she lost her leg." Understanding lit up Antonio's eyes.

"Ah. And she didn't want to come home to her big brothers who are protective and tell them she was no longer a whole person." Out of everyone in the office, Antonio had always best understood how you thought, due to Gabby.

"Wait a minute, huh?" Confusion soaked his voice.

"You and Will are notoriously protective, even over people who aren't related to you. She is already dealing with having to figure out how to live without a leg, and she was probably afraid that telling you that happened would change your relationship. I'll bet she didn't want that to change. For her, it probably seems like the rug has been yanked out from under her, and the only thing stopping her from falling is you and Will. She thinks that if you don't know, your relationship with her wouldn't change." Jay opened his mouth to protest, "It would though, Jay. You and Will would baby her, and she doesn’t want that anymore. She needs something to stay the same. Is she dealing with PTSD too?"

Jay nodded. "Yeah, and thanks for telling me all that. I'm not sure I would've thought about it that way."

Antonio smirked, "Invite her up here, though. We want to see her."

"I will. Thanks, man."

"No problem, good luck with Will." Jay still wasn't looking forward to that, but there wasn't an excuse to put it off anymore.

Will had just sat down at a table in the cafeteria when his phone began buzzing. "This is Dr. Halstead."

"Hey Will. It's Jay."

"Jay? Is everything alright?" Jay usually just texted him, so something must've been wrong.

"Yeah. It's all good. Have you spoken to (Y/N) recently?"

"No, I figured she was busy with soldier-y stuff."

"Soldier-y? What world did you yank that from? Never mind, I don't want to know. She's back. Apparently, she's been back for a while."

"Really? Where's she at, then? Where has she been staying? Because, I know she hasn't been back to her old place. It finally sold." He was referring to the home you put up for sale just before the accident.

"Apparently, San Antonio."

"Texas? Why the hell would she choose Texas instead of here?" Jay repeated what Antonio had told him.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Me too, man, me too."

"So, she's okay then, at least for the most part?"

"Yeah, she's okay, Will." Will sighed in relief. He was hurt that you hadn't allowed him and Jay to help with your recovery, but he did sort of understand it. Sometimes he wondered maybe if Jay hadn't come straight home, if he'd have dealt with the PTSD better. That if maybe Jay had done what you did, he'd never tried what he did. After a moment of thinking, an idea came to Will.

"Jay, can you get some time off, soon? Like maybe in a couple weeks, just take a vacation?" Jay's suspicion was felt through the phone,

"Not to hang out. But what if we visited (Y/N) for like two weeks?"

"Yeah, let's do that." They argued about the dates for a bit, before they finally found a good date for both of them, and they hung up.

#Chicago PD #Chicago Med #The Night Shift #Jay Halstead Imagine #Will Halstead Imagine #TC Callahan #Drew Alister #Reader

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canon-notcanon-warriorcats · 5 years

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Submitted by: reillyberyll

Everyone stood in shocked silence. Blood roared in Nero’s ears as he swerved to avoid Brawn’s lengthy claws. His muscles tightened for a moment before he burst into a lunge, and he slammed against his enemy. Claws locked into the tom’s fur, they rolled together, until Nero heaved with all of his might.

Time seemed to slow. Fear blazed in Brawn’s yellow eyes as he was lifted into the air. His legs flailed, but there was nothing for him to grab. He cried out in terror as the wind fluffed his fur, his body falling from the ledge.

A horrid shriek pierced the air, and collective gasps followed seamlessly. Nero could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Fur clumped under his claws, his pawsteps leaving a bloody trail as he shuffled to the edge. As the adrenaline began to leave him, and his vision began to settle, he could see why every cat buzzed with shock.

Brawn’s paws twitched, eyes darting wildly. He moved one leg, and his jaws parted in a howl of pain unlike anything else as his body slid further down the pole. Blood coated the metal spike and gave it the appearance of rusted iron. Nero peered down at dying cat with eyes as wide as the moon. No matter how calm and collection he could manage, nothing would hide his utter horror at the sight of the cat that was once his superior.

He sat down and dipped his head. He was leader of the group now. He could not afford to show any weakness. There had been an attempt on his very life, and he would have to brush it off. A cat’s organs were impaled on a rod of steel, and he would have to act as though nothing had happened.

“Let it be a message to the others,” a dark voice said in his skull. He turned his head and froze at the sight of another cat behind him, ready to pounce. “And to you.”

Nothing could shake the unease that Nero’s dream had imbedded within him. Still, he shook it away and sat up from the soft blanket that lined his nest. Bastet had retrieved it for him the day before, and it still smelled of twolegs. The scent didn’t bother him; if anything, it brought comfort, reminding him of a younger time.

“Stay,” a gentle mew pleaded groggily. Nero looked fondly at the heap of silver fur at the other side of the nest. A pair of blue eyes flickered, lids hardly lifted. “You’re warm.”

“My beautiful Thrush,” Nero purred, bending over and touching his nose to her cheek. “I have to get up.” Thrushfeather reached out with a paw and hooked it around his neck in reply.

“The kits need you,” she muttered. Seconds later, she was once again asleep, and Nero was careful to rest her leg back against her side. He pressed his forehead to her belly.

“I’ll be here when the time comes.” After a long moment, Nero backed out of the nest and padded into the open. The sun was still low in the sky, but the cats of his group were energetic. The first thing he noticed was the pair of kits, Oak and Bracken, gathering Isis as she showed them a basic crouch. Both mimicked her, listening intently as she explained every aspect of her technique. Nearby, Dandelion was joking with Anubis, who sat outside a small den made from pieces of a metallic monster shell.

Nero scammed over his cats, whiskers twitching. He watched as Spore, a gentle tom, guided the blind Stick to a pool of gritty water. For a moment, guilt gnawed at Nero. He had been the one to rake Stick’s eyes out, but Stick — called Dapple at the time — had conspired with Brawn. He had been the first one to attack. Now, he was allowed only scraps and a dirty water supply.

“He deserves it,” Nero whispered to himself.

A friendly call made his stress dissolve, and Nero perked his ears when he saw Seamus climbing up the pile of shells. “You seem upbeat,” he commented.

Seamus plopped down beside him and purred loudly. “I caught a large pidgeon earlier and hid it behind my den with my collection.”

Amusement made Nero’s toes prickle. “You’re very happy with a pidgeon.”

“I’m going to give it to Echolight.”

The amusement faded away. Nero could tell how much Seamus cared for the Clancat, but nothing fell over him but dread. “She’s here looking for someone. I don’t think you should get too attached.”

“I’ll get as attached as I want,” Seamus said defiantly, eyes glittering,

I haven’t seen him lovestruck before. He’s certainly cheerful. “It’s nothing but trouble.”

A flash of light brown drew the leader’s attention away from his friend. Bracken was running towards the pile. “Nero! Dad!” He cried. “Watch what I can do!” He was quick to lower himself. “Isis taught me a crouch!”

“Dandelion taught me a better one!” Oak boasted. Bracken tackled his littermate, and the two tussled on the hard earth. They were in no way kin to Nero — their father was a Clancat — but he had raised them when Thrushfeather was alive. They were his kits now, just as she was his mate. And when he becomes a father by blood to Thrushfeather’s newcoming litter, they would be equal.

“Quit acting like delinquents. Maybe Devil will tell you a story,” Seamus suggested, offering a purr. Oak and Bracken immediately straightened and, eyes glittering with excitement, bounced away.

Nero sighed in content. “They respect you a great deal. I was worried they wouldn’t be good around anyone but Thrushfeather and me.”

Seamus prodded his side playfully. “They’re like kin. You’re like a littermate. I’m always around them anyways.” He stood and stretched, perking up. Nero followed his gaze as it landed on the black she-cat that emerged from what they called the Guest Den.

Echolight. Nero had met her before in her forest home. Now, she was grown, ready to take on all of the world. “I’m going to give her that pidgeon,” chirped Seamus, who hopped down the piled car scraps.

Warmth spread through every inch of Nero’s body when a rough tongue was cast against his cheek. “You’re just going to sit around?” Thrushfeather teased, settling beside him.

“I’m going to get Anubis to deliver a message to the closer groups.” Nero closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Echolight and her friend had come to Nero’s territory searching for a former Clancat, and if that cat was who Nero thought he was, there could be trouble. “I want this rogue Clancat found.”

Thrushfeather’s muzzle reached deep into his thick fur, and comfort washed over Nero. He allowed himself to unravel, turning his head and resting his chin on his mate’s forehead. He glanced through the corner of his eye to see Seamus speaking with Echolight, who seemed positive and grateful for the bird he had caught.

Perhaps today will be fine.

(Uninteresting, I apologize. Its that bastard man Nero.)

#this is absolutely not unintersting #warrior cats ocs #gore tw #submission #art submission

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rob12blr · 5 years

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Doesn’t sissy look pretty?

Dear Susan,

Well, another month has arrived and you’ve done it again, you’ve produced another fantastic issue. I would like to contribute to your work with my own first experience with petticoat discipline and, unlike my earlier submissions, this event was much more in line with what your magazine is all about. If you will remember, my last entries dealt with some very terrible experiences with diapering at the boarding house I was raised in. Because of these humiliating experiences, I grew up very withdrawn and pretty much a loner. On visits with my mother, I would have a barrage of questions to ask her, mostly about feelings and why people behaved as they did. I never could tell her of my earlier punishments because of intense shame.

You would have to know my mother to understand why she answered my many questions, especially about gender issues, the way she did. For one thing she was abandoned by the man who got her pregnant with me, and so had a low view of men in general. She also adored Shirley Temple movies, and had deeply wanted a little girl most of her life. In comes me - a boy .

It’s understandable that my questions were always answered with things stating how wonderful little girls were, and how ugly or crude boys were. This, along with my damaged self esteem from humiliating punishments, caused in me a growing envy of girls, and a secret wish to be one. I tell you this so you’ll understand why the following events evolved as they did.

I must have been around nine years old, and had yearned for several years to have been a pretty girl like my mother wanted. Then one fateful day at the boarding house, I saw the mother put one of her daughters old dresses in a dresser drawer, in the back room off the den. It was a green plaid, with a white bib and trimmings. I thought it was so girlish, with its full skirt and puffy sleeves, that I found myself craving to wear it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it long after bedtime, and lay there dreaming of what it would feel like to be a girl wearing a dress. It seemed like hours passed as I plotted to sneak down stairs and try it on after everyone was sound asleep.

Quietly, I tiptoed down to the back room in the dim street lights shinning through the windows. My heart was racing with excitement in anticipation of my becoming a girl wearing this dress. Slowly, I opened the drawer and searched for my prize. Just then my hand felt several silky items, and they felt heavenly. I pulled them out to discover they were girls’ panties. My mind went into overdrive at the thought I could really be a girl right down to panties too. I hurriedly removed my underclothes and stepped into the silken panties. The feeling was electrifying and drove my adrenaline wild. I quickly returned to the dresser and after searching another drawer, pulled the dress out and held it up to the window. I could feel the blood warming my face as I looked at my destiny in the glimmering light. Shaking uncontrollably, I struggled to slip the yards of fabric over my head. Then it happened, the magical moment that would change my life forever. When the dress fell into place a strange calm swept over me. A feeling of not only the dress fitting me, but me fitting the dress. This was a reunion with my true self as I felt a peace beyond words. Reaching around behind me, I nervously tied the sash, drawing my waist smaller and more girl like.

Just then the lights came on blinding me as horror wiped my thoughts away like so much angel dust. I twirled around to the door just as the mother asked,

‘What are you doing in that dress?’, with a tone of anger. I was so scared I could hardly answer, as tears started to flow.

'I was just wanting to see what it was like’, I whimpered with building fear. She quickly approached me and turning me around, untied the sash while asking me if I was a sissy boy. I sobbed again that I just wanted to see what it felt like to be a girl. Upon lifting the skirts over my head she stopped in surprise and exclaimed,

‘What’s this? Panties too!’

At that she returned the dress to the drawer, as I hurriedly tried to remove the panties in an attempt to undo the mess I’d gotten myself into. 'You pull them back up little sissy boy. So you want to see what it feels like to be a little girl, huh? Well you’re going to get your chance’. I dared not disobey as I looked down and slowly returned the panties to my waist. When I again looked up, she greeted me with a big smile as she ordered me to follow her upstairs. I nervously stood in the hall as she went into her daughter’s room. Moments later she returned and held out one of her daughter’s nightgowns. 'Little girls don’t sleep in dresses, they wear a nightie to bed’, she said sweetly. She then started to slip the gown over my head. I cried with pleas of being sorry, as I stepped back, begging her to stop. She demanded that I stand still or she would have to give little sissy a spanking. I felt somewhat dazed as the gown slithered down over my small frame. 'Now sissy girl, back to bed with you’, she ordered as she took my hand and led me to my bedroom. That’s when I remembered the other boys were in the bedroom and would see me.

I pulled away in panic as she tightened her hold and demanded I go get back into bed. I couldn’t resist her as she shoved me into the darkened room. I was horrified of discovery as I darted for my bed and quickly covered up. No sooner did I get covered when the lights came on. I guess my crying had disturbed the others, because they were all awake and looked puzzled. Terror filled my mind as she told everyone they had a new boarder. 'All right, little sissy, stand up and let everyone meet you’, she ordered with a sinister grin. I was mortified as I clutched the blankets tightly around my neck. With one quick swoop, she stripped the covers of safety from me and pulled me to my feet. 'I want you all to meet little Sissy. She’s going to visit with us for a while. I want you all to welcome her and make her feel at home’. Everyone stared at me with groggy disbelief. I again burst into tears as I dropped my head in shame. 'All right, you can all get back to sleep now. We’ll have time to get acquainted in the morning. You can get back in bed now too, Sissy’. She returned my covers with a gleam of pleasure in her eyes. She then turned the lights out and left, closing the door behind her. I laid there in the dark feeling all sorts of indescribable feelings. I could hear the other boys giggling across the room, but no one said anything to me.

I woke in the morning to find the others had gathered around my bed, and were laughing. As I cleared my eyes I realized they had removed my covers, exposing my gown. I felt a rush of shame as I also discovered the gown had ridden up exposing the fact I was wearing panties. I hurriedly tried to cover myself, though it was too late.

‘Isn’t Sissy cute in her pretty little panties and nightie?’ said the mother as she entered.

Everyone jeered with laughter. I felt so exposed, as I could do nothing but look away in shame. The woman ordered everyone to settle down and go to breakfast. I just laid there confused as to what I was to do now. I kept hoping I could now have my clothes back and this would all go away like a bad dream.

'You wait right here while I go and get your clothes’, she ordered as a feeling of relief settled in.

I felt somewhat anxious as I heard her coming down the hallway. The moment my eyes saw the snowy cloud of light, frilly clothes she was carrying, intense fear grabbed my very soul. I screamed,

'Oh! No! Please! I promise I will be good from now on. Please, I’m sorry’.

My dismay was well founded for draped across her arms was a complete wardrobe of girls’ clothing. My pleas fell on deaf ears as she spread my shame garbs on the bed. These were the fanciest, frilliest clothes I’d ever seen. The dress was a bright yellow drenched in lace trim and ruffles. Each sleeve was trimmed with a satin bow, and another bow adorned the large bib front. I had never seen girls’ under garments up so closely before, and they flooded my senses with even more fear. 'Alright little girl, it’s time to get dressed’, she sang, as though she was enjoying every moment of my predicament. After several more failed pleas, I hopelessly succumbed. One by one, the garments were applied to my quivering body. Each layer brought further shame and passivity, as I was slowly transformed into the girl I had thought I wanted to be for so long. But at that moment I couldn’t imagine how I could have ever wished this humiliation upon myself.

As I slowly accepted my fate, a strange feeling of tranquillity also seemed to have taken me over, much like I’d experienced the night before. 'Sit up on the bed’, she ordered as she handed me the last items of my transformation, a pair of lace trimmed socks. 'Put these on while I look for your shoes’. I felt very strange as I fought the full skirt and petticoats to see what I was doing. I had never given thought as to how restrictive girls skirts were. I was then handed my own shoes, the only reminder of my male self.

'All right Sissy, lets go show the others what a pretty little girl you are in your new clothes’.

I had forgotten about the others as panic returned with a vengeance. Floods of fear rushed in, as I pleaded not to be seen. Again I was unheard, as she took hold of my hand and pulled me down the hallway. 'Just a moment’, she exclaimed as she stopped in front of her daughter’s room. 'Don’t you dare move’, she ordered as she slipped into the room. I was shaking wildly as I anticipated my pending shame before the others, while wondering what she was doing. She quickly returned and threatened to slap me if I didn’t stand still while she fastened something in my hair. She seemed to have some difficulty because my hair was rather short, but finally finished.

She then took me into her bedroom and stood me in front of her mirror for a look.

'Doesn’t Sissy look pretty in her dress?’, she asked with a slight giggle in her voice.

That’s when I saw the large yellow ribbon she had fastened to my hair. A strange intoxicating rush swept over me as I starred in disbelief at my reflection. I was actually pretty, and did look just like a little girl even with my short hair. My daze was broken when she again took my hand and lead me down to breakfast. It felt so strange as I looked down at the stairs and saw my billowing skirts bouncing with each step. Feelings of shame returned as I was firmly pulled into the others’ view. My face felt on fire as I hung my head and stared at the floor.

Everyones’ laughter seemed distant as I detached myself from the moment. It all seemed like a dream that I would awaken from at any moment.

'Children, This is Sissy, and she is going to spend the day with us. I want you all to be nice to her and make her feel at home’. I was then told to join the others and sit at the table. The daughter looked amazed as she started to join the others in their giggling.

Time seemed to stand still as I cowered over my food still in a trance-like state. I don’t think I ever did look up at the others the whole time we ate. I was kept dressed the whole day, and even sent outside to play with the others, though I fought to stay inside. A couple of hard swats on my rear quickly subdued any resistance I had. The first couple of hours were extremely humiliating as the boys kept calling me a sissy, while flipping my skirts with attempts to see what I wore underneath.

As the day drew on they simmered down, and actually started to seem curious as to how it felt to be dressed as a girl. I never did answer any of their questions as I tried to keep it to myself.

The strange thing I remember most about that day was how I actually started to really like being all dressed up. Once the laughter quieted down, I liked being a girl and felt really pretty. Later that evening, I got to spend some time playing with the daughter in her room. We boys were never allowed in there, and so it only made me feel even more like I was a real girl. I secretly hated giving up my beautiful clothes when it was bedtime, but had to act relieved in front of the others. The next few weeks were filled with sissy remarks and ribbings, but I didn’t mind too much, as it kept the reality of my experience alive a little longer.

My dreams were filled with images of that day for many years, until I had the freedom to again dress up on my own, and again be the sweet little girl of my dreams.

Well, that’s it, that’s my one an only experience with petticoat discipline. I have many times since wished it would have happened again, but it never did.

Sincerely, Patsy

Sometimes I receive a letter which describes particularly well the paradoxical thrills and comforts of petticoats and pretty undies, as well as the exquisite embarrassment of being displayed in them to others. This letter is a classic description of petticoat discipline with all its enticing torments, and I am very pleased to publish it in 'Petticoat Discipline Monthly’. Susan

[Patsy, if you are still single, may I suggest you stop wishing? You absolutely must begin the process of asking every girl you know well enough to say ‘Hello’ to, out to coffee (tea) or to lunch/dinner. Inevitably, “What do you for a living?” will come up. And, besides what you actually do you must tell her you’re also a writer. Clearly you’re a very good one, and you should keep a copy of what you’ve written above with you at all times so you have the option to say, “Well, here’s a sample.”

Whether she reads it then or later, whether it interests her to want to talk with you more about the subject, or whether she passes your writing on to one (or many!) of her girlfriends, you have done nothing but bring the day you wish for closer. -Ed]

3 notes · View notes

hinasouda · 6 years

Note

saimota prompt: warmth

it started snowing as i was writing this :0 is this a sign??

saimota / fluff / 2.8k / no despair / snow day

[AO3 link]

Shuichi woke up, bleary-eyed, to his phone buzzing repeatedly. It rattled to the edge of the table and almost fell off.

When he unlocked it, he found a dozen messages in their class group chat. Photos streamed in of Kaito, Maki, and Tenko on their morning run, wrapped up in scarves and big coats. The entire field was white with snow. Looking out the window, Shuichi saw snowflakes still gently falling past.

Kaito’s final message was a blurry candid of Maki, glaring at the camera. It said: ‘come to the park if u want ur butt kicked!!’

Grinning and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Shuichi got up to find his gloves and boots.

The park was layered with at least four inches of snow. Students were coming out of their dorms dressed up in wintery clothes, buzzing to enjoy the rare snow day that was given. As Shuichi arrived, he spotted Kaito and a few other classmates rolling huge snowballs along the ground.

“Hey!” Kaito waved him over. He was wearing a beanie hat and mismatched gloves.

He greeted Gonta, Tenko, and Tsumugi, who were offering the giant snowballs to a twirling Angie. She claimed that she was going to build some beautiful, Atua-inspired snow statues, and Shuichi agreed he was looking forward to it.

Even Ryoma and Himiko were out, though half as energetic, they seemed to be enjoying the atmosphere. Rantaro was taking pictures of everyone for his blog, and Kiibo was barely able to move in the layers of jackets, coats, and fluffy scarves he was wearing.

“Shuichi!” Kaito jogged up to him. “When was the last time we had a snow day, huh? Let’s make the most of it!”

He smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm. “What do you have planned?”

“I thought we could a snowball fight with everyone later. And Kirumi said she was gonna bring hot fudge brownies for after!”

The idea of a mass-snowball fight made Shuichi a little nervous, but Kaito was obviously excited for it.

“Well…we can help Angie with her sculptures for now.”

“Alright!” Kaito threw him a thumbs up, then leaned an inch closer. “Oh, and watch out for Kokichi. Don’t let him sneak up behind you with any snow.”

Despite the cold, Kaito radiated warmth as he leaned in. He paused for a moment, holding a breath, skipping a heartbeat. He had to get this crush under control.

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

When Kaito returned to the others, Shuichi immediately missed that warmth. He must’ve shown something on his face, as nearby Rantaro waved his hand with a sly look. Shuichi flushed, shook his head, and went to take a walk around the park.

Some time later, Angie had crafted two lifelike snow-people with such detail in their features, Shuichi thought the falling snow was going to disfigure them in minutes. Gonta was in the middle of building a snow-beetle, which was a smooth lump of snow covered in leaves.

The rest of the group had shown; Kaede had a coffee in each hand, following Kirumi with her tray of brownies; Miu was barely dressed for autumn, visibly shivering, but seemed to be enjoying herself anyway; and Kiyo had settled on a bench with a book, content to watch.

Shuichi watched as Tenko became Kokichi’s first victim. He was sure that Tenko would’ve heard Kokichi’s snickering, as he crept up behind her with a handful of snow. But she was too focused on her conversation with Himiko.

Her high pitched ‘eek!’ made Shuichi jump out of his skin. Kokichi stuffed the snow down the back of her jacket and ran, cackling all the way. Tenko’s expression was scary as she gave chase.

“If she catches him, Ouma may die,” Kaito said solemnly.

Shuichi laughed. “I hope he’s fast, for our sake.”

They kept running, chasing, dodging between Angie’s sculptures and unsuspecting classmates. They were both fast, but Kokichi was starting to pant, while Tenko hadn’t broken a sweat. Kokichi slowed to a stop and brought his hands up.

“Wow Tenko, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll let you hit me with a snowball for free. Come on, make it a good one, and we’ll call it even?”

She stared him down, then gathered a nasty-looking snowball. Himiko turned away, muttering, “I can’t watch.” Rantaro grimaced but pulled up his camera.

Once the snowball was launched, Kokichi did an acrobatic dive-roll. Strategically placed behind him was Ryoma, like the Archduke Ferdinand, the snowball clocked him on the head, knocking his hat clean off.

By now, everyone was watching. Tenko’s eyes went from blazing fury, to pure terror.

Ryoma picked up his hat and brushed it off. “So that’s the game we’re playing…”

“R-Ryoma! That was, uh, totally an accident. I mean, Kokichi–”

There was no mercy left in the ex-Tennis player. He was ruthlessly quick, and his swing was strong enough to knock most people out. The snowball shot like a cold bullet, missing Tenko’s head by mere centimeters.

“I’ll give you five seconds to run.”

Everyone scattered.

The simple, fun snowball fight Kaito planned became much more like a war. The park was a battlefield of barricades and trenches, with three teams plotting their moves.

Before Shuichi could really pick a side, he’d been pulled behind a snow barricade by Kaede, with Tenko, Himiko, Tsumugi, Rantaro, and Angie. He saw Kaito duck behind the opposite side. The next time he saw him, it’d likely be in battle.

With Tenko scouting, Angie and Kaede drew up the plan of attack. Himiko would stay and supply the ammunition from the safe zone, with Tsumugi laying cover fire from a distance. He and Rantaro were the frontline (or ‘meat shields’, as Tenko explained), for the other girls to try and knock down the enemy lines.

Of course, they also had to distract the neutral team. Wandering in the no man’s land, Ryoma and Maki carried their weapons, ready to aim at the first thing that moved. Gonta stayed outside as well, apparently immune to snowballs.

“So I’ll go and try to convince Maki to join us, while you and Tenko go with Rantaro and Shuichi, and push as far across as you can. Destroy as much of their walls and ammo as you can, got it?”

Kaede made a convincing leader, and Shuichi found himself getting fired up. If he saw Kaito out there, he wasn’t going to hold back. Everyone pitched in to make a final batch of snowballs before they set out.

“Wait - do you hear that?” Tenko hushed everyone and peeked over their barricade. “Someone’s coming.”

Before they could ask who, a quiet voice called out. “I come in peace! Take me to your leader!”

“Get lost, Kokichi!”

“Aww, man. I have juicy secrets from the other side of the field, but I guess I’ll take them to Ryoma instead…”

“Deserter! Why are you even here?” Tenko hissed at him.

“Those guys didn’t give me an exciting role, so I’m snitching! Isn’t that obvious?”

Rantaro and Shuichi shared a glance. This couldn’t end well. The team looked between each other, ultimately falling to Kaede. She shrugged.

“Might as well hear what he’s got to say?”

“Yaaay!” He hopped over their defenses and planted himself among the team. “You guys are gonna need a lot more snowballs. Miu’s installing an automated snowball flinger inside Kiibo, and Kirumi’s gonna bribe Gonta with sweets.”

“Great. Now what are they actually planning?” Rantaro asked coolly.

Kokichi pouted. “Alright, one of those two things is true. I wasn’t listening to anything else Kaito was saying, so I have no idea what they’re planning!”

It took a full minute for Himiko to convince Tenko not to bury him alive, let alone raise her voice. Meanwhile, the others came up with a back-up plan to intercept Kirumi, and discussed what kind of tactics Kaito would come up with.

“Shuichi, you know him best - what’s his game?”

“Well I can’t say for sure…” Shuichi was thankful that the cold disguised his pink cheeks, “I think he’d make the first move. I mean- he’ll rely on aggressive maneuvers to catch us by surprise. We should be careful, even here.”

As he finished explaining, a hefty snowball cracked into the barricade behind him. Tsumugi yelped and Kokichi took off running with a laugh.

“Th-they’re coming! Remember your stations, people!” Tenko narrowly dodged another snowball as she peeked over the wall.

A battlecry tore across the field. Shuichi grinned, adrenaline pumping for the first time in a while.

Kaito charged over the trench, scanning his eyes across the park. His team seemed to be following his plan for the most part, half splitting off to distract and recruit Gonta. The rest had begun their assault. He threw another snowball towards where the opposition were starting to react.

A head popped up near where the snowball impacted, a familiar hat searching for the source. He made a ‘come at me’ gesture at Shuichi, who stared blankly at him for a moment. Was that too far…?

Then Kibo and Miu’s flank chased the rest of Shuichi’s team out of their barricade, a series of shrieks and loud laughs turning the battlefield into chaos. Kaito lost track of Shuichi as he dodged a volley of attacks from both Maki and Angie. He was easily caught up in the spirit of competition, returning fire, and throwing some fighting talk.

As the two teams fought, snowballs were launched from every direction. The walls crumbled, Angie’s statues became fodder, and before long, it was every man for himself.

Gonta and Himiko retreated to build a safety igloo, defended viciously by Tenko. Korekiyo and Maki soon lost interest, and Kirumi was none too happy when Kaede came out with a bruise on her forehead. Ryoma remained undefeated.

Kaito was crouched behind a snow lump and cherishing the last of Kibo’s ammo stockpile. He was breathing hard, creating puffs of fog in the cold air. With all this running and messing around, he could barely feel the cold - if anything, the snow stopped him from overheating.

He heard a light laugh nearby. Footsteps crunching on the other side of his cover. Kaito grinned, scooped up a snowball, fully expecting Miu or Kokichi trying to get the drop on him.

“It won’t be that easy, y’know,” Kaito spun round, aiming his shot- “Shuichi?!”

The moment he hesitated, it was over. Shuichi was beaming with a pure happiness, throwing Kaito so off-guard, he earned a snowball to the face. He staggered, sputtering, throwing his snowball at Shuichi halfheartedly.

“I expected more from the Luminary of the Stars.”

“You-! What-, damn, Shuichi!” Kaito brushed snow out of his beard. “Is this how it ends? My sidekick turns against me?”

Shuichi tossed his snowball in the air and caught it. “Any last words?”

He was too giddy to respond. Shuichi’s shameless smile was so cute, long lashes resting on bright pink cheeks, sugary snow dusting his dark fringe. His eyes were alight with a surprise competitive streak.

“Wh-whaddaya say we team up? You and I can take out the rest, easy!”

Shuichi seemed to consider his request, rolling the snowball in his hands. Kaito put his hands up in surrender and took a couple hesitant steps towards him.

“Hey…Shuichi… We’d make a great pair, right?”

Kaito worried for a second when Shuichi’s gaze dropped, cheeks getting redder. He held his breath. When Shuichi looked back up, his eyes went wide.

“Behind you Kaito!”

In an instant, he turned around, finding Kokichi dual-wielding snowballs with a sinister grin. He ducked, throwing himself behind the snowbank. As he went, he grabbed Shuichi’s hand and pulled him with him. One of Kokichi’s shots flew over their heads.

Kaito squeezed Shuichi’s hand, their faces inches apart. “Knew you’d have my back! Now go and get that bastard.”

Shuichi nodded wordlessly, lingering in Kaito’s warmth for a moment longer. He squeezed Kaito’s hand back in a rush of affection. Then Kaito stood up, waving his arms at Kokichi and yelling. His hand felt cold without Shuichi’s.

“Hey! Over heeere!”

Taking the signal, Shuichi made a dash for the flank.

Everyone was frozen and exhausted by mid-afternoon. They went back to the college common room, ushered by Kirumi’s promise of hot chocolate and freshly baked cookies. Scarves, hats, gloves, and boots were abandoned at the doorstep. Kibo spent five minutes unwrapping, and everyone’s skin was dusted pink after coming in from the cold. After some chilled out music, chatter, and sweets, eventually the group started dropping back to their own rooms.

Due to the limited supply of blankets, Kaito had absolutely insisted that Shuichi share a space, curled on the couch beside him. There was still a decent distance between them, but Shuichi felt himself leaning into Kaito’s ever-present warmth. Over time, the distance slimmed, but Shuichi was sure he hadn’t moved at all.

The room became a much smaller group of friends by evening. Shuichi was dozing, barely keeping himself awake; Kaito, Kaede, and Kokichi were arguing over music taste; Rantaro and Maki finished off the snacks, sharing glances when someone said something dumb.

When he woke up, Shuichi had no idea how long he’d been sleeping. His head was leaning on Kaito’s shoulder, a spot that was so warm, soft, and comfortable, that he didn’t want to move. Only when he realised where he was did he sit up, face flushing.

Shuichi became acutely aware of his space, of Rantaro and Maki catching his eyes, and Kokichi snickering from behind a cushion. The conversation carried on as normal, but Kaito was pretending he hadn’t noticed. He had to be.

He yawned dramatically, planning his escape. “Well, I should probably head back. I’m getting kinda tired…”

“How can you still be tired?” Kokichi frowned at him. “You’ve been asleep for three hours now.”

“It was like two minutes,” Maki interjected, saving Shuichi from a heart attack.

“Ah…all the more reason to call it a night…”

He stood up and said goodnight to everyone, missing Kaito’s blanket and body heat with a shiver down his spine. Kaito was unusually quiet, only offering a smile and a nod as he left. Shuichi’s heart sank. It looked like he’d made things awkward between them now.

When Shuichi left the room, Rantaro threw a cushion at Kaito.

“Hey! What was that for?”

Rantaro rolled his eyes. “You spend all day giving him gooey eyes, he falls asleep on your shoulder, and you’re just gonna let him walk away like that?”

“You’re breaking my heart right now, Kaito,” Kokichi whined.

Kaito rubbed his temple, looking for Maki and Kaede for help. Maki shook her head and Kaede pointed at the door.

“Go on. Or I’ll never forgive you.”

He hesitated for a moment longer, then without looking back, he jumped up to follow Shuichi.

Footsteps filled the corridor but Shuichi didn’t dare turn around, until he heard his voice behind him.

“Shuichi.”

Kaito sounded a little more serious than his usual tone. Shuichi put on a sheepish smile.

“Hey. Sorry about earlier, that was pretty embarrassing…”

“It’s fine, man, I don’t mind,” Kaito gave him a thumbs up and a grin. “My shoulders’ always here for my sidekick.”

Shuichi didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah… Thanks, Kaito. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Alright!” His enthusiasm fell into the quiet corridor, creating an uneasy pause between them, before Shuichi turned to leave.

“Damn it– wait, Shuichi! I should be the one to know that communication is the most important thing in a team. Especially between friends.”

A breath caught in Shuichi’s throat. He waited for Kaito to continue, too nervous to reply, the heat of swirling emotions in his chest becoming sickly.

“So we should talk. Cuz you’re my best friend, and I wanna make sure everything’s good between us.”

“Everything’s fine.” His voice was quiet enough that Kaito almost missed it.

Kaito stepped towards him, concern on his face. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Why would anything be wrong?”

They held each other’s gaze for what felt like a minute. Kaito searched Shuichi for any hint of truth, for any reason he was keeping himself at a distance. Shuichi returned it with stubborn refusal. Kaito sighed.

“If you say so, then I trust you. I’m here for you if you need me, alright?”

Shuichi nodded, tearing his eyes away from the taller man. As soon as he figured out whatever he was feeling, he could talk to Kaito. For now…

“I had a lot of fun today, with you, and everyone else.”

“Yeah!” Kaito beamed, “It got kinda crazy, but hanging out with everyone was the best thing I could ask for. I’m, uh, really glad you had a good time.”

“Me too. Let’s do more stuff like that,” Shuichi mustered a smile to match Kaito’s.

“I’ll let you get some sleep. Message me if you need anything. See ya tomorrow for training!”

They parted ways - Shuichi spending the rest of the night thinking too hard, and Kaito going back to his room without facing the others. It snowed again during the night, but neither of them noticed.

[thanks for reading!! please like/reblog if u wanna, send me more prompts, oh my gosh, it’s 5am already, sorry for any mistakes]

[check out my other saimota fic that is probably same universe]

#saimota #shuichi saihara #kaito momota #flufffffffff #ndrv3 #anonymous #i got so ridiculously carried away #im sorry

57 notes · View notes

rmjagonshi · 3 years

Text

To Carry On Chapter 6

On AO3

Rising Storm

Clouds, thick and heavy with moisture, drifted over Papaya Island as people from all over the world gathered together for the Twenty Third Tenkaichi Budokai. The chance to see world class martial artists test their skills was a strong draw for many. For the fighters themselves, the chance to win the grand prize and be crowned the strongest in the world. Preliminary fights were brutal, and making it through even one of the preliminary rounds was call for bragging rights. But to make it to the actual tournament, that was a feat no average person could achieve. Unfortunately for many of those that entered, Goku was no ordinary fighter. Nor were his friends. Each had mastered feats virtually unknown by other schools of martial arts, and they were eager to show off what they had learned. Or were plotting assassinations.

Piccolo Junior waited atop the main tournament hall, watching the humans mill about like cows being herded along. Aimless, unnecessary. But he had no desire to start carnage. His father had basked in the mindless slaughter of the people. Hours whiled away thinking of ways to terrorize the world to bend to his every whim and then crushing the bowed heads. But Junior saw no reason for it. Sure, it made the populace afraid to rise up, afraid to do anything should their king turn his gaze on them. But humans did not suffer constant terror without repercussions. Eventually, they would burn out and rise up anyway and he would be forced to kill all of them. Ruling a kingdom devoid of subjects was a very boring and unproductive prospect.

If Junior was ever willing to be honest with himself, he didn’t want to rule. It was far too much work. A good king would work himself to the bone to supply his kingdom with wealth and prosperity. A tyrant would hoard it all for himself and let the people rot. Junior wanted neither. He could make anything he needed, and he had no real desire for physical means. His father had passed on the ideals of ruling the sniveling humans, but not the wish. What did world domination grant him that he could not do himself? At most, it might grant him a way to give humans a reason to fear him as they did. But the idea held little entertainment.

No, if Junior was willing to be honest with himself, he was here only to best his father’s killer in battle, and dominate all those who would oppose him. He cared nothing for the world. It could go on as it was, the current king continuing his thankless job, so long as they knew who really held the power. He would claim a parcel of land for himself, remote and bountiful. Humans would be barred from ever entering its borders upon punishment. Not death. No. Let them see what happens to them when they cross paths with the mighty Piccolo.

Besides, the humans were mildly amusing. All gathering and acting like children at the prospect of seeing those stronger than them compete. Paying exorbitant fees for colored bits of cloth and plastic to prove that they witnessed the tournament. Scattering and yelping as the clouds overhead broke and let loose the rain. Blossoms of color over the heads of the humans followed the start of the rain like flowers blooming in the sun. Strangely pretty. Junior raised his ki to rest atop his body, shielding him from the rain and drying his damp clothes.

He would wait for Goku. He wanted to get a good look at the one who killed his father. He wanted to memorize the face of his victim, his only challenge. But he had not yet arrived. None of them had. He could hear Goku’s friends murmuring to themselves, complaining that no one had come. Perhaps they would not. Perhaps the threat of him had driven them off. Or they were planning an ambush. It would be difficult to take him on one at a time, but together, they might have a chance. Junior had become powerful in the time since his birth, but he still had not reached his full potential. Accelerating his growth had limited his strength. This way, they would follow the rules of their little game and face him one on one, and he could crush them.

He thought he’d sense them coming. Even someone with ki control could not hide themselves from him. But the woman’s voice brought his gaze back to the little group waiting for their friends. A newcomer had joined them. Junior’s ears twitched as he strained to hear over the rain. A name whispered in the thick air. Hushed. Then cries of recognition. “Goku! My you’ve grown! Goku, I can’t believe it’s you!”

And that’s when Junior saw him. The boy, no, man that had killed his father. A shot of adrenaline, cold as ice, pulsed through him. His chest felt tight, and he could feel his blood thrumming. It couldn’t be, but he recognized that silhouette from his dreams. A small grinning boy with the power of a monster in him, and a voice like venom. But this man was far taller than his father’s memories. He’d grown much in the last three years. Everything in his being told him that this was Goku. This was the reason he existed. But how?! How was this man Goku? Junior hadn’t even felt his ki! He had as much power in him as the rest of the weakling humans. But there was no mistaking that face. It was Goku, alright. But if Junior couldn’t sense his ki, then Goku was hiding it well. That could only mean he had learned much from Kami in the past three years. If he had mastered ki control to that degree, what else could he do?

Junior lowered his own ki and ducked behind the slope of the roof. Goku would know Junior was at the tournament, but there was no need for a confrontation just yet. There was fun to be had in the coming days as he whittled away at every last hope they had. Junior watched them as the rain died and the human rain blossoms were stowed away. Goku had signed his name to the tournament roster, but they were still waiting for the others. They may not make it in time. Though he would lament that chance to face them in the ring, he would relish in their expressions as they watched, unable to help, as he killed their would-be savior.

Hours ticked by. The sun hung low in the sky and the crowds dispersed to other activities. Still, no one came. Junior found it odd that he felt disappointed. It wasn't as if he wanted to see the monk again, but Krillin had said he was training to enter the tournament. Why say it if he wasn't going to show up? And it wasn't just him. Though Junior didn’t know their names, he had seen their faces in visions during his meditations. The faces of those that would stand against him. One scarred, one with a third eye, one with rosy cheeks. And of course, one cherub face with shining eyes. Each would fall to his hand if they stood in his way.

But time wore on, and still no one came. Fangs knit together and claws scratched at his exposed arms. They weren’t coming. All those months of training. All those grand proclamations of finally beating his rival, and nothing! What good was he? Just another stupid human who depended on words over actions. Or he was scared. Was that it? Krillin had discovered who Junior was and had fled instead of facing a member of the demon clan. Junior couldn’t exactly blame him, but it still raised his hackles to know he’d considered the coward worthy of respect, however briefly. An enemy, sure, but still someone worthy. Someone with integrity. Or so he’d thought. How weak was he that he ever considered someone who had shown him even an iota of kindness a friend? Just another human calling him a monster. Just another weakling hiding while someone else fights his battles for him.

Junior felt the wood burn against his chest, its weight pulling at his neck, choking him. He’d kept it. He didn’t know why, but he’d kept the little wooden carving. Junior reached under his gi and clutched at the wooden disk, ready to rip the thing from his neck and[CJ1] incinerate it. How fickle was human friendship that they baulk at the mere hint of conflict? But the tighter he squeezed, the more he hesitated. Rough wooden edges sliced into his palm, flesh turning to char everywhere it touched. Leather wound around his throat, his mouth, and stole the very breath from his lungs. The weight of it dragged him down, farther and farther until he could feel himself falling over the edge of the roof. It would pull him further if he let it. So why couldn’t he tear it from his neck? It was weighing him down. Insufferable sentimentality.

But a familiar blue aura teased along the edges of his mind. It was accompanied by three other powerful auras. Junior followed their movements, winding in and out of the city’s streets before making their way to the check in station to sign their names to the tournament roster. Junior felt the weight that threatened to crush him lift from his chest when he caught sight of a familiar round face. Krillin had kept his word. Gleeful voices echoed in the empty street as friends reunited. Junior tuned into his voice before he’d even realized he was searching for it. The crisp tenor easily distinguishable from the deeper baritones of the others. Junior let the sound wash through him, his mind drifting back to evenings sitting by the fire or huddled in a tent. He couldn’t help but smirk at the monk’s antics to show off to his friends. It seemed his cherub was one for dramatic entrances. It suited him.

A beat of silence cut through the excited voices. Confusion. Recognition. Disbelief. Goku had changed from the little boy they all remembered. Then, jubilation. A sour mass formed in Junior’s stomach hearing the unbridled joy dribbling from Krillin’s mouth as he fawned over Goku. The monk’s voice cracked, sounding thick and watery. Bitterness rose in the back of his throat that he struggled to swallow down. Junior turned. He’d seen enough. He’d gotten his first look at his target. Any further introductions could wait until the tournament. Let Goku have one night of celebration before his end.

Krillin and Goku sat awake after everyone else had gone to their separate rooms. He still couldn’t get over how much Goku had grown since he’d seen him three years ago. Goku had shot up like a bamboo sprout and his training under Kami had changed his easygoing attitude. Despite their long separation, Goku seemed distracted. Gazing off into the distance for long periods at a time. Krillin was starting to worry about his friend. Goku didn’t laugh as easy. Wide, toothy grins from youth turned shy smiles. Krillin didn’t like it. He knew that Goku had killed Piccolo Daimou and had climbed Korin Tower and beyond, but he didn’t think that it would change Goku so much. Krillin missed his friend. He’d waited three years after being brought back to life to see him again. But Goku was preoccupied with something else.

After the tournament then. Krillin was no longer a student of Master Roshi, and could now go where he pleased. Goku had told him stories of the forest he grew up in. Of the little house where Goku lived with his grandpa. They could travel there together. Goku hadn’t been back to the little hut in years; it had to be in rough shape. He was going to wait until the tournament was over to see what Goku was up to before he suggested they make the journey to fix it up. It was the least he could do to thank Goku for everything.

But the silence was unnerving. It wasn’t unusual for them to sit quietly with one another, but this wasn’t quiet. This felt awkward. Krillin felt awkward with his best friend. And despite parts of his mind rebelling against it. Be opened his mouth to break the silence before the awkwardness consumed him.

“So, Goku, how was training with Kami?” Probably the safest topic for now. Training. Easy and light.

Goku blinked in confusion a moment before answering. "It was really tough, and some days I thought I would never get any better."

Krillin waited for Goku to continue, but he didn't. Goku was off. He had been staring off into space for minutes at a time. Lost in his own thoughts. Something far out of character for his friend. Glue held his mouth shut instead of asking Goku to elaborate. They had been the best of friends and yet this was something that had never happened to them before. Sandpaper on skin. Feeling exposed, invasive. It should be easy to talk to his best friend. It HAD been easy until now. But Goku had clamed up at the first mention of his training under the God of Earth.

After an agonizing moment that had Krillion squirming in his seat, the far-away look in Goku's eyes faded and he turned to Krillin, warm and familiar “It was different, I guess. I actually trained with Mr. Popo for a lot of it. It took me ages to move without making a sound.” Goku paused, frowning at a particularly frustrating memory. “And I still don’t really know how he did it. I can move fast and hide my ki, but I still can’t get that bell to stay quiet for me. I still say he was using magic.”

Krillin had not earthly idea who this ‘Mr. Popo was, but it still brought a smile to his face. “Learn any special techniques? I know I’ve been working on some things.”

“Really? Like what?” Goku had perked up instantly, eyes lit with excitement.

Krillin just smirked. “Uh-uh. Not telling. That would ruin the surprise.”

Goku’s face deflated and out came the trademark pout Krillin remembered from their childhood. “But I don’t wanna wait. ‘Comon’. Tell me.”

“Nope.”

“At least tell me about your training. What did you do for the past three years?”

"Oh, yeah. Me, Tien and Yamcha all climbed Korin’s Tower. Took Yamcha three tries to get there. Tien got there first. I only fell once." Krillin grinned, face and chest puffed up with pride at getting one over on Yamcha.

Goku smiled softly at his friend, eyes lighting up. "Did you see Bora and Upa?" Goku had made fast friends with Upa and his father while adventuring through the Land of Korin. Krillin was sure they would make a trip out there to see them too, after everything. Krillin was sure they would travel the world together looking for adventure.

"Yeah! We camped with them the night before we climbed. But they were gone when we came down. Some hunting trip. Upa was really glad to hear about you. He said he’d like to see you again when the tournament is over."

"Yeah. I'd like that, too." He said. "I haven't seen them since Shenron revived Bora." Goku sat up on the bed to face his friend. "If you went to see Korin, then you met Yajirobie, too, didn't you?"

"Yep. We trained with both of them for a few weeks before we all went our separate ways. I don’t know where Yamcha and Tien went after that."

"You guys didn’t train together?"

"Nope. I think Tien wanted to get back and train with Chaotzu. He and Yamcha have a bit of a rivalry going." He said, cheeky grin flying over Goku's naive head. "It’s kinda cute." He had seen the looks the two rivals had shared. Oh, Krillin knew there was nothing there, but he still found it immensely entertaining to tease them mercilessly. And seeing the usually calm and collected Tien flush with embarrassment left him in stitches.

"Where did you go?" asked Goku. "Back to the old-timer’s place?"

"Nah. I stayed in Korin’s Forest. I wanted to see how much I could improve on my own." Krillin paused, deciding if he wanted to tell Goku of his strange friend. Some little string in his mind tugged at him, urging him to keep Junior a secret. He ignored it. "And I had a really great training partner."

Goku looked curious "Really? Who?"

"Truth be told, I don’t know." Krillin frowned. "He said he didn’t have a name. Guess his jerk of a father never gave him one."

"How do you know his father’s a jerk?"

"I met him. Well, kinda." Krillin paused. "I was looking for a spot to make camp and heard screaming. Some big ugly was picking on a kid and cast some kind of spell." Daggers shot from his eyes. "I don’t know what it was, but the kid looked terrified. I kicked the creep's face in and rescued the kid. Then he tells me that the person was his father, and that his father was trying to kill him."

"That’s terrible!"

"Yeah, no kidding." Krillin said. "So, I said he could travel with me. I told him about the tournament and he seemed really excited about it. The kid was really good too. He was young, but he was strong. Kinda like you!" Krillin beamed at his best friend. "He could shoot his ki like the Kamehameha or Tien’s Dodonpa. When I asked him where he trained," Krillin paused and leaned closer, voice low and conspiratory, "he said he didn’t. Serious!"

Goku's eyes lit up and he sat at attention. Ears practically flaring to catch Krillin's every word. He could feel the faint rush he got when he battled someone strong. He wanted to meet Krillin's new friend. If he was as good as Krillin said, then he would be a great training partner.

Krillin pressed on. "We traveled together for almost a year and a half. And he grew really tall. Another thing you two have in common." He frowned, momentarily glaring at Goku for having grown so much taller than him. "And he got stronger right along with it. I couldn't keep up in the end. We seemed to really get along. I really liked him! I even told him about you and how you brought me back to life! Though I don't know if he believed me."

The more Krillin talked about this person, the more Goku wanted to meet them. The prospect of meeting someone important to Krillin and who was really strong to boot was making Goku practically vibrate with excitement.

"I wanna meet him! Did he come with you? I didn't see him when you got here. Did he check-in before you?" Goku was practically bouncing on the bed.

"I don't know where he is." Krillin's face drooped and his shoulders slumped. "Thing is, I woke up one morning and he was gone. No signs of struggle, nothing. He didn’t even take anything with him."

Goku felt disappointment wash over him and he stopped bouncing. "Krillin, I’m sorry."

Krillin gave him a weak smile. "Yeah. I looked for him for almost a week. But I couldn’t find him. I checked in every town I passed through, hoping someone had seen him. Nothing." He twisted his fingers in the hotel blankets, fiddling with the loose threads. Gaze locked on the wall beside the door. "I really hope he’s okay."

Goku's forehead scrunched. Krillin wasn't like this. Sure, Krillin wasn't brave all the time, and he was funny and pretended to be tougher than he was. But Krillin didn't fog over like that. Like Kami-sama did sometimes. Goku had waved a hand in front of the God's face once, and Kami never realized he was there. Just staring off at nothing. Mr. Popo said he was in deep thought. Goku figured he must be thinking really, really hard to not see something right in front of him.

Goku reached out a hand and gripped Krillin's knee, bringing his far-away look back to the present. "He’s fine. If he was as strong as you say, I’m sure he’s okay." Goku offered Krillin a cheerful smile. "And you said he wanted to participate in the tournament, right?" Krillin nodded. "Then maybe you’ll see him tomorrow. They’re holding the preliminary fights in the morning."

Krillin nodded twice, meeting Goku's gaze. "Yeah. You’re right. What am I worried about?" He laughed. "He’ll be fine. It’d be nice to see him again."

Krillin was excited to introduce Goku and Junior. He was sure that they would get along. Goku's easy-going and obnoxious friendliness was infectious and unbiased. Maybe they could even travel together! He had already planned to travel the world with Goku anyway. Having Junior with them would be all the better.

*~*

The tournament hall was sparse compared to the previous years. Before, Krillin had to stand close to Goku to keep from getting trampled. But there were barely over a hundred. But as few as they were, Krillin could sense that those that had arrived for the preliminaries were all skilled fighters. Maybe not on Goku’s level, but still strong. Strong enough that he needed to be on his guard. It would be humiliating to make it all this way and not qualify for the tournament. He had trained for years to get another chance to show his friends what he could do.

They found an empty spot among the crowd to change into their uniforms. Master Roshi told them they had moved passed what he could teach. That they were no longer his students; they were fighting for their own names.

But Krillin and Goku, and later Yamcha, had all worn the orange turtle hermit gi for every tournament they had entered, and Krillin wasn't one for breaking tradition. When his friends had turned away to change, Krillin unzipped his bag to see familiar orange. Three weeks spent searching for a tailor who would take labor as trade and another two weeks searching for the correct combination of plants and mineral dyes to get the right shade. But it was worth it. Finally able to stand out, be unique. Goku and Yamcha were going to be so jealous. He thought about getting ones for them too, but he was unsure of their measurements, or if the gesture would even be welcome. Now, he was certainly glad he hadn't. Who would have thought that squat little Goku, no taller than himself, would shoot up like a bamboo sprout?

Krillin slid the top over his head, smoothing the folds of the gi over his chest so that the turtle symbol rested over his heart. He tied the violet belt tight and turned to his friends, grin pulled wide over his face and eyes shining with pride.

"What do you think!? I figured Master Roshi wouldn't bring us turtle uniforms, so I had my own made at a tailor shop!"

But the pride and glee Krillin felt at being so clever drained away when Yamcha turned and stood tall, the towel around his shoulders slipping away to reveal familiar orange and violet. His smile fell, twisting into a grimace in proportion to Yamcha's growing smirk.

"You and I figured the same thing."

Sure, there were a few things Krillin didn't like about Yamcha...okay, there were more than a few things. But that smug smirk was right at the top. The one good thing about all of them being at the tournament was that Krillin was guaranteed to face one of them. And he couldn't wait to wipe that smirk off Yamcha's face. Okay, so he wasn't going to stand out. But he could still finally get one over on Goku, right?

But Goku's tennor rang out over the dull roar of the crowd. Sharp and full of joy. And Krillin could feel his skin tense, stretched taught. His jaw popped and locked into place. And pressure nudged against the insides of his eyes. Krillin knew, even before he turned around, that his plan for individuality had failed, rolled over and died, and caught fire. "I did, too!"

"Gimmie a break!" Goku's normally infectious smile only made the pressure in his eyes worse. "Dang it! I wanted to be the only one to stand out."

His friends only grinned wider and laughed louder. He was half tempted to yank out his old Orin temple gi. The material was well made and was easy to travel in. It was part of the reason he hadn’t had the guts to burn it yet, though he really wanted to. But putting on the colors of the Orin Temple felt like an insult to his master, even to spite his friends. He kept the orange, resigned to the fate of blending into the shadows that were Goku and Yamcha. Tall bastards.

He turned away from them to rifle through his bag for a water bottle while Tien and Goku talked. Griping the bottle, Krillin met resistance and frowned. With another quick tug, the bottle was free, trailing a long stretch of white cloth with it. He blinked at it for a moment before recognition hit. It was the headband he’d bought for Junior. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He really hoped that his friend was okay. Not that anything would have happened to him, Junior was tough, but the kid was troubled. Brooding at times; far too young for the darkness that seemed to sit heavy in his heart.

A chill, like pins and needles shooting up his spine and radiating over the back of his head, sent Krillin shuddering, clutching the white cloth in a death grip. He turned, still kneeling to glance over at Goku to settle his nerves when he caught a flash of green in his periphery. Green, and purple. His eyes snapped over the form for several long second before he was sure.

Junior had grown. A LOT! He had been taller than Krillin before. But now, he towered over the monk. Heck, he was taller than Goku, who had become a giant over the past three years. The cape was new, but Krillin would recognize the turban and violet gi anywhere. He was missing the surcoat with the burned insignia, but Krillin guessed that it would be too childish to wear to such an event. Ignoring the fact that I definitely wouldn’t fit him anymore ‘How in the hell did everyone else grow and I got jack!?’

Krillin had barely noticed that Goku and Tien had leaned together, whispering to one another. Or that Junior’s cold and calculating look was aimed at Goku. He was too excited to see his friend again. The words were out of his mouth before he’d even picked up on the tension his friends carried.

“Goku, is it possible that one of Piccolo’s creations survived?” “Hey! It’s him!”

Krillin had taken two steps forwards before his body prickled with tension. Something was wrong. Krillin blinked, ears finally making sense of the words Tien had said. “…possible that one of Piccolo’s creations…” His mind screeched to a halt at the one word that froze him to his core. Piccolo. But, that was Junior. And yeah, Junior wasn’t human, but he was no demon. There were plenty of non-humans in the stadium today. Why was green skin so unusual? Besides, Piccolo wasn’t, he was dead. Goku killed him. Sure, Krillin hadn’t seen it himself, but everyone had said so. Hell, he’d even seen a bio-pic on tv one of the few nights he was able to stay somewhere with cable. He strained to hear Goku’s next whispered words.

“Something like that. But don’t say anything. We don’t want to start a panic.” Goku sounded so sure. But he was wrong. He had to be wrong. That was Junior. Krillin had told Goku about him just last night. But there was something…off about the way Junior carried himself. It sent more shivers racing down his spine.

“Him who? Krillin, you know him?” Yamcha and his loud mouth. Neither Goku nor Tien had responded when he spoke; he had prayed that they hadn’t noticed him. But Nope. Yamcha had to make it obvious. Worse yet when Tien and Goku both turned to give him an uncomfortably serious look.

‘LIE!’ Everything in him clenched. He had to lie. He needed time to think. But it was impossibly hard to do with nine eyes staring him down. Krillin scratched at the back of his neck. A really bad nervous habit and a clear tell, but he couldn’t help it. He hoped no once called him out on it.

“Huh, oh, I-a, I, um, saw him yesterday when we checked in. Kinda stood out.” ‘Bad lie, bad lie!’ “I just thought he looked really strong.” ‘DEFELCT!’ “Do you know him, Goku?”

When all eyes turned to Goku, Krillin let out a little sigh. ‘Successfully deflected.’

“Yeah, he seemed to know you, was he giving you trouble?” ‘Oh, thank Kami in heaven.’ Yamcha’s big mouth was good for some things.

“Ah, no, actually Tien and I were just talking about that. He does look really strong, doesn’t he Tien?”

Krillin knew it was a lie. He had never known Goku to lie about anything before. He was beginning to think that he might not have known his friend as well as he had thought. Goku was lying. There was no doubt that Goku knew Junior. But, how, and why lie? And why on earth did he think Junior was…? Nope, he wasn’t even going to garner that thought with his time. But the more he tried to huck the thought into next week, the more it grew claws and dug into the soft meaty surface of his brain.

Krillin had never actually seen Piccolo. The only thing he ever saw was some scrunched-face, winged thing touting his father’s rule and reaching for Goku’s dragon ball. It was green. Kind of, more yellow green. But it looked nothing like Junior. Krillin had seen blurry images of some other similar creatures on the tv show. Grainy footage and photos from eye witnesses and unfortunately deceased. But nothing that looked like Junior. And he doubts that he would ever get access to the footage from Piccolo’s live broadcast, if there even was any.

He really didn’t know if Junior was a member of the demon clan. He could be. But Krillin knew Junior; the kid was…odd, definitely dealing with trauma and struggling through a broken home, but not evil. No evil monster gets teary eyed over a badly carved pendant and awkwardly kisses their friend. He’s sure of that, at least. No. This was just hearsay. It would all blow over.

*~*

Despite Krillin’s surety that things would be fine, everything still felt off. Thanks to Choutzu (Krillin spared a wink in the small magician’s direction), none of them had to fight each other, and Junior was far enough down the line that he wasn’t in danger of facing them until the tournament proper either. Krillin watched as Junior worked his way through the preliminaries. Each fight ended swiftly and with varying levels of brutality. One contestant even gave up before Junior could even swing. Something was wrong. That was Junior, Krillin was sure of it. But the reserved child he remembered was gone. Replaced by someone who seemed to be fighting with fracturing restraint. Like he would gladly kill his opponents if he could. Junior had never been gentle, but he had never had this level of ruthlessness. And he seemed to be singling out Goku as his primary opponent, with the fanged grin he shot after every match. And the aura. Krillin could feel it snapping at the air around him, making Junior into a giant looming over them if he focused on it.

Intimidation. Or the attempt. It was certainly working on the others who could sense ki. But not Goku. Goku wouldn’t be intimidated like that, but Krillin couldn’t shake the feeling that Goku was still on edge. Every time he spoke, his friends seemed calm and collected, but he caught Goku and Tien whispering to each other and shooting not inconspicuous glances at Junior. It confirmed his gut reaction to keep silent. If his friends were on edge around Junior, it would not end well to reveal their connection. He might even have to choose sides. Krillin shook his head. Nah, he was just being dramatic again. It was still possible that this was all just a big misunderstanding. Maybe.

Krillin only got close once. He’d been standing to the side, watching Goku fight when a shadow briefly loomed over his shoulder. Krillin turned to see the billowing white cape flap in the breeze as he walked by.

“Hey!” He’d called out, taking a step to follow. But Junior’s tone stopped him dead. As sharp as a left hook to the jaw he hadn’t seen coming.

“Don’t.”

Krillin hadn’t. He just watched as Junior walked away, wondering what he’d done wrong. He stuck close to Goku after that. Always seeking out Junior from the corner of his eye. Not that it was hard. After every match, Junior would turn to Goku and flash that same grin as if to say ‘Did you see that? Do you see how strong I am?’

Never a glance to Krillin. Never a moment spared to watch Krillin breeze his way through the preliminaries as easily as Goku. He didn’t know what he’d done to screw it all over. The last Krillin remembered, Junior was teasing him about his crush on the cute girl they’d met in the last town they stopped in. Junior had been laughing then. Smiling. But not sinister. Easy. Happy. It was strange to see such malice on the face he used to fall asleep to each night.

But as much as he wanted answers, there were more important things to worry about. Like Chaotzu being attacked by some assassin called Tao Pai Pai. Krillin didn’t know him, but Goku and Tien had told him the story. Tao Pai Pai had been Tien’s old teacher and had been paid by the Red Ribbon Army to kill Goku. That was all Krillin needed to know to understand this guy was bad news.

By the end, everyone besides Chaotzu had made it. Junior and the cute girl who seemed to know Goku included. Krillin had watched her fight. She was well trained, if a bit short tempered. But she, like everyone else it seemed, had her eyes set. The air was thick with tension as the eight of them gathered around the tournament announcer to draw their lots.

After waving away the announcer’s concerns over his death, Krillin was the first to draw. Six. He’d been in the second to last match. Hard to say against who. Probably not Goku, not that he’d win anyway. Maybe Yamcha. Or Cuite. Maybe he could steal her away from Goku with his charm. He banished the thought almost immediately. Eh, not likely. The last girl he flirted with had laughed at him until she threw up. Heck, maybe he’d get lucky and get matched up with the dork who’d fumbled his way into the tournament. Easy win for him.

“Alright, Number one, tell me your name.”

“Tao Pai Pai.”

“Uh..right.” “Number two?”

“Tienshinhan.”

“Tien-shin-han. Okay.”

Krillin felt sorry for Tien. He didn’t know much beyond that Tao Pai Pai was a member of the Crane School and had taught Tien as a boy. The first match was going to be a hard one. Krillin tried to catch his eye, show some kind of support, but Tien wasn’t looking anywhere but at his opponent.

“Match two, Son Goku against Anonymous.”

Krillin sighed. Of course, Goku would get to fight the cute one. Things never worked out for him. Maybe he would get to fight Yamcha. The desert bandit was convinced that Krillin was a pushover because he lost to Goku. But Krillin had an ace or three up his sleeve. He’d show Yamcha. But if Tien and Goku were already up, Krillin would only fight them in the final round. Which meant…

“Number six?”

Krillin blinked and raised his hand. “Ah, here. Krillin.”

“Right. Third Match, Ma-Junior versus, Krillin.”

Wait. Ma-Junior? Evil? What? When the hell? Was everyone convinced that Junior was evil just because he looked different. But Junior hadn’t corrected him. Did Junior actually check in under that alias? WHY?

Krillin felt his skin prickle. Something pierced through him, pinning him to the tile floor. He turned, meeting deep blue eyes, almost black, that cut through the layer so his skin. Those eyes were familiar, but in a way that a long-forgotten toy left out in the rain looked familiar. They were the same, but distorted. Wrong. There was evil behind those eyes that shouldn’t be there. Malice that made his skin ripple with goosebumps.

Krillin guessed the only upside was that Junior was looking at him now. Junior’s icy stare trained on him, unwavering. Emerald lips pulled into a smirk that made him feel like a bug being examined. He could feel Junior’s gaze glossing over every inch of him, leaving tiny notes in his skin that itched. His breath hitched and his palms grew sticky with the first drops of sweat. Junior’s grin stretched wide. Krillin had wanted Junior’s attention before. Now he had it.

[CJ1]Rough wooden edges slicing into his palm, flesh turning to char everywhere it touched. Leather wound around his throat, his mouth, and stole the very breath from his lungs. The weight of it dragged him down, farther and farther until he could feel himself falling over the edge of the roof. It would pull him further if he let it. So why couldn’t he tear it from his neck? It was weighing him down. Insufferable sentimentality

#krillin/piccolo #what we're left; to carry on #Krillin #Piccolo #krillin x piccolo

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beebomeebo · 7 years

Text

Nerves Pt. 3

Type: angst/smut

(A/N) So, I wrote this a lot earlier than I expected to but here ya’ll go: Nerves Pt. 3.

Warnings: fist fight, blood, cursing, !!thoughts of self-harm!!, descriptive cutting scene, smutty smut smut, unprotected sex, loving tyler, fluffy aftercare

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x Reader

Word Count: 3.7K

Everything happened in slow motion. From the moment my eyes landed on Tyler and the other girl to this very moment.

I chew the inside of my cheek, holding back a cry. My jaw tightens and I ball my hands into fists. Tyler turns into a blurry blob from the sheet of tears collecting in my vision. I blink away the water and droplets roll down the valleys of my face, creating rivers of emotion and painting my skin with black mascara. “I really like you” slowly turned into “I really like her” the more I watched them. A combination of anger and sorrow built from my gut as my eyes followed Tyler’s movements.

He broke his lips from her and gave her a shocked look. The only thing planted on her face was a smile. Tyler finally seems to notice me when he turns his head and he’s instantly thrown into a panic. He shoves Rebecca off him and holds up his hands in a defensive way.

“Y/N! This is not what it looks like.” Tyler’s eyes are wide and terrified.

“Oh, hi Y/N,” Rebecca sings. She takes a step towards me. “Sorry that you had to see that but,” She smacks her lips, “it’s true. He kissed me.”

I snap my head to Tyler and he looks back at me in horror, furiously shaking his head.

“And you know what?” Rebecca’s voice pulls my attention to her short body. “I really enjoyed it,” She whispered in my face.

“So, how did I taste?” I snap back.

Tyler stifles a laugh as Rebecca scoffs.

I lean in and whisper, “I bet you really enjoyed that.”

Before I could pull back, Rebecca’s palm comes down on my face.

Don’t do it. You’re only going to regret it.

Do it! She fucking deserves it.

Voices swim around in my head, hazing my thoughts. I feel blood trickle down my palms from my nails shoving into my skin. My entire body goes numb as indignation fills my veins. A rush of adrenaline fuels my hatred and only one thought is clear in my head: hurt her.

My eyes, fiery and enraged, watches my fist strike Rebecca’s cheek. Her smile falls as she stumbles backward, falling over her feet. Her hand comes up to her lip, patting the skin and revealing a drop of blood. She whips her head towards me, gathering herself on her feet again. I lower my body, preparing myself for her counterattack. She cries out and breaks into a sprint. Her tiny arms wrap around mine, sending my body onto the floor from her momentum. I twist my fingers into her hair and yank her head to the side, bashing her skull into the tile floor. My legs swing over her body to pin her down as I blindly throw punches at her. Using my grip on her hair as leverage, I pull her face toward my fist. She finally snatches at my hair and begins throwing punches at me. My eyes sting from her fist. I feel a different hand grabbing at my arm but I ignore it, continuing my blows. My knuckles begin to sting as my punches become sloppier. Right before I could get my last swing in, arms snake around my waist, furiously pulling me off the girl. My arms in legs kick out in protest but the arms only tighten around me. My hearing finally comes back as screams fill the room.

“Y/N! STOP!” The figure holding me screams and I finally give up, allowing my body to go limp. I keep my eyes glued on Rebecca as she’s scooped from the ground and carried out of the room. My body is thrown into a chair and my head whips to see who grabbed me.

“What the absolute hell are you thinking?” Mr. Pike booms in my face.

I quickly scan the room and blood splatter the floor where our bodies had been. My hand wipes at the burning sensation in my lip and observe as blood trickles down my finger. But I don’t start regretting it until my eyes land on Tyler. His body completely frozen and shaking. He finds my eyes and runs out. I reach out my arm in a lazy attempt to grab him. “Wait!”

“Y/N!” Mr. Pike snaps me back to him. “You know what you’ve done right?”

I lick the blood off my lip, nodding.

“C’mon.” He yanks my arm, forcing me to my feet. He continues to drag me through the small crowd that had formed and to the discipline office.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

My arms were crossed against my chest. Tyler was on my right, staring down at his shoes, obviously terrified. And Rebecca was to my left. Her arms across her chest and her legs properly crossed.

The principle rubbed his temples as he looked from me to Rebecca. “What the hell is the story?”

“She started it!” Rebecca blurted, pointing at me.

Keeping my eyes on the principle asks calmly, “Y/N, is this true?”

“No,” I reply simply. “She slapped me first so I punched her.”

“And why did you punch Rebecca?” He questions.

Before I could even open my mouth, Rebecca cuts in, “Because she’s jealous of me.” She points her nose in the air.

I stare at her confused and she purses her lips, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you, Y/N?” The principle asks.

I scoff, looking back towards him. “No. What do I have to be jealous of?”

“She’s jealous because Tyler kissed me.” Rebecca buds in.

“Can you stop interrupting?” The principle snaps and she sinks back in her seat. The principle turns to Tyler. “Did that happen?”

He looks over at me and then back to the principle. My eyes glue onto Tyler as he explains the story. He clarifies that Rebecca actually kissed him and that he was just trying to be friendly. I shake my head, rage building in me again.

“Ok, you can go Tyler,” The principle gestures to the door. Not skipping a beat, Tyler grabs his backpack and rushes out the office. “Y/N, this is really unlike you. I have no choice but to suspend you for three days-“

“Yes!” Rebecca hisses and I roll my eyes at her out blurt.

“Both of you.” He finishes. Rebecca’s face falls flat and I laugh.

“Wait, what?” She snaps.

“You retaliated so you’re just as guilty.”

Rebecca pouts and a smirk creeps onto my face.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

“You fought over a boy?” My mother demanded.

“I guess,” I reply.

She ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, you’re obviously grounded. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

“I’m not sure either,” I whisper to myself.

She continues to yell at me and discuss the terms of my grounding. I hand over my phone before heading to my room.

I sludge my way to my bed and crash my back to the sheets, staring up at my ceiling. The only thing I could think about was Tyler. Does he hate me? Is he scared of me? Did I just ruin what we had?

Tears welled up in my swollen eyes as I rolled over to silently cry to myself.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

*TYLER’S POV*

My body was still numb and confused as I pulled into my driveway. My head can’t quit replaying the events that took place early this morning. From my shock from Rebecca’s kiss to my terror from Y/N’s punch, I was so confused.

Thankfully, my parents weren’t home so I could just walk up to my room. Anger bubbled up in my throat the more I thought of what Y/N did.

A buzzing pulled me from my thoughts. I fished my phone out of my pocket, answering the call and throwing myself onto my bed.

“Hello?”

“Tyler! Dude, I heard what happened!” The voice on the other line says.

“Josh, calm down,” I say, calming the boy’s excited voice. “You probably heard wrong.”

“Rebecca and Y/N got into a cat fight, right?” His voice raced to get the words out.

“Yeah, but you don’t know the full-“ Before I could finish, Josh was already explaining what he had heard.

“You kissed Rebecca, then Y/N got all jealous and punched Rebecca!”

“What? No! That’s not at all what happened,” I state.

“What actually happened?” His voice picked up tone.

I sigh in regret before explaining what truly happened.

“So, Rebecca kissed you?” Josh clarifies.

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck dude. Everyone’s saying that you kissed Rebecca.”

I scream into my pillow. I want to punch Rebecca. Now I know how Y/N feels.

“What are you going to do?” Josh asks.

“I don’t know,” I respond.

“Are you mad at Y/N?”

“No, Rebecca slapped her first,” I reply casually.

“Wait, what? Rebecca slapped Y/N first?” Josh’s voice picked up again.

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you that.”

“Everyone thinks that it’s completely Y/N’s fault.”

Great. Now everyone’s going to pick on her.

“Ok, well can you just clear as much of it as you can?” My hand runs across my face.

“Yeah, totally. Sorry you’re in all this.”

“Yeah.”

I hang up the phone and chuck a pillow at my wall.

Fuck.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

*READER’S POV*

Fuck.

I throw my book across my room.

These past days have been hell. I haven’t heard anything from Tyler and I’ve been stuck in my house for 48 hours. I mostly slept and read; anything that took my mind off Tyler. But I would always end up dreaming of him: the way his eyes scrunched up at my jokes, the way his hands held onto my hips when we were kissing, the way he looked at me.

I roll in my bed, facing my wall. Tears begin to fall down my cheeks and stain my pillow. All I can think about is how badly I fucked up with Tyler. The tears stream down my face harder and I scream through the tears. My heart ached and the only thing that helped was crying out. My body freezes as a thought passes through my mind. I glance over at my nightstand, debating. Finally, I slowly open the drawer and pull it out: my razor. My hand balls up as my arm turns over in front of me. My eyes run over my exposed wrist, painted with healed scars from my past. I dark my eyes to the razor, pressing it to my skin.

Don’t do it. I hear Tyler’s voice scream. My head whips to my room, searching for the source of the voice but my bedroom is still. I turn my attention back to the razor; I close my eyes, seeing the perfect bead of blood developing from the slits on my wrists. The sting of the razor makes me alive and I can only crave more. I open a slit for every problem and soon I have a small galaxy of scars, the stars of red glistening under the soft moonlight. Rivers of tears drench my cheeks as the teardrops roll off my jaw, landing on my white bedsheet.

I open my eyes. Relief washes over me as my eyes scan over the clear skin. I quickly throw the razor back into the drawer and shove it closed. Rolling over on my side, I start to cry again.

After a while, my body became too exhausted to continue to cry. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, a tapping pulls my attention. I sigh, pulling myself upright. Dreading another talk with my mom, I get up to open my door. But when I swing the door open, the hallway was empty. I furrow my brows. Reluctantly closing the door, I doubt if I actually heard something. Great, now I’m going crazy.

Another tapping sound fills my room as I climb back into my bed. This time, coming from my window. Curious as to what is at my window, I sit on the foot of my bed and peel the curtains away from the glass. My heart drops when a face appears through the glass.

The face softly smiles at me but all I can do is look back in fear.

“Y/N, let me in,” The face says.

I shake myself from my thoughts and unlock my window, sliding the glass up so the person could crawl through.

“Tyler, what are you doing here?” I ask in a hushed voice, closing the window and locking it.

“I miss you.” His voice was soft and careful. Tyler’s hand lifts to hold my cheek and my face melts under his touch. I begin to cry.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” Tyler lifts my face, his eyes full of worry.

“I thought you hated me,” I choke through tears.

Tyler shushes me, pulling my face to his chest. “No, baby. I’m not mad at you.”

I cling onto Tyler’s shirt, sobbing furiously into his chest. He lets me cry and I do just that. He begins petting my head to calm me down and soon my sobbing come to a stop, replaced by sniffling.

I break from him to wipe the tears from my face. Tyler holds my face to look up at his and I look deep into his eyes. All I read is love and care and I smile up at him. He smiles back, bringing me back into his arms.

“So, you’re not mad that I punched Rebecca?” I asked.

“No!” He laughs. “I think it was badass. You smacked that smug look right off her face.”

I chuckle at how passionate his words were.

“You’re so cool,” He whispers into my hair. “C’mon, let’s go wash up.” He takes my hand in his and leads me to my bathroom.

I numbly follow him as he opens the door to my restroom. My body faces myself in the mirror and my eyes fall down to my wrist. I lift my hand to my face and trace to closed scars with my thumb as Tyler turns on the shower.

My body jumps as Tyler’s arms wrap around my waist, lowering my hands and pulling my attention to his reflection. He tucks his head into the crook of my neck and I can’t help but smile.

“You’re so beautiful,” He mutters into my skin. I giggle at the ticklish sensation.

He spins me around and lifts my shirt off my body, kissing me passionately. My arms wrap around Tyler’s neck, deepening the kiss. He unhooks my bra and I let the fabric fall off my shoulders and onto the floor. He breaks from the kiss to stare into my eyes and smile.

“C’mon, let’s take a shower,” he whispers. I nod and strip myself from the rest of my clothes, slowly stepping into the shower. Tyler does the same and joins me shortly after. The running water calms me as I tilt my head back against the shower. Tyler’s hands hold onto my hips as he hums his favorite song. The combination of Tyler humming and the sound of the water hitting our bodies relaxes me. I wrap my arms around Tyler’s neck and pull him toward me for a kiss. His arms encase my body in his as he presses my naked chest to his. Losing myself in the kiss, my fingers lace into Tyler’s hair.

We finish washing ourselves off and hop out of the shower. Tyler wraps me in a towel before grabbing one for himself. I scavenge my closet for clean clothes to throw on. I decide to put on a hoodie I stole from Tyler and an old pair of joggers.

“Is that my hoodie?” Tyler asks coming out of the bathroom in his boxers.

I giggle, “Maybe.”

I crawl into bed and hold my arms out toward Tyler. He chuckles and snuggles up close to me. I ask him how school was without me.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

*TYLER’S POV*

When she asked me how school was without me, my heart sank. I told her that it was boring and I hated it, which was true but it wasn’t the entire truth. I avoided the fact that there were rumors going around that Rebecca and I were together and that Y/N was jealous of that.

I kept going on about how boring Mr. Pike’s class was.

God, I wish I could seal her from all the hate she’s about to come back to.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

*READER’S POV*

My mind wandered off while Tyler spoke. His soft lips bounced at every word and all I wanted was to kiss him forever. Not able to take it anymore I crash my lips to his. My legs roll over so I’m in his lap. Tyler’s hands shot to my hips as I lightly grind my body to his. My hands hold onto his face while my hips pick up pace. Tyler’s lip gape open to let out a moan and I use this opportunity to grasp his bottom lip between my teeth. His fingers dig deeper into my skin and my hand wanders his bare chest. Tyler’s hands slip under the hoodie I was wearing and they slide up my body, pushing the clothing off my body. I break the kiss only for a moment to remove the hoodie. Tyler chucks it across the room before connecting our lips back together.

The kiss quickly heats up and my hips continue to roll against Tyler’s. He flips our bodies over, pinning me to the mattress. Tyler’s kisses wander down my neck and he sucks on the sensitive skin. A moan falls from my lips and Tyler rolls his hips against mine, poking his growing erection through his boxers. He breaks away and hooks onto my joggers. I lift my hips to let him pull the clothing off me. His hand runs up my leg and up to my hip, pecking me on the lips before pulling my panties off as well.

I sit up, stopping Tyler from anything else and he sits back on his heels in front of me. I look up at him, slipping my fingertips under the hem of his boxers. Tyler shifts his weight to his knees so his crotch is face level. I pull his boxers down his legs to expose a very excited erection. Smiling, I take his member in my hand and slowly start to pump my hand. Tyler’s fingers twist into my hair as he urges my face closer to him. I giggle before wrapping my lips around the head. A happy moan escapes Tyler as my lips wander farther down his cock. With what I can’t take in my mouth, I use my hand, twisting at the skin.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” Tyler whispers. His eyes read love and care.

I pull him out of my mouth and sit up on my knees to meet his face. He pulls me in for a kiss and groans at the taste of himself on my lips. We break off and look deep into the other’s eyes.

“Turn around,” He whispers. I obey, twirling myself around so my back was facing his front. He lowers his lips close to my ear and purrs, “Bend down, baby girl.”

Chills run up my back as my chest lowers to meet the pillows, my backside sticking up in the air for Tyler. I feel his callused fingers graze over my backside before coming down on the skin. I yelp at the sharp contact. Tyler rubs my cheeks with his hands while grinding his shaft between my folds.

“Please, Tyler,” I moan, begging for more.

“Shh,” Tyler hushes me. “We’ll get there, baby.” His voice is gentle and loving. My hips begin to squirm from the lack of contact and Tyler chuckles.

He teases his head in between my folds and I try to push myself against his member but he pulls away. “Patience, love.” Tyler’s fingers reach down and tease at my folds. I moan under his touch and he moves his fingers up to my sweet spot, tracing circles around it. I whimper, begging for him to move faster. Receiving the hint, Tyler’s fingers pick up speed as he whispers words of encouragement.

My body begins to quiver as a fuzziness grows from the pit of my stomach. I bite down on my pillows as Tyler’s head begins teasing at my folds again. He finally relieves me of the tension and slowly slides his member inside me. I feel my walls expand around him as his hips slowly rock back and forth. Tyler bends over and presses his chest against my back. He buries my face into the crook of my neck as he thrusts deep and faster. I moan Tyler’s name as he bites down on my shoulder, drawing blood. As Tyler’s thrusts become stronger, so does the warmth in my core, teasing at my nerves. Tyler reaches around my hips to play with my clit which only causes the warmth to grow. My breathing hitches at his sudden movements.

“C’mon, baby. You can do it. Come for me.” His gentle voice sends my senses overboard as the warmth washes over me, flooding every nerve in my body. My muscles twitch as Tyler lets me ride out my high. I moan out a mix of expletives as my body calms. Tyler continues to thrust deep inside me and I decide to help, slamming myself back against Tyler’s movements.

“I’m going to come, baby.” He coos against my ear. His thrusts become sloppy and his member begins to twitch. I moan out his name which sends him over and he spills inside me. “Oh, fuck,” He hisses. My body continues to rock against him, allowing him to ride out his high. As soon as Tyler pulls out of my both of us collapse into the sheet. Out sweaty bodies stick to each other as we attempt to catch our breaths.

“You know you are beautiful, right Y/N?” Tyler turns his head to face me.

“You tell me every day,” I laugh.

“Because it’s so true.”

I give a faint smile.

“You don’t believe me..” Tyler’s voice trails off.

“I just don’t really understand why you still stay with me, I guess.”

“Because you’re badass! Not many girls would just throw a killer punch like that.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. Tyler wraps his arms around my body and pulls me close to him. My eyes fall heavily and I allow them to flutter closed.

The last thing I hear before falling asleep was Tyler whispering, “You’re my beautiful badass.”

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